The Scent Keeper(23)

* * *



It was a long afternoon. The two interlopers walked the length of the boardwalk, and Terry insisted on interviewing both Colette and Henry. Her voice was like her fragrance, filled with too much activity.

“So, you redid all these cottages yourself?” she asked. The man turned the black eye of the machine toward Henry. So far, no paper had come out of it, I noticed.

Henry nodded. The woman waited, but he said nothing.

“How about your customers?” Terry asked, turning smoothly to Colette. “This must be a gorgeous place in the summer.”

Colette’s eyes were warm and inviting. “We’ve got some wonderful guests; they come every year.”

“I know it’s off-season, but do you get bottle hunters?” Terry asked, excited. “We keep reading about the bottles showing up on the beaches around here. Wax seals, papers inside—but no messages. A real mystery, wouldn’t you say?”

I was standing to the side, almost hidden by one of the porch supports.

Please no please no please no, I thought.

Colette shot me the briefest of looks, then smiled at Terry.

“We’ve never needed a fuss to get business,” she said.

“Well, you certainly won’t now,” Terry declared. She turned to talk directly to the machine. “Make your reservations today, folks, because Secret Cove isn’t a secret anymore. Signing off—this is Terry from Hidden Hideaways on CTV. May all your vacations be fairy tales.”





THE BOARDINGHOUSE


We watched the story on the television in the living room. I still couldn’t wrap my head around the way it showed you people who weren’t there, places you couldn’t touch.

“Where are the smells?” I’d asked Henry the first time he’d showed it to me, and he chuckled.

“Now, wouldn’t that be something,” he said. I’d opened my mouth to tell him about my father’s machine, but then remembered it lying in pieces across the cabin floor, and said nothing.

In the days since I’d discovered the building with the hanging bones, I’d examined every machine in Henry and Colette’s house. I’d found ones that captured faces or voices, or played music, but none of them was like my father’s.

I thought of him, standing in our cabin, catching the scents of our life on a piece of paper.

How does it work, Papa?

Science and magic, Emmeline.

Every thought about my father was like that now; every memory shifted into a question. My thoughts were on a constant prowl, riffling through my past, looking for clues.

“Why did my father go to the island?” I asked Henry the night after I found the blue building.

He shook his head. “I honestly don’t know, darlin’. I’m sorry.”

I’d figured he would say that, but it didn’t make the answer any easier. This was my search, that much was certain, and I had precious little to go on besides memories and the scents of a room full of bones.



* * *



Now Henry and Colette and I sat on the couch, watching the glowing screen of the television, waiting. Dodge stayed on the floor, his chin on my knee.

“There it is!” Colette said suddenly, pointing to the screen. Our brightly colored cottages encircled the water like wildflowers. Henry looked gruff but lovable; welcome shone in Colette’s eyes.

“Down a long dirt road lies a little piece of magic.” Terry’s voice came from the box as the camera’s focus roamed over the curve of the cove, the boats in the harbor.

“It’s so beautiful,” Colette said, giving Henry a kiss on the cheek. He smiled and took her hand. I watched them as if they were a fairy tale I could read.



* * *



The calls started the next morning. By the end of the week, Colette was using a recorded message so she wouldn’t have to keep picking up the phone. It took me a while to get used to her disembodied voice floating through the house like a ghost: This is the Secret Cove Resort. We’re sorry to tell you we’re fully booked for the summer, but …

“What’s going to happen to our regulars?” Henry asked as we ate breakfast.

Colette was making notes in the reservation book, frowning. “I held their slots, but it’s going to be tricky.”

“Things are gonna change,” Henry said. He got up and went to the window. The cove was hushed and peaceful, the fog so thick that even the fishermen had stayed home. Thin white wisps wove through the branches of the trees, muffling everything.

Colette put down her pencil and looked at him. “I know, I know—but we could use the money.”

Henry stiffened, but after a moment he came back to the table and sat down next to her. “I’ve been thinking about redoing the boardinghouse,” he said. “I could take a look, see what I’d need to do.”

“That would be wonderful,” Colette said, relief washing through her words.

The kitchen grew quiet. After a while, Henry stood up and put his dishes in the sink.

“Guess I’d better get to work,” he said.

“Should we get the Internet?” Colette asked as he was leaving the kitchen. She saw him pause. “People keep asking, that’s all.”

“No,” Henry said firmly. He turned and looked at her. “You saw what happened to the Big Cove Lodge. George calls it Screenville now. I’ll do the rest, but not that.”