“That sounds nice and all, but you’d better ask her before you make solid plans.”
Ryder headed in the house, went through each room until he found her in the tiny laundry room off the kitchen. She was bent over in a pair of tight jeans, inspecting the plumbing.
“Pop, we could knock out this wall into the garage and it would open up the area quite a bit, give us room to put a sink in here. I’ve always wanted one of those. What do you think?”
“I like what I see.”
At the words, she straightened up, bumped her head on the overhead shelf. “Ryder. What are you doing here?”
“Apologizing for being an ass.”
“I don’t even know what I did to piss you off.”
“Nothing really. You and I, we’re different.” He ticked off his list, beginning with what he considered the number one problem—the gap in education. “I started dwelling on that and it freaked me out.”
“You are an ass. My first and only love up to this point was Danny Panguino, a mechanic. He fixed cars for a living, Ryder. We met in high school. From day one, Danny let me know he had no intentions of ever setting foot inside a college. It wasn’t for him. I didn’t give a rat’s ass. I loved Danny with all my heart. We planned to marry, would have, too, if a drunk driver hadn’t taken care of his future. From the age of sixteen to twenty-three I never cared whether or not he had some piece of paper tucked away in his closet that said how smart he was. That would be incredibly petty of me anyway since my own father never graduated high school.”
“I had no idea what Danny did for a living.”
“That’s because instead of talking to me about how you felt, you clammed up. Last night, you barely said two words to me before dumping me on my doorstep. You couldn’t run back to your truck fast enough.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. Could we start over?”
“I don’t know. Can we? Will you communicate a little better or will you close off and keep things to yourself?”
Scott’s words about feelings echoed back at him and made him grin. “I’ll do my best.”
“Okay then.”
“Take a walk with me. It’s a nice night and there’s something I’d like to show you.”
After locking up the house and watching her dad drive off, she asked. “Where are we going?”
“Some place I think shows potential, like this house.”
They headed toward the pier under a glittery night sky. When they were standing in front of an empty shell of a store, Ryder took her hand. “I’m not a mechanic although I do like working with my hands.” He inched up to the dirty windows. Peering inside, he said, “According to Zach, this used to be where they built sailboats. It’s hard to believe it was once a viable business. I’d like to bring it back to its former glory.”
“And I’d like to see you do it.”
“What do you say I treat you to the Sunday night special at the Diner—Max’s meatloaf and mashed potatoes.”
“I’d be nuts to say no to an offer like that.”
Tuesday night as planned, she and Ryder gathered in Ethan Cody’s living room. But so far the psychic summit hadn’t exactly gone the way Julianne thought it would. The debate between brothers, Ethan and Brent, was often heated, not to mention centered toward a stubborn attitude, primarily Brent’s.
“I’d think you would appreciate the support and recognize help when it’s offered. Anything at all that would give up something of value to point you in the right direction.” Ethan roamed the room before coming to a stop in front of his brother. “What I don’t understand is why such a hard-headed approach on this case? It isn’t like Layne Richmond went missing on your watch.”
“Is that what you think? No offense to you, Dad, or to you, Ethan, but I do have investigative skills.”
“None taken,” Marcus Cody said as he took a glass of tea from his wife, Lindeen.
“Speak for yourself,” Ethan stated.
Not afraid to enter the fray, Julianne spoke up. “I thought we’d gotten past all this?”
“Talk to him,” Ethan said, pointing a finger at the town cop. “He’s acting like this is the first time we’ve ever come together on a case.”
Turning to Brent, Julianne stared at the stubborn look on his face. “We all know you’ve called on your family before now. Getting together like this provides a way for us to jump start new ideas. So I’d just like to point out that we shouldn’t forget about the other victim in all this, Brooke Caldwell. Maybe there’s something in her past we haven’t considered. I don’t hear as much about her. Although, I’m convinced wherever Layne is that’s where we’ll find Brooke too.”
“That’s just it, no one’s forgetting about anybody, not if I have anything to do about it,” Brent stated.
“I don’t know what the big deal is. It isn’t like police departments haven’t turned to psychics before as an investigative tool,” Ryder pointed out.
But Ethan sensed something else was at play. “If Dad and I take a look at this, what is it you’re afraid we’ll see? You’ve used us before. Why the brick wall now?”
“I’m not afraid of anything.” But the police chief looked around the room at the faces staring back at him. His gaze landed on his wife.
“You might as well tell them,” River urged with a shrug. She tossed a no-nonsense look Ethan’s way, then at Marcus. “Sometimes you both forget that Brent has his own gift. He senses things, too. And it’s usually from up close and personal.”
Ethan considered that, stopped his pacing around the room and dropped down into a chair. “Okay, you’re right. What is it you see then?”
“Before I share that, I’d like to point out that two of Layne’s kids still live here and are a major part of the community. For the first time since hanging up my county badge and taking this job, I’m concerned about collateral damage.”
“Wait, does that mean you think Eleanor did something to her husband and to Brooke?” When he took a long time to answer, Julianne plopped down on the sofa beside Ryder. “Well, crap. You do believe it.”
