Page 9 of Artifice
Margaret nodded curtly. “Of course. We’d love to have you. Perhaps you could sit in on some of our instruction so you can see what our school day is like.”
“I’d like that.”
“And, of course, there’s the board meeting on Thursday and the fundraising gala on Friday. We’d love to have you here for those too.”
“I wouldn’t miss them.” Olive paused. “What are the chances I could also talk to some of the students? I’d love to hear their perspectives on how this program has impacted their lives.”
A shadow passed through Margaret’s gaze, but she smiled and nodded. “Of course. That only makes sense. We’ll be happy to do whatever you need.”
Olive grinned. “Great. I’ll be here bright and early in the morning. How does nine a.m. sound?”
“Sounds perfect.”
“Excellent. I’m planning on spending all week here and then leaving on Saturday. If there’s anything else you can do to help me see all aspects of this program, then I’d love that. Maybe I could even talk to some kids who’ve graduated from the program.”
Margaret’s smile remained terse. “I’m sure I can arrange that also.”
“Great.” Olive paused. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
One week. That was all the time Olive had to gather the information she needed.
To find out what happened to Colin Andrews.
She had no time to waste.
Olive couldn’t be seen in public with Tevin. The town was too small, and people might ask too many questions if they were seen together. That would make this assignment a little more challenging—but they were both up for challenges.
Edgewood, Maine, a town of 2,300, nestled against the Atlantic’s unforgiving edge. Founded in the late 1700s as a fishing village, the town still derived most of its income from the sea. Lobster traps and fishing trawlers lined the working harbor, while three seafood processing plants provided year-round employment to nearly a third of the residents.
The downtown area consisted of a four-block stretch of weathered clapboard buildings painted in faded blues, grays, and whites. Those buildings housed a hardware store, a grocery, two pubs, and several shops selling local crafts that attracted the modest summer tourism trade.
Visitors came mainly for the unspoiled coastline and the historic lighthouse that stood sentinel on the northern headland. Despite that, Edgewood remained blissfully overlooked compared to more popular coastal destinations farther south.
Olive had a knack for remembering numbers and facts that could sometimes be useless—but oftentimes, it wasn’t. She found the history of the town fascinating, however.
Olive needed to talk to the people here and find out what they knew. Sitting in her hotel room by herself wouldn’t get her any answers.
That was why she decided to eat dinner out at one of the town’s charming restaurants.
Olive pushed open the weathered blue door of The Salty Kettle, grateful to escape the misting rain that continued to fall.
The restaurant occupied the ground floor of a converted nineteenth-century chandlery, its maritime heritage preserved in the exposed wooden beams overhead and the collection of antique navigational instruments displayed along the whitewashed brick walls.
The hostess, a woman in her sixties with salt-and-pepper hair pulled into a loose bun, greeted Olive with an easy smile.“Just one tonight, dear? The counter’s full, but I’ve got a nice table by the window.”
Olive nodded, following the woman through the busy dining room. Monday night in early May should have meant a quiet off-season atmosphere. But The Salty Kettle appeared to be the exception to the rule. Nearly every table was filled.
The table offered a perfect view of the harbor, where fishing boats gently rocked against their moorings and strings of lights twinkled along the wharf despite the relatively early hour and gloomy weather. A small candle flickered in a mason jar on her table, its flame reflected in the rain-speckled window.
“Our special tonight is the lobster mac and cheese,” Olive’s server—her nametag read “Stephanie”—informed her, placing a glass of ice water on the table. “It’s what made us famous, if you believe the travel magazines. Chef uses three kinds of Maine cheese, cream from the dairy up the road, and lobster caught this morning. Comes with a side of garlic bread and house salad.”
The aroma of garlic, butter, and seafood that permeated the air had already made Olive’s decision for her. “I’m sold.”
“Perfect.”
As Olive waited for her meal, she mentally reviewed what she’d learned at Lighthouse Harbor that afternoon.
Margaret had been so eager to show her the plans for expansion, so transparent about their financial struggles. Her earnestness would make what Olive was planning to do both easier and infinitely more complicated.
