First I checked out the basic furnishings. They were definitely the same as when I stayed there last time, with the exceptions of sheets, towels, and summer comforters, which appeared to be new.
To be truthful, I didn’t know what to expect I’d find.
Next, I looked at the lamps, statues, vases, and realistic but imitation floral arrangements. I remembered that first time I was here for peace and quiet. I was inundated with my crew and all the mishaps that had taken place, one of which was me accidentally breaking a few of the vases in the window alcoves all along the wooden spiral staircase.
I recalled, at that time, thinking they were expensive, and I’d figured my security deposit was history. But then I discovered through the realtor they were inexpensive imitations. Even so, I still felt I had to check them again.
I’d prefer a vase-free zone, to be honest.
I stepped closer to one of the vases I didn’t recall from the last time I rented. I was no expert and didn’t know much about antiques, let alone antique vases, but they didn’t look expensive to me compared to the others. They all looked pretty much like imitations of expensive ones. So I let that venue go and kept looking elsewhere.
After a good hour of hunting and pecking throughout the three-floor house, I came up empty-handed. There was nothing notable about anything anywhere in the house that I could detect.
Disappointing.
It bothered me people kept showing up with an interest in either me, or if I’d misread that, were interested in the house instead. I felt stumped.
Again, I kept going back to the fact that the realtor could show the house to anyone who pretended to show interest in a rental.
I also went back to the alternative: I was off-base, and all these unexpected meet-and-greets had nothing to do with this house at all, but had to do with me instead.
Possible?
Now that was a disconcerting thought.
Chapter 26
One Man’s Garbage Was Another’s...
I love air conditioning as much as the next person when it came to the hot sticky days where you feel you just can’t breathe, beach or no beach. But that wasn’t the case the next day. It was much cooler, breezy, and sunny. When that happened, I threw open the sliders and windows, including the cabana down below, to give the house a good airing.
I sat out on the upper deck, with my laptop, under the protection of the large umbrella, catching up with my emails. Every once in a while, I’d glance at the ocean and shoreline. In the background, music played softly enough so I could still hear the rolling surf as the ocean waves gently tumbled onto the beach.
An indefinable clinking sound from outside down below caught my attention. Then silence. When I heard it again, I listened more closely. Something was hitting something else, then a pause, then that same noise once again.
What was it?
I heard what sounded like a greeting then an exchange of words then silence, like someone had moved on, walking or riding away. Then I heard a similar exchange like the last one. A greeting, some talking then silence then a clink.
My curiosity was killing me, so I got up, walked over to the half wall, peeked over it, and looked two stories down below. An older man was reaching for something from between the boardwalk and my rental’s garden bed, standing on a much smaller boardwalk builders install for the landscapers and gardeners to gain access to the rear of the garden beds. It ran along the elevated boardwalk.
This man was holding a large plastic bag in his hand.
Had he dropped something? Stolen something?
I headed downstairs. I swore I locked the sliding screen in the cabana after I’d opened the sliding glass door for some air to flow through. So I checked. I hadn’t locked it.
I peered through the screen, well-hidden by shadows, debating what to do. I was about to yell out, but stopped. He was collecting trash along the narrow walkway behind my gardens. I watched in silence as he threw in cans, soda bottles, and papers that were tossed or had blown in from the larger boardwalk and the beach.
Then I began to observe all the people walking by on the elevated boardwalk. I noticed that every once in while, someone, probably a local, would stop and say hi to him, sometimes calling him Jake. He never stopped, but kept working and moving while chatting. A model of efficiency.
Obviously, a local himself, I deduced from the friendly reception of the people briefly stopping or waving. This routine was something they witnessed often. Maybe I should speak to this Jake. He might be a fountain of information.
There was only one way to find out...
Chapter 27
A History Of His Story
I slid the screen door open and walked across the patio to the edge of the garden bed. Jake’s back was to me as he snagged another soda can and deposited it inside the black plastic bag he was filling.
I took advantage of his back facing me to check him out. White hair was sticking out of his baseball cap and scraping the collar of his shirt. He was wearing khaki cargo shorts that exposed his lean, tan and muscular legs. His feet sported white socks and thick-treaded sneakers.
When he pivoted in my direction, I noticed he had a short, well-trimmed white beard. He was obviously startled to see me there, staring at him, but quickly recovered, clutched his chest with his free hand and laughed out loud.
“Good lord! It’s a good thing I have a strong heart. And who might you be, young lady?” he asked, smiling.
“I was about to ask you the same thing myself,” I said.
“Hey there, Jake,” someone hollered, bike riding by.
“Hey there, yourself!” Jake replied, smiling broadly.
The man moved on. Jake turned back to me, shrugging. “I guess after all these years picking up trash along the boardwalk on these properties, people know me by now.”
I looked down to the right toward the south where he had pointed to all those properties. Jake had to be in his late sixties to early seventies.
