Postcards From Cedar Key

Book 4: Cedar Key

by Terri DuLong

Genres: Family Life; Sagas; Women's Fiction

Synopsis

A southern Debbie Macomber, but with a flair all her own.--Karin Gillespie In this poignant novel set amid the close-knit residents of Cedar Key, Florida, New York Times bestselling author Terri DuLong creates a story of old wounds healed--and bright new beginnings . . . Everyone has been eagerly awaiting the opening of Cedar Key's newest shop, Berkley's Chocolates & Gems. For Berkley Whitmore, moving to the peaceful Florida island is more than a business opportunity. Beneath the bright purple streak in her dark hair lies a woman struggling with self-doubt. In Cedar Key, Berkley hopes to uncover the secrets that rippled through her mother's life, and in time, perhaps fill the gaps in her own. Berkley's mouthwatering truffles and quirky charm soon draw a wide circle of friends--including the knitting enthusiasts who purchase yarn spun from her two alpacas. To her surprise, Berkley also attracts the admiration of Saxton Tate III, an English mystery author. And with the help of an old-timer local, she begins to piece together the truth about her mother and estranged father. Understanding the past brings a glimpse of what her future could be--if she accepts the love borne on the soft island breeze, and the happiness she's been seeking for so long . . . "DuLong brings us a heartwarming story with genuine characters. . .. Tender and poignant, perfect for those who love knitting as well as the bonds between women." – RT Book Reviews (4 Stars) on Sunrise on Cedar Key "A delightful addition to that genre of needlecraft-inspired books." -- Library Journal on Casting About "You'll fall instantly in love with Cedar Key and this homespun knitting community, crafted with expert hands." -- New York Times bestselling author, Lori Wilde

Release date: October 24, 2011

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 305

Sample

“So you were looking for a small, quiet town where you could relocate?” I heard the woman ask as I carefully placed her truffles in the box.

I nodded and smiled while focusing to make sure that I had each chocolate perfectly lined up.

“Yes,” I told her, although it wasn’t the entire truth. “Unfortunately, Salem became too busy for my liking.”

“That’s right. Chloe said you were from the Witch City. Oh, and I’m real sorry about the loss of your mother.”

“Thank you,” I said, and wondered what she’d think if she knew Mom was upstairs in my apartment.

I closed the box and attached the island-shaped gold seal that displayed my shop name, Berkley’s Chocolate & Gems, before ringing up the sale.

“Well, I’m Polly,” the woman said. “I own the Curl Up and Dye Hair Salon over on Third Street. If you’re lookin’ for a new style, drop on by.”

I noticed that her glance strayed to the deep purple streak that ran along the side of my dark brunette hair.

“Thanks,” I told her even though I couldn’t remember the last time I’d crossed the threshold of a hair salon. A few months before, I’d decided it was time to get rid of the long hair that had hung to my shoulders for years. Using a good pair of cutting shears I’d proceeded to snip away until I was left with a one-inch pixie style that complemented my oval-shaped face, only requiring a shampoo and a bit of mousse and I was good to go. I’d never been one to fuss with fancy styles, nor was I one to follow current trends. Hence, the purple streak fit me.

Polly reached across the counter to take her chocolates. “I’m very anxious to try these. I’ve been counting the days to your opening since last November.”

“I know, and Chloe understood about my delay. I was lucky that she was willing to hold the apartment and this shop for me. My mother took ill shortly after I returned to Salem from my visit here. She passed away in November, and then I had a lot of things to tend to.”

“Oh, I can only imagine. Losing a family member brings so many tasks that need to be done. I remember when I lost my mother and had to clean out her house. My sister and I spent a couple months trying to decide what to keep and what to get rid of.”

“Right,” was all I said, and thought of the postcards tucked away in my desk drawer.

“Well, I won’t keep you any longer, but it was nice to finally meet you.”

“Same here, and I hope you’ll enjoy the chocolates.”

She turned toward the door and then paused in front of the circular table where I had arranged my display of crystals and other gems.

“Oh,” she said, reaching out a finger to touch a rose quartz crystal. “How beautiful. You also sell these?”

“Yes.” A customer had been in earlier, and I now saw that my display wasn’t in the symmetrical arrangement that I’d created. I repositioned the amethyst above the pyramid-shaped crystal. “Do you like gems?”

“I don’t honestly know. What are they used for? I mean, what do you do with them?”

I smiled, both at her question and the fact that my display was again in balance.