“I didn’t say that. But emailing Cooper, talking to Caleb and Drea, I got a sense that they’d suffered incredible pain, deep, deep sorrow that goes back years, along with regret that goes to the heart of innocence lost.”
“Powerful medicine,” Marcus said with a nod of his head.
“These young adults, Layne’s children are obviously still reeling from the psychological effects of whatever happened in their childhoods.” Brent looked at Julianne. “Whatever they endured, happened in that house, the same house where we showed up and pulled out rotten flooring. That’s why I suggest a cleansing ceremony as soon as you move in. Get rid of the dark and the evil aura around the place.”
“Good idea, but you’re sort of scaring me, Brent.”
“There’s no need to be afraid now.”
“So what you’re saying, if I’m getting this, is that finding out what happened to Layne and Brooke might possibly take his kids deeper into that dark and evil abyss?” Ryder wondered.
“Yeah, and it won’t be pretty.”
“I feel like such a jerk,” Julianne said. “I came here hoping to see Marcus or Ethan or both in action. Not only do I learn Brent is like his brother and his dad, but I discover something about myself. I’m thinking more about me than the consequences to Layne’s children.”
“Same here. I never once considered the kids. Does this mean you’re done with the investigation?”
“Hell no, the search is just ramping up,” Brent said. “What I ultimately learn won’t factor into the equation about the kids. Nor will the fact that no one ever cared enough to look before now.”
Later after Julianne and Ryder had gone, Marcus, Ethan, and Brent left the women inside and wandered out into the backyard for privacy so they could talk.
“That was a good front you put up in there for everyone. Mind telling me what that was all about?” Ethan asked.
“Let’s ju
st say, if I follow my instincts, you could have your next bestseller without too much of an effort.”
“What are you saying?”
“I wasn’t kidding when I used the words dark and evil to describe Eleanor. I just have to be able to prove it.”
As Ryder and Julianne walked out to their cars, she turned to him and admitted, “I hate to be a wuss, but that might’ve been the scariest conversation I can remember ever having.”
“I’m with you there. Not even seeing Scott is freaking me out as much as the talk about an ‘evil presence’ inside your house.”
“Tell me about it. I’m done playing amateur detective. I’m not cut out for this investigative thing.”
“There’s something going on with Brent. He definitely knows more than he’s sharing.”
“Yeah, I got that, too. Do you remember what I said about turning the house inside out to see if I could find any clues?”
“Sure.”
“Pop and I did that Sunday, turned up nada. There are no hidden panels in any of the closets, nothing in the heating ducts, no loose boards in the attic.”
“Maybe the clue, whatever it is, isn’t in the house at all.”
Her eyes darted to the dark street, the shadows on the lawn, even the flower beds and bushes. “You mean outside in the yard?” She thought about that, lifted one shoulder. “I wouldn’t even know what to look for. That’s why I refuse to act crazy and dig up my grass.”
“A wise decision, I’m sure.”
“But what I am doing is calling Marcus as soon as I get back to Santa Cruz and scheduling that cleansing ceremony as soon as possible. I sure as hell am not waiting until moving day.”
Chapter Twelve
For the rest of that month, Julianne ran herself ragged seven days a week, spending her usual five in the classroom while weekends were dedicated to the house alongside her dad.
In one weekend, from seven in the morning until six that night, father and daughter replaced the bath tub, the toilet and the sinks. They put in all new tile in the shower and bathroom area. The next Saturday and Sunday they installed modern, light-colored oak cabinets in the kitchen, put in slate countertops, replaced and hammered out more rotten wood and drywall in the laundry room, opening the space up a good four feet.
Ryder showed up whenever he could spare a precious moment but for the most part, the sweaty task fell to Julianne and her dad.
After Brent’s suggestion, she’d enlisted Marcus Cody to do a thorough purification ceremony of the premises, both inside and out. She didn’t care whether anyone found it strange, crazy, or nuts. Watching the elder go through his ritual made her feel better about the house and its less-than-happy-history.
She divided her time between rehabbing the place and prepping for the Pelican Pointe Street Fair. Scheduled for the third week of March, it lasted three days, Friday through Sunday. Her busy days made it tough to get her booth ready. But she wasn’t about to let an opportunity pass without the chance to make extra money. She’d also be able to get rid of some of her inventory at the same time.
As the event got closer, out-of-towners jammed the sidewalks, the beaches and the waterfront. Vendors descended in RVs and campers along with the carnival workers pulling their portable booths. Tents began popping up along Main Street. Parking became a problem. People flocked to the beaches, the pier, and the shops. For a week the little town of less than three thousand burst with the sights and sounds of a spring fair in the making and the chaos that came with it.
She’d seen for herself that Brent had a crime wave on his hands. Complaints poured in from locals—the usual bitching about cars illegally parking in front of houses escalated to fights breaking out among the carny workers. There was talk about turning one of the old storefronts on Main Street into a police station.
Even a newcomer like Julianne recognized a challenging three days ahead.
In order to set up on time, she had to get an early start. With the help of her dad they started loading up all the items she thought might sell into the Turtle at five-thirty. They pulled into Pelican Pointe a little after seven o’ clock. She went in search of Murphy to get her tent assignment and found the grocer inside his store manning checkout.
