The Seducer

“Very logical response,” said Lily.

“I didn’t want to use the Mace,” Vi defended. “Not even Gargantua deserves that. Anyway, I accidently dumped the soda in the bag. But all is not lost.” Grinning excitedly, Vi held up a cherry-stained envelope as her sisters looked on with dismayed expressions. The flap had come unglued, and in her effort to save the letter, Vi had slipped it from the envelope.

Pansy groaned. “You didn’t read somebody’s else’s mail, did you?”

“I had to!” Vi protested. “I had no choice!”

“Violet Hanley!” Lily exclaimed in censure.

“Somebody on this island won the lottery,” Vi blurted, untucking her uniform shirt and using it to dry the letter.

“The lottery?” echoed Pansy, thinking Seduction Island didn’t have a lottery. “What lottery?”

“The New York lottery,” Violet explained, her voice hitching. “Whoever it is won fifteen million dollars.”

Pansy stared in shock. “Fifteen million dollars?” she echoed as if replacing the emphasis might make the words make better sense.

Violet nodded, stunned. “Yeah. Somebody on Seduction Island!”

Lily whistled. “And I thought we’d already had enough excitement for one week.”

“You’d think,” said Pansy, glancing through the screen door toward where a sliver of ocean was visible through the dunes. New York and local police were diving from an outboard motorboat, searching through the wreckage of a yacht that had exploded. Pansy had been thoroughly questioned, since she’d witnessed the fireworks, and then, less than an hour ago, she’d gotten another shock. A wooden plank had been salvaged from the wreck, and on it was the vessel’s name, Destiny. It was the same name as the boat on which Jacques O’Lannaise had met Iris Hanley years ago. Pansy’s heart clutched as she worried over the strange coincidence.

“Who won?” Lily asked impatiently.

“That’s the thing,” returned Violet. “I don’t know. When I spilled the soda, the ink ran.”

For a second, even fifteen million dollars didn’t have the power to pull Pansy’s attention to her sisters. Her gaze had shifted from the police and the Destiny to Castle O’Lannaise, the romantic white adobe estate perched on a bluff of the north shore, which could be seen from most points of the island. The property had changed hands countless times and had even been owned by a past president, but it was never inhabited long, which, for Pansy, only served to substantiate rumors that it was haunted by the dark, swarthy ghost of Jacques, whose star-crossed lover’s past was so intimately tied to the Hanleys’.

Despite what finding a buyer for Castle O’Lannaise would mean for the realty business, Pansy loved the palatial estate, and for years she’d dreamed of finding a buyer who’d open it as a summer resort, just as Jacques O’Lannaise had planned. She’d felt that putting history to rest would restore Seduction Island’s flagging economy, and she hoped the lottery winner would be interested in the estate.

“Garth Garrison was my next stop,” Vi was saying. “Since the sorters put the letters in order, he’s probably the winner.” She groaned, thinking of the cranky horror novelist who lived in a tumbledown shack near the water. “I hate to think of him winning so much money,” confessed Vi. “He’s such a jerk.”

“A good-looking jerk,” reminded Lily.

“If you like the artistic type.” Vi rolled her eyes as if to say she’d never registered that Garth was male. “Anyway, you all have to look at the address. See if you can read it. If it gets out that I ruined the mail again, I’ll get fired.”

Pansy sidled next to Lily. All three women stared at the business envelope. “That’s definitely the lottery board’s return address,” Pansy murmured, shifting her gaze to forms the winner was supposed to fill out and sign. “And you can make out the word, ‘Mr.”’

Lily grinned. “The winner’s definitely male.”

“Then he’s married,” said Vi. “He couldn’t be single. We’re not that lucky.”

Summer storms aside, meeting so few eligible men was the one drawback to living on this otherwise idyllic island. Most men were salty retired sailors, and by the ripe old age of ten, the Hanleys had tired of having their hearts broken by seasonal tourists, whom they frequently vowed never to date, although they always did.

“Fifteen million,” Pansy whispered, wondering if a buyer for Castle O’Lannaise was about to materialize.

“This is our zip code,” offered Lily.

