Seaside Gifts: a Seaside romance (Hometown Romance)

by Gayle Roper

  Rog straightened and smiled. The approval in his gaze made Nan smile back. Lizzie shot her a slit-eyed look of displeasure for breaking up what was clearly a blossoming love match, at least on Lizzie's part.

  Nan gave the cat a quick ear scratch. "Sorry, Liz."

  The cat shook her head as if flicking away Nan's touch. With a sniff, she stalked regally to the bedroom and her spot on the right-hand bed pillow.

  "I'm not her favorite person." Nan led Rog down the front steps. "She wants Aunt Char."

  "The past few months had to have been hard on her. She'll come around."

  Nan's phone played Mom's ringtone again, and the hairs on the back of Nan's neck bristled. She pulled the phone out, aware she was looking at it with eyes of narrowed displeasure, not unlike the way Lizzie had just stared at her. She bent and set her phone on the third tread. "Remind me not to step on it when I come home."

  She walked onto the boardwalk and pulled the door shut with a satisfying bang.

  Chapter Six

  Rog swallowed a smile as the faint sound of the phone filtered through the door. Score one for Nan. She might look like a pixie, but she obviously had spine. And wisdom. Leaving the phone was better than saying something you might regret when pushed a bit too far.

  "This way." Nan led him to the left, into the most crowded part of the boardwalk. Pizza places, hamburger joints, ice cream and saltwater taffy stores, miniature golf, and game arcades all vied for attention, their signs beckoning in the evening sun.

  "I love this time of year." Nan looked out at the Atlantic, waves breaking gently against the light beige sand. "Long days. Lots of sunlight. Warm temps."

  "Tourists," Rog said as he halted to let a pair of boys run across the boardwalk in front of him, intent on the Johnson's caramel popcorn stand. He usually avoided the boardwalk in the summer unless he was assigned patrol here. Off season, he loved it, especially those early morning jogs.

  He automatically peered at a group of five teenage boys making too much noise and creating chaos as they weaved through the crowd, bumping into people unnecessarily. He turned to watch as they passed, expecting to see a wallet lifted or a hand dipped into a purse. He couldn't decide whether he was disappointed or relieved when he detected nothing but boorish high spirits.

  Off duty, he reminded himself as he turned back toward Mrs. Truscott's, though a cop was never really off duty.

  "Problem?" Nan looked over her shoulder at the boys.

  "Not that I saw. Just bad manners and disrespect."

  He and Nan walked for a bit in an easy silence, the worn boards somewhat warped beneath their feet. Here and there a recent board replacement screamed, "I'm new!" by its light color as it nestled among its weathered comrades. The music pier rose out of the sea on their right, all pink stucco resting on fat pilings driven deep into the sand, the only building on the ocean side of the boardwalk. A marquee advertised a local band slated to play Saturday night.

  He pointed at the sign. "Do you like concerts?"

  She looked. "I do."

  "Want to go?" The words jumped from his lips without premeditation. He glanced at Nan, who looked as startled as he felt. Lori, Lori, Lori.

  "I can't." She held out her hands, palms up in the classic I'm-sorry position. "Work. It's the weekend."

  Larger crowds. More customers. Only days until July Fourth. He couldn't decide whether he was relieved or disappointed she'd declined.

  She studied him a moment, then looked back at the marquee. She cleared her throat. "Ask me again come September, okay? If you still want to, that is."

  He nodded and thought he probably would. After all, she wasn't rejecting him. It was all about timing. Then again, maybe he wouldn't.

  Lori, Lori, Lori.

  It was time to change the subject.

  "Does anyone work for you besides Tammy?"

  Nan nodded. "Just Ingrid. They're friends." She stopped and stared at him. "You suspect one of them?"

  Rog stopped too and looked toward the sea as people flowed around them, the human river parting for a pair of rocks. He'd been thinking of Mooch and his need for a job, but he did need to check out Ingrid and Tammy. Not that he thought they were involved. And not that there was necessarily a crime being committed if they were. "Where would someone their age get those things?"

