He smiled. "Yes. It is."
She looked around at this place again. "It's because of this place, isn't it? But I don't understand why."
Jasper got tired of the blue jay's scolding and barked at it, sending it up to sit on the crumbling porch roof with a huff.
Reese laughed at the dog's antics, then turned back to Maggie. "My father doesn't get up every morning and go out to milk cows because he has to. He does it because he needs a sense of purpose. A reason to get up in the morning. That's what's missing in my life. I was going to buy a Zen house with a koi pond, good lord!" he said, shaking his head in disgust. "The last thing I need is to sit around contemplating my navel any more. That's all I've been doing, for far too long."
"You need a reason to get up in the morning," she said. "That's what I was thinking when we went to look at those houses."
He nodded. "Exactly. Acting's never done that for me. It's a job, nothing more. Music was that for me, long ago. I suppose in some ways it still is. But there are reasons music isn't the focus of my life anymore. It's become too bound up in my addiction, my lost friends, the old life that I don't want to go back to."
"I know."
"But I still need a reason to get up in the morning. That's what I've been trying to find. Not a house. A reason."
"And this is the reason?"
He held out his hand and she took it. She called Jasper and he followed them up the little hill where they'd run for their lives.
They passed the ramshackle barn and came to the little muddy pond where they'd fallen. It looked even more hideous in daylight, yellow-green with slime.
She saw there were paved spots all around with utility hookups covered in ivy marching in a circle around the water's edge.
"This is an RV campground," she said, and he nodded.
They all froze when a giant gray bird moved. It had been statue-like in the water, perched on long legs, its stillness making it almost invisible despite its size. Now it had moved, dipping its long beak suddenly into the water to fish out a frog.
It watched them with disinterest, focused on its own business. Jasper cocked his head to the side, fascinated by this huