“Not just that. Also the fact that I’m going to spend two weeks with your family, cooped up in a small space together.”

  “Hey, don’t call the Audrey a small space. My dad would take offense. That baby is three hundred feet. Three decks, fifty cabins, room for a hundred guests and forty crew. Not exactly a rowing boat.”

  “You know what I mean. The longest I ever spent with your mom was Thanksgiving dinner, and that was one evening. Now I’ll be on the same boat with her for two weeks. And I’m still convinced she doesn’t like me, Harry. It’s the way she looks at me.”

  “Like I told you at Thanksgiving: just because she gave you an odd look and was holding a carving knife doesn’t mean she wanted to kill you,” said Harry with a grin. “That’s all in your imagination.”

  “I don’t know,” said Emily with a shiver as she remembered her hostess that evening. Harry had just finished telling his family how he had proposed to Emily and how she had accepted. Amanda Griffiths had just been about to start cutting up the turkey, and from the way she had looked at her, Emily felt convinced she would have preferred to cut her instead of that turkey. Not that Harry believed her.

  This was many months ago, of course, and she had met Amanda and Steven on many occasions since that fateful night. And it was true that they always treated her with kindness and respect. But she would sometimes catch Amanda’s eye, and there was a definite coldness there.

  “Just you wait and see,” said Harry. “This holiday is just what we all need. Mom and Dad will get to know you better, and realize just how wonderful and amazing you are. And before you know it, you and Mom will be best friends.” He jumped up from the chair. “Okay, so we better start packing. Dad is sending a car round to pick us up at ten o’clock sharp tomorrow morning. Sun and surf, here we come!”

  CHAPTER 8

  Gran had left on her trip, and so had Scarlett, and much to our surprise, things seemed to be going well. The two ladies had arrived on board the vessel that belonged to Dick Bernstein’s son in one piece, and as far as we could tell, no disasters had been precipitated by that irascible old lady. The pictures she sent us all showed days filled with sunshine, shopping trips in Nice, and dinners in fine restaurants.

  It certainly was a load off my mind, since the specter of an emergency trip to France seemed more and more unlikely. Very soon now Gran would return, tanned and happy, and all would be well.

  In the meantime Odelia still wanted us to conduct an interview with a beaver, and to that end had been driving us around the South Shore for several evenings in a row—since apparently beavers are mostly nocturnal—looking for that oversized critter. Unfortunately for her—and fortunately for us—no more sightings had occurred, so on the third evening I was starting to relax, safe in the knowledge that no beavers would feature in my near future.

  Odelia kept consulting various websites of nature conservancy groups and beaver spotters, hoping one of the enthusiasts would catch the elusive creature, but so far the internet chatter proved disappointing.

  “He must have left the area,” I said, reiterating a theory I had floated before. “Beavers are very shy, you know, and all this attention must have made him decide to relocate to a less conspicuous environment.”

  “I hope you’re right, Max,” said Harriet. She wasn’t all that keen on meeting this beaver either.

  “I wouldn’t mind having a chat with the beaver,” said Brutus. “Two tough guys together, I think we’d really hit it off, you know.”

  “You’re not a tough guy, Brutus,” said Harriet dismissively. “And neither is this beaver. He’s just a family man, trying to survive.”

  “Just like me,” said Brutus. “I see him as this tough old geezer, looking out for his family, staying alive in a hostile environment. A real hero, you know. A guy I’d love to shoot the breeze with.”

  “You may just get your wish, Brutus,” suddenly Odelia announced. “The beaver has just been spotted on Jackson Road. And as luck would have it, we’re just around the corner!”

  Brutus gulped, and if I wasn’t mistaken I thought I spotted a glimmer of panic in his eyes. “Maybe it was just a big rat?” he said.

  “No, it was the beaver, all right,” said Odelia. “Get ready, you guys. This is going to be the best interview ever!”

  I would have asked her how she was going to explain to her readers that she had managed to interview a beaver, not exactly a creature conversant with the subtleties of the English language, but Odelia seemed to have lost all sense of reason now that she was closing in on her quarry, so I wisely kept my tongue.

  Moments later the pickup was sneaking along the road, before veering off and hitting the curb. Odelia parked between two trees and cut the engine. Darkness had fallen, and for a moment no one spoke and not a sound could be heard except the ticking of the engine, which didn’t seem to realize it had been turned off.

  “Okay, this is it, you guys,” said Odelia, addressing her troops. She had a sort of manic gleam in her eye, and I thought she wouldn’t have looked out of place in some war-torn country, reporting on some local skirmish between two antagonistic parties. “I want you to find the beaver, and I want you to talk to the beaver, and I want you to extract as much information from the beaver as possible without spooking it. Get its life story. Ask about its hopes and dreams. What does it want? What does it do? Where is it going? What makes it tick? Get into that beaver’s head and get me my interview! Do you think you can do that?”

  “Absolutely!” said Harriet.

  “Then what are you waiting for? Go go go go go!”

  “Aye aye, sir!” said Brutus, and then we were going. Odelia pushed open the door and we headed out in single file, sniffing the ground for all we were worth, trying to pick up the trail of the illustrious beaver.

  Our powerful sense of smell led us down to a nearby river or creek, and as we progressed, we came across quite the collection of weirdos and nature lovers. All of them appeared to be dressed in matching outfits of khaki cargo pants, khaki jackets and khaki caps, binoculars pressed to their eyes and looking this way and that.

  “Amateurs,” said Harriet dismissively.

  “Let’s hope they don’t catch the beaver before we do,” said Brutus. “Otherwise Odelia won’t be happy.”

  “Poor beaver,” said Dooley. “Why can’t they just leave it alone?”

  “I’m sure there’s people out there protecting it from exposure to these tourists,” I said. “Environmental conservation people and such.” At least I hoped so for the beaver’s sake.

  We had arrived at the bank of the creek, and my nose told me we were close. I have to confess I wasn’t exactly looking forward to making the beaver’s acquaintance. Internet research had told us that beavers can be up to four feet long and can weigh as much as a hundred pounds. And their front teeth can be one inch in length. Orange or not, I wasn’t keen on meeting that particular pair of chompers!

  We strolled along for a while, dodging tree roots and clumps of weeds, until finally we arrived at what looked like a large dwelling consisting of packed mud, twigs and branches.

  “It’s the beaver’s lodge!” Dooley whispered. “We found it!”

  “Oh, dear,” I muttered, starting to feel a little faint.

  Just then, a head popped up over the dwelling, and we found ourselves face to face with the owner: the beaver itself!

  “Oh, hi there,” said the beaver, not unkindly. “Nice evening.”

  “Very nice,” I said, even though I was feeling tremulous.

  “Weather has been holding up well.”

  “Very well,” I said.

  “Warm, balmy, and not a hint of rain.”

  “Not a hint,” I agreed.

  Brutus cleared his throat. “Hi, beaver,” he said. They weren’t exactly famous first words along the lines of ‘Dr. Livingstone I presume,’ but they did the job.

  “Hi, there,” said the beaver affably. “So what brings you out here?”

  “Oh, just going for a stroll,” I said. “It being a nice night and all.”

  “Is that your house, Mr. Beaver?” asked Dooley. “Or is it Mrs. Beaver?”

  “You can call me Mike,” said the beaver. “My wife Sheila is out there gathering twigs. She’ll be back soon. And yeah, this is our humble little home. Do you like it, cat?”

  “Dooley,” said Dooley. “And I love it, Mike. It looks… sturdy.”

  “That’s what I was going for,” said Mike as he proudly eyed his domain. “Nice and sturdy. So who are your friends, Dooley?”

  We all introduced ourselves, and before long were chatting amiably. Mike might be a big, bad beaver, but he was a great host and must have been one of those talkative beavers you hear so much about, for before long we knew everything about him and he knew everything about us. So when Sheila returned from her forage, a bunch of twigs clasped between a pair of orange teeth, it was as if we were old friends dropping by for a visit.

  “Our human wanted us to do an interview with you guys,” I told Mike and Sheila. “To put in her newspaper. A lot of people are curious what made you return to Hampton Cove after having been gone for so long.”

  “My grandfather is from around here,” Sheila told us. “And he always said Hampton Cove is a great little town to raise a family, you know. Safe and pleasant. Great environment, nice neighbors.”

  “He got the neighbors part right,” said Mike as he gave me a wink.

  “And this particular creek is out of the way,” said Sheila. “So no one will be bothering us who doesn’t live around here. It’s actually the same creek my grandfather grew up in. So I guess you might say we’ve come full circle.”

  “Then I would like to welcome you to Hampton Cove,” I said. “Officially, I mean.”

  “Oh, you’re here in an official capacity, are you?” asked Mike.

  “Not exactly,” I admitted. “Though our human’s uncle’s girlfriend is the mayor. So in a sense we can officially bid you welcome.”

  “Now isn’t that nice of you,” said Sheila. “Isn’t that nice of Max, Mike?”

  “It sure is,” Mike confirmed. “Can I offer you something to eat? We have some tasty bark, some excellent twigs, and plenty of crunchy leaves.” When we didn’t respond, he grinned. “Just kidding! I know you guys aren’t into the whole herbivore thing.”

  “Oh, haha!” I said. “Very funny, Mike!”

  “Yeah, very funny,” Brutus muttered. His heart-to-heart with this fellow tough guy wasn’t going all that well. Probably because Mike was proving to be a gentle soul and not some rugged outdoorsman.

  “I think this is just great,” said Dooley, voicing the general consensus. “I mean, you guys are great. When Odelia told us we had to interview the beaver that had been sighted, I wasn’t very keen, especially when I read all of those horror stories.”

  “Dooley, shush!” Harriet loud-whispered.

  “What horror stories?” asked Sheila with a frown.

  “Oh, you know, the attacks on humans who come too close to your lair,” Dooley went on, “and the fact that you have such big teeth.”

  “Dooley!” Harriet hissed. “Rude!”

  “Personally I have never attacked anyone,” said Mike thoughtfully. “You, Sheila?”

  “Oh, I’m not really big on the whole attacking business,” said Sheila. “Attacking humans is overrated in my opinion. Something from a bygone era, you know. But to each their own. Cousin Henry loves mauling people to death when they get too close, but then he’s always been an oddball.” When we stared at her in horror, she broke into a musical laugh. “I’m joking! Cousin Henry wouldn’t hurt a fly, much less a human!”

  “What’s all this about an interview, though?” asked Mike.

  And so we explained to him that our human wanted to be the first reporter to print a story about the beaver that had been sighted on our shores, and she was using us as her messengers to get the story.

  “Oh, that’s fine,” said Mike, much to our surprise. “I’ve never given an interview before. So fire away, fellas. Ask me anything.”

  “I’ll go and put these twigs away, shall I?” said Sheila. “And look in on the kids.”

  And as she disappeared into their little home, Mike did the honors. It was a great interview, and I think we learned a lot about life as a beaver. Time flew, and before long we said our goodbyes, extending an invitation to the couple to visit us in our own home one of these days. And as we made our way back to Odelia’s car, I think I can speak for all of us when I say we had a good feeling about our recent experience which had gone way better than any of us expected.

  Trained reporters we were not, but it was fun to chew the fat—or the twig in this case—with a pair of sweethearts like Mike and Sheila. Which is why it came as something of a surprise to us when we found Odelia not at all interested in our recent experience. Instead we found her looking tense and pale. But when she showed us the message she had just received from Emily, it all became clear.

  There had been a development.

  CHAPTER 9

  Emily stood on deck of the Audrey, leaning against the railing and looking out across the picturesque harbor of Saint-Tropez, that small town on the French Riviera. Colorful houses in different shades of pastel pink and yellow, plenty of tourists milling about, but also dozens of vessels, from small fishing boats to multi-million-dollar yachts, bobbing gently on the azure waters of the luxury resort town.