  "Exactly," Nan said. They resumed walking. "College kids don't have fancy china and ceramics lying around. They have college loans. And if their mothers owned the leavery items, surely they'd notice the things were missing."

  "You'd think." He couldn't imagine a girl packing for a summer away from home and including figurines and bugles, but what if there were a family home here? "Do either of their parents have a place in Seaside?"

  "Nope. They both live in Kentucky in the same small town. It's a case of Tammy deciding it would be fun to work at the Jersey shore for the summer and Ingrid deciding to come, too. Neither had ever been to the ocean before. They showed up looking for a job the first week I was here. Ingrid had already found a job waiting tables for breakfast and lunch, so she only works late afternoons and evenings for me. Tammy works from opening through early evening or from two until closing, as she is today. They've been great. I'm lucky to have them."

  "And there's no one else? Working for you, I mean." No one else to check out?

  "No, though I need to hire someone else."

  "How about your neighbors? Any of them the type to leave you treasures?"

  "One side is a bakery that sells coffee and great sticky buns in the morning and typical boardwalk food the rest of the day. Ed's Eats."

  "A Seaside landmark like Shriver's or Johnson's or Carrie's Cafe."

  "Really? I didn't know. Anyway, I don't see my leavery items coming from there. The

  other side is Surfside, which sells T-shirts, beach patrol sweatshirts, sunglasses, beach towels—you know the kind of stuff."

  Rog nodded. He had a sweatshirt and a pair of swimming trunks from Surfside. Big Mike owned the place and rarely moved from behind his cash register. He definitely didn't have Wedgwood in his life. Disposable dishes with a fast food logo on them were his style.

  Nan's case was fascinating, one of a kind, but it wasn't a real crime unless it turned out the items were stolen—which he thought unlikely. What thief gave away his swag? "I'll stop in tomorrow to check on things, Lori."

  Nan nodded. "Thanks."

  He smiled at her. She was so cute.

  "So, who's Lori?" she asked.

  His step hitched. "What?"

  "Lori. Who is she? You called me by her name."

  "I didn't." Even he wasn't that stupid.

  She laughed. "Did so."

  He replayed the conversation in his mind and heard himself say Lori. He sighed. All that reminding himself about Lori as a talisman against Nan had backfired big time.

  "Let me guess." Nan grinned at him. "An ex, either wife or girlfriend."

  He gave a little head tilt of acknowledgement.

  "Girl or wife?"

  "Girl. In my family, she's the name that shall not be mentioned."

  "In my family, the name that shall not be mentioned is Tyler."

  Tyler. Now there was the guy who was stupid, letting this pixie get away. "Does everyone have someone who was a huge mistake?"

  "Probably. If they're older than sixteen. Do you miss her?"

  "Nosy little thing, aren't you?" But he smiled down at her, so she'd know he didn't mind the question.

  She turned a faint pink. "How do you know things if you don't ask?"

  "Do you miss him? Tyler?"

  "I did at first. Then I was furious at myself for hanging around so long, waiting for him to move off square one." She gave a little snort. "Well, he finally moved, right into someone else's arms."

  "Ouch."

  "Tall with legs, lots of legs, yards of legs." She looked down at her own short appendages.

  Rog grinned as he pictured a tall woman with lots of legs, sort of a human octopus
without the suckers.

  She shrugged. "I'm over him. In fact, I'm glad it didn't work out. He isn't a bad guy, just bad for me."

  He nodded. That was Lori to a T. Not a bad person, just bad for him.

  "So back to my question." Nan turned those wonderful hazel eyes on him. "Do you miss her?"

  "I don't. She rarely crosses my mind anymore." Unless he was using her as a warning to himself against cute brunettes.

  "If you say so."

  He heard the doubt, understandable since he'd called her Lori. "We broke up a while ago. Well, she broke up with me. Didn't want to be a cop's wife. When we started going together, she thought I was going to be a lawyer. I was in law school. But instead of taking the bar, I went to the Police Academy."

  "Ah. From hourly billing to hourly danger."

  He laughed. "Seaside isn't exactly New York or Philadelphia."

  "But we've got leavery!"