Now I was curious. “Do you get paid to do this?”
“Heck no! Wouldn’t accept any money, even if they offered. It just makes me feel good keeping things tidy.”
“Wow!” I said, impressed. “How long have you been doing this?”
Just then a few more people slowed, waved, and said hi to Jake. He courteously replied and waved back. He finally turned back to me and brought his hand to his chin, giving my question serious thought, then said, “Must be decades now that I’ve been doing this.” He grinned. “Where are my manners? I’m Jake Parker.”
I grinned back. “I’m Samantha...Weber. I’m renting this place for four weeks. I was working on the upper deck,” I said, pointing upward. “When I heard noises then voices intermittently, I was curious and came down here.”
“Well, that mystery is solved, I guess,” he said, laughing again. “Well, it’s been pleasant meeting you, Samantha, but I must move on to the next property down the line.” He then winked. “I’m a man on a mission.”
I winked back. “And a good one.” I liked him and was reluctant to see him go. “Do you come by here often?”
“When the urge strikes me or when I’m out for my daily walk and notice things need cleaning up again. I also like to visit and stop at that gazebo just south of here, the one out on the boardwalk.”
The one by the plaque explaining the Sindia shipwreck.
I nodded. “I know exactly which gazebo you mean.”
“Every evening I sit watching the ocean, remembering, and talking to my dear late wife, Charlotte.”
I noticed he misted at his last words.
“That’s nice you still chat with her,” I said, meaning it.
He grinned. “As you can see, I like to talk.”
I liked him and made a snap decision. “Maybe I’ll stop by that gazebo some evening and we can talk together.”
Who knows what he might know? What stories he might share?
His face brightened considerably. “I’d like that.”
<
br /> I watched him move on. What was Jake’s backstory, his history, along with his wife’s, Charlotte? He unmistakably missed her and still thought about her each evening as he sat in that boardwalk gazebo. I might have another character-driven storyline. It wouldn’t hurt to tuck additional ones in my back pocket for future reference either.
After all, I was here to write, right?
I waved and went upstairs to do just that: Write it down.
Chapter 28
The Potential For So Much More
Once inside, I decided to switch decks and sit out on the chaise lounge on the bedroom deck, the one almost level with the boardwalk. I could still see the ocean and beach from there too. I brought along my journal to document what happened and anything else that was worth noting.
Several times between last night and this morning I kept thinking about Evan and the girl from the beach, wondering if she’d found him. I knew I shouldn’t get myself involved in other people’s lives, but the two had caught my attention.
One, Evan, was carefree and amusing to be with. The other, the girl, seemed angry, contentious, and with good reason to be that way. So, my point was, they didn’t strike me as a pair I would have picked as a perfect match.
But then I thought of Clay and me and had to laugh at my assumptions. We weren’t a perfect match either, with our constant emotional conflict. But, to my bewilderment, we somehow we made it work. Maybe they did too.
Clay always said, “Trust me, it will never be dull.”
Trust me, he was right, it never was.
So it goes to show, you can never tell what one person sees in another. And I shouldn’t be surprised at Evan’s interest in that young woman. There was some emotional attachment between the two that I felt was an underlying reason why she had acted so possessively the day when she arrived at my door, seeming so jealous and rattled.
It was more than her attack. A potential worse scenario.
I stilled mid-thought, grabbing my journal. A memory.
My Journal
I was later than normal walking home from a friend’s house. Just about dark. I was nearly thirteen. But since it was all residential and I knew the neighborhoods, I wasn’t too concerned for my safety, but my mother was and wanted me home before dark. I hustled along the road toward home, my head down, watchful because of the lateness of the hour. Every so often, a car would pass, likely someone rushing home from work. I was late, so I hurried along.
When I turned the corner at the bottom of our street, I breathed a sigh of relief. My house was just up the road. I could almost see it from there. Suddenly, I heard a car turn the corner behind me, its headlights glancing off me as they made the turn too. I kept walking. Then I heard gravel crunch under tires as it eased to a stop. My skin tingled.
Someone called out to me. “Hey there. Need a ride?”
It was now dark enough I couldn’t see who it was in the car, but could detect two people sitting in the front seat.
My heart began thumping in my chest.
“No, thank you,” I said, and kept walking briskly with purpose now. I was getting a bad feeling about this car.
I heard tires move to keep up with me when he spoke again, only this time I heard the click of his front door.
“A girl all alone shouldn’t be out walking after dark.”
When that car door opened, I panicked. I had to make a split decision. I’d never make it home, even at a flat-out run. I scanned the closest houses on my side of the street.
The next one was my piano teacher’s house, who was still at work and not home, but always left a light on so you would think she was. Her attached screened porch off to the side was always unlocked. I had to time this just right.
He started to put one leg out of his car when I said loud and clear, “No thanks, I’m already home,” and took off running toward the porch, quickly opening the screen door, and slammed it behind me. I locked it and stepped into the shadows of the porch as though I had entered the house.
