“Before I go back to my embroidery?”
My giving up my profession as a detective had been a bone of contention between us for a long time. I had finally come to realize that Daniel not only worried about my safety, but also that it could compromise his own position with the police force. Since he was to be the breadwinner, I had agreed that I would take no more cases. As yet I hadn’t had time to see how I would handle boredom and domesticity. We’d just have to see.
We turned and followed the street back into town, moving from the fantasy world out on the point back to reality. Soon mansions gave way to ordinary older homes, of a more colonial appearance, then to a little seaside town of plain clapboard houses with views beyond of a harbor and fishing boats.
Daniel looked up at the street sign and grunted. “We could have followed this Bellevue Avenue all the way from town last night and saved ourselves an adventure on the cliffs.”
“We’d have ended up just as wet I suspect,” I said. “Anyway it was an adventure and no harm done.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Daniel said. “My throat feels scratchy. I think I may have caught a chill from that wetting last night.”
“Typical man,” I said scornfully. “I’m feeling hale and hearty myself. Ready for a good lunch at one of these little cafés maybe.”
“I wouldn’t say no to some lunch,” Daniel agreed. “They do say feed a cold, don’t they?”
I grinned and walked on ahead. We chose a place on the waterfront that advertised locally caught lobster, but my enthusiasm waned when I found I had to choose my lobster from those swimming around in a tank on the waterfront.
“It seems rather brutal to select my food alive and have it killed in front of me.” I stared down at them, feeling pity.
“Most of the food that you eat was alive at some stage,” Daniel pointed out. “Did you not catch crabs and mussels when you were a child?”
“I suppose that I did,” I agreed.
“Well then. Go ahead and select yourself a nice meaty lobster. Or do you want me to do it for you?”
“You do it. I’d rather not look.”
“And this is the woman who has taken on murderers single-handedly.” Daniel chuckled.
I stared down the quayside, watching the fishermen unloading their catch while Daniel made the selection and not long after the lobsters appeared on a plate with crusty bread and a knob of corn beside them. And I have to confess that after the first mouthful I was tearing mine apart with no conscience whatsoever.
After lunch we resumed our walk around town. There were pretty old churches and fine brick colonial buildings. Altogether a charming place and one that made me a little homesick for Ireland, since it felt so old and peaceful.
“This place is really old,” I said, staring up at a house that bore the date 1631. “Even in Ireland that would count as old. I doubt we’ve many buildings of that vintage in Westport.”
“Rhode Island was one of the earliest settlements,” Daniel said. “I find the simple styles of these old houses rather attractive myself. I never was one for extravagance.”
“Which is why you chose a nice simple Irish girl,” I said.
“I don’t know about that.” he laughed.
“Let’s go down this street.” I attempted to steer him. “It has a row of quaint little shops.”
“Women and their shops,” Daniel muttered. “Can they go nowhere and just admire the architecture? Must any outing include shopping?”
“But of course,” I said, pausing outside a leaded glass window crammed full of souvenirs—china lighthouses, wooden fishing boats, and of course salt water taffy. Because of Daniel’s remark I contented myself with looking on this occasion, then moved on to the next shop window. One of the old cottages had been turned into an art gallery and as I peered in through the window a painting on the rear wall caught my attention.
Daniel was already walking on ahead of me, having tired of my gazing in shop windows.
“Wait, Daniel! We have to go in here.” A bell rang as I pushed open the front door then stood staring at the painting. It depicted a lovely little girl with a mass of blonde curls seated amid flowers, holding a lamb in her lap. She was smiling as if she was sharing a huge joke with someone we couldn’t see, standing off to her right.
“What is it?” Daniel came in behind me. “We’re not about to buy paintings.”
A man appeared from a backroom. He was dressed in a blue fishermen’s sweater with smudges of paint on it. “Can I help you?” he asked.