“Well, all gems have energy,” I explained. “Crystals are used for healing and to bring positive changes in the mind. Many people use them for meditation. Our bodies have a complex electromagnetic system, and nature has created crystals to be perfect electromagnetic conductors. Each one has a unique vibrational resonance, and they’ve been known to have a positive effect on our body systems. Pick one up and hold it in your hand.”

Polly reached out, allowing her hand to pause briefly before choosing a six-sided prism. She folded her fingers across the gem. “Oh, it feels quite warm,” she said, after a few moments.

I nodded. “Right. That’s the energy of the crystal interacting with your energy.”

“Well, I’ll be darn,” she said, replacing the gem on the table. “I always say you learn something new every day. Thanks for explaining that to me. Now I’m going home to savor these chocolates.”

“My pleasure,” I told her as I moved the crystal a smidgeon to the left of where Polly had placed it.

I heard my stomach growl and glanced at my watch. Twelve-thirty. No wonder I was hungry—it had been over seven hours since I’d had breakfast. I flipped the cardboard clock on my door to one-thirty, got my keys, locked the door, and stepped outside onto Second Street.

I stood there for a few moments breathing in the clean March air. Spring had arrived on the island of Cedar Key with warm temperatures and the scent of tropical blooms. March in the Boston area could be very iffy, and it wasn’t unusual for a St. Patrick’s Day blizzard to descend on winter-weary residents, so I was relishing my first spring in the Sunshine State.

I walked around the corner, through the courtyard, and up the stairs to my apartment. Stepping into the living room, I heard a meow and saw Sigmund come running from the bedroom.

I picked him up to cuddle in my arms and rubbed my chin back and forth across the top of his large, dome-shaped head. “Have a tough morning sleeping, did you?” I received another meow in reply as we headed to the kitchen.

“Time for us to eat, fellow,” I told him as I opened a can of Fancy Feast. After placing his bowl on the floor, I heated up some of the squash soup that I’d prepared the night before, and then settled myself at the table that overlooked SR 24.

Chloe had been right. I noticed more traffic entering town for the start of the weekend. She’d told me that my busiest days in the shop would probably be Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.

I had been fortunate to hook up with Chloe the previous year during my first visit to Cedar Key. I recalled wandering into the coffee café across the street and being greeted by Grace, her sister Chloe, and their friend Suellen. All three had been friendly and made me feel welcome. Although I’d only come at that time to see the town—the town where my mother had chosen to disappear when I was five—I knew now that deep down inside I’d planned all along to eventually spend a significant amount of time here. Enough time to discover the answers that I’d wanted for the past forty years. So when Chloe told me that she’d recently purchased the Hale Building across the street and had both an apartment for rent and retail space for a shop, I knew my stars were aligned in a way that wouldn’t allow me to postpone my decision.

But that decision was delayed due to the sudden death of my mother. When I’d called Chloe to explain that I wouldn’t be able to come in November as planned, and that I’d understand if she had to cancel our rental agreement, she wouldn’t hear of it. She insisted that she wasn’t desperate for the rental money and a few more months would be fine. I offered to at least pay the rent during the time I wasn’t there, but she wouldn’t hear of that either. During the two weeks since I’d arrived on the island Chloe had been helpful with whatever I needed, and since she had the other apartment down the hall, I felt certain that over time we’d become good friends.

I rinsed out my bowl, placed it in the rack, and decided to make myself a cup of tea to go with the oatmeal cookies I’d baked that morning.

I took the tea and cookies into the living room and saw that Sigmund had resumed his position on the wide windowsill in the bedroom. From the day we’d moved in, he’d claimed that patch of sun as his own. I heard his loud purring and smiled. Sigmund was an extralarge black cat and my best buddy. We’d been together for ten years, since the morning he’d shown up at the back door of my chocolate shop in Salem.

I nibbled on a cookie and looked around the living room. Perfect for a woman alone. Just three rooms and a bath, but spacious, bright, and airy. I was especially happy with the oversized kitchen, which gave me plenty of room to make my chocolates. Although now that I was going to be purchasing most of them wholesale from Angell and Phelps in Daytona, I wouldn’t have to make quite as many chocolates as I’d had to in Salem. Hopefully, this would enable me to have more time for spinning the fiber from my alpacas.

I thought of Bosco and Belle, the source of my fiber, and felt a momentary stab of homesickness, but I wasn’t sure which home I longed for—coastal Maine, where I’d lived only till age five, or Salem, Massachusetts, where I’d resided until a couple weeks ago?