“Who do I see about donating my profits toward the school renovation?”
The surprise on Murphy’s face said it all. “Who spilled the beans?”
“Let’s just say, the subject kept cropping up over the last few weeks.”
“It isn’t necessary. Feel free to keep what you make.”
“No, I want to do it. Don’t argue with me about this, Murphy. It’s what I want.”
“Any trouble getting today off?”
“I lucked out. Today is a county-wide administrative holiday. Now tell me where to set up and I’ll get out of your hair?”
Her booth turned out to be a good location, right across from the store. One piece at a time, she and her dad hefted the furniture into the tent—pretty chairs and tables, dressers and chests—all things she’d refurbished and polished to a gleam. There was the sideboard she’d put back together. The old cabinet she’d rescued from the trash bin.
Once they got everything unloaded and set in place, she breathed in the smell of fresh coffee. “Pop, I don’t know about you but I could use a shot of caffeine.”
“You read my mind. You making the run or am I?”
“I’ll do it. You get off your feet.”
John shook his head. “Girl, I’m not even winded.”
“Sit down anyway. I have a feeling it’ll be a long day.”
She followed the smell of warm dough and cinnamon coming from the food court, set up practically next door. A high-traffic area, she decided, as she made her way to the common area between the bank and the market. The park, such as it was, already swarmed with activity. People waited in line to order from the menu of breakfast items someone had scrawled on a chalkboard along with a list of flavored coffees.
“You have a very good location.”
Julianne turned at the voice and saw it belonged to Drea Jennings. “Well, hello. That’s what I was thinking. A lot of foot traffic near the food court is always a plus. This is like a circus atmosphere. I didn’t expect to see so many people.”
“I know. For the next three days it’s absolute gridlock. The throngs are getting bigger and bigger each year.”
“By the way, Jordan loved the arrangement of tulips you made for her. I’m glad you suggested the pink. I’m staying out at Promise Cove again this weekend and I need to stop by and pick out something else for her. The woman adores flowers, has an amazing green thumb. And I know she’s giving me a discounted rate for the weekend so...”
“Hey, I’d be terrible at what I do if I didn’t keep track of what my customers prefer.”
“That must be a story in itself.”
“Oh it is. For instance, I know for a fact every time Bran Sullivan goes fishing, he always comes back into town and orders his wife, Joy, yellow roses. So you come by and see me when you get ready to order Jordan’s next thank-you and I’ll fix up something special for her.”
“I will. So you sell a lot of flowers during this event?”
“A ton, not just in bunches either, but herbs and specialty plants, so many we have to restock the garden center afterward.”
About that time, Ryder and Zach walked up, followed by Troy and Bree.
“You’re out and about early,” Julianne said to the four of them. “Making the rounds already?”
“It’s tough to work when the place is bursting at the seams,” Zach grumbled. “You can’t even get from one end of town to the other without detouring to Ocean Street, let alone find a decent place to park.”
“You walked over here,” Ryder pointed out. “You walk to work every single day.”
“Zach just likes to bitch,” his sister said to Ryder. “Zach needs a girlfriend. If he’d get out of the house once in a while and do something other than work, he’d be a lot happie
r.”
“Bite me,” Zach returned in the way of familiar sibling conflict. “Could I at least get some coffee in me before you air all the family secrets on Main Street?”
Bree laughed at her big brother. “Come on. Admit you haven’t dated since you got back from Colorado.”
“Excuse me if my priorities are keeping food on the table and my wayward kid sister in college.”
Bree ignored his grousing and leaned in so only he could hear. “What about the cute florist?” she suggested eyeing Drea Jennings, the brunette. Aiming an elbow at her brother’s rib, she added, “There’s a dance tomorrow night, maybe you should ask her to go.”
“Cut it out, Bree,” Zach demanded with one lethal glare. He looked back, hoping Drea hadn’t been listening. When he realized she was still in conversation with Julianne, he dropped his head to whisper, “Stay the hell out of my business. Do not embarrass me like that again.”
“Okay, okay. No need to come unglued.” Bree neatly changed the subject. “McCready’s will be packed from noon on. I’ll be on my feet for almost ten hours straight.” She turned to Julianne. “But the tips I bring in should pay for that white lace dress you have on display, the one on the mannequin. Please don’t tell me you want two hundred dollars for it or something equally beyond my budget.”
To Julianne the Battenberg lace and bolero sleeves made it look more suitable for a wedding, but who was she to question a potential customer so she kept her opinions to herself. “You want to buy the 1950s cocktail dress?”
“If the price is right, I do. Did you make it? It’s so sophisticated-looking, so Nicole Kidman-ish.”
Julianne fought an inner battle to divulge that she’d come across the outfit in a pile of old clothes dumped on the curb after one of her neighbors moved out. It had been her rotten luck that the ecru gown had been two sizes too large. But even as she’d lamented about the fact she’d never wear the vintage frock herself, she’d assessed its resell value. “No, I didn’t make it, but I guarantee I’ll give you a great deal on it.”
Last Chance Harbor Page 17
