Sandpiper Cove

by Irene Hannon

  “Thank you all.” Charley gave a mock bow. “Not that I’m complaining about the business, but this is your third visit to my humble stand in the past five days.” He added more fish to the grill for the clerics. “Is Anna on vacation?”

  “No. Tied up with the Harbor Point Cranberries nut cake business. I’m glad that’s taken off . . . but I doubt she’ll be able to keep cooking for us much longer.” Father Murphy sighed. “There are only twenty-four hours in the day—and we wouldn’t want to stand in the way of a growing business. Right, Paul?”

  “Right. I think she’s trying to find a replacement for us, but good cooks are hard to come by in a small town like this.”

  Adam’s ears perked up. “Are you gentlemen wanting to hire a cook?”

  Both of the clerics turned toward him.

  “Yes.” They answered in unison.

  “Do you know someone?” Father Murphy’s eyes sparked with interest.

  “I might.” He hesitated. Would he be stepping out on a limb to suggest Brenda Hutton? She could use a job with regular hours where she was treated better. But despite Brian’s enthusiastic endorsement of her cooking, he’d only sampled one meal—even if it had been top-notch.

  Besides, cooking for the clerics wouldn’t provide the full-time job she needed.

  It might be better to keep his mouth shut.

  “Don’t hold back on us, please. We’re desperate.” Reverend Baker glanced at the man behind the counter. “No offense, Charley. We love your tacos—but variety is the spice of life.”

  “I’m all for variety.” The taco maker laid out some corn tortillas on the counter.

  As all three waited, watching him expectantly, Adam shifted.

  Too late to back out now. He had to tell them at least a little more.

  “I do have someone in mind . . . but I’m not sure it would work out. From what I’ve seen, she’s a first-rate cook—but she needs a full-time job.”

  “Ah.” Father Murphy pursed his lips. “Would she be interested in housekeeping as well? Paul and I will soon be in the market for that service too. The woman we’ve been using is moving to California with her husband in three weeks. Between the two of us, we might be able to expand this to a full-time job. What do you think, Paul?”

  “I think we should meet this woman.”

  “She isn’t much of a churchgoer now—but she used to be.” Adam doubted that would matter to these two, but it was better to lay all the facts on the table.

  “Church attendance isn’t a job requirement for me—although she’d be welcome at St. Francis.” Father Murphy grinned.

  “Ditto—but I bet she’d like our doughnuts better.”

  “Church attendance is not about doughnuts.” The padre rolled his eyes.

  “True . . . but you’re serving them now too.”

  “Excuse me.” Despite his attempt to rein it in, Adam’s mouth twitched at their banter. “For the record, she did attend services last week at Grace Christian.”

  “Drat. Foiled again.” Father Murphy huffed—then softened it with a wink.

  “You wouldn’t happen to be talking about Brenda Hutton, would you?” Charley finished filling the first three tortillas and began wrapping them in white paper.

  “Yes. How did you know that?” Adam studied the man. Was there any information in town he wasn’t privy to?

  “When she and Brian stopped by for their complimentary welcome-to-Hope-Harbor order of tacos, she brought me some delicious homemade brownies as a thank-you. After the tough road she’s traveled, she could use a break. Seems like an ideal candidate for the position.”

  “Homemade brownies?” Father Murphy was almost drooling.

  “I’m sold. How do we get in touch with this woman?” Reverend Baker pulled a small notebook out of his pocket.

  “Let me talk to her first.” This was moving too fast. What if Brenda wasn’t interested—or didn’t appreciate having her situation discussed with strangers? Adam didn’t want to make any enemies in town. “I’ll give her a call tonight and have her get in touch with you if she wants to pursue this.”

  “Well . . . I suppose that’s best.” Reverend Baker put the notebook away. “But please tell her we’re eager to talk with her.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “Here you go, Adam.” Charley tucked the tacos in a brown bag and handed it across the counter. “Enjoy.”

