A Cape Cod Summer
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Jo McNally
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Chapter One
The Sassy Mermaid Motor Lodge didn’t look too terribly bad at night. Thanks to traffic delays, Mom’s insistence that they stop at what felt like every other exit to “see what looked interesting” and Lexi getting lost on the dark, winding side roads of Cape Cod, she and her mother didn’t arrive at their motel until two in the morning.
Not just the place where they were staying. It was literally their motel. Or at least...Mom’s motel. Phyllis Bellamy had inherited the Sassy Mermaid Motor Lodge from an uncle no one had spoken to in decades. And their first time seeing it was right now. In the dark.
There were a few cars in the parking lot of the long, low, two-story motel, so the place was at least pulling in some money. That would make it easier to sell, which would happen just as soon as Lexi could convince her mother to dump this place. But despite the No Vacancy sign being lit, it was definitely not full. The lawyers said the motel had thirty rooms, and there were only ten cars parked there. The reception office was located near the center of the building, but it was dark, too.
“Thank goodness I have the keys, right?” Mom shook the giant ring of keys the attorneys had sent her. Each was carefully labeled—apartment, office, laundry, pool, storage one, storage two, etc. Lexi parked in front of the office and stared into the darkened room beyond the plate glass.
“It feels creepy to just let ourselves in like this.”
“Don’t be silly.” Mom hopped out of the car. “It’s my motel, so we’re not trespassing. Oh, wow—I can smell the ocean!”
Lexi got out and stretched. It had been a long three days since they’d left Des Moines, and she’d driven most of it. Not because Mom hadn’t offered to drive, but because her mother was quite possibly the world’s worst driver. Lexi’s life might be a flaming hot mess right now, but she still wanted to keep living it awhile longer.
She took a deep breath as she stretched, and realized what Mom was talking about. The rich, salty aroma of the ocean was heavy in the breeze. She could hear the surf splashing against rocks coming from somewhere out there in the night. For all her doubts about this journey, Lexi was looking forward to spending a little time near the ocean. But right now, exhaustion was catching up with her—she was hitting the proverbial wall, barely able to stay on her feet.
“Let’s get inside and hope that mystery uncle of yours left you some comfortable beds.”
“Right. Let me find the key here...” Mom flipped through the keys, her bright pink hair falling over her face. It had been a little like watching a butterfly leaving its cocoon to watch her mother transform over the past year. From a meek housewife to a fearlessly liberated woman, and all because her husband—Lexi’s father—had left her for a woman younger than two of his children.
Meanwhile, Lexi had followed the opposite path since her own life imploded. She’d gone from being confident and successful to nursing her emotional wounds and avoiding everyone she used to know or work with. Maybe Mom’s year of living dangerously would rub off on her, now that they’d escaped Des Moines and Chicago. Never mind that neither of them had ever been to Massachusetts before and knew nothing about running a motel. Details, details. With any luck, she’d convince Mom to sell by the end of the summer. That was all the time that Lexi could give to this project. It was mid-April now, so they should be able to get this place on the market and sold by August.
“Okay, sweetie, I got it open.” Mom waved her hand to get Lexi’s attention. “I feel like this should be a more momentous entrance, but we don’t want to wake up our guests by popping champagne in the middle of the night.” She pushed the door open and a tiny bell rang above it. They both froze, but they didn’t hear any movement inside. Whoever was watching the office had obviously gone home for the night. The lights from the parking lot cast a soft light through the windows into the office. There was nothing surprising—an ice machine, a reception counter, a coffee counter and a few chairs scattered around. All in shades of brown and gold. There was a door in back with a sign that said Private.
Mom giggled, whispering for some reason. “This is so exciting! My very own motel and a brand-new life on the ocean. I’ve seen the ocean exactly once in my life, and your father bitched the entire weekend we spent in Virginia Beach. It was too hot, it was too sandy, there was nothing to do, blah, blah, blah.” She pushed the back door open. “This must be the residence. Where’s the light switch? Oh, there it is.” She hit the switch and the room lit up.
“Jesus,” Lexi muttered, “turn them back off.”
The sign out front said the Sassy Mermaid had been open since 1948. From the looks of things, this room hadn’t been updated once since then. It was wood, layered on wood, layered on wood—parquet wood floors, paneled walls and a plywood-coffered ceiling. There was a well-worn braided rug of brown, gold and orange in front of a brown plaid sofa to the right. Over the sofa was a giant oil painting of a tri-masted schooner speeding across an angry sea. On the left wall was a kitchenette with a small sink, an apartment-size refrigerator and a hot plate. Along the back wall was a twin-size day bed with a rusted white iron frame. Beyond the kitchenette was a staircase that was partially enclosed, showing only the bottom four steps. If this was the so-called living quarters the lawyers emailed her mom about, there was no way the two of them could stay here.