  "We do. We'll catch the villain when the security cameras are functioning again."

  "I'm counting on you."

  "Then I'd better succeed."

  They walked a bit in companionable silence before he asked, "If Tyler's the name that shall not be mentioned, who's Brandon?"

  She made a face. "You heard."

  "It's a pretty small apartment."

  She sighed. "He's some guy Mom wants me to meet. He's the nephew of one of her friends. He's part of her campaign to save me from the life of a retailer."

  "What does she want you to be instead?"

  "The editor of Pizzazz."

  "Of course. But you like selling stuff?"

  "I love it. I know it's corny, but I feel like I'm giving gifts to people, pretty things that they can use and that make them happy."

  He narrowed his eyes as he thought about that.

  "What? You think I'm nuts too?"

  "Not at all. I was thinking about the giving of gifts after I left you earlier, especially the part about a purpose in giving. Working retail gives you a purpose in your 'giving.'" He put the word in air quotes.

  "Purpose equals making a living. I hope." She pushed her hair out of her face, and the wind immediately blew it back.

  "And making people happy. You just said."

  "I did."

  "What if someone is giving you gifts because he or she wants to make you happy?"

  "He thinks he's giving me happiness?" She shook her head. "What he's giving me is a headache."

  "You don't think it's possible the leavery is meant to be kind? Grace-gifts and all that?"

  It was her turn to be thoughtful. "But it's like whoever is doing this is doing only half the process of giving."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I'm getting these—okay, we'll call them grace-gifts for the sake of your argument—but I can't do anything with them. Presents are supposed to be free to the receiver, right? Grace is. Real grace. God's grace. These presents have price tags attached as surely as if they said their actual retail value. And the tags read responsibility and inconvenience and frustration."

  "So you're saying the giver is out to get you? To upset you?"

  "Am I saying that? I don't know."

  "Is there someone who would like to make you upset? Tyler, maybe? Tyler's new girl?"

  "Tyler's wife, and I'm the least of their concerns. They're too busy living happily ever after."

  "Anyone else?"

  She looked genuinely distressed. "Why would someone want to upset me? I'm nice to everyone. Even my mother. Most of the time."

  He laughed. He couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed such verbal jousting with a girl. "You feel guilty, don't you, about leaving the phone on the step and unanswered."

  "My mother and my guilt are complex topics I don't wish to discuss. Why ruin the evening? We were talking gifts. Aren't they supposed to be useful and used? Something the receiver will enjoy?"

  Rog shrugged, willing to go back to talking about gifts. Just because he was interested in her and everything about her didn't mean he should expect her to feel the same. As a cop, he might be able to ask the most personal of questions and expect an answer, but as a guy who thought a girl was cute, there were boundaries. He had to earn her trust if those boundaries were to fall, and they had to fall to Rog Eastman, not Officer Eastman. "The giver usually thinks the gift is good, even if the receiver doesn't. Hence re-gifting."

  She stopped again, hands on hips as she glared at him. "Are you saying I'm supposed to re-gift that stuff? Just accept it and use it somehow?"

  "Well, no." He stopped beside her. "Maybe. But I don't think the issue is worth all the angst you're giving it. It's interesting, fascinating in fact, but on a scale of one to ten..."

  She started to walk in quick, frustrated strides. "Easy for you to say. You don't have those things showing up at the police station."

  He laid a hand on her shoulder. "I'm not discounting your distress. I'm just trying to put it in perspective. When I got that call and had to leave your place? It was about a little girl disappearing on the beach. Anguished parents. A big ocean. Lots of unknown people, one of whom could be a pervert."

  Nan took a deep breath, her hands raised. "You're right. Nobody's hurting me. I'm being given pretty things. It's not terrible. Ridiculous and weird, but not terrible. Did they find her?"

  "They did. She'd wandered down the beach a few blocks. A kind lady saw her looking lost and took her to a lifeguard, who called the lifeguard captain, who returned her shortly after I got there. All's well that ends well."

  Nan grinned up at him, eyes shining. "I'm so glad. That allows you to enjoy tonight without a black memory hanging over you."