  “No doubt about that. I’ve never had a taco here I didn’t like.” Adam counted out his money and passed it to the chef.

  “You know . . . it’s interesting how our paths often smooth out if we give God a chance to pave the way, isn’t it?” Charley maintained his grip on the bag, locking gazes with him. “But too often people let setbacks cloud their judgment. They give up . . . make mistakes . . . take detours that lead to dead ends or get them lost—when what they should do is ask for guidance and listen for direction.” He released the bag. “I hope Brenda prays about this opportunity.”

  “I do too.” Father Murphy folded his hands and bowed his head. “And I believe there’s a homily in what you said, Charley. I should have taken notes.”

  “Stealing ideas from Charley now, are we?” Reverend Baker tut-tutted.

  “Hey . . . I take inspiration wherever I can get it—and I wouldn’t be surprised if this theme showed up in one of your sermons soon too . . . not that I’d ever know.”

  “You’re welcome to attend services anytime and take a listen.”

  “And you’re welcome to attend Mass anytime.”

  “Well . . . I’m off.” Adam backed away as the two clerics smirked at each other. The priest and minister were amusing . . . but during the short walk back to his car it was Charley’s remark about setbacks that lingered in his mind.

  The man had mentioned Brenda at the end . . . but it almost felt as if the counsel had been aimed at him, not her.

  Did Charley know something he didn’t?

  No.

  That was crazy.

  The man had great intuition, but he couldn’t see into the future.

  Adam checked both directions for traffic and crossed Dockside Drive. Why was he letting a simple comment from the philosophizing taco chef spook him? He’d walked the straight and narrow since he’d been here, done everything by the book. Life was better than it had ever been.

  Yet as he got behind the wheel, a niggling sense of foreboding engulfed him. Like the one he’d felt at the overlook last night.

  And even the mouth-watering aroma of Charley’s tacos on the seat beside him couldn’t revive his rapidly waning appetite.

  22

  As her cell began to vibrate against her hip, Lexie ripped the speeding ticket off her pad and handed it through the window of the sports car to the disgruntled driver.

  “On your next visit, stay within five miles of the limit. We can tolerate that. Twenty over is in the danger range, especially for kids on bikes and older residents on foot.” She backed away from the car and pulled her phone off her belt. “Come back again when you’re not in such a hurry.”

  The man muttered a response that sounded a lot like “fat chance” before he put the car in gear and roared away without a backward glance.

  She scanned the cell screen, frowning as she put the phone to her ear. If her mom was calling during a workday, it must be important. “Hi. What’s up?”

  “Am I interrupting anything?”

  “I just gave a speeding ticket to a visitor who I doubt will return to our fair town.” She walked toward the patrol car. “Is Matt okay?”

  “Fine. You know I hate to bother you at work, but I talked to Rose a few minutes ago and she passed on some scuttlebutt I thought you ought to hear.”

  “I’m listening.” She slid behind the wheel and checked the clock on the dash. In five hours she’d be en route to Adam’s place for dinner.

  Yes!

  An unexpected date with a handsome man who sounded very anxious to see her was exactly what she needed on a lackluster We
dnesday.

  “You’re not going to like it.”

  “Just tell me, Mom.” This must be the week for bad news.

  “There’s a rumor floating around town that Adam was involved in the vandalism incidents.”

  “What?” Her spine stiffened.

  “I told you you wouldn’t like it . . . and I don’t either.”

  “But . . . but he was a victim of one of the incidents!”

  “According to the rumor, he did that to deflect suspicion from himself.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “I agree. Who would plant such a hateful suspicion?”

  Only two people she knew had any reason to cast aspersions on the man.

  And either of the Fishers could be vindictive enough to pull a stunt like this.

  In fact, Martin Fisher had thrown out this very suggestion during their meeting with him. It had been so absurd she’d passed right over it.

  “Lexie?”

  “Yeah. I’m here. I have an idea who might have started this.”

