Sydney appeared, moving in the same unhurried gait that seemed to be prevalent here, Kristina thought. Maybe Frank hadn’t been wrong in his assessment of life in southern California. It was just too slow and laid-back for her.
But she had no intention of moving here. Just of moving things along.
June noted the curiosity in Sydney’s eyes as the young woman looked at Kristina.
“Sydney, this is Kate Fortune’s granddaughter, Kristina,” June said. “She’ll be taking Kate’s place. This is Sydney Burnham, the baby of our group.”
Sydney had been working at the inn for only the past four years. Coming to work during the summer between her junior and senior year at college, Sydney had joined the staff permanently after graduation, preferring the unhurried pace in La Jolla to the frantic life of a stockbroker.
Sydney looked around for luggage and noticed the two suitcases off to the side, by the desk. She picked up one in each hand and nodded at the newest guest. “Nice to meet you, Kristina.”
The greeting was entirely too informal to suit Kristina. There had to be distance between management and employees in order for things to run smoothly. “Ms. Fortune,” she corrected.
Max rolled his eyes as he turned his back on Kristina.
June waited until the two women had disappeared up the stairs before saying to Max, “I think I just bought you a little time.”
“I have a feeling a century wouldn’t be enough when it comes to that woman. She’s spoiled, self-centered and pigheaded.”
June laughed at the assessment. “And those are her good qualities.” Time for a little pep talk. “But you’ll find a way to pull this out of the fire, Max. I know you will.”
Max thought of his foster father. The man was a born arbitrator. He could use him now. Max shook his head.
“I’m not John Murphy.”
June had always liked Max’s modest streak. A man as good-looking as he was could easily have been conceited. “No, but he taught you well. You’ll find a way to get along with her, and get her to ease up those grand plans I see forming in her head.”
He had his doubts about that. “At times I think you give me too much credit.”
“At times, I don’t think you give yourself enough.” June looked up the stairs and shivered in spite of herself. There was a lot at stake here. “You’ve got to do something, Max. I get the definite impression that she wants all of our jobs.”
That made two of them. Max frowned. He’d never seen the advantage in lying. “So do I, June. So do I.”
There had to be a way to make Kristina Fortune see reason. The magic question was, how?
Three
K ristina curled her legs under her on the double bed, keeping the telephone receiver tucked between her shoulder and her ear. She made a mental note that the bed needed a canopy to give it a more romantic flavor.
Just outside her window, the Pacific Ocean was having the beginnings of a turbulent discussion with the shoreline. The recessed trees that fringed the perimeter of the grassy expanse just behind the inn were shaking their heads in abject disagreement. A storm was brewing, albeit in the distance.
It was romantic settings such as this that would make the inn’s reputation, Kristina thought. Or at least part of it. The rest would be up to her, since Cooper obviously didn’t seem interested in her ideas. But Cooper could be worked around, she silently promised herself. She was nothing if not resourceful and determined. This place was begging for guidance.
Her aunt’s voice brought her mind back to the conversation. She’d placed a call to her as soon as she got to her room. As always, just the sound of her voice made Kristina feel better.
“I tell you, Rebecca, you just wouldn’t believe this place.”
Rebecca Fortune was her favorite aunt, the one who reminded her most of her grandmother. They were so close in age, Kristina thought of her more as an older sister than an aunt. Even as a child, Kristina had never been about to wrap her tongue around the word aunt when it was in reference to Rebecca. It just wouldn’t have felt right.
“It has such possibilities,” she enthused, warming to her subject and her own ideas. “But right now, it’s all completely mired in a horrid Ma and Pa Kettle look.” Rebecca loved old movies. Kristina knew that the reference to the movie series would get the idea across to her far faster than a whole string of adjectives.
“With a moose head hanging over the fireplace?” There was amusement in Rebecca’s voice.
Maybe she had gone a little overboard in her assessment, Kristina thought. But it was hard not to have that reaction, when the staff reminded her of people straight off some unproductive farm. “Well, not quite that, but close.”
Rebecca laughed with a touch of longing. “Sounds delicious.”
Kristina could see that her aunt relished the image. Rebecca probably found the idea of a secluded house inviting. Maybe it was, but not if that house looked as if it was falling apart.
“That’s only because you’re thinking like a mystery writer, not like a guest.”
There was no argument forthcoming on that count. Rebecca laughed softly at the observation. “Sorry, dear, force of habit.”
There was a momentary pause. Kristina could hear the transformation in her aunt’s voice when Rebecca continued. “I suppose that my thinking like a mystery writer is the reason I can’t accept Mother’s death.” She sighed. “The whole thing just doesn’t hit the right chord.”
Kristina couldn’t help wondering just how much of her aunt’s response was due to her writer’s instincts and how much of it was due to pure denial. It was a given that none of the family were really willing to admit that a force as powerful as Kate Fortune could actually be snuffed out so quickly, without preamble.
Still, she hated to see her aunt torture herself this way. Her grandmother had been piloting the plane herself at the time of the crash. Kristina knew that Rebecca’s hopes were tied to the fact that the body found at the site of the wreck had been burned beyond recognition. But who else’s could it have been? There’d been no one else on the flight. And after all this time there was no other possibility.
“Rebecca…” Kristina began, her voice filled with affection.
“I know, I know. You’re going to tell me to accept it, but I can’t.” There was neither apology nor defensiveness in Rebecca’s voice. She was stating a simple fact. “I want proof, Kristina. Something to absolutely close the book for me. Right now, I feel that it’s just a serial. Like in the Saturday matinees in the forties and fifties. ‘To be continued.’”
Kristina knew there was no arguing with Rebecca. In her own fashion, Rebecca was as tenacious as Kate had been. It was something Kristina had in common with them. “Well, has that detective you and Father hired found anything?”
“Gabriel Devereax is doing his best, but it’s just not enough. He’s also been involved in a lot of the other investigations, including looking for proof of Jake’s innocence. I know he didn’t kill Monica Malone, and soon we’re going to prove it. And then we’ll get back to Mother’s death. I’m not giving up yet.” The change in topic was abrupt. It was a signal that Rebecca didn’t want to discuss Gabriel or her mother any further. “You certainly sound like you’ve got your hands full.” She paused, obviously thinking. “Mother never really talked about the inn.”
Kristina looked down at the quilt beneath her. While still attractive, it had definitely seen better days. A lot of better days. Like the