Read Online Return to Pelican Inn (Love by Design) by Dana Mentink - Free Book Online
Authors: Dana Mentink
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role of father when she’d most desperately needed one. So why, now, were her fingers rigid and her breath tight? Why should she care? Why did it pinch at a place deep inside?
Infuriatingly, Pike had been right. She should not have insisted he tell her about the disease because she was no longer certain she was in control. Above all things, she would not let Pike see her lose it. The man who hated her father. The man who had ridiculed her mother.
She realized she was still touching Pike and that he had covered her hand with his, tenderly, as if he feared bruising her. She detached herself. “I see. Thank you for the info.”
“Do you...want to go talk to him?”
Deep breath. A steadying smile. “I think we should go back. We’ll drive him to the inn, as you suggested, and talk to Cy. This is one of those times when I wish my brother would actually answer his cell phone, the big dork.”
Pike eyed her uncertainly, looking as though he was about to press her further.
“I’m sure Cy’s got the flat changed by now, or the car completely dismantled—one or the other.” Her laugh sounded tinny and strange in her own ears. She strolled to her father and told him of her plan. He nodded, without comment, and shuffled back to the car, the naked twig still clutched in his fingers.
Irreversible, her mind repeated as they drove back to the Pelican.
Incurable.
Unbelievable.
* * *
T HE OLD N ISSAN sported four fully functioning tires, Rosa noted, as they pulled in to the parking lot. Cy was on the front porch, poring over a stack of history books. Her brother believed that a decorator’s sacred responsibility was to understand the past of any given building before reinventing it.
“The history of a place is what changes a house to a home,” Cy preached at anyone who would listen.
He glanced up as the trio climbed the front steps. “Oh, hey, Pops. Changed your mind about the visit?”
Before Rosa could open her mouth, Cy began hurling historical bomblets at her from his spot on the wicker bench. He gestured with a dusty volume. “Got it from Julio. Took us an hour and a half to find it. The Pelican was built by Harold Herzberg in...”
“In 1860, Cy. I know.”
“Yes, but did you know he was a carpenter turned...”
“Forty-niner who eventually discovered that there was really no money to be made in the goldfields. Yes, I knew that, too.”
“Well, did you know that there was a notable portrait done of Herzberg and his wife, worth thousands, that was stolen from what used to be the Tumbledown Bank some twenty years ago?”
“Hmm. Nope, that’s news to me.”
“Anyway, his carpentry background explains the extensive woodwork.” Cy patted his pockets for a pencil until Pike pointed to the one behind his ear. “There’s a mention of the oak window seat in the dining room being a favorite of Mrs. Herzberg, who used to have guests join her to shell peas and watch the horse-drawn carriages come up from the docks. We’ll need to do it.”
“Do what, Cy?” she said wearily, though she already knew.
“Restore the window seat. Make it a focal point. It won’t be hard—most of the wood is still sound. Aunt Bitsy is fine with it.”
“Yes, she is,” said Bitsy as she stepped out onto the porch. She handed Cy a tape measure. “You left this in the bathroom.”
Pike huffed. “I’m aware that no one is listening, but this inn is on the verge of being sold. There’s no need to do work with window seats or paint or anything else.”
Cy wore a glazed expression as he rambled on about crown molding and stain.
Pike rolled his eyes, mumbling something about being trapped in a nuthouse.
Rosa tried to rally, determined to ignore Pike and his bad tidings. “Time and money, Cy. The window will cost both. And besides, we have something to discuss that’s more important.”
He gaped. “More important than a window seat?”
She nodded. “At the moment, yes.”
Manny rocked back and forth on his
Infuriatingly, Pike had been right. She should not have insisted he tell her about the disease because she was no longer certain she was in control. Above all things, she would not let Pike see her lose it. The man who hated her father. The man who had ridiculed her mother.
She realized she was still touching Pike and that he had covered her hand with his, tenderly, as if he feared bruising her. She detached herself. “I see. Thank you for the info.”
“Do you...want to go talk to him?”
Deep breath. A steadying smile. “I think we should go back. We’ll drive him to the inn, as you suggested, and talk to Cy. This is one of those times when I wish my brother would actually answer his cell phone, the big dork.”
Pike eyed her uncertainly, looking as though he was about to press her further.
“I’m sure Cy’s got the flat changed by now, or the car completely dismantled—one or the other.” Her laugh sounded tinny and strange in her own ears. She strolled to her father and told him of her plan. He nodded, without comment, and shuffled back to the car, the naked twig still clutched in his fingers.
Irreversible, her mind repeated as they drove back to the Pelican.
Incurable.
Unbelievable.
* * *
T HE OLD N ISSAN sported four fully functioning tires, Rosa noted, as they pulled in to the parking lot. Cy was on the front porch, poring over a stack of history books. Her brother believed that a decorator’s sacred responsibility was to understand the past of any given building before reinventing it.
“The history of a place is what changes a house to a home,” Cy preached at anyone who would listen.
He glanced up as the trio climbed the front steps. “Oh, hey, Pops. Changed your mind about the visit?”
Before Rosa could open her mouth, Cy began hurling historical bomblets at her from his spot on the wicker bench. He gestured with a dusty volume. “Got it from Julio. Took us an hour and a half to find it. The Pelican was built by Harold Herzberg in...”
“In 1860, Cy. I know.”
“Yes, but did you know he was a carpenter turned...”
“Forty-niner who eventually discovered that there was really no money to be made in the goldfields. Yes, I knew that, too.”
“Well, did you know that there was a notable portrait done of Herzberg and his wife, worth thousands, that was stolen from what used to be the Tumbledown Bank some twenty years ago?”
“Hmm. Nope, that’s news to me.”
“Anyway, his carpentry background explains the extensive woodwork.” Cy patted his pockets for a pencil until Pike pointed to the one behind his ear. “There’s a mention of the oak window seat in the dining room being a favorite of Mrs. Herzberg, who used to have guests join her to shell peas and watch the horse-drawn carriages come up from the docks. We’ll need to do it.”
“Do what, Cy?” she said wearily, though she already knew.
“Restore the window seat. Make it a focal point. It won’t be hard—most of the wood is still sound. Aunt Bitsy is fine with it.”
“Yes, she is,” said Bitsy as she stepped out onto the porch. She handed Cy a tape measure. “You left this in the bathroom.”
Pike huffed. “I’m aware that no one is listening, but this inn is on the verge of being sold. There’s no need to do work with window seats or paint or anything else.”
Cy wore a glazed expression as he rambled on about crown molding and stain.
Pike rolled his eyes, mumbling something about being trapped in a nuthouse.
Rosa tried to rally, determined to ignore Pike and his bad tidings. “Time and money, Cy. The window will cost both. And besides, we have something to discuss that’s more important.”
He gaped. “More important than a window seat?”
She nodded. “At the moment, yes.”
Manny rocked back and forth on his
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