Third Strike

by Kathi Daley

  “Beautiful night,” I heard George say.

  I opened my eyes. “It is. Are you out for a walk?”

  “A short one. Walking helps to clear my mind so I can settle in without a million thoughts running through my head, disturbing my sleep. Mind if I sit with you for a minute?”

  “Not at all. I’d welcome the company.”

  George sat down next to me. He took the old pipe he often smoked out of his pocket and held it up in question. I nodded, so he lit it and took a few puffs of the sweet-smelling tobacco. I wasn’t a fan of cigarette or even cigar smoke, but I found the smoke from a pipe brought back fond memories of my grandfather.

  George and I sat in silence for a few minutes before he spoke. “I was down at the museum today, talking to Meg Collins about the history of the island for the historical novel I’m writing.”

  He paused, and it seemed to me his thought was incomplete. “How did that go?” I asked.

  “Good. Meg is a very bright woman. She had a lot of very useful information and she seemed very enthusiastic about sharing her love of the island. She really is quite remarkable.”

  “She is,” I agreed.

  “I was wondering if you knew much about her personal life.”

  I turned and looked directly at George. “Her personal life?”

  “Marital status. That sort of thing.”

  I smiled. It looked as if George might have a crush on the turtle rescue lady. “I know she’s currently single and that she has a daughter who lives out of state, so I imagine she must have been married at some point, although it’s possible to have a child without a husband. She’s lived on the island for a long time; I’ve had conversations with her in which she’s shared memories of events that occurred here decades ago. I also know she’s kind and intelligent and really cares about the island, the people who live here, and the turtles she protects.”

  “So you’re certain she isn’t currently involved in a romantic relationship?”

  I placed my hand on George’s arm. “No, I’m not certain. The subject’s never come up between us, but based on what I’ve observed, I’d say she’s very much single. If you want to know for certain, why don’t you ask her?”

  It was odd to see George, who was always so confident and levelheaded, stuttering around like a schoolboy.

  “I’ve had a good life though I’ve never married and really haven’t dated all that much. The pursuit of knowledge has always been my mistress, so asking out a woman I’ve only recently gotten to know feels awkward. Maybe I should just spend more time at the museum. Get to know her better.”

  “That’s probably a good idea. I’m thinking of having a big Thanksgiving dinner here at the resort. I haven’t asked everyone yet, but I’m fairly certain everyone plans to be around. Why don’t you invite her? I don’t know whether she already has plans, but if she doesn’t, it’ll give you the opportunity to get that first date out of the way while surrounded by people who know and love you.”

  George furrowed his brow. I could see he needed to give the idea some thought. “It would be a nice thing to invite her to have Thanksgiving with all of us if she doesn’t have plans. I’ve spent a good number of holidays alone, and I can say from experience that being by yourself while others are with family and friends is a lonely proposition.”

  “I agree. Meg knows everyone at the retreat to a certain degree and I’m sure she’d be happy to have a place to go if she isn’t already busy.”

  “Okay.” I could see George had made up his mind. “I’ll ask her tomorrow.”

  “Great. I’m going to invite all the writers here, along with Jack and Gertie, who I’m hoping will help with the cooking. Oh, and Deputy Savage, although he has family on the island, so he may be busy.”

  George chuckled. “Oh, I don’t know about that. Judging by the way he and Victoria eye each other when they think no one’s looking, I’d say there’s a good chance he’ll come if she’ll be here.”

  George had a point. Rick Savage and Victoria had been tiptoeing around each other ever since she’d been back from Los Angeles, and I suspected it was only a matter of time before the cat-and-mouse dance they’d been engaged in turned into another sort of dance entirely.

  Chapter 2

  Thursday, November 16

  Stan Barber was the most laid-back building inspector I’d ever met. When he’d come to inspect the three cabins George, Alex, and Brit had moved into a month ago, all he’d done was peek in the door of each unit before commenting on such trivial things as wall color and flooring choices. I’d been stressing over the first inspection for days, going over every little detail to make sure I had all my ducks in a row, but this time I prepared for Stan’s visit by baking pumpkin muffins to offer the easygoing man.

  “Mornin’, Ms. Hanford,” Stan greeted me as he climbed out of his beat-up old truck. “This here is my friend Gordo. I think I mentioned the last time that I might bring him by.”

  “Yes, I remember. I’m pleased to meet you, Gordo.”

  “This is a real nice place you have here.” Gordo turned in a full circle after climbing out of the truck.

  “Thank you. My brother owns it, but I’m very much enjoying living here.” I turned to Stan. “The three cabins ready for inspection are just down this path. I’ve opened them up for you so you can look around at your leisure.”

  “Did you take my advice about the flooring?” Stan asked. He hadn’t been a fan of the carpet we’d installed in the first three cabins.

  “I did,” I answered. “We’ve installed tile throughout. And, as with the first three cabins, the outside decks have been upgraded to commercial quality and all the appliances were installed by a professional.”

  “Okay, let’s have a look.”