Lexi walked across the room to check out the two doors in the back. The first was a small bathroom with one of those old metal shower stalls that belonged in a camp or cabin somewhere. Spots of rust looked like brown snowflakes on the sides. The other door led to a weird combination of hallway and storage closet, with painted plywood shelves narrowing the space even more. The shelves were packed to the ceiling with cleaning supplies and boxes of who-knew-what. There was a door marked Exit at the back.
“Do you really think Uncle Tim lived in here?” Mom was moving papers around on a small desk in the corner. “The lawyers said—”
“Clearly the lawyers had no clue what they were talking about,” Lexi said. “We’ll figure it out in the morning, but for now, why don’t you take the bed and I’ll sleep on the sofa. I’m exhausted—” There was a sound behind her. A footstep on the stairs. We aren’t alone! She spun toward the narrow, carpeted staircase...
“If you’re here looking for drug money, you’re going to be very disappointed.” A rough male voice spoke coldly, but calmly, with a heavy New England accent. She could see bare feet and legs coming down the stairs—long legs, with one calf sporting a large, ornate tattoo of a ship’s anchor. The intruder took another step and Lexi backed up as he spoke again. “If you don’t get your dumb ahsses out of here, you’re going to find yourselves sitting in the back seat of a police cah...with fresh bruises.” Another step. He was wearing blue boxer briefs, and nothing else.
But Lexi didn’t spend much time thinking about the man’s physique. Not when he was uttering threats with a dangerous growl. And carrying an iron fireplace poker. She put herself between him and her mother. She was the daughter of one large, angry man and had almost been the wife of another. She didn’t intimidate easily. Not anymore.
She didn’t see his face until he stepped onto the bottom landing. He was tall, with dark hair and startling blue eyes. Those eyes were cold as steel right now, his square jaw tight. He’d started to raise the fire poker, but he stopped when he got a look at them.
“Who the hell are you?” he asked.
“I think—” Mom was using her full Mom voice, low and cold, which had always sent her three children scurrying “—we should be asking that question, young man.” The guy was at least mid-thirties, maybe even forties. From his tan and the weathered lines on his face, she’d guess he spent a lot of time outdoors. Mom continued. “I own this motel, so why don’t you tell us who you are and what you’re doing here. Or maybe we should call the police to sort this out?”
The man’s jaw dropped. “You’re Curly’s niece?”
“If by Curly, you mean Timothy Neely, then yes, I am.”
He set down the poker in the corner and stepped into the room, apparently forgetting he was in his underwear. “Damn. I didn’t think you’d be here until the weekend. Uh... I’m Sam Knight. The estate lawyers—” he pronounced it law-yahs “—have been paying my cousin and I to keep the old place open for, well...you, I guess. Phyllis, right?” He started to step forward as if to shake her hand, then looked down. Color rose in his cheeks. “Oh...son of—excuse me.” He stepped into the bathroom just long enough to grab a brightly colored beach towel, which he wrapped around his waist.
Now that he wasn’t clutching a weapon in his hand, Lexi tried to shift herself out of fight mode and join the conversation.
“And you live here?” That came out as more of an accusation than a question, but she was so damn tired, not to mention being extremely wary of this rough-looking guy making himself at home on her mother’s property. Although he didn’t look quite as tough now that he was wearing a green beach-towel skirt covered with pink dolphins and yellow starfish.
“No,” he answered, having the grace to look a little guilty. “But someone has to take the overnight shift. Tonight was my turn.” He glanced up toward the top of the stairs. “I had no idea you’d be here tonight, or I wouldn’t have stayed upstairs.”
Mom let out a loud sigh of relief. “You mean this isn’t the living quarters?”
“For the owners? Hell, no.” He glanced around the room with a look that mirrored their first impression. “This is basically just an extension of the office. The bed’s there for someone to use if they’re covering the office overnight. The upstairs is a full two-bedroom apartment. Do you have luggage to bring in? I can take it up for you.”
“But weren’t you covering the office overnight?” Lexi sounded contrary. She knew it from the warning look on Mom’s face. There was just something about this guy that set her on edge. Or maybe it was the fourteen hours of driving she’d done that day.
His gaze settled fully on her for the first time. He did one of those annoying head-to-toe appraisals, and she bristled. Sam raised one eyebrow, and she could swear she saw a glint of amusement in his eye. “And you are...?”
