kidding, what kind?”
“All kinds. Jazz sometimes.”
“I love jazz!” exclaimed Scott.
“Yeah, they get some pretty good people coming through.” Mace smiled shyly, and Ann could see that underneath all that metal and the black hair (that, based on the girl’s fair complexion, was probably naturally blonde) was a non-truculent person struggling to get out.
“Well, I’d very much like to see that,” said Scott. “Could you let me know how I can get more information?”
“Sure, I’ll print some stuff out for you.” Mace sidled past Ann and banged down the stairs, her heavy boots thudding on the treads.
Since it was late, Ann and Scott didn’t bother unpacking before walking the short distance into town for a late dinner. Bloom’s Cafe had a coffee bar near the door, a bar decorated with strings of white lights along the back wall, and fewer than a dozen tables with mismatched wooden chairs crowded into the remaining space. There was a small but boisterous group at the bar, but Ann and Scott were the only diners. They both ordered risotto, which Ann deemed to be too rich but Scott enjoyed, and Bar Harbor Real Ales.
After their plates were cleared away, Scott glanced at his watch. “Want to go back to the inn?”
“Not yet, it’s nice here. We could have an after-dinner drink.”
“Okay. What do you want?”
“Hmmm ... How about a glass of port?”
“Okay.” Scott went to the bar to place their order and struck up a conversation with the group there. In a few minutes he returned to the table with Ann’s port and another beer for himself.
“Guess what I found out!”
“What?”
“It’s not Mount ‘DEH-zert,’ it’s Mount ‘De-ZERT.’”
“That’s weird.”
“It’s French for ‘barren’—I guess because it looked barren to the first Europeans who came here. Who must have been French.”
“Huh.”
“Plus I learned that we’re ‘from away’!”
“What?”
“‘From away’ means we aren’t locals. Evidently your family has to have been here forever or you’re considered ‘from away.’ I guess Mr. Masser must still be considered ‘from away,’ even though you said he’s lived here for quite a while.” He took a sip of his beer. “Mike would think that was interesting.” He pulled out his mobile phone and speed dialed Mike.
Chapter 9
Garrick gripped the steering wheel and hunched forward, peering out the windshield, although he would have been able to see equally well had he sat back. One of his greatest annoyances with his current engagement was that he was not able to hire someone to drive him to it, especially since it meant driving at night, which he particularly disliked.
Garrick dreamed of a vintage Rolls Royce and a chauffeur, but even his excellent reputation and delivered results were not quite enough to fund that dream. He had compromised on a black Cadillac Fleetwood with a comfortable amount of room for his long legs, and usually hired a neighbor to drive him. But the client’s insistence on secrecy extended to not having anyone know the location of the engagement, so he was forced to drive himself.
He saw the sign for Lynam’s Point Road and slowly turned off, much to the relief of the motorist who had followed him from Somesville. Lynam’s Point Road ran perpendicular to Indian Point Road for a short distance, then turned left, to the south, before looping north to run along the shore of the peninsula. Most of the peninsula was part of Acadia National Park and thus undeveloped, but as he approached the northern tip of the peninsula, he passed between two stone pillars that marked the entrance to the Lynam’s Point Hotel property. Shortly after that, he passed on his left the Lynam family cemetery, utilitarian granite headstones surrounded by an unpicturesque chain-link fence. Finally, a circular drive came into view. It was lined with dim lights, the uneven spacing of which showed where some of the bulbs had burned out. Beyond the glow
“All kinds. Jazz sometimes.”
“I love jazz!” exclaimed Scott.
“Yeah, they get some pretty good people coming through.” Mace smiled shyly, and Ann could see that underneath all that metal and the black hair (that, based on the girl’s fair complexion, was probably naturally blonde) was a non-truculent person struggling to get out.
“Well, I’d very much like to see that,” said Scott. “Could you let me know how I can get more information?”
“Sure, I’ll print some stuff out for you.” Mace sidled past Ann and banged down the stairs, her heavy boots thudding on the treads.
Since it was late, Ann and Scott didn’t bother unpacking before walking the short distance into town for a late dinner. Bloom’s Cafe had a coffee bar near the door, a bar decorated with strings of white lights along the back wall, and fewer than a dozen tables with mismatched wooden chairs crowded into the remaining space. There was a small but boisterous group at the bar, but Ann and Scott were the only diners. They both ordered risotto, which Ann deemed to be too rich but Scott enjoyed, and Bar Harbor Real Ales.
After their plates were cleared away, Scott glanced at his watch. “Want to go back to the inn?”
“Not yet, it’s nice here. We could have an after-dinner drink.”
“Okay. What do you want?”
“Hmmm ... How about a glass of port?”
“Okay.” Scott went to the bar to place their order and struck up a conversation with the group there. In a few minutes he returned to the table with Ann’s port and another beer for himself.
“Guess what I found out!”
“What?”
“It’s not Mount ‘DEH-zert,’ it’s Mount ‘De-ZERT.’”
“That’s weird.”
“It’s French for ‘barren’—I guess because it looked barren to the first Europeans who came here. Who must have been French.”
“Huh.”
“Plus I learned that we’re ‘from away’!”
“What?”
“‘From away’ means we aren’t locals. Evidently your family has to have been here forever or you’re considered ‘from away.’ I guess Mr. Masser must still be considered ‘from away,’ even though you said he’s lived here for quite a while.” He took a sip of his beer. “Mike would think that was interesting.” He pulled out his mobile phone and speed dialed Mike.
Chapter 9
Garrick gripped the steering wheel and hunched forward, peering out the windshield, although he would have been able to see equally well had he sat back. One of his greatest annoyances with his current engagement was that he was not able to hire someone to drive him to it, especially since it meant driving at night, which he particularly disliked.
Garrick dreamed of a vintage Rolls Royce and a chauffeur, but even his excellent reputation and delivered results were not quite enough to fund that dream. He had compromised on a black Cadillac Fleetwood with a comfortable amount of room for his long legs, and usually hired a neighbor to drive him. But the client’s insistence on secrecy extended to not having anyone know the location of the engagement, so he was forced to drive himself.
He saw the sign for Lynam’s Point Road and slowly turned off, much to the relief of the motorist who had followed him from Somesville. Lynam’s Point Road ran perpendicular to Indian Point Road for a short distance, then turned left, to the south, before looping north to run along the shore of the peninsula. Most of the peninsula was part of Acadia National Park and thus undeveloped, but as he approached the northern tip of the peninsula, he passed between two stone pillars that marked the entrance to the Lynam’s Point Hotel property. Shortly after that, he passed on his left the Lynam family cemetery, utilitarian granite headstones surrounded by an unpicturesque chain-link fence. Finally, a circular drive came into view. It was lined with dim lights, the uneven spacing of which showed where some of the bulbs had burned out. Beyond the glow
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