  I led Stan and Gordo down the narrow path that wound its way through the trees to the clearing where the second set of cabins were located. Initially, twenty cabins had been scattered around the large property Garrett owned, but after speaking to several contractors, we’d decided that eight of the twenty cabins would be torn down, leaving the twelve best to undergo renovations. We’d managed to complete six of the twelve in just four months and were set to begin another three as early as next week.

  “I like the way the cabins are tucked into the trees so each space seems very private,” Gordo commented.

  “Yes, whoever originally designed the space did a good job. We tore down the cabins in the worst repair, which opened up the space even more than it was already.”

  “So you aren’t planning to reopen the resort as a family vacation spot?”

  “Not now,” I answered Stan’s friend. “We currently have six authors in residence and I have applications from several others who are interested in long- or short-term lodging.”

  “If I was an author, I’d be interested. Place is real nice and peaceful.”

  Stan paused as we arrived at the first of the three cabins. This time he actually went inside and did a cursory inspection. He checked all the electrical outlets and turned the water in the kitchen sink on and off. He opened the kitchen cupboards and asked a few questions about the circuit breakers and the emergency turnoff for the gas and water. Gordo decided to take a walk down to the beach while Stan worked, so I followed quietly behind him, answering any questions he had.

  As it had been last time, this inspection was relatively painless. He offered a few suggestions as he worked, but I could see he hadn’t found any problems. Once he’d completed his task, we headed back to his truck, where he signed the paperwork I’d need and I handed him a bag full of homemade muffins. Gordo returned from the beach just as we were finishing our conversation. He asked about the man working in the cabin closest to the beach, where the turtles laid their eggs, and I explained that the contractor was here today to prepare the next three cabins for the crew that would start work the following week. I assured both men that the renovations would be completed long before the turtles returned to the area next spring.

 
; After they left, I headed down to the cabins that were being prepped to check in with the general contractor Garrett had hired.

  “How does it look?” I asked as I entered the cabin in which he was working.

  Jason Silverman was a tall man with broad shoulders who never smiled and seemed to totally lack a sense of humor. When I’d first met him, I’d found his tendency to take everything extremely seriously to be off-putting, but as I got to know him better I’d realized his structured approach to things was simply his way of processing the world around him. Under his gruff exterior, he was a pretty nice guy.

  “Everything looks fine. I found this in the wall when I pulled the paneling away.” Jason handed me a small metal box.

  “This was in the wall?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Looks like it’s been there a while.”

  I tried to open it, but it was locked. “I suppose some past occupant must have left it there. I wonder why they didn’t take it when they left.”

  “Don’t rightly know. I looked around for a key but didn’t find one.”

  I looked at the box I held in my hands. “I guess I can try to pick the lock. Maybe the name of the owner will be inside. Did you find anything else in the wall when you removed the paneling?”

  “No, ma’am, just the box. I’m about through here for today. I have a crew scheduled to arrive on Monday to finish the demolition. They should be here for a day or two. The crew who’ll take care of the new construction will start the Monday after Thanksgiving.”

  “That’s great. I appreciate how fast you’ve gotten this project started.”

  “A fast turnaround was part of the contract I worked out with Garrett.” Jason began stacking the old paneling outside the cabin for pickup later. “Did the inspection go all right?”

  “Everything was fine. I have a writer moving in to the larger of the cabins this afternoon.”

  “Okay, then. I’ll see you on Monday.”

  “Have a nice weekend.” I waved as he headed to his truck. He waved back but didn’t say anything. Not that I was expecting him to. Jason wasn’t the sort to waste words on pleasantries.

  I went to the main house and informed Vikki that she could begin moving her stuff in at any time. Then I took the box Jason had found up to my room. I had to admit I was curious about what might be inside. The box wasn’t overly heavy, but I could hear things moving around inside, so I knew it wasn’t empty. First, I tried to pick the lock with a nail file, but that didn’t work, so I decided to see if I could find something to cut off the lock. I hated to ruin the box, but it was old and I was fairly certain whoever had left it hidden must have forgotten all about it.

  “Do you know if we have bolt cutters anywhere?” I asked Clara, who was sitting on the sunporch drinking tea.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe you should ask George. I know he has some tools he keeps on hand to make minor repairs.”

  “Is he in his cabin?”

  “I believe so. How did the inspection go?”

  “We’re all set,” I answered. “Vikki is packing her stuff as we speak."

  I was about to head out to look for George when I realized Nicole Carrington was due to arrive at any moment. I informed Clara that our potential tenant would be here shortly and asked if she’d like to take part in the interview. Clara had moments when she demonstrated odd behavior that would put some people off, but she was also sensitive and observant and I welcomed her input. The current group of authors at the retreat had become very important to me and the last thing I wanted to do was make an addition that would upset the family we’d created.

  ******

  Nicole Carrington was a tall woman with a thin frame and long black hair. She had a pale complexion and huge brown eyes that made her look startled much of the time. Like Jason, she had a serious and confident way about her that I suspected presented a barrier to others. I introduced Clara and myself, then asked Nicole to take a seat in the living room so we could chat.

  “Before I show you the cabin, I wanted to get to know you a bit,” I began.

