“Is that an employer maybe?” Emma asked.
He shook his head and silenced the phone, returned it to his pocket. “No. I know who that was, and it’s not anyone I want to talk to.”
“Are you sure? Do you think that’s a good idea, Dad, when you have so many resumes out?”
“You don’t worry about your old man, baby girl.” He stood and practically shooed them out the door. “You go on, now. Buy yourself a pretty outfit and I want to see it when you get home.”
They said their good-byes and went out to Emma’s car. On the way to the outlet mall, Mom asked, “So, how’s that young man of yours? You haven’t brought him around lately.”
Emma sighed. Leave it to Mom to get right to the heart of what was bothering her. “I don’t know, Mom. We’re sort of taking a break from each other, I guess you could say.”
Edna frowned. “How come?”
One thing was certain. She wouldn’t tell Mom the truth about their last encounter. So, what?
“You know, Mom, relationships are hard. And I know they’re never perfect. A perfect person doesn’t exist. But when you look at Jeremy, there are just so many red flags. His history, for one. He’s an ex-con. He broke the law and spent a decade in prison. And his history with Dad. Those two things might be a little too hard to get over. I’d probably be better off dating someone else. Someone without all that baggage.”
Her mom had been silent throughout her diatribe. Emma looked over at her and gave her the eyebrows-up question look. “Is he a good man, Emma?”
“Yes. Yes, he is.”
“And do you love him?”
Tears erupted from her eyes and in place of words, she nodded her head, hard.
“Then I’d say you two can get over just about anything.”
* * *
Jeremy was at his store, working on the big order. He’d kicked butt over the last ten days and finished the coffee table and two end tables. Amazing how much time he had to apply to work when he no longer had a girlfriend to spend time with. Evidently. From the fact that neither one of them was reaching out to the other. Maybe he should just call her and face his lumps.
Or maybe not.
He turned back to the furniture. He’d like to start one of the bigger items, but he hadn’t received the deposit check yet. He’d come to the end of his own funds to finance the order. He had to get some compensation or he wouldn’t be able to continue. However, if he didn’t continue, he’d never meet the aggressive deadline requested by his client. Unfortunately, Joe Martin wasn’t answering his phone. Jeremy had called at least three times over the last few days and the phone rang and rang before going to voicemail. He was starting to feel like a pest.
On the other hand, he was also starting to feel duped. Sure, if this client turned out to be nothing and he never saw payment, he’d just put the three tables in the front window and offer them as a set or separates. But it sure would be better to be paid in advance for the work.
His cell phone rang and he glanced at the screen. The police? He answered it immediately.
“Mr. Harrison, could you come over to the Seaside Inn? We have some information to share about our investigation of the fire and since it was your property that was damaged, we’d like to tell you and the owners.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be right over.”
He practically dove out the front door of the shop, turning to make sure he locked it, then ran to his truck. He made it to Marianne’s in record time, and pulled into the front drive, parking behind the unmarked police car. He walked around to the back of the Inn, where the fire had originated. Marianne, Tom and three other men stood talking when he interrupted. His sister introduced him, and also the fire chief, the police detective and the insurance investigator.
The detective cleared his throat. “We’ve conducted a joint investigation and we have determined the fire was not an accident. It was intentionally set. It was arson.”
Marianne gasped and Tom pulled her closer. “What brings you to that conclusion?” he asked.
The fire chief answered. “Mr. Harrison used a non-flammable finish on the chest and he dried it in a spot with plenty of ventilation. Upon investigation, we traced a puddle of lacquer shellac in the center of the surface. Lacquer shellac is extremely flammable. We feel it was most likely ignited with a match.”
Jeremy walked over to his sister and her husband and put an arm on each of their shoulders. “Do you have any suspects?”
“No, we don’t. We’ll continue to work on that. In fact, we’d like to isolate each of you and ask you a series of questions.”
Tom said, alarmed, “You can’t suspect any of us, now, do you?”
The police chief responded, “It’s all routine. We have no suspects now, so we need to start with you all.”
Marianne said, “We’ll cooperate, of course, to help move the investigation along. Tom, do you want to take them to one of the tables in the dining room, the far corner?”
Tom nodded and escorted the three officials into the Inn. Marianne collapsed onto a beach chair.
“I’m so sorry, sis. This is all my fault. If my furniture hadn’t been stored under there, the Inn never would’ve been in danger.”
“Jeremy, don’t be silly. You’re my brother and I love you. You needed help and I wanted to help you. None of us knew a crazy person would track down your furniture and set it on fire. Or, did it have anything to do with you? Maybe your furniture was just the start. Maybe it was a disgruntled previous guest of the Inn who thought they received bad service and wanted retribution.”
Marianne looked at him, eyebrows up, like she’d just uncovered a potential answer. Then they both broke into laughter at the same time.
“Yeah,” Jeremy chuckled, “one of those shifty snowbirds wanted to teach you a lesson. You know how nasty vacationers can get. Really, sis.”
“It sure will be nice to get some answers.”
Yes, an answer is what they needed. Not the endless supposition his mind was taking him through lately. One suspect that had been plaguing his mind was Leroy. Was White one step ahead of Jeremy? Had White known Jeremy was here, trying to go clean and make an honest business? Was White holding a grudge, or was he simply, as Eddie said, bored and looking for some fun? How fun would it be to locate and destroy several thousand dollars’ worth of product built by a fellow ex-con? One who was trying to go clean?
That could be right up Leroy’s alley.
On the other hand, when he saw Leroy the other night, he’d seemed honestly surprised to run into Jeremy at the store, and even wished him well when he left. Could Leroy have figured out not only where Jeremy lived, but where he was storing his excess furniture, without Jeremy catching any wind of it at all?
Supposition and guesses frustrated him. He’d best leave the investigation work to the professionals. Jeremy turned his attention back to his sister. “Meanwhile, my stuff is out of here and you’re no longer in danger, if it was me they were targeting. I moved into my new storefront space. Tons of room. So nice to be able to spread out. I’m looking forward to a grand opening when I have enough inventory built up.”
Marianne shifted in her chair. “Oh gosh, I totally forgot. Good for you, Jeremy! Were you able to repair any of the water-damaged furniture from the fire?”
“I started to. Finished a couple, then I got a call from a really big client. He wanted a ton of new furniture built. He knew exactly what he wanted and I started work on it.”
“Fantastic! I’m so happy for you. Word about your work is getting out. See? I told you it would.”
“Yeah,” Jeremy mused. “But the question is, how? When he called me, he said he’d seen my catalogue. He requested a bunch of pieces by name. I really didn’t think my work was that well known yet.”
“The power of the internet.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
Marianne thought for a moment, tapping her finger on her chin. “Remember the photo album I made for you to display at the hol
iday craft fair at the high school? In fact, I still have it. I put it on my book shelf in the great room for customers to see.” She hoisted out of the low-sitting chair and headed for the Inn through the back porch door. Jeremy followed her. “Eight by ten photos of each of your pieces that I made into that photo album. I guess it could be called a catalogue.” She dug around in the book shelf. “Hmmm, I wonder if someone took it to their room to peruse and never brought it back.” She ended up taking everything off the shelf, sorting through, and returning them. “It’s gone.”
They blinked at each other. “So, what does that mean?” he asked.
“Well, like I said, we may find it in a guest’s room when they check out. Or it could mean that the man who placed your big order had been a guest at the Inn, took the album and never brought it back.”
“Well, I hope he was better with compensating you than me. I’ve completed three pieces for him and he’s never paid his deposits. I’m basically building this stuff on my own dime and hoping beyond hope that he comes through soon with the check he promised me. He did say he was out of town, which would explain why he was a guest here. Maybe a snowbird from the Midwest. On the other hand, he had a local cell phone number.”
