Page 42 of Smuggler's Cove
“What did you say?” Lincoln was not sure if Madison was speaking to him or trying to avoid him hearing what she was saying.
“Just figuring out what time to leave.” Madison gave Olivia a sheepish grin and looked at her schedule. “I have a meeting at ten. Should last about an hour. Tops.”
“Okay. Text me the address, and I will meet you there in the afternoon. I will let you know my ETA.”
“Excellent! This is so exciting!” Madison could not hold back her enthusiasm.
“You need to tone it down a bit. You do not want the staff to know that you can be a fun person.”
“Ha, ha. Iama fun person.” Madison pouted.
“Not when you’re in your white uniform.” Olivia winked again. “Which reminds me. You never answered my question about disguises.”
“What about it?” Madison cocked her head.
Olivia rolled her eyes. “You’re incorrigible.”
“Another one of my disguises,” Madison tossed back. “Okay, so let’s make a plan.”
Olivia arranged for a car service and then checked the internet for restaurants in the area. There was a lovely spot called One Willow on a nearby marina. Olivia stared at the photos. She forwarded the link to Madison’s email. “Hope this is what Uncle Kirby’s place looks like.”
Madison opened the link and checked the photos of the restaurant. “Wow. I’m with you, sister.”
Chapter Ten
A Rude Awakening
The following day, Madison blasted through the meeting and hopped into the car with Olivia. She clutched the portfolio with all the legal papers.
It took a little over an hour to arrive at One Willow. The place was spectacular. Floor-to-ceiling windows with a view no matter where you sat. There was an outdoor dining deck and a dining dock, and a captain’s bar. The manager, Jason, introduced himself and showed them to a table.
“Is this your first visit with us?” he asked politely.
“Yes, but we hope it will be the first of many.” Madison was still high on the idea. “My uncle owned a marina in Smuggler’s Cove. Unfortunately, he passed away, but he left the place to me and my brother.” Jason furrowed his brow, trying to recall a marina in Smuggler’s Cove. “On the Navesink.”
“Yes, that’s where Smuggler’s Cove is. On the Navesink.” He laughed. “Enjoy your lunch.”
“Shall we have a prosecco? To celebrate?” Madison suggested.
“I suppose it would be appropriate,” Olivia agreed. Normally neither drank during the day, but one glass of bubbly to toast their new legacy could not hurt.
After they finished their lunch and paid the bill, Jason thanked them for coming in. “Good luck with everything. Hope to see you again soon.”
“I am sure you will,” Madison cooed.
The women got back into the car and headed in the direction of Smuggler’s Cove. When the driver approached the waterway, Madison kept looking back and forth, but saw nothing but dilapidated docks, a few gas pumps, and a dozen or so clam boats. Insisting this could not be right, Madison got out of the car and proceeded to the dock to ask where the Taylor Marina was. Someone pointed to a sign that confirmed that the dilapidated bunch of woodwasthe Taylor Marina. She would have stomped all the way back to the car, but one of her stilettos got caught between the dock planks and propelled her forward. It was a mortifying and graceless splat, with her white suit now marred with bait and slime, and maybe a few clams. Lincoln arrived in time to help her up as she raged against the disgusting inheritance, insisting they would put it on the market the very next day.
Her clothes were a mess; her shoes were broken. She urged her brother to help her to the vehicle. She just wanted to go home. Then it occurred to her she could not sit in a car for two hours reeking of fish.
One of the clammer’s wives took pity on the city girl. “C’mere, hon.” The weatherworn face of a woman smiled at her. She handed Madison a pair of freshly rinsed Crocs. “Follow me.”
Madison glumly picked up her broken Jimmy Choos and tossed them into a bucket of fish scraps that was sitting on the dock.
“Hey, hon, we use that for chum.” The woman stuck her gloved hand into the bucket and pulled them out. “Oh, such a shame. These are nice. I mean, theywerenice.” Shetsked. “Couldn’t get my fat foot into one of these.” She pulled out a plastic bag from her back pocket and handed it to Madison. “Here ya go.”
Madison grumbled, “Thank you,” and placed the soon-to-be-trash shoes into the bag. She followed the woman past an old pickup with a truck cap bolted over the bed. The woman opened the back and took out a clean pair of cargo pants and a flannel shirt. Madison was not sure which was worse—the slime or the clothes. She gave them a cursory sniff. At least they were clean.
Madison stood there, speechless. Where was she supposed to change? She leaned toward the woman’s parched face as if to ask.
