Folly Cove by Holly Robinson Page A

the time of day. And sometimes she suspected Laura came around only because of the money.)
    Plus, she’d mostly lost her appetite for social intercourse beyond making her guests feel welcome. Her own company and the sanctuary of her tidy apartment at the inn were all she needed to be content.
    Then, about a month ago, Rhonda had mentioned her uncle Gil, a widower who had recently moved to Rockport. “I wish you could meet him,” she said. “My uncle Gil doesn’t know a soul here, and you could tell him so much about the area. Just lunch at the inn, maybe? I know you’d like him.”
    Sarah doubted that very much. She liked few people. However, Rhonda was like another daughter to her, and as Rhonda kept pressing her, she’d realized she’d have to relent to keep the peace.
    Lunch at the inn it was, then: she wouldn’t even have to put on a coat.
    â€œMrs. Bradford?”
    Sarah looked up and saw Betty, her head housekeeper, standing in the doorway of her office. “Yes?”
    â€œThe occupants of room 212 haven’t checked out,” Betty said. “I wanted to make certain there wasn’t a special arrangement for a late departure before I have the maids knock on their door.”
    Sarah shook her head. “Only the honeymoon suite requested a late checkout today. Ask Rhonda, but I don’t think we have anyone else coming into that room tonight. We can offer them a half-day rate if they’re staying through lunch.”
    â€œAll right.” Betty gave her a curious look. “Are you feeling all right? You look pale.”
    â€œOf course. I just need a cup of tea.”
    â€œI’ll bring that to you straightaway, Mrs. Bradford.”
    â€œThank you, Betty, but there’s no need. I’m going to have lunch in the dining room.”
    Betty expressed surprise—Sarah usually ate lunch in her apartment—but Sarah would bet her best pearls that Betty had known about the date within seconds of her agreeing to it: Folly Cove, like most well-run inns, operated as a single organism. “Have a lovely time, Mrs. Bradford,” she said, and retreated.
    Sarah dropped her eyes to her desk, to the stack of brochures waiting to be mailed to people who somehow still couldn’t manage to download the pdf from the Web site. She had been mindlessly stuffing them into envelopes for the past hour while she thought about Laura and the awful scene with Kennedy, and about whether she should have told Laura about Anne’s baby.
    She hadn’t done so because something was wrong between those two, and Laura already seemed to be carrying the weight of the world. After they had finished with the flowers on Saturday morning, Sarah had watched Laura and Kennedy trudging up the driveway, their bodies solid and their heads bowed as if they were peasant milkmaids bearing buckets on yokes across their shoulders.
    The sight had infuriated her. Sarah wanted to call them back inside at once. To tell them that they, too, had backbones, despite everything they clearly believed about themselves.
    She’d felt such confidence in Laura once. Lately, though, Sarah had felt concerned about her eldest daughter’s marriage and mental state. She hoped it wasn’t depression reducing her most reliable child to this careworn woman who never wore a stitch of makeup and mysteriously never managed to make ends meet. She suspected Jake was up to something, but what?
    Impatient now—wallowing in speculation and emotions was never productive—Sarah slipped a cream-colored cashmere cardigan on over her navy blue wool dress, picked up her handbag, then locked the office door behind her. It was time to get this date over with, so she could get back to work.
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    â€œYou can’t possibly be working today,” Laura said when Jake announced that he was going into the office on Sunday.
    They had been reading the newspaper at