I woke up in the early morning light of the rising sun with an aching in my head. The haze of the previous evening clung to me like a dream that lingered into waking hours. I pulled myself from the bed and found myself gazing down to the benches in the common, hoping to see Charlie there sipping a cup of coffee from Millie's. But the day was here, and he was gone. I attempted to wash the thoughts of Charlie away with a cold, jarring shower. But instead of focusing on Andrew Sawyer, my frustration combined into a wallop of a headache that nearly succeeded in pulling me back to the bed.

I knew I couldn't ignore my reason for being in Cedar Crest. I finally had my meeting with Margaret Doughty. How many times had I been faced with deferred answers in the name of Margaret Doughty? Still, all the optimism I had the evening before was now hard to muster, and I instead felt as though I would only be met with more closed doors.

I must have looked about as dreadful as I felt, based on the gasp from Ellie as I made my way to the inn's lobby.

"Oh, dear me, Jess. Are you coming down with something?" She asked as she bustled towards me.

"No, I just had some bad dreams last night," I lied.

"Oh no, is the room uncomfortable?" She continued.

"No, not at all. I left the window open, and I am not used to the sea breeze, I suppose," I lied again.

"Well, I bet a hot breakfast from Millie's will be just what you need," Ellie enticed.

"That actually sounds perfect," I agreed.

A soft stack of pancakes seemed exactly like it would refill my energy and determination around Andrew Sawyer. Charlie may choose to be evasive, but I wasn't going to give Andrew Sawyer or Jonathan Rapt that advantage.

The bell chimed above my head as I entered Millie's. My nose filled with the smells of fresh coffee and bacon. My stomach growled in response.

"There's the writer!" A friendly woman announced from behind the counter. "They told me you were here, and I have been trying to be patient for you to show up here. I'm Millie; what can I get you?"

"Hello, Millie," I greeted back in a far-off tone, from the surprise of the robust greeting. "And pancakes," I requested.

"Buttermilk, blueberry, or chocolate chip?" Millie asked.

"Yes, please," I agreed.

"A woman after my own heart." Millie smiled. "Let me get this in for you, and then I have a few books that I would love for you to sign."

"It would be my absolute pleasure." Millie was filling me back up with further resolve, and she hadn't even fed me yet.

"Do you want coffee with that?" Millie asked.

"Do you have herbal tea?" I asked.

"Yes, we have a local blend from Stina up the street, all locally grown things like mint and rosehips. It's just delicious," she declared.

"Sounds perfect."

As Millie paced away, I felt myself resetting and settling back into the task at hand.

"Okay," Millie announced as she plopped a stack of my books in front of me. "If you would do me the honor of signing these, I will give you breakfast on the house."

"Well, that sounds like a loop-sided deal, but one I'd be a fool to pass up!" I giggled.

"So, what brings you to our town, anyway?" Millie asked.

"I am writing an article on a local artist, Andrew Sawyer," I murmured as I worked my way through the stack of books.

"Oh, Andy. What a charmer that one was," she recalled.

"Yeah." I smiled to entice her to continue.

"Oh yeah. That dear boy was such a flirt. The whole town loved him, and half were in love with him. I'm not ashamed to admit that I was a proud member of the latter half. And funny. That boy could make a stone laugh," she continued.

"He sounds wonderful," I added.

"Oh, he was. The whole family was just good folks. A shame, really. They were never the same after they lost Andy. I suppose we were all changed by him. But the Sawyers never recovered. And Charlie. They were like brothers."

"Charlie?" My face snapped up to Millie's face in shock.

"Oh yeah, two peas, those two. Never one without the other," she noted. "He is like one of those sad pigeons alone on the wire now."

"I didn't realize they were close," I admitted.

"Never the same after we lost Andy," Millie said again. "Anyway, enough mourning for one morning. Let me get that tummy full," she added. She spun away, and what felt like mere seconds later was back sliding a heavy plate of pancakes and a steaming cup of tea in front of me. "Now you enjoy," she demanded.

I tucked into my plate as thoughts of Andrew Sawyer and Charlie whirled in my head. If they had been so close, why was he left out of the obituary? As quickly as the question arose, Charlie's shy demeanor filled my brain. He wouldn't have wanted to be called out in such a public manner. Suddenly, Charlie's questions about my motives clicked as well. He had thought I was using him to get information on Andrew Sawyer. Indignation that he would think so little of me swirled for a brief moment before a louder voice in my head stamped it out. Had I known Charlie had been close to Andrew Sawyer, I would have been incapable of not asking questions.

I suddenly needed to see the Meraki again. Knowing the new connection to Charlie made this hunt for Andrew Sawyer even more enticing. Still, Millie's pancakes were too good to leave on the plate. I quickly devoured the stack and washed it down with the tea. As I left, I made a mental note to stop by Stina's shop and buy some of her herbal tea.

As attractive as the children's entrance to the library still was, I forced myself to enter the main entrance, where I knew I would be greeted with the Meraki. There it hung, as welcoming and calm as ever. This time I tried not to get lost in the piece's emotion and really focus on the technical painting. The ocean showed a depth of shades of colors and texture. The crests of the waves seemed to leap from the canvas as the oil paint was added with heavy strokes. Despite the calmer tone of the piece, it was no less dramatic from the detail of the ship and the sheer size of the work.

"Oh, you're back," Josey greeted as she returned to the front desk.

"Yeah, I've become a bit of a Meraki superfan," I admitted. "Regardless of the article."