  “Pretty amazing, huh?” said Harry. “My family has been coming here for years, but I still get chills every time.”

  “It is something,” Emily agreed. Though what would have been even more impressive was if Harry’s mother had managed to crack a smile when her son’s girlfriend boarded the yacht. As it was, the look on the woman’s face was more akin to the one you reserve for something disagreeable that has attached itself to your shoe.

  She heaved a deep sigh, knowing it was no use reiterating what she knew to be true: that Harry’s mother hated her, and would never accept her as her son’s future bride. Harry wouldn’t hear of it, and so she would just have to learn to live with the rejection. As her own mother had said: you’re not marrying Amanda Griffiths. You’re marrying Harry. Which was true enough, except she would probably get to spend a great deal of time with her in-laws. Case in point: this surprise vacation aboard Steven’s impressive yacht.

  But she had made a decision before arriving at Nice Airport that she would make the best of it, and not spoil things for Harry by moping and whining about his sourpuss mother. And so she smiled and put her head on her fiancé’s shoulder. “I love it,” she murmured.

  “I knew you would,” said Harry, well pleased. “Just you wait and see. This vacation is going to be the best ever. We’re going to have so much fun you wouldn’t believe.”

  Five minutes later she was back in the cabin that had been assigned to her. She had half expected to be sharing a cabin with Harry, but of course Amanda hadn’t approved of such frivolousness. But she couldn’t complain. Her cabin was light and spacious, and looked out across the Saint-Tropez bay. It was also right next to Harry’s cabin, and she could already foresee a lot of sneaking back and forth in the midnight hours between both cabins. The only disadvantage was that his parents’ cabin was right across the small corridor, so they would have to be extra discreet lest Amanda caught them.

  She wanted to freshen up a little and put on something more appropriate for the day, which was shaping up to be pretty hot. She disappeared into the bathroom to grab her 50 SPF sunscreen. And that’s when she saw it. Someone had stuck a note to the bathroom mirror.

  Break off the engagement now or else!

  She uttered a cry of horror and shock as she read the note and Harry, who had entered the cabin at that moment, immediately rushed into the bathroom. When he caught sight of the note, he cursed under his breath and wrapped her into his arms.

  “I’m calling the cops,” he announced. “They won’t get away with this, whoever they are.”

  “No!” she said. “No cops.”

  He placed his hands on her shoulders and studied her for a moment. “What do you mean, no cops? This isn’t a joke, sweetie. Who knows what these people are capable of.”

  “If you call the cops there’s going to be a big fuss. And I don’t want your parents to find out about this—the pictures, the messages.”

  “But why?”

  “Do you have to ask?”

  He frowned. “You mean…”

  “The clause, Harry. I know you don’t think it’s important, but I’m sure your mother does, and so does your dad. If they break off our engagement…” The prospect was too horrible to contemplate.

  “They wouldn’t,” he said in a low voice, but it was clear he was starting to second-guess his earlier assessment that this clause was of no importance at all.

  “Your mother already doesn’t like me. She hates the idea that her son is marrying a dance instructor, of all people. And this would simply confirm to her that I’m not a suitable prospect for you. And from there it’s only a small step to canceling the wedding altogether and forbidding you from being involved with me.”

  “They can’t forbid me to be with you, Em. They just can’t.”

  “They can disinherit you. And I don’t want that, Harry. I don’t want to be the one who destroys your future, and your relationship with your parents and your family. So we keep this between us.”

  “You want us to do nothing? There’s a maniac on board, Em!”

  “Who said we’re doing nothing? We’re calling in my cousin.”

  It was the best solution. Odelia already knew the stakes and the circumstances. All Harry had to do was convince his parents to add another person to the list of guests. Which wouldn’t be hard. “You could tell them she’s an old friend of yours. Or better yet: an old girlfriend! Your mother will say yes in a heartbeat if she reckons there’s a chance you might shift your affections from me to Odelia.”