Tom came out from his interview session with the officials, and told them they were ready for the next. Jeremy went in next and answered a series of questions about what he remembered seeing, hearing and smelling that night. He answered to the best of his ability, but he really had nothing useful to share.
When he returned to the great room, Stella had joined her mother and Marianne was telling the little girl that she’d have to wait, that they couldn’t go digging in the sand until her meeting with the nice men in the dining room was over.
“Marianne, you go in with them. I’ll take Stella outside.”
Marianne gave him a grateful glance. He took Stella’s hand and walked with her through the sun porch, across the wooden deck outside, down the stairs, and onto the sand. When she got to her favorite spot on the sand, she dropped to her knees and started digging with her plastic shovel.
“How you been, pretty girl?”
She shrugged and kept digging, dumping sand into the bucket, digging some more.
“You feeling any better after the fire? I know it was so scary to be the first one to see the smoke.”
She nodded. “I guess so.”
He watched her, his heart breaking just a little at her lack of responsiveness. His little Stella was a spitfire, a ball of energy who entertained everyone and made all the adults want to hug her.
A little charm hung from a chain around her neck. It glittered on the outside of her tee shirt, reflecting what was left of the day’s sun.
“That’s a nice necklace, sweetheart. Is that new?”
“Yep.”
“Was it a gift?” He reached for it, caught it in his palm and studied it. It was a simple pink rhinestone with fake sparkly stones mounted on each of its four corners. Exactly the type of cheap ornament a little girl her age would adore.
“Yep.” Stella brought a hand up from her work and pushed a lock of hair off her forehead.
“Your mama get you that?” It would be just like Marianne to take Stella shopping for a little trinket to get her mind off the fire and the smoke.
“Nope. Grandpa Joe gave it to me.” She kept digging, then, her bucket full, she stood and made her way to the water’s edge and added a little moisture into the sand. He watched her on her way there and on her way back, but for the life of him, he couldn’t come up with a Grandpa Joe in their family or Tom’s. When she returned, she dumped the bucket upside down and it emerged as a full, firm bucket-shaped mold of sand, the beginning of one of her castles, famous among anyone who stayed at the Inn.
“Good job, sweetie. So, who is Grandpa Joe?”
She shrugged. “He’s a grandpa. He talks to me sometimes and he digs with me. He gave me this present.”
Jeremy nodded. One of the guests who stayed here for the winter maybe? Stella must be a favorite among the old folks, she was so sweet and personable. But with all the weirdness going on, Jeremy made a mental note to ask Marianne if she was acquainted with one named Joe.
* * *
A few days later, Jeremy was finishing up the re-staining of one of the water-damaged pieces. He applied the last of the finish on a shaker design bedroom set. He had selected northern maple, and using tips he’d learned from research on the internet, he used a 12-step finish process to bring out just the right color combinations. He’d built this piece as one of a set – the customer could select between a bed with headboard and footboard, this tall, stand-up dresser, a matching armoire and a nightstand or two. It was modern with a touch of old-style traditional.
At first glance, he wasn’t sure he could restore this bureau to its original beauty after the fire hoses sprayed water so close to it. When he started, the entire top surface was a soggy mess. But after the extensive rehaul, it was looking good. He’d start next on the armoire. If he could rescue these two pieces, it would be well worth his time.
The cell phone rang, sitting on the counter. He grabbed a cloth and wiped the wet stain from his hands and answered it.
“This is Joe Martin here. I’m ready to meet with you and get some of my furniture.”
His pulse rate took a little jump on its own. “Mr. Martin, so good to hear from you. Have you gotten my messages? I’ve left you several.”
“I got one, I think. I’ve been traveling and cell phone coverage is sketchy. But I told you to get started on the pieces and I’m now ready for some delivery.”
“Great, that’s great, sir. I’ve got several of your pieces ready.”
“How many?”