  Rog blinked. A sparkling grin like Nan's would make any man forget black memories and think, "Wow!"

  Lori, Lori, Lori.

  Chapter Seven

  Nan watched the huge Ferris wheel turn at Buchanan's Buccaneer Bay on the Boardwalk. Not that anyone called the amusement park by its full name. Most people called it the Buc.

  Music that was supposed to sound like a pirate's shanty blared through loudspeakers. A huge pirate ship with a flying Jolly Roger sat over the vast doorway to the amusement complex, cannons sticking out in every direction. In a series of loud booms, they fired one after the other, each one emitting smoke. A pair of teenage boys appeared on a gangplank, one with his hands tied in front, the other with a sword, making him walk.

  "Die, you vermin, you!" shouted the PA system, the lips of the kid with the sword moving in sync with the words.

  A scream rent the air as the captive fell to his death. The remaining pirate did a victory dance. The pirate shanty played again at full volume.

  "Does that kid have to die all summer?" Rog shook his head in wonder. "Talk about being hard up for a job."

  "Makes me think of the woman who rode the diving horse on Steel Pier in Atlantic City."

  "I don't think this kid ends up in a pool of water."

  "I wonder what he does end up in."

  "Something soft," Rog said. "I hope."

  "Let's go for a ride after dinner." Nan felt a rush of anticipation at the thought. "Maybe the Tidal Wave or the End of the World. That's my favorite." She glanced at Rog to see a look of horror on his face.

  "That's the one where they take you way up and then drop you," he said. "Up, down, up down. Right?"

  "Of course. You're falling off the end of the world." She laughed. "You're turning green!"

  "I might as well confess and get it over with. I can't stand amusement rides. Inner ear issues. They all make me nauseated."

  "Even the Flume—or as the Buc calls it, Ride the Tide? You only go down once."

  He shook his head.

  "The Ferris wheel? The merry-go-round?"

  "If I take my Dramamine first—which I didn't tonight. Wasn't planning on riding."

  "Poor guy." Nan meant it. She loved amusement rides.

  "I know. Not very manly. As a teenager, I was the amusement park equivalent of a designated driver whenever my friend
s and I went to one. I held all the purses and sweaters while everyone else rode."

  "You could have stayed home."

  "And miss all the fun? Or I should say, and miss being mocked?"

  They joined the people pouring into the Buc to get their thrills for the night. The cannons boomed, and the kid walked the plank once more. The victorious pirate raised his arms in victory, and the crowd cheered. The shanty rang out.

  "Maybe you could ride Choo-Choo Chugger?" She pointed to the kiddie ride moving slowly around its track, little people pulling ropes that made the bells on their cars ring.

  "It's a circle. Besides, I doubt I'd fit."

  She eyed his long, lanky frame. "Convenient excuse." She started walking deeper into the park. "Come on."

  When he hesitated, she pointed to the windows on the second floor of the building abutting the park. "That's where Aunt Bunny lives."

  "Next to this chaos?"

  "I know. I couldn't stand it either."

  They came to a scuffed red door tucked in the side of the two-story stucco building. Nan rang the bell beside the door, then opened it.

  "Aunt Bunny, it's us."

  "Of course it is," came the answer. "Come on up."

  "I wonder if Alana's here," Nan muttered as she climbed the stairs.

  The cannons boomed, the pirate walked the plank, and the shanty began.

  "I can't decide what's worse, the cannons or the "Die, you vermin, you!" Rog did a fine imitation of the pirate. "The music is beyond grating."

  "That was very good!" Aunt Bunny appeared at the top of the stairs. She'd changed her pink top for a red T-shirt that read Seaside Beach Patrol and had a large life preserver plastered across the back. She'd turned in her Reeboks for red flip-flops decorated with great red plastic flowers over the toes. "Do it again." At Rog's blank look, she said, "The 'die, you vermin' thing."

  He stopped three steps from the top, struck a pose, and barked, "Die, you vermin, you!"

  Aunt Bunny backed up, grinning widely. "They should have gotten you to make the recording."