"You are in good company," Josey smiled. "Were you able to get your answers from Maggie?"

"I meet with her in a few hours. I got a bit of a late start today, but still, I wanted to have another look at the painting. He really was a talented artist. I've heard from a few around town that he was quite a character and ladies' man as well."

Josey let out a giggle. "Well, I was reading him Charlotte's Web when he was still in diapers, so I can speak to the ladies' man, but he certainly loved to make people laugh."

"And I was surprised to learn he was so close to Charlie." I couldn't help myself. I had to learn more.

"Really? I'm surprised that didn't come up with your research." Josey's brow furrowed in surprise.

"I suspect it is because Charlie likes to remain private," I offered as a guess.

"He certainly does value his privacy," Josey agreed. "So," her voice changed with her mind shifting to a different topic, but this didn't feel like it was out of avoidance. I dropped my gaze to meet her eyes. "I was curious if you would be interested in pulling some Jess Whitfield-approved reads. You have a number of fans in town, and I am sure they would be very interested in your selections."

"That sounds fun. Let me poke around a bit and see what I find," I agreed.

Spending an hour or so among the stacks of books felt like the most fun I had in years. I found myself bouncing between genres and back again. I grabbed Kurlansky's Salt: A World History from the non-fiction section, Strunk's Elements of Style from the teen section, Brown's Weiland and Conrad's Heart of Darkness in the classics, and finished up with Raskin's The Westing Game and Calhoun's Hot-Air Henry from the whimsical children's section.

"Looks like you were successful," Josey laughed as she saw me approach the front desk with my selections.

"I could do this all day," I agreed.

"Well, you nearly have," she joked back.

"Oh dear, what time is it?" I asked.

"Just before 4," Josey offered.

"Yikes, I have to get to my meeting with Margaret. I got completely hypnotized by your library!"

"We've all been there," Josey agreed. "Good luck with your meeting!" She called after me as I scurried out the front doors into the afternoon's humidity.

The Rapt Foundation offices were only a few blocks from the library. So, while I made it in plenty of time, I was out of breath and sweating. Although I am pretty sure that once I met Margaret Doughty, I would have been sweating, anyway. She had a commanding and impatient presence that was only accentuated by her over six-foot frame and bird-like build.

"Miss Whitfield, I presumed," she coolly greeted without looking away from her computer screen.

"Yes, thank you for agreeing to see me." As I spoke, I extended my head to her.

She looked at it as though it were diseased and added, "agreeing would be a strong word to use," as though to accent her immediate disdain for me. "Let's get this over with," she began before launching into a well-rehearsed speech. "The Rapt Foundation has a keen interest in preserving the legacy of Cedar Crest. That includes the protection of and retainment of the Andrew Sawyer pieces. We are neither interested in parting with the pieces, nor in adjusting our current loan agreements."

"I see. It is a noble mission to protect the local legacy, and from what I have learned in my brief time here Andrew, er Andy as many seem to call him, left a lasting legacy despite his short time," I offered.

"Indeed, he did." For the first time, Margaret lifted her gaze to me. Somehow her gray eyes appeared almost dusty to me. My eyes began to water just looking at them.

"I am not interested in acquiring or loaning the pieces. I am merely interested in learning more about Andrew. I have learned that he was quite a memorable character and seemed to be a flirt with the ladies. There are many fond stories about him. And he was close friends with Charlie and Jonathan Rapt," I added.

"Charlie and Jonathan Rapt," Margaret repeated, as though my intel surprised her.

"Yes, obviously you as well. You and Mr. Rapt were mentioned in the obituary as close friends. Charlie's omission puzzled me, but after getting to know him and his private nature, it seems to fit for him," I offered.

"After getting to know Charlie?" He pressed, still in a cold, stoney tone.

"Yes, we met a while back in a chance encounter, and then when I arrived here, here he was. Happy coincident, I suppose," I explained. "We had dinner last night."

"Interesting, but you are still curious about Mr. Rapt?" She asked.

"Yes, I would love to speak with him about Andrew as well, but I understand he rarely takes meetings. He must have a lot of confidence in your direction." I knew compliments would not crack open someone this icy, but I was running out of options.

"I tell you what, Ms. Whitfield. I am actually having dinner with Mr. Rapt this evening. We have a few old friends in town, and I am sure that Andrew is bound to come up. Perhaps you would be free to join?" She eyed me, knowing I would not be able to say no.

"Yes," I stammered. "I would love to join you."

"Fantastic. Are you staying at the inn?" She pressed.

"Yes," I confirmed.

"Great. Meet me in front of the inn at quarter to six. I can give you a ride there. It works out well as my husband was unable to join me tonight," she continued, as though she needed to extend a reason why helping another was worth it to her.

"Perfect. Well, I'll get out of your way. I'll see you soon!" I scurried out of her office before she could change her mind.

As I showered and threw on the only dress I had brought with me, a white sundress with delicate yellow flowers, I marveled at how different the ending of the day had been from the beginning of the day. All felt hopeless this morning, and now I was on my way to dinner with the elusive Jonathan Rapt, where I would surely be able to unravel the mysteries of Andrew Sawyer and the Meraki.

Still, as I stepped down the inn's front steps, my eyes darted over the benches that lined the Common's waterfront in the hopes that I would catch a glimpse of Charlie. As expected, there was no such luck. Instead, a blue Tesla pulled up to the curb before me, and through the open window sat Margaret Doughty.