Page 61 of Smuggler's Cove
Five minutes later, Lincoln was struggling with his set of keys and eventually tapped his elbow on the door. “Delivery!”
“You can leave it outside. Thanks.” Madison and Olivia giggled.
“You are on a roll,” Lincoln called from the other side of the door. Olivia dashed over to let him in.
“Thank you.” Lincoln gave his wife a peck on the cheek. “At least I can count on you to open the door.”
“Only because you are bearing nutritious and delicious food.” She giggled and returned the kiss.
Madison was already in the kitchen, gathering plates, forks, serving spoons, and napkins. “What is everyone drinking?”
“Beer, for me,” Lincoln called, as he removed the well-sealed food from the shopping bags. “Hon?” He looked over at Olvia.
“What kind of beer do you have?” Olivia asked. She considered herself a beer snob. She would rather die of thirst than take a swig of Budweiser or Miller Lite.
“Stella Artois and Blue Moon,” Madison replied.
“I will take a Blue Moon. Got a slice of orange?”
Madison rummaged through her refrigerator. “This is pathetic,” she said to herself. “I have something that looks like it could be an orange, or a very old apple,” she called out.
Olivia grinned at Lincoln. “Pardon me while I rescue your sister from domestic bliss.”
For all her talent, Madison was not much of an artist when it came to the kitchen or cooking. Olivia took the wrinkled piece of fruit. “I think it’s salvageable.” She cut a wedge and put it in a beer glass, then poured her drink. Lincoln liked his out of the bottle. Once when they were in a pub, the waiter asked if he wanted it in a glass. Lincoln’s response was, “But it’s already in a glass.” He used that joke over and over until it solicited moans from his friends.
Once everything was on the table, they each took a seat. “I’d like to say grace tonight,” Madison offered.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” Lincoln placed the back of his hand on his sister’s forehead. Madison gently slapped it away.
“All this stuff with Uncle Kirby made me realize we should be thankful for what we have.”
“Let’s not forget how hard we’ve worked to get here,” Lincoln added.
“Exactly. We were lucky enough to have the mental acuity, education, and integrity. So, please humor me. This may be the one and only time.” Madison bowed her head and took Lincoln’s and Olivia’s hands in hers. “Thank you, Lord, for all the blessings in our life. We may not always show our gratitude, but I promise I will make more of an effort. Amen.”
“Ditto and amen,” came from Lincoln.
“I shall do the same,” Olivia added. “Amen.”
“See? That was not so hard.” Madison held up her glass. “To Uncle Kirby.”
They talked about the festival and if they should give a little speech. “Detective Burton didn’t give me any details except the date. But I think I might volunteer.”
Lincoln almost spit out his beer. “Are you sure you are alright? It was just a few days ago when you were totally disgusted. Now you want to play nice in the sandbox?”
“Ha. Sandbox. Get it?” Madison caught the pun before Lincoln did. She began to clear the table. “By the way, what did you want to talk about?”
Lincoln went back to the bench where he’d left his attaché case. “I’ve been doing some financial projections.”
“Projections? What kind?” Madison asked, and then gave Olivia a side glance. Olivia was as much in the dark as Madison and shrugged.
“Did you know that Uncle Kirby took in around thirty-five thousand dollars last year?”
“From the marina?” Madison looked dubious.
“Yes, from the marina. There are a lot of people who like to go crabbing. He was averaging a thousand dollars per weekend in the summer months.”
“Seriously?”