“Oh, this is my daughter, Lexi,” Mom answered for her. She was a thirty-six-year-old woman and didn’t need her mother speaking for her. But right now, exhaustion was pressing down on her more every minute.
“The only bags we need tonight are there by the door.” Lexi nodded at the two small-wheeled suitcases. “I really need to get some sleep before I start dealing with—” she gestured in his general direction “—this.”
Her tone made it sound like he was the bellhop. She really didn’t care at this point. She wanted a bed and she wanted it now. She just prayed the upstairs was a hell of a lot nicer than this time capsule from the forties. She brushed past him, being sure to keep her eyes away from the towel around his waist, and headed up the stairs. He scrambled to turn on the light switch on the wall behind her.
“I thought I was sneaking up on a robbery, so I left the lights off.”
Mom followed Lexi as he grabbed the bags. “Do you have a lot of robberies here?” Her voice made the question sound naively innocent, as if she was asking how often it rained on Cape Cod.
“At the motel? No. But every small town has its share of bored teenagers looking for mischief. Once tourist season starts, that number goes up substantially.” He called up to Lexi. “There’s a double light switch at the top of the stairs on the right.”
She flipped the switches and looked around with relief. The apartment was, most importantly, clean, and second, not brown. The floor plan was open, and it had a nice living area with textured laminate floors the color of driftwood. The decor was a blend of midcentury modern and coastal, with a large blue sofa facing a wall of windows with a sliding glass door. There was a small white brick fireplace in the corner. The beadboard ceiling was vaulted, giving a sense of space. Behind her was a bright kitchen—not huge, but efficient. The counters, including the long peninsula, were blue and white tiles in a checkerboard pattern. A little busy for her taste, but it was cute. A hallway led past the kitchen, presumably to where the bedrooms were. The layout reminded her of the shotgun houses she’d seen in New Orleans—long and narrow. But livable for the short time they’d be here.
Her mom and Sam stepped up into the living room, and he swept his arm around, giving a bullet-point tour as he pointed. “The sliding door leads out to a big deck above the motel office. Obviously, that’s the kitchen back there. Bathroom over there with a shower. Two bedrooms share a full bath down the hall. They don’t have the view this space does, but they’re pretty good sized. The apartment gets wider as it goes back. There’s an outside entrance back there with stairs down to a private parking area behind the motel.”
Now that he mentioned it, she could see the apartment was pie-shaped, narrowest at the window wall. It certainly wasn’t as traditional and ornate as the house she’d grown up in, but it was bright and inviting. This would be her home for a few months, until she could convince Mom that neither of them belonged in Winsome Cove.
That was the deal she’d made with Max and Jennifer. All three Bellamy siblings agreed someone needed to keep an eye on Mom until she came to her senses. Going a little wild after the divorce was one thing. But insisting she was going to move to Cape Cod to run a motel she’d just inherited was a lot more dramatic than dying her hair hot pink, or trading her Talbots wardrobe for one from Forever 21.
Phyllis Bellamy had been the quintessential stay-at-home soccer mom and socialite housewife throughout her forty-year marriage to Bob Bellamy. She’d kept the house spotless. She’d joined Dad at the country club every Friday for dinner. She’d hosted bridge club and run fundraisers for all the most socially acceptable charities. She’d attended the United Methodist Church every Sunday, always sitting in the same center pew. But she’d never once run any kind of business. When she’d insisted she wasn’t going to sell the motel until she’d “checked it out,” they figured they had to protect her.
Lexi had been first up, since she was unemployed and had already been living with Mom for a few months after losing her job, her Chicago apartment and her reputation. Max and Jennifer had promised they’d each take a turn here in New England if she couldn’t get Mom to sell right away.
“Point me to the smaller bedroom.” Right now, she just wanted to sleep. “And please tell me the bed is made.” She took the handle of her suitcase and turned toward the hallway.
“Uh, yeah... I gotta get my stuff out of there first.” He moved ahead of her. “That’s the room I was using tonight. Like I said, we didn’t expect you for a few more days...”
She waved her hand. She didn’t care. “Are the sheets clean?”
“Well...they were fresh tonight but I’ll change them—”
“Don’t bother.” What a weird welcome to Cape Cod—a towel-clad hottie threatening her with a fireplace poker before offering to make her bed.
Sam turned on the light in the bedroom and dashed around, grabbing a T-shirt off the dresser and yanking it over his head. He gripped khaki shorts in one hand while he picked up a small duffel bag. “I’ll, uh...give you a better tour of the place tomorrow.”
“Yup. Whatever. Good night.” She crawled into the bed and fell onto the pillow. “And goodbye.”