I recalled my phone conversation from the day before with Jill. Jill had been my first girlfriend when we lived in Maine, and when I moved to Salem with my mother and grandmother, Jill continued to keep in touch with printed letters enabling us to then become pen pals the summer before we began first grade. Our friendship had grown over the years since I’d left Topsham, and during those years, Jill had moved a few towns away, gotten married, divorced, and became the owner of Rumination Farm in North Yarmouth. Her alpaca farm was where I boarded Bosco and Belle, knowing they were well cared for, which Jill had assured me of the previous morning. But I still missed the fact that I wouldn’t be able to jump into my car and make the two-hour drive to visit both her and my alpacas.

My eyes strayed to the oak rolltop desk, and I let out a deep sigh. The postcards that I’d found after my mother died were safely stored in the top drawer—waiting for me to unravel their meaning. Waiting for me to understand things that my mother and grandmother would never discuss. And the postcards were the reason why I’d come to Cedar Key in the first place.

I pushed aside thoughts of Bosco and Belle and went into the kitchen to place my cup and plate in the sink before going to pat Sigmund.

“Be a good boy, Siggy. I’m closing at five . . . unless I get an onslaught of business, of course.”

When I came downstairs and walked to the corner of Second Street and SR 24, my plan was to run across the street to get myself some coffee at the coffee café, but I was surprised to see a gentleman sitting on the pavement in front of my shop reading a book. Obviously waiting for me to reopen. I glanced at my watch and saw that it was only one-twenty. I still had ten minutes—but business was business.

As I walked toward my shop I could see the man was probably mid- to late fifties, had curly gray hair, and seemed to be deeply engrossed in whatever he was reading.

Even when I stood just a few inches away from him, he didn’t acknowledge me or look up until I cleared my throat. The expression on his face was one of embarrassment as he pulled himself to a standing position while brushing off his jeans.

“I’m so terribly sorry,” he said, and I immediately recognized a very proper British accent. I believe people referred to it as the King’s English. “I have no doubt you’re the proprietor of the chocolate shop and I’m blocking your way to reopen.”

In addition to the British accent, I also noticed my loitering customer had a very pleasant face. One of those faces that isn’t just nice to look at but is wholesome and open and tempts one to want to know him better. Deep brown eyes stared back at me with a hint of interest.

I smiled and for the first time in ages, I felt the urge to flirt coming over me. Reaching out to put my key in the lock, I said, “Yes, that would be me, and I’d have to say this is a first. Finding a gentleman sitting on the pavement waiting for me to open. Any chance you’re a chocoholic?”

He followed me inside and his laughter filled the shop.

When I turned around, I noticed that he was about five inches taller than my five feet seven and that he was wearing a store-bought cable pullover sweater. Knitters noticed things like that.

“Now, that’s a first for me,” he said, a huge smile on his face. “Although I do admit to having quite a passion for chocolate, I’ve never been referred to as that.”

I hoped I hadn’t offended him. “Well, having that passion can be a good thing. Chocolate is actually quite good for people, as long as it’s not overdone.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve read all the studies on chocolate and they’re quite convincing. And I do limit myself to just two pieces per day. I must admit I’ve been waiting patiently for you to open since I heard about your shop last fall. Now I’ll be able to eliminate my monthly forays into Gainesville for my chocolate supply.”

“I didn’t realize there was a shop in Gainesville.” In addition to his height and sweater, I now noticed that this man had a most charming dimple in his chin when he smiled.

“Well, if there is one, I’m not aware of it. I go to Publix and purchase bags of Lindt Truffles. They’re quite good, but nothing compares with fresh, handmade chocolates. By the way, I’m Saxton,” he said, extending his hand across the counter. “Saxton Tate the third.”

I reached for his hand and let out a chuckle. “Seriously? That’s quite a name you have. Are you descended from royalty with that British accent along with the name?”

Without releasing my hand, he let out another burst of laughter. “I tend to doubt that, but you never know what skeletons families hide in their closets, do you?”

If you only knew, I thought.

He gave my hand a squeeze before letting go.

“No, I was just named for my father and my grandfather. Hence, the third. Grew up in a small village in the Cotswolds, but no royalty, I’m afraid. Oh, I also wanted to offer my condolences on the loss of your mother. I heard that was what detained your arrival in Cedar Key.”

I nodded. “Thank you. Yes, she passed away in November and I had to tend to various tasks before I could move down here. Do you live on the island?”