  “Care to share?”

  “It’s connected to a case.”

  “Oh.” Her mother knew better than to push if it was official business. “Well, Rose doesn’t believe a word of it—and neither will anyone else in town.”

  If only that was true.

  But once a rumor like this took root, it would be hard to contain . . . more so if the police chief was dating the man in question. That could suggest a cover-up, adding credence to the allegations. Plus, Adam had lived a solitary life until recently. He spent his nights alone at Sandpiper Cove—meaning he had no alibi for any of the vandalism incidents except Marci’s car . . . and that one from an admitted vandal.

  Apparently backing off on Lucas hadn’t appeased his father . . . or perhaps the boy himself was seeking revenge.

  “Thanks for letting me know, Mom.”

  “Do you think Adam’s heard anything?”

  “I hope not.”

  “If he hasn’t, he will. Soon.”

  “I know.”

  “He might appreciate a heads-up.”

  “I know that too.” And it wasn’t a chore she relished.

  But better that it come from her than a stranger.

  “Well . . . you tell him he’s got a lot of support in this town. And invite him to dinner again one night later this week.”

  “I’ll do that.” Her call-waiting alert beeped. “I need to go. Someone else is trying to reach me. Talk to you later.” She ended that call and took one from the Hope Harbor Herald editor. “Hi, Marci. What can I do for you?”

  “Answer a question. I got back from lunch and found an anonymous tip on the answering machine here at the Herald. I think it’s a hoax, but superb reporter that I am, I’m investigating. The guy suggested that Adam Stone was involved in the vandalism incidents here in town. Any truth to that allegation?”

  Lexie closed her eyes. The rumor mill was cranking at full blast, fed by the vile seeds being planted around town.

  “No. It’s not true. Adam has been a model citizen since he arrived here.”

  “That’s what I thought. The tip felt suspicious.”

  “How so?”

  “The voice was muffled, like the person was trying to disguise his identity—and caller ID was blocked.”

  That figured.

  “You don’t plan to do anything with this, do you?”

  “Not a chance. I stick to facts.”

  “Good. I appreciate the call, though. If you happen to hear anything else, let me know.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  Lexie punched the end button and slid the phone back onto her belt.

  Her mom was right.

  If Adam hadn’t heard the rumor already, he needed to hear it fast from someone who had no doubt of his innocence.

  Namely her.

  And much as she’d prefer to wait until their date tonight to share the bad news in the privacy of Sandpiper Cove, it was safer not to put off the unhappy chore. The odds were low he’d hear anything out at the cranberry farm jobsite—but there was a chance he might.

  Especially considering how fate had been conspiring against them in the past few days.

  Why was there an unfamiliar car parked in front of her trailer?

  Brenda eased back on the gas pedal as she approached. The only visitors she’d had of late other than the police chief were the juvenile counselor and Adam Stone, and that wasn’t either of their vehicles.

  Something didn’t feel right.

  Still . . . after the upbeat interview she’d just had with Reverend Baker and Father Murphy, nothing could dampen her spirits. If the trial arrangement they’d worked out went well, she would soon have a job closer to home with regular hours, great bosses, and a supportive atmosphere.

  She owed Adam big-time for tossing her name in the hat. Maybe she’d bake him one of those carrot cakes he’d scarfed down the night he’d come to dinner.

  Smiling, she pulled into her slot and slid out of the car.

  But when her slightly overweight, thin-eyed caller rose from the shadowed lawn chair under the sagging awning, her lips flattened.

  “Hi, babe.”

  She froze as the man she’d never wanted to see again flashed his teeth, yellower than ever from the cigarettes he chain-smoked.

  “What are you doing here? And how did you find me?”

  “It’s not hard to find people with Google. I brought you these.” He sauntered forward and held out a bouquet of flowers in a clear plastic sleeve still sporting a price tag from a popular discount store.

