Her sharp eyes scanned the store, and indeed, a few heads did lower. Satisfied, she beamed her gaze hard into Nancy’s glittering eyes. “Seems to me you were willing enough to believe bad about a good man like Ray Quinn.”

Sincerely insulted, Nancy puffed out her chest. “Why, I never believed a word of it, Mother.” Discussing such matters, she thought to herself, wasn’t the same as believing them. “Truth is, a blind man couldn’t have missed the way that boy’s got Ray’s eyes. Had to be a blood relation. Why, I said to Silas just the other day, I said, ‘Silas, I wonder if that boy could be a cousin or something to Ray?” ’

She’d said no such thing, of course. But she might have, if she’d thought of it.

“Never thought about him being Ray’s grandson, though. Why, to think Ray had a daughter all these years.”

Which, of course, proved he’d done something wrong in the first place, didn’t it? She’d always suspected that Ray Quinn had been wild in his youth. Maybe even a hippie. And everyone knew what that meant.

Smoking marijuana, and having orgies and running around naked.

But that wasn’t something she intended to bring up to Mother. That little morsel could wait until she was shampooed and tucked into the styling chair at the salon.

“And that she turned out wilder than those boys he and Stella brought home,” she rattled on. “That girl over to the hotel must be just as—”

She broke off when the door jingled. Hoping for a fresh ear, she was thrilled to see Phillip Quinn walk in. Better than an addition to her audience, it was one of the actors on the very interesting stage.

Phillip only had to open the door to know what subject was under discussion. Or had been, until he stepped inside. Silence fell with a clang, and eyes darted toward him, then guiltily away.

Except for Nancy Claremont’s and Mother’s.

“Why, Phillip Quinn, I don’t know as I’ve seen you since your family picnic on the Fourth of July.” Nancy fluttered at him. Wild or not, he was a handsome man. Nancy considered flirting one of the best ways to loosen a man’s tongue. “That was a fine day.”

“Yes, it was.” He walked up to the counter, knowing that stares were being bulleted at his back. “I need a couple of subs, Mother Crawford. A meatball and a turkey.”

“We’ll fix you up, Phil. Junior!” She shouted over at her son, who jolted at her tone despite being thirty-six and the father of three.

“Yes ’um.”

“You going to ring up these people or just scratch your butt the rest of the afternoon?”

He colored, muttered under his breath, and turned his attention back to the cash register.

“You working down to the boatyard today, Phillip?”

“That’s right, Mrs. Claremont.”

He busied himself choosing a bag of chips for Cam, then wandered back to the dairy case to decide on yogurt for himself.