Next thing I knew, the car sped off into the night.
It took me a few minutes to calm down. I was old enough to know what could’ve happened. When I saw the coast was clear five minutes later, I ran like hell all the way home across lawns this time, staying well away from the street. My house never looked so good with all its welcoming lights on. I raced into the kitchen, my face flushed to find my mother at the stove, cooking dinner, frowning at me.
“I was scared to death, young lady,” she said, all upset.
She had suffered enough just worrying about me, so I decided then and there I didn’t have the heart to tell her what happened. It wouldn’t do any good. I didn’t see who was behind the wheel in the dark. And at that age, I wasn’t versed in what type of car it was, let alone a license plate.
Trust me, I never walked home in the dark after that incident, and I never got around to telling her before she died. As life, particularly to a young girl who had suddenly discovered boys, took over, it was all but forgotten until that word (attack) struck a nerve in my memory vault and it all came flooding back to me.
Journal lesson learned?
Always stay vigilant for the potential for so much more.
Chapter 29
Info Shopping
After a morning of rereading my journal, it dawned on me it was Farmers Market day. I hadn’t been there since the last time I was in Ocean City. I checked the clock. I barely had time to get there. It was noon and it closed at 1PM.
I biked fast, parked and locked it in a bike rack, then grabbed my cloth bag, and hastily crossed the grassy area toward the small farmer’s market. It was held from June through November at the Tabernacle Church lot out on the green.
Local vendors offered assorted fresh fruits, vegetables, jams and jellies, and ever-changing crafts made of fabric, wood, and other materials. They were displayed on tables out in the open with other vendors set up in several tents.
I was just reaching for a juicy tomato when I heard my name called out and turned.
“I thought that was you,” said Evan, approaching.
I’m telling you, when you least expect something to happen, it happens. I guess he wasn’t missing after all.
“Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” I said, smiling back.
“Same here.”
“Where have you been hiding?” I casually asked.
“I haven’t been hiding. You just haven’t been looking hard enough, that’s all,” he countered with another smile.
“Well, according to an anxious and fearful female, who stood at my front door the other day, you weren’t to be found anywhere.”
He mouth tilted downward. “Oh, you mean Cindy.”
Finally, I had a name to go on. Well, a first name.
“I’d ask about her concern with you gone missing and where you could have run off to, but I won’t unless you want to tell me,” I said, hoping he’d confide.
“Ever since the,” his fingers formed quotes, “incident,” she’s started imagining shadows, people that aren’t there, weird sounds. She’s become edgy by the slightest thing.”
Not expecting full disclosure, I was surprised by this bit of candidness and pressed for more. “What incident?”
“Not for me to tell,” he said, then added, “I was caught up in a business meeting. I came in after she fell asleep, and then was up early the next morning before she woke.”
I looked up at him dubiously. It felt like too pat a reply.
“Couldn’t you have at least left her a note?”
“I did, but it fell to the floor and she never saw it.”
Another convenient reply. “And she freaked out, right?”
He nodded. “Her usual reaction lately.”
“So, why would she freak out with you being gone?”
“She has trust issues too.”
He was being too vague. There had to be more to this.
I paid for my tomatoes and tucked them into my bag.
�
��Why?” I asked, as we walked on together.
“Her safety, and she’s also worried about mine.”
“Have you considered a doctor for her to talk to?”
“As long as she knows where I am, she’s mostly fine.”
Mostly? I wasn’t buying any of this.
Just then someone hollered, “Evan!”
Chapter 30
Well, Who Knew?
I turned to a surprised Jake, who, apparently, was just as startled to see me standing there talking to Evan.
Well, well. So the two of them knew each other.
Which didn’t really amaze me. Small town. Both were residents of Ocean City. Everyone knows everyone. The population normally wasn’t as sizeable as it was now when it dramatically increased during the summer months.
“A small world,” said Jake to me. “You know Evan?”
“We met over at my property,” I said.
Jake eyed Evan. “Don’t tell me I have competition.”
That was when Evan eyed Jake back, laughing. “Aren’t you a little too old for her, Jake?”
Jake guffawed. “I meant trash, Evan. I leave scooping up the pretty ladies to you young bucks.”
My head swiveled back and forth with their wordplay then I began laughing myself. They obviously knew each other well and were used to razzing one another. This could be an opportunity.
“Just how do you two know each other?” I asked them.
Jake turned to me, serious this time. “Evan was there when I needed moral support after Charlotte passed. I was grateful for that. I’ve known Evan since he was a little tyke. Cindy too.”
Jake then turned to face Evan. “By the way, how is Cindy doing, emotionally? Any better?”
Evan frowned. “I’ve got to be more careful letting her know when I’m going to be gone for a while. She panicked the other day at Samantha’s place, looking for me.”
Saving Sindia (Samantha Jamison Mystery Book 10) Page 7
