Page 29 of The Uncomplicated Café
Max’s name stopped Garth’s enormous rubber boots midstride. “You’re taking care of Sam’s kid?” He slowly swiveled back around.
“With my fiancée, Abby. We love Max like he’s our own. I’m not trying to stir up trouble. I’m sure you were questioned during Sam’s initial disappearance. I just want to—” Logan paused, struggling to verbalize his complicated string of emotions. Expelling a heavy breath, he confessed, “I just want to know more about Max’s father. I want to know what kind of man he was. He’ll always be a part of Max, and I want to honor that, to help keep his memory alive.” His chest tightened as his jumbled thoughts gained some clarity.
He couldn’t bring Max’s father back from the grave, but he could do everything in his power to respect and preserve his role in Max’s life.
Garth studied him a moment, his swarthy features softening beneath a bristly beard that covered most of his face. “Talk to Iris.”
“Iris?”
“Iris Hodge.” With a single name, Garth concluded their conversation and plodded back up the gangway.
“Wait. Was she a friend of Sam’s? Girlfriend?” To his recollection, neither Max nor Carla had mentioned her before. At least, not by name.
Over his shoulder, Garth barked, “Landlady,” and disappeared aboard his dilapidated boat.
Logan remained motionless, processing the information. Carla had mentioned they’d lived in a rental of some kind during their brief stay in Blessings Bay, but she hadn’t been more specific than that. And he doubted she could legally pass along the woman’s information anyway. But he needed to find her.
Pulling out his cell, he dialed the one person in town most likely to know Iris Hodge—his notoriously nosy neighbor, Verna.
His hunch paid off, and several minutes later, Logan found himself standing outside a quaint Cape Cod–style cottage on the outskirts of town. Four-feet-tall zinnias in vibrant pinks, purples, and reds lined a quintessential white picket fence. Impressed by the swath of colorful cosmos, salvia, and coneflowers, he made a mental note to ask Iris for gardening tips if he got the chance.
He knocked on the cheerful blue door.
A white-haired woman in her golden years—late eighties, maybe?—greeted him wearing a smudged gardening smock. “Hello?”
“Iris?”
“Yes, how can I help you?”
“I was hoping I could ask you a few questions about Sam Bailey.”
“Sam?” Her voice softened, a note of warmth in her whisper.
“Sam and his son, Max, used to live here with you?”
“Yes. Briefly. In my guesthouse out back. Best tenants I ever had.” Her pale silvery eyes clouded, as if the memories were bittersweet. “What is it you’d like to know?”
Logan sensed the woman cared for both Sam and Max. And, unlike Garth, she seemed willing to talk. Impulsively, he asked, “May I trouble you for a glass of water?”
Iris countered his request with a pitcher of sweet tea and homemade shortbread cookies that she served in a back garden even more lush and vibrant than the one out front. While shefreely shared stories about Max and Sam, Logan listened with interest, surveying his surroundings.
Max had played in this garden. He’d probably climbed that maple tree and fed the mottled koi fish lazily circling the small pond. The guesthouse, with its cutesy pink gingham curtains and overflowing window boxes, looked more like a granny’s hobby shed than a home for a burly fisherman and his young son, but what it lacked in space and masculinity, it made up for in coziness. He could see Max being happy here.
“I miss Max’s laughter and the sounds of his rowdy play,” Iris admitted, her gaze sweeping the serene garden. “It’s too quiet now.”
“What about your new tenants?”
“I never had the heart to replace Max and Sam. Not after what happened.” Her gaze fell to her iced tea. “Such a tragedy.” She swiped a finger through the beads of condensation on the glass. “I suppose I’ll have to find new tenants soon. I’m on a fixed income. But it’s hard to imagine anyone else living there.” A faint blush crept across her cheeks. “That must sound silly, since they were only here for a few months.”
“Not really. Max makes an impression on your heart pretty quickly.”
Meeting his gaze, she smiled as if they shared a special secret. “He does, doesn’t he? You know,” she said softly, glancing down at her iced tea again. “After what happened, I thought about taking Max in myself. But at my age, I didn’t think I could offer what he needed.” Her tone bore a note of shame.Poor lady.She’d carried that guilt a long time.
Logan reached across the table to pat her hand. “God worked it out.”
She raised her chin and nodded tearfully. “I’m so glad Max found a happy home. You seem to love him very much.”
“I do.” A lump formed in his throat.Yeesh.When had he become such a softy?
