Grand Passion

resort folded. It wasn't the right kind of establishment for this section of the coast. At any rate, after I opened the inn, Andromeda and Daystar decided I needed a first-rate kitchen to attract business. They, on the other hand, needed a stable source of income to run the Retreat. They waved a contract in my face, and I signed.”
    “Just like that?”
    “Sure. I tend to make most decisions on the spur of the moment. For instance, I bought this place within twenty-four hours of looking at it. Of course, if I'd gotten a good look at the antique plumbing I might have hesitated a bit. It gave me nothing but trouble for the first two years. But Benjy wandered into my office one day a year and a half ago looking for a job, and my maintenance problems were solved.”
    “Until Benjy disappeared last night?”
    Cleo frowned. “I wonder where he is. I'm getting a little worried. It's not like him to just up and vanish like this. He and Trisha…” The phone rang before Cleo could finish the sentence. She snatched up the kitchen extension that hung on the wall of the nook. “Robbins' Nest Inn.”
    “Cleo? Thank God. This is Nolan.”
    “'Morning, Nolan. A little early for you to be calling, isn't it?” Cleo relaxed back against the wall and braced one foot on the bench. She saw Max's gaze go to her bright, gold-toned sneakers. She thought she detected disapproval in his cold gray eyes.
    “Sorry.” Nolan's voice was uncharacteristically sharp. “Cleo, I need to see you as soon as possible.”
    She groaned. “I told you I couldn't have dinner with you until the weekend. I've got an inn full of guests.”
    “Forget dinner. I want to talk to you right away. This is important.”
    Cleo took her foot down off the bench and straightened. She had never heard this particular edge in Nolan's voice. “Is something wrong?”
    “You tell me.”
    “You're not making a whole lot of sense, here, Nolan.”
    “Damn it, Cleo, I have to talk to you.”
    “Take it easy,” Cleo said soothingly. “We'll talk. Do you want to come by the inn now?”
    “No,” he said swiftly. “I can't do that. Look, can you meet me down at the beach?”
    “Nolan, this is February, not August. It's cold outside. Why do you want to meet at the beach?” Cleo was acutely aware that Max was listening to every word.
    “The beach, Cleo. Fifteen minutes. You owe me that much, at least.”
    “I owe you? Nolan, have you gone nuts? I don't owe you a thing.”
    “You do now. I'll see you in a few minutes.”
    “Wait a second, I've got the breakfast crowd to deal with. I can't just dash out of here.”
    “This won't take long,” Nolan said. “And it's really important. It affects both our futures.” He hung up the phone.
    Cleo made a face as she replaced the receiver. “He sounds a trifle upset. Guess I'd better go see what he wants.”
    “Who's Nolan?” Max picked up the knife again and started in on the second muffin.
    “Nolan Hildebrand is the part-time mayor of Harmony Cove. I think he has bigger political aspirations, but I try not to hold that against him. I mean, somebody has to go into politics, right? At any rate, I've been sort of seeing him for about five months.”
    Max's gaze was hooded. “Sort of seeing him?”
    Cleo blushed. “You know. Dating him. It's not like either one of us has a lot of choice around Harmony Cove. It's a very small town, in case you didn't notice.”
    “I noticed.”
    “Well, anyhow, Nolan and I go out to dinner a couple of times a week when I'm not too busy here at the inn.” Cleo didn't know why she was feeling awkward. Perhaps it was because Nolan was one of only a tiny handful of men she had dated since the death of her parents four years earlier.
    It had taken a long time to get over the searing trauma that had shattered her life the day she had walked into the blood-spattered living room of her parents' home. It was that same terrible room that she still saw in the occasional nightmares that brought her awake in a cold sweat.
    The authorities had called it a case of murder-suicide. For some reason no one could explain, perhaps in the heat of a passionate quarrel, successful businessman Edward Robbins had killed his wife and then turned the gun on himself.
    Cleo had never been able to accept the reality of it. Six months of therapy had done little to help. She was gradually able to deal with the loss, but not the reasons behind it. They made no sense to her and never would.
    She had been an only