Coming Home by Mariah Stewart Page A

the nail heads look like they’re from the forties, maybe the fifties.”
    Mia grinned. “I figure Miss Ridgeway must have had some kind of midlife crisis right around that time. You know, out with the old, in with the new? Only she didn’t toss the old, thank goodness. There’s still a lot of lovely old Victorian pieces in the attic and in the garage loft. I’m figuring she probably put them into storage when she bought what you see in there now.”
    “I remember my grandparents having a sofa in their living room that was very similar to yours.”
    “Mia said it was even the same color.” She opened the oven door and peered inside, then closed it again. “I asked Nita—she’s one of the antique dealers in town—to look over some of the furniture and the artwork. She said she couldn’t imagine what the grandniece had taken, judging by the quality of the items that were left behind. She either didn’t take the time to really look through the house, or she didn’t know what she was looking at.” Vanessa covered the bowl holding the dough with plastic wrap and placed it in the refrigerator to chill as the recipe directed. “Nita took some pieces that I didn’t particularly like on consignment in her shop.”
    “Did they sell?”
    “Not yet, but she only took them a few weeks ago. She thinks they’ll go quickly once the tourist season begins for real. We have A Day on the Bay coming up next month, and things will get pretty busy from then right through to the end of the year.”
    “What’s A Day on the Bay?”
    “That’s when everyone brings out their boats and we have races. Sailboats, motorboats … you name it, we race it. People come from all over to compete as well as to check out the boats in the marina that are for sale. They even bring out the old skipjacks to show them off. They used to call it Harbor Fest but last year they changed the name.”
    The timer on the oven buzzed and she grabbed a mitt and removed yet another tray of cookies and set them aside to cool.
    “Mia wants to glaze these for Saturday, but I don’t know.” Vanessa gnawed on her bottom lip. “I’m afraid they’ll stick together.”
    “The glaze is that lemon stuff that goes on top?”
    She nodded.
    “My mom used to do that at night before she went to bed, so the icing would be solid in the morning,” he told her. “What if you put that stuff on them today? Wouldn’t it be hard enough by Saturday to not stick?”
    “Maybe. I don’t know. I guess we could try a few of the ones that have cooled and see how they are by this evening. I baked several batches last night but they’re in the freezer.”
    He reached past her and picked up the recipe.
    “Wouldn’t this go faster if we doubled or tripled the recipe?”
    “Yes, but we still have to chill each batch for about two hours, and we still only have one oven.”
    “So we’ll stagger them.” He looked around. “Why don’t I wash up all the stuff that you’ll need for the next batch while you roll out that one?”
    “That would save some time.” She nodded. “Thanks.”
    He ran water in the sink and gathered the used bowls and spoons and the beaters from the counters.
    “I hear you went out on Hal’s boat yesterday.” She stood across the room, at the table, and rolled out another batch of dough.
    “Yeah. Nice of him to take me.”
    “Hal Garrity is the nicest man on the face of the earth,” she told him.
    “He obviously thinks the world of you, too,” Grady noted. “He said he thinks of you as a daughter.”
    “I wish to God he was my dad.” Mia stopped working and turned around. “I’m sure my life would have been very different if he had been. Beck and I had the same mother, but not the same father.”
    “Sorry.”
    “So am I. Not about Beck, but about … oh, whatever.” She smiled wryly and turned back to the work at hand. “So what did you think of the Shady Lady?”
    “Who? Oh, you mean Hal’s boat. It was great. I’d never fished