“What if Garth Garrison is the winner?” Vi said. “You know, Lily, you’re right. He is kind of cute.” Vi paused. “I mean, in a surly, self-absorbed, narcissistic sort of way.”

Pansy frowned. “Did you ask him if he won?”

Vi gasped. “Are you kidding? He’d tear my head off if he knew I dripped cola into the mailbag. He’s never forgiven me for that one manuscript of his I ruined. And it’s not like he didn’t have that book on disk. Besides which, who’d want to read something called Bloodsuckers?”

“You,” Pansy told her.

Vi would prefer not to admit she was a secret admirer of Garth’s lurid novels. “Well, anyway—” she huffed “—I didn’t ask him. I bet he’d complain to Mr. Vincent, and I’d get fired.”

“We’ll send the letter back to the lottery board,” decided Pansy reasonably. “They’ll know how to redirect it.”

Vi shook her head. “The letter’s dated. If the winner doesn’t get it in time, they’ll lose the money.”

Lily chewed her lower lip. “Could that really happen?”

“I don’t know, but it would be terrible,” Pansy agreed, knitting her brows. She’d hate for an accident such as this to cost a stranger the unbelievable sum of fifteen million dollars. “So much for ‘Who Wants to be a Millionaire.”’

The Hanleys were die-hard fans of the show. “Hang it up, Regis,” whispered Vi. “This guy’s getting fifteen big ones.”

“Maybe a tourist won,” Lily speculated.

Pansy considered. “Nope. It’s a local. Tourists never forward their mail. Usually someone at home picks it up while they’re on vacation.” She chuckled. “Besides, there’re only two tourists.” As a Realtor and part-time tour guide, she knew this was the worst rental season in history. And on Seduction Island, that was saying something.

“We have more than two,” chided Lily.

“Three?” guessed Vi.

“Nearly five hundred,” corrected Pansy. “But given our proximity to Nantucket and Martha’s Vineyard…”

Vi raised a staying hand. “Please,” she warned, “don’t start talking about how this island’s cursed, Pansy. Right now, I’m in real, ordinary, everyday trouble. I don’t need to hear about your ghost pirate. C’mon. Does anybody have any bright ideas?”

“Lily,” Pansy said, “you’re on the town council and you’re holding the summer meeting for visiting families tomorrow night. Half the locals come anyway, so we could announce this. We’ll just say…that I found the letter.”

“If no one claims it, we’ll post it on one of the bulletin boards. At the grocery store or something,” said Vi in relief. “Perfect. Can you believe someone on our island won fifteen million?”

The Hanleys, of course, knew Seduction Island was public and didn’t really belong to them, but ever since Winston Hanley had arrived in the seventeen hundreds and built the house the women now shared, Hanleys had been taking responsibility for the island and its inhabitants. Besides, everybody knew the island hadn’t become a city dweller’s getaway, despite its proximity to New York City, because Jacques O’Lannaise cursed it when Iris Hanley hadn’t married him years ago. After that, every Hanley had felt doubly responsible for whatever went wrong.

Lily gasped. “What if Lou Fairchild won?”

“Your fellow town councilman?” scoffed Vi. “You have no sense of irony, Lily. It has to be Garth Garrison. Someone as nice as Lou Fairchild would never win so much money.”

“It’s a shame Lou’s not better looking,” sighed Lily.

That was an understatement. Lou Fairchild, despite his name, had a face only a mother could love. But Pansy barely heard. Once more, she was imagining buying Castle O’Lannaise and turning it into the romantic resort it was meant to be. Suddenly, she glanced at her watch. “Oh, no! I’ve got to run,” she said with a start, quickly rising and grabbing her jacket. “I’m meeting Ned Nelson.”

“The guy renting Casa Eldora?” Lily asked, using the name of one of the rental cottages on the water.

“That’s the one.” Pansy had started hoping Ned would be as sexy as he sounded on the phone. Not that a mere man could compare with the fantasies she’d had about her favorite ghost, of course. Pausing at the door, Pansy traced her fingers over the screen, a slow smile tilting the corners of her mouth when she saw Castle O’Lannaise in the distance. “Whoever won the lottery is going to buy that castle,” she announced, excited prickles of certainty washing over her skin.