Page 25 of The Cottage on Blueberry Bay

Meredith didn’t like the idea of stepping into this man’s mess. “Like those people on television?”

“No, like art,” she said. “He rarely sold his art, and he painted all the time.”

“You know, maybe you should come,” Meredith said, changing her mind. “I’ll feel strange walking through his house without someone else.”Who knows him.

“I’ll head back to the house now,” Ginny said. She stood up and held out her hand to Meredith.

With a bit of hesitancy, Meredith held out her own, and the older woman embraced it with both her hands, shaking as she held Meredith’s.

“He’d be so happy you came.”

CHAPTER10

Meredith stepped out of her car and met Ginny on the front doorstep of Jacob’s cottage. She couldn’t deny the beauty of the location—a panoramic unobstructed view on the cliffs of the Atlantic Ocean. Granite walls lined the sandy beaches, and Jacob’s cottage clung to their ledges. The cold gray stone softened by the overgrown blueberry bushes scattered among beach roses and purple lupine. If it had been anyone else’s property, she would be amazed by the beauty. Now she only saw a cold gray house.

“Do you have a key?” Ginny asked as Meredith stood staring at the front door.

“Yes.” Meredith pulled out the small piece of wood first, which she realized she’d been rubbing with her thumb as she stood there. Meredith paused before putting the key into the hole. “Why a mermaid?”

“Excuse me?”

“Why did he sculpt a mermaid for the town?”

“Don’t you like it?” Ginny asked, as if she were offended.

“It’s beautiful,” Meredith said, sliding the key into the hole. “But why a mermaid? Are there legends of mermaids here?”

“You could say that.” Ginny looked out at the water—a stunning view one would find on a calendar, not in their backyard—and ignored Meredith’s question. “But I think he believed someone saved him from drowning like the rest of the men.”

Meredith didn’t ask any more as she twisted the key into the lock and swung the door open. A set of stairs greeted her, along with a smell of oil paints. The distinct fragrance sent her back to her mother’s art studio above the garage, sitting still and quiet while she painted the sea.

“My mother also had a thing for mermaids,” Meredith said. And that was when she saw the painting. Her mother’s familiar strokes hung above the fireplace. “I guess he knew that.”

Sitting perfectly on the mantle was a framed oil landscape. Like a fingerprint, her mother’s style of painting was unique. No one could replicate it. And like most of her mother’s signature pieces, a whimsical mermaid shadow hid in the background like anI Spy, but Meredith could find the hidden mythical creatures right away. She smiled as she saw her mother’s signature of three letters JCJ.

She went to walk through the living room but stopped short when her foot knocked over a pile of framed art. Like a deck of cards, the stack fell along the floor. Art lay everywhere—on top of each other, against each other, underneath each other, stuffed among other things. Everywhere, there were paintings after paintings after paintings. Landscapes mostly, ocean scenery, backdrops with granite cliffs. They all looked as though they had been painted from his own back yard. Fields of lupine and sea roses and seagrass and white flowered bushes—were they blueberry bushes?

“These are all his?” Meredith asked, counting quickly at the area by the front door. There had to be at least a couple dozen in the corner alone, and the room was packed full of canvases, framed art of all assorted sizes placed all over the room.

“Some are local artists he supported.” Ginny let out a heavy sigh. “But it’s mostly his.”

Ginny shook her head, pointing to more paintings, distinctive styles of Jacob’s. Portraits, abstracts, watercolors, even his shelves were filled with pottery and sculptures.

“Did you know my mom painted?” Meredith asked Ginny as she stepped over a stack of paintings, going deeper into the room.

“Yes,” Ginny said. “She’s a bit of a local legend around here.”

“My mother?” Meredith had no idea. Did Gordon know?

Ginny nodded. “One of her paintings hangs in town hall. She donated it after she received her lifetime achievement award.”

That shouldn’t have surprised Meredith. Her mother’s talent had been displayed in The Museum of Fine Arts in Boston and other galleries around the world. Her bold imagery of landscapes rivaled the best. Unlike Jacob, Jackie hadn’t produced this amount of work. Meredith glanced into another room, which she suspected would be the dining room. Just like the living room, artwork filled the space, cluttering the table and chairs. The cabinet filled with more pottery. Then she peeked into what looked like an office with even more art.

Meredith followed the only path through the living room into to the kitchen. Unlike the living room and dining room, the kitchen hadn’t been filled with art. The wood floors shined. The counters gleaned. The sink sat empty and dry. Jacob took care of this room.

She walked up to the small round table and froze when she saw the two photographs. One she had seen before—her mother’s senior picture. And the other was of a little girl standing at the edge of the ocean, letting the waves touch her toes. She had to have been five or six. Meredith may have never seen the photo, but she was certain it was her.

She stared at the photograph, not moving.

---