“Tom mentioned you had trouble finding a crew the first time around.”
Jaime quickly stood, holding the folder to her chest. “H-he did?” And now she was stuttering. Perfect.
“Emmett called about the estimate and one thing led to another. Are those the papers?”
“Yes, Laura mentioned you wanted to take a look,” she said, pointing toward the empty secretary’s desk at the opposite wall. She should have known something was going on when Laura wasn’t at her desk.
In the twenty-four hours since Emmett had landed on the island Ronda at the post office had waved her inside to pick up a package that had mysteriously disappeared and, of course, to ask if Emmett was really back on the island. Since Ronda was the second person any of the island gossips would call, the innocent-sounding question was a ploy to find out why he was back, and not if. Anna had avoided eye contact this morning over coffee. Anna never avoided eye contact; the waitress was usually direct to the point of pain. Now Laura had called Jaime about the estimate, disappeared and Emmett came strolling out of her boss’s office.
“And the final decision?” Jaime had a feeling she already knew and she didn’t like it. Not even a little bit.
“I called in a couple of favors and found a crew willing to come up here for the summer.”
“You did?” She focused on Emmett. Okay, a crew was good, especially since she’d had no luck this afternoon.
Tom saluted them with the folder and shut the office door, mumbling something about meeting with the trustees over drinks.
“Wasn’t too hard. I already knew they were available.”
The sinking feeling in Jaime’s stomach grew to a gaping hole.
“Your crew?”
“One of them.”
“One of them,” Jaime repeated.
“Yeah, I have a crew that focuses on older homes in Cincinnati and another that goes where the projects are—”
“That would be the television crew.”
“Right, but they’re on summer hiatus and thought this sounded like fun.”
Jaime felt as though the project was slipping away from her, which was silly. She was never on the actual project team. Her job was to write checks and meet scheduled deadlines. Not knock down walls and install windows. “I thought you said you were here to fix up your dad’s house, not renovate the old school.”
“I am. Was.” Emmett squinted. “Am. Mostly, I’ll consult. Like you.”
“I’m not a consultant.”
“And you don’t think this is a good idea.”
Jaime led Emmett to her office and motioned him to one of the chairs. He crossed one jeans-clad leg over the other and she swore his abs rippled under the tight shirt he wore as he sat.
From her seat Jaime folded her hands together and leaned her elbows on the cherrywood desk. She wanted to move, but she settled for tapping her toes against the cool leather soles of her sandals.
“I think you’re trying a little too hard.”
Something flashed in his eyes. Anger, maybe? Whatever it was Jaime refused to apologize just as she refused to pace.
“I think you’re dreaming if you think you’ll find a quality crew by cold-calling out of the phone book. Hoping one of them will drop their deck-building, roof-replacing, pool-installing summer isn’t going to give you a renovated school for the reunion.”
“You’ll complete the main floor by July first?” Jaime took a breath, hating that her words were nearly an echo of her father’s from the day before. “We’ve already had one false start, so if you aren’t going to see this through you can leave now.”
He stood and held out his hand. “I always see my projects through.”
Jaime hesitated but then stood and took his hand. The contact zinged along her nerves, but she didn’t pull back. “Then I’ll see you Monday morning.”
Emmett closed the door softly on his way out. Jaime rubbed her palm down the leg of her trousers.
And began to pace.
Finish what he started.
When the project was finished Emmett would leave. She would stay here, on Gulliver.
Alone.
Jaime watched the closed door for a long moment. She didn’t want to be alone.
Where did that leave her?
EMMETT REPLACED THE keys to the old golf cart on the peg near the front door. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He’d gone to Tom Gulliver’s with the intention of giving him a few names and reassuring the man the project would be a good investment for the island. How he’d wound up volunteering his crew he had no idea.
He couldn’t back out, though. Not now. Not after Jaime’s veiled certainty he would walk out on the project. Thankfully his guys lived for projects like the old school, and an extra payday was always nice.
Emmett frowned and looked around carefully. The house was too quiet.
“Dad?” he called into the crowded space. No reply. No shuffling of feet. He glanced out the front windows, but there was nothing in the front yard besides his golf cart and the overgrown and untrimmed trees that hid the house from the street.
Continuing through the living room and kitchen, Emmett looked for his father. A steamer released little puffs of moisture into the dining room, but none of the wallpaper was off the walls. Emmett checked the upstairs bedrooms. Empty. The back porch. Nothing. His breathing quickened and he hurried into the backyard.
Gibson’s old Jeep sat under the carport with Emmett’s truck behind it. At least he wasn’t in a motorized vehicle.
“Dad?” he called again, louder this time, and his voice echoed back to him from the thicket of trees at the rear of the property. Their home was one of the few on the north side of the island; most of the development was on the south side because that harbor was less rocky. The first Gulliver built his general store there and the town had grown up around it. Another reason Emmett needed to get him off the island and into a care facility.
There was an old deer trail that led into the woods and eventually to the rocky north shore of the island. Gibson used to walk the trail a couple of times a day with his camera. If he’d gone alone, if his memory failed, there was no telling what might happen.
Briefly, Emmett considered calling the township police, but to say what? No one on the island knew about Gibson’s condition yet. Sunlight slanted across the green leaves of oak and maple trees and he started for the short trail. He’d find Gibson and bring him home. Protect the older man’s secret.
Emmett hadn’t been on the trail in years and it looked as if no one else had, either. There were clumps of composting leaves left from the winter months, families of chipmunks and squirrels rustling in the underbrush. In a few places it seemed the trees were closer together than he remembered. Probably he had been smaller back then. There was no sign of Gibson in the woods. No stray buttons or pieces of fabric caught on a branch. That was silly. The man wasn’t running for his life. He was out for a stroll. At least Emmett hoped that was it.
Finally the trees opened onto the rocky beach. Emmett inhaled a long breath and for a short moment closed his eyes. The water smelled fresh, no hint of washed-up or decaying fish bodies. Here the tree line seemed closer to the water, but he supposed