Page 2 of Taking a Chance on Charlevoix
Gabby gave her another sweeping look. “The white jeans, turquoise sweater and tan ankle boots? Not in Michigan. Up in Charlotte or Petoskey, everyone is still dressed for winter,” Gabby said with such warmth that Marlowe smiled. “Let me guess. You were in Charlevoix for the holidays.”
“Yes, my sister lives there.” Maybe Gabby knew of Izzy's shop. “She owns the Coffee and Cupcakes shop in downtown Charlevoix. Have you heard of it?”
Her new seatmate nodded. “Think I've seen it. Great pastries in the windows. Makes me think about taking a pass on my diet.” She chuckled as if that idea was ridiculous.
Gabby looked comfortably padded. No scarecrow look for her and Marlowe found it refreshing. “Yes, we're all proud of Isabel and her pastry shop. My sister, aunt and I came to Charlevoix for the holidays. Family summer home.” No need to go into the amazing surprise Izzy had provided that Christmas. But sometimes it was easier to divulge secrets about yourself to a stranger, someone you would never see again.
“Quinn, Quinn.” Gabby's forehead might have wrinkled as she tried to recall the name. But Marlowe suspected that Botox shots were making wrinkles difficult.
“She uses her married name now. Izzy Malone. And that would be the name from her first husband.” Was she making things too complicated?
“I see.” Gabby's eyebrows lifted. That smooth forehead? Maybe Marlowe should try some Botox. Every day she needed more concealer for the circles under her eyes. The lines bracketing her cheeks fanned out when she smiled. Marlowe would never admit her aging concerns to anyone. No, her sisters and friends thought she was totally comfortable with her life and her age. Most of the time that was true. But today her confidence felt shredded.
All the passengers had been seated. The flight attendants were going down the aisle, doing a final check. The cabin door had been sealed and the engines hummed as the plane backed away from the gate. Time to turn the tables. “And how about you? What’s your line of work?” Obviously Gabby did not stay home and bake chocolate chip cookies.
“Decorator and realtor,” Gabby said crisply. “And not in that particular order.”
How delightful. “You mean, you're responsible for all the summer homes with their blue and aqua trim and the spacious islands with white Carrera marble tops?” During her holiday visit, Marlowe had gathered several booklets listing local homes for sale. The pictures had led her to websites with a lot of interior photos. She was casing the market.
Gabby chuckled. Marlowe suspected she'd hit a nerve. “Pale cream with white trim is a popular combination, and so is marine blue with aqua. I might do a little bit of that or my people do.”
Okay, that was a clue, neatly dropped in Marlowe's lap. Gabby was in management. Here she hesitated. Asking too many questions could be considered rude. But this woman didn’t seem to have a shy bone in her body. Marlowe straightened in her seat. This was the point when men often challenged each other.My career is better than yours. But Marlowe wasn't into that.
“And how about you?” Gabby asked. “What do you do? Sales, I would guess.”
“Real estate. Naples, Florida.” She tried not to inject too much pride in her words.
Gabby ran a pointed tongue over her lips. “Interesting market. Probably puts Charlevoix to shame.” The flight attendant came through the cabin to collect their glasses. When Gabby asked for water, Marlowe did the same. Planes could be so dehydrating. That was the last thing her skin needed after two weeks of heat blasting from the ancient air ducts at Sunnycrest. Her wrinkles would probably deepen. Self conscious, she ran a hand over one cheek.
“Lately the real estate market has been at the mercy of the elements,” Marlowe said, thinking of the last hurricane seasonand the toll it had taken on Florida. Some waterfront properties had to be rebuilt from the studs.
The flight attendant returned with their water. Marlowe took a couple gulps, hoping to stave off dehydration. Gabby sipped, her face a thoughtful study. “Right. Those storms in the southeast. That must be miserable. Thank goodness we don’t have that in Petoskey or Charlevoix. Could I ask how your family wound up in Michigan?”
“Summer home. Chicago family.”
“Ah yes.” Gabby eyes brightened. “Lots of Chicago people escaping to Lake Michigan. You say your sister lives there now, shop and everything?”
“My baby sister. Right out of high school, she fell in love with a local boy.” The champagne had loosened Marlowe’s tongue.
“So young? Isn't that just the kiss of death?” Tossing back her head, Gabby laughed.
Marlowe had definitely thought so at the time. “Unfortunately the marriage didn't last but Isabel loves the area. Our family has the house so she lives there.” Marlowe gave the name of the street. She felt herself withdrawing a little bit since she might be running into this woman in town. Probably not wise to reveal too many family secrets, not that they had many.
“There’s a lot of that in Charlevoix,” Gabby said. “Families own homes for a long time, and eventually one of them takes on the house. The lake has gotten into their blood. Some even live in it and take the train into work.”
“It's hard to give up a place where you've had so many happy times.” Nostalgia snagged Marlowe again. Wasn’t that what had pulled them back to Sunnycrest this past season? A forgotten sense of family and all the good times they'd shared. Her older sister and aunt were determined that they would all end up in Charlevoix.
But was Marlowe ready? The question had come upon her like a winter cold as her sister drove away that morning. Sam had continued on to Chicago. And now Marlowe was having second thoughts. Did she really want to sell her elegant condo overlooking the ocean? Could she handle the cold days in Michigan and the snow that never stopped? Indecision gnawed at her stomach unchecked. Maybe she needed some food.
“You’re lucky if your family comes to some agreement about the family home,” Gabby said in a thoughtful tone. “Some nasty legal battles have been waged over family holdings.”
“Really? I've never heard about that.” How awful to get into a legal struggle over a house that had meant so much to everyone.
“Isabel, such a lovely, traditional name.” A smile tugged at Gabby’s lined lips. “Your mother must be a romantic.”
“I guess she was,” Marlowe murmured, although as a child she’d never thought of her mother like that. “We lost our parents when we were younger. An auto accident.”
“So very sorry.” The note of sincerity made Marlowe turn toward her new friend. She was used to hearing the clipped “I’m sorry for your loss,” not the sincere regret found on this woman’s face.