“I do. I’ve been here a few years now and I can’t see myself ever living anywhere else. I’m an author, and I receive much of my inspiration being surrounded by Mother Nature.”

I smiled. “You look like an author, and you certainly have a great name for book jackets. What type of books do you write?”

Saxton threw his head back laughing. “What exactly does an author look like?”

“Oh, well,” I mumbled, and felt myself getting flustered. “What I meant was . . . you know . . . a bit bohemian with, ah . . .” I gave him a full body scan. “Curly hair, the pullover sweater, jeans . . .”

“Well, then you should see me on a chilly day when I’m sporting my tweed cap and scarf.”

I wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not because I was already getting the impression that this man possessed a good amount of wit and humor.

Another smile crossed his face. “I write mysteries,” he told me. “Most of my novels were released in the UK, but I’m now with a publisher in New York and my second book with them will be out this fall.”

“I’m an avid reader, so I’ll have to be sure to pick one up.”

“I highly recommend the one released last year, A Deadly Secret, and I hope you’ll enjoy it. Lucas carries it at his bookshop across the street.”

What the heck was it all of a sudden about family skeletons and secrets? “Well, I’ll be sure to pick up a copy, and maybe you’ll autograph it for me.”

“It would be my pleasure, but you haven’t yet told me your name.”

I felt a smile cross my face and extended my right hand again. “Berkley,” I told him. “Berkley Whitmore, and it’s nice to meet you.”

A chuckle escaped him as once again his hand encircled mine. “Berkley? And you’re questioning the oddity of my name?”

Now it was my turn to laugh. “Right. Yeah, it is a bit unusual. My parents were students at Berkeley during the sixties when my mother got pregnant with me.”

“Ah, I see, and yes, that makes perfect sense.”

It did? Although I didn’t dislike my name, I always thought it was a bit silly of my mother to name me after her alma mater.

“Well, I’m definitely due for my chocolate, so it’s time for me to make my decisions,” he said, walking over to the glass case. “They look wonderful, and you make them yourself?”

I walked around the counter and pointed to the dark chocolate pieces shaped like clams. “I make those,” I told him. “Cedar Key is the number one place in the country for farm-grown clams. So I designed a mold to depict these. But those on that side,” I said, gesturing to my left, “are purchased wholesale from the wonderful chocolate shop in Daytona Beach, Angell and Phelps. I order my truffles and all the other chocolates in the case from them. I agree with their policy on selling only fresh chocolate, and they have no preservatives, so if I happen to be out of what you might like, I can order them and have them for you in just a couple of days.”

“I’ve been to that chocolate shop,” Saxton said. “I’ve done book signings on the east coast of Florida and found my way to their shop. You’re right, they’re quite wonderful chocolates.”

“So what can I get for you?” I asked, putting on a plastic glove.

“I’ll take four of your truffles, please. That’ll do me for today and tomorrow . . . and then I’ll just have to come back on Sunday to restock.”

I placed the chocolate into one of my extra small boxes, applied the seal, and rang up the sale. “Here you go,” I said, passing them across the counter.

“Thank you, and I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

I watched him leave the shop, and three things struck me: He was one of the few people meeting me for the first time who had avoided any comment on the purple streak in my hair. I had very much enjoyed conversing with him. I wasn’t displeased at all that Saxton Tate III would be returning to my shop on Sunday.

Before the afternoon was over I had made quite a few sales. All of the customers had been tourists visiting the island for the weekend, most of them purchasing chocolate, but a few had bought some of my smaller gems.

Just before five I stepped outside to see how busy Second Street was and saw Eudora Foster walking at a brisk pace toward my shop.

“Hello,” she hollered, and waved. When she got closer she said, “Have you already closed? I was hoping to get some chocolate.”

“You’re in luck. The shop is still open.”

Chloe had introduced me to Eudora, known to the locals as Miss Dora, the week before. She had taken over the yarn shop down the street, Yarning Together, and Chloe was her business partner.

“Come on in,” I told her.

Before walking to the glass case, Dora paused at the table that held my gems.

“Oh, goodness. Aren’t these gorgeous. I’ll have to tell my daughter, Marin, that you also sell crystals. She just loves those. Where do you get them?” she asked, picking one up and allowing it to lie in the palm of her hand.

“From Sedona in Arizona. I visited there a few years ago and I was quite impressed with the quality of their gems. So I order them wholesale from a shop there.”

“They’re just lovely.” She replaced the crystal on the table as her attention was drawn to the glass case of chocolate.