  She wrapped her fingers tighter around her purse and fought the urge to back away from him. “I don’t want your flowers.”

  “Sure you do. You always liked these kind.” He flicked a finger against one of the mums. A few petals dropped off as he held out the past-its-prime bouquet again.

  “Excuse me.” She walked a wide circle around him and headed for the door.

  “Hey! I came a long way to see you.”

  “You wasted your time—and your gas.” She kept walking, gripping her keys in her hand, willing him to disappear.

  He didn’t.

  Instead, his vise-like fingers locked on to her upper arm and he spun her around, his eyes blazing. Like they always did whenever he didn’t get his way. “That’s not a very polite welcome.”

  “Let go of my arm.” She tried to keep her voice steady despite the earthquake in her stomach.

  “We need to talk.”

  “No, we don’t. Get out of my life, Jerry.”

  “I’m your husband.”

  “Not for long. Divorce papers are in the works.” And they’d be filed as soon as that young attorney in town got back from his honeymoon.

  “You want a divorce?” He gaped at her.

  “Yes. I have a new life here. A good one. And you’re not part of it. Go back to that young chick who lured you away with all her money.”

  “Look—I’m sorry about that, okay? I made a mistake. You don’t need to be jealous of her anymore. She’s history.”

  Jealous? Brenda almost laughed. As for the woman being history . . . more likely her money was history—or she’d gotten wind of Jerry’s less-pleasant side and thrown him out.

  “I’ll say it again. Get out of my life—and don’t ever come back.”

  His fingers tightened on her arm, digging into her flesh. There would be a purple bruise there tomorrow . . . like in the old days. “You’re making a mistake.”

  “No. I’m fixing one. Now let go of me. If you don’t, I’ll call the police—and I will press charges.”

  He glared at her.

  She didn’t blink.

  Finally, he released her and hurled the flowers at her feet. “Fine. If you change your mind, you have my cell number.”

  “Don’t count on it.”

  He squinted at her. “What happened to you? You’re different.”

  Yes, she was. Thank God.

  “I got my life
back. Don’t ever bother me again.” With that, she turned, walked to the door, let herself in—and locked it behind her.

  For almost a full minute, her soon-to-be ex-husband stayed where he was while she clung to the back of a chair and watched through the window, praying her shaky legs would hold her up.

  Finally he kicked the bouquet, glowered at the closed trailer door, and stomped back to his car.

  Brenda waited for five long minutes after he drove away—in case he changed his mind about leaving. But at last she opened the door and went out to retrieve the pathetic bouquet. Holding it at arm’s length, she marched down to the dumpsters where the residents deposited their trash, threw it in with all the rest of the garbage, and let the lid bang shut.

  Done.

  Finished.

  Over.

  If she never crossed paths with that user again, it would be too soon. The man hadn’t even asked about his son.

  Disgust soured her mouth as she walked back to the trailer. That lapse, in itself, spoke volumes about his character. Not to mention the fact that he’d expected a lame apology and limp bouquet of flowers to restore him to her good graces.

  What a scumbag.

  As she dodged a rut on the asphalt road, the sun peeked out from behind a cloud, bathing the world in light. Kind of like Hope Harbor had done for her and Brian. Maybe they didn’t live in the best neighborhood or have a lot of money. Maybe they never would.

  But they’d both turned the corner to a new life. One that offered a better, brighter tomorrow.

  And they were never going back to the shadowed past they’d left behind.

  “Your dancing partner is paying us another visit.” From his rung near the top of the ladder, Luis pointed his drill toward the gravel road that led to the cranberry farm construction site.

  Adam swung around. In the distance, a cloud of dust signaled the arrival of a car, but from his spot on the ground he couldn’t tell if it was a police cruiser.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I have an eagle view up here.”

  Hmm.

  Adam weighed his hammer in his hand. Seeing Lexie twice in one day was fine with him—but why would she make a special trip out here when they were going to be spending the evening together at Sandpiper Cove?