“Three.”
“Is that all? All right, then. I’ll see you about two thirty today.”
The man didn’t ask if he was available, he assumed he would be. But he would let it pass.
Mr. Martin gave him an address which, even after spending his entire life on the island, Jeremy was unfamiliar with. “I’ll need some directions. I don’t know where that is.”
Jeremy grabbed a pen and jotted directions as the man gave them. Seemed out in the middle of nowhere, but he’d find it. “What is this, a cabin in the woods?” Sounded homey, a nice little getaway.
“Yeah, that’s about right.”
“Okay then, I’ll see you at 2:30 with your three tables. And you’ll bring me either cash or a check in payment.” He pulled his paperwork closer and did some calculations. He gave Mr. Martin a final price for the three items, as well as the deposit on the remaining pieces.
“Whoa, that’s getting mighty pricey there, ain’t it?”
“Well, normally you would’ve paid me half as a deposit to cover my expenses before I started building. I never received your deposit check so I floated the cost myself for the smaller pieces. Now I’m finished so you need to pay me the full price.”
The man cleared his throat. “You must think you’re pretty good to be charging those high prices.”
Jeremy hesitated, a little feeling of dread attacking his throat. “Mr. Martin, you and I did agree on the price list, remember?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you having second thoughts?”
“No, no. I’m fine. I’ll see you at 2:30.” And he broke off the call.
For the next few hours, Jeremy kept busy restoring the shaker set, doing his best not to think about the odd conversation with Joe Martin. However, his best wasn’t enough to keep the exchange out of his mind. He kept coming back to it. This Martin was an odd duck, for sure. Calling out of the blue, knowing exactly what he wanted, being in such a rush for him to start, being out of touch for weeks, then finally calling and disputing the agreed upon price. Jeremy applied the tenth coat on the armoire. He was new to this business, still learning. But in retrospect, he definitely could’ve handled this transaction better.
Should he have raced to meet Mr. Martin’s deadlines? Should he have started th
e work without a deposit? Probably not, however, he’d pray for a positive outcome and he’d learn for the next time. Once he was recovered from the damaged furniture incidents, and he’d built a full inventory again, he could establish some business processes and not deviate from them. Meanwhile, he desperately needed the money, and he would do his best to satisfy this Martin character.
Soon it was time to go. He loaded the finished pieces into the back of his truck, strapping the pieces down as tight as he could so they wouldn’t get damaged in the transport. He started up the truck, leaving early to allow himself time to find this place. Out in the woods somewhere. He was sure he’d find it, but it wasn’t like a GPS would take him right to it.
After fifteen minutes or so, he arrived in the general location of the woods. Now he just had to find the cabin. As he drove over a gravel road, he looked around. Very isolated. Very remote. In fact, he couldn’t imagine that mail service delivered out here. There were no housing developments that he was aware of. This cabin of Joe Martin’s must be a rustic getaway for hunting and fishing. Why, then, would the man pay good money to furnish the place with all brand-new, custom-made furniture?
He ran into a few dead ends, turned around, tried again. He pulled out the note paper he’d jotted directions on and tried to get back on track. Once he even called Mr. Martin’s cell number, but not to his surprise, there was no answer.
Finally, he came across a run-down dump of a cabin. Considering it was the only construction he’d encountered in his exploration, it had to be the place. On the other hand, it couldn’t possibly be the place. It was a heap of a building, roof sagging, weeds overgrown all around it. No one could live here in its condition. Nature was taking it over, in its neglect.
He jumped out of the truck and walked toward the structure. He tried the front door, but curiously, it was locked. He walked to the side and looked through a broken windowpane. A raccoon startled, and he caught the reflection of two eyes shining in the sheltered darkness. There were no signs of human life – no furniture, no blankets, not even a refrigerator in the tiny corner of the place designated as a kitchen.
Pawleys Island Paradise boxset, Books 1 - 3 Page 45