“Oh, what a nice selection.” Dora leaned forward to get a better look. “I see you have my favorite—raspberry truffles. Those are from Angell and Phelps, right?”

I nodded as I slipped the glove onto my right hand.

“Well, I’ll have one pound of those, please. Were you busy today?”

I began placing each chocolate into the box. “Yes, fairly steady with tourists, so I think I had a good first day.”

“You’ll find that the weekends will be your busiest times. That’s how it is at the yarn shop too. Oh, I wanted to ask you . . . Chloe said that you own your own alpacas?”

“I do. Bosco and Belle stay with my friend at her alpaca farm in Maine, Rumination Farm. I’d always knitted, but Jill got me into spinning a few years ago and that led to me purchasing a couple of my own alpacas. I had no place to keep them in Salem, so I’m fortunate that she boards them for me. Plus she does the shearing along with the process of turning the raw fleece into fiber and then she hand dyes it, so that really saves me time. By the time she ships it to me, I’m able to just sit down and spin it.”

“I see. And Chloe said that you have a small Internet business?”

“Yeah, I set up a website and I take orders and ship the yarn. A lot of my customers have particular requests for colors, and since Jill does the hand dyeing, I can accommodate them.”

“Well, Chloe and I were talking, and we wondered if you might be interested in selling some of your yarn to us for the shop. We get quite a few tourists looking for hand-spun alpaca yarn in the hand-dyed colors.”

I was certainly not one to turn away business. “Oh, that’s a great idea. Sure, I’d be very interested in doing that.” I rang up the sale and passed her the box.

“Okay, then,” Dora said. “I’ll get with Chloe and we’ll have you come over to the yarn shop so that we can discuss details. Thank you for the chocolate.”

“I hope you’ll enjoy it.”

She turned at the door to give me a wide smile. “Oh, I have no doubt that I will.”

After she left I walked to the table and rearranged the position of the crystal that Dora had picked up.

Then I emptied the cash register, placing the money into the zippered bag that I’d drop at the bank in the morning, shut off the lights, locked the door, and headed back upstairs to my apartment.

Not a bad first day, I thought, as I stepped into my living room and was immediately overcome with a sense of my mother’s presence. I heard Sigmund meow as my eyes flew to the mahogany credenza where I’d placed the marble urn containing the ashes of Jeanette Whitmore. Walking over, I reached out a finger to touch the smooth stone and traced an invisible circle along the side.

“Sorry, Mom,” I said out loud. “You’re staying put for a while. I’m not about to release you back into the universe until I get some answers.”

I can’t say that I was overwhelmed with business the following day, but it was a steady flow of customers. Mostly tourists, but some of the locals also dropped by to meet me and sample my chocolate.

Two of those locals were Sydney Webster and her daughter, Monica Brooks, along with Monica’s triplets and stepdaughter, Clarissa. I’d briefly met both women at the coffee café the previous year.

“It’s nice to see you’re open,” Sydney said, pushing the oversized stroller into the shop. “Welcome to Cedar Key. You remember my daughter, Monica? And this is my granddaughter, Clarissa, and Saren, Sidney, and Candace, my triplet grandchildren.”

I smiled as a wave of melancholy came over me. Seeing the women together brought back childhood memories of walking Essex Street with my own mother, stopping in various shops. Although I had good memories of time spent with my mother when I was a child, we had been far from close. Her overprotectiveness accounted for part of the reason, with me always wanting to rebel. But unlike my grandmother, who showered me with affection, I always felt my mother withheld a part of herself from me. And that was only enforced the summer that she chose to go away and leave me behind.

“Yes,” I said. “I remember Grace introduced us last year. Gosh, these babies are growing way too fast.” I bent down to stroke their little hands.

“They certainly are.” Monica laughed. “They had their first birthday last month.”

I stood up and noticed Clarissa beaming proudly at her siblings. “I bet you’re a great big sister. How old are you now?”

“I’m eleven, and yeah, Monica says I’m a big help to her.”

Monica ruffled the top of Clarissa’s head and smiled. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. Now let’s get some chocolate. I think we earned it.”

They made their choices as I filled the box.

“Oh, what are those?” Clarissa asked, pointing to the case.

“Those are my Cedar Key clams—rich, dark chocolate. Here,” I said, reaching for one. “Try a sample.”

Before I reached in for two more to give Sydney and Monica, Clarissa exclaimed, “Oh, I want these. They’re really good.”

Both women nodded after ta. . .