  “Certainly. What would you like to know?”

  “I understand you write true crime.”

  “That’s correct. I included a brief biography with the application I sent you last month.”

  “Yes, thank you. You were very thorough. It looks as if you meet the basic requirements for leasing a cabin at the retreat, but I’d be interested in knowing why you wanted to join our family.”

  She looked momentarily confused. “Family?”

  “I guess I use the term rather loosely, but the authors who’ve chosen to make the Turtle Cove Writers’ Retreat home have bonded in such a way that it feels as if we’ve become a family. I think you’d find living at the resort to be very inclusive.”

  Nicole straightened her posture and leaned forward slightly. “I’m interested in finding lodging on the island while I research a book. It isn’t my intention to sign a social contract of either a formal or informal kind.”

  I was about to inform Ms. Carrington that I didn’t think she’d be a good fit for our little group when I noticed something in her eyes that didn’t quite mesh with her words or body language. I glanced at Clara, who nodded.

  “How about I show you the cabin and then you can decide if you’re still interested? If you are, I’ll process your application and call you in a day or two.”

  Nicole rose. “Very well. I would like to see the accommodations.”

  I stood off to the side while she looked around. I expected she’d take a quick glance at the place but instead took her time, moving around the space slowly, running her hand over the countertops and furniture. She never said a word, but I couldn’t help but notice the look of longing evident on her face. Finally, after a good twenty minutes, she paused and looked at me.

  “What do you think?” I asked.

  “I think it will meet my needs. Thank you for your time. I’ll expect to hear from you by the end of the day tomorrow.”

  With that, she turned and walked out. By the time I’d locked up and we returned to the house, she was gone.

  “What did you make of that?” I asked Clara.

  “She appears to be extremely rigid and almost free of emotion, but it seems clear she’s compensating for strong feelings she chooses not to deal with. Although your conversation was brief, I could pick up both fear and longing from her. She’s suffered a personal trauma that has caused her to retreat into her intellect. She feels safe living behind the barriers she’s erected, but there’s a part of her that yearns for the human contact she won’t allow herself.”

  “I feel bad for her. It must be horrible to have to segregate yourself from those around you. Still, I’m concerned about our group as a whole. I wouldn’t want to bring someone in who’ll create conflict and drama.”

  Clara paused before she answered. “My intuition tells me Nicole has a good heart. I believe it might be worth taking a chance on her.”

  “Okay. I’ll process her application. If everything checks out, I’ll most likely invite her to join us.”

  “Wonderful. Did you ever find the tools you needed?”

  I shook my head. “No. I never had the chance to ask George about bolt cutters. I’ll go now.”

  “He left while you were showing Nicole the cabin. Is it a large bolt you need to cut?”

  “No.” I explained about the box Jason had found in the wall of one of the cabins. Clara informed me that she was quite good at picking locks and offered to try. I ran up to my room, got the box, and brought it back down to the sunroom, where Clara was waiting. She was as good as her word; after less than thirty seconds, she had the box open.

  Inside were several items, including a stack of letters tied together with a pink ribbon, a photograph of a man and woman both smiling at the camera, and a locket. The letters were addressed to someone named Francine.

  “There’s no return address,” I said, “but the letters were all postmarked between April 1963 and July 1964.” I
looked at Clara. “That’s fifty-plus years ago. Do you think the box has been in the wall for fifty years?”

  “I suppose it’s possible. I remember you telling me the resort has been in your brother’s family for three generations. I suppose he must have been a little boy back then.”

  “Garrett’s fifty-eight, so he would have been five when the last letters were written. I wonder if he knows who the man and woman in the photo are.”

  “You can ask him, but that was a long time ago and he was just a little boy.”

  “Yes, but if he knew the couple he might recognize them. Garrett is at the hospital in Charleston for some tests this week. I don’t think he’ll be back on the island until Saturday. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to call him to see if anything about this rings a bell. Do you think we should read the letters to see if we can figure out who they’re from?”

  “I don’t see why not. If we knew who they were from, we might be able to track down the owner of the box.”

  Based on the content of the letters, it appeared they were written by a soldier stationed overseas during the Vietnam War. The letters were signed by someone named Paul, but I didn’t find a last name. It was obvious whoever wrote the letters had gone out of his way not to reveal his exact location or the details of his mission overseas. Still, it seemed apparent he was very much in love with Francine.

  “It looks like Paul and Francine were involved in a long-distance love affair,” I said to Clara. “I’ve only had the chance to glance at the first couple of letters, but I noticed a few mentions of someone named Tom. If I had to guess, I’d say he might have been Francine’s husband, or at least someone she was committed to in some way.” I held up one of the letters. “This mentions Paul’s fear of Tom’s reaction should he find out about the two of them. He also mentions that Tom will be home within a few short weeks, while he has another six months of active duty. He’s concerned about Francine and is counseling her not to let on to Tom any of the details of their affair. I guess we can assume Francine stayed at the resort while her husband was overseas, if that’s who Tom was. I wonder why she didn’t take her box with her when she left.”