Blood Kin Read Free Page A

to—”
    â€œJust down a piece.” She hurried down the steps, wiped her hand on her apron, and offered it. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Bailey.”
    She murmured something in reply as Emma’s calloused hand closed on hers in a visegrip.
    â€œI hope you’re hungry. I’ve got fried chicken, biscuits, green beans, and red potatoes keeping warm on the back of the stove. And a fresh-baked blueberry pie. I didn’t make it, mind you. I’m not the pie baker my mama is—Mama does all the baking—but I’m not a bad cook. Not a soul on Tawes can match my crab cakes, but my pie crust . . .” Emma shook her head. “Not fit for pigs. I hope you like fried chicken.”
    â€œI love chicken,” Bailey assured her. “But I didn’t expect you to serve me lunch. I thought . . .” She glanced at the store. “Perhaps the grocery has sandwiches.”
    â€œNonsense. Can’t have it said my guests go hungry. Mary Wright opened a bed-and-breakfast two years back, but she never did get any guests. Mary can’t cook worth a darn. Not that I get many myself. Just you and Daniel this month, and you can’t count Daniel as a regular paying guest.” Emma chuckled heartily as she led the way down the unpaved street, past a young man painting a boat and a fenced pasture where a boy and a black-and-white dog herded a flock of sheep towarda red barn that seemed like the backdrop in a Norman Rockwell illustration.
    â€œDaniel’s doing some carpentry work for me in trade for his lodging until he gets his cabin finished,” Emma continued. “He’s got property out on the point, his mama’s family’s old farm. Daniel’s a Catlin, but his mother was born a Tilghman. The old Tilghman home-place burned years back. Hit by lightning. All gone but the original summer kitchen. That was brick. It would have gone too, but the rain put the fire out before it got that far.”
    Bailey switched her overnight bag to her other shoulder and hurried to keep up with Emma’s determined stride.
    â€œDaniel cleared the site and built over the old half cellar, adding three new rooms and a porch to the old kitchen,” Emma said. “Pretty as you ever seen. Daniel’s a real craftsman.” She stopped to wait for Bailey to catch up. “Pay no attention to these nasty boots. I was tending crabs in my shedding house. I sell soft-shells on the side. Anyway, the time got away from me, like it does, and I just headed down to Doris’s for bread crumbs. I wanted to make crab cakes for supper. You like crab cakes?”
    Bailey nodded. “I like almost anything but sushi. I prefer my seafood cooked.”
    â€œSo do I, girl. So do I. I hear sushi’s all the fashion in Baltimore.”
    The way Emma said it, it sounded like
Balt-mer
, and it was all Bailey could do to suppress a giggle.
    â€œNot on Tawes. Course, most islanders love raw oysters and clams, but with all the pollution in the bay, they’re not safe to eat anymore. Why take the chance, I say.”
    Emma stopped for breath. “That’s it.” She pointed to a white two-story house with blue shutters and a wraparound porch. A painted sign on a lamppost read simply, MISS EMMA’S B AND B . “I thought ‘B and B’ sounded better than ‘boardinghouse,’ more welcoming, but nobody’s ever called it anything but Emma’s Boardinghouse, so . . .”
    â€œI’m surprised that there isn’t more commercial development,” Bailey said. “You’re so close to the metropolitan areas.”
    â€œOh, people get offers. But money isn’t everything. Folks that do sell generally sell to other islanders. We like things the way they are.” Emma motioned to the wide front door with the etched-glass panes and the pretty grapevine wreath. “Go right on in. Make yourself at home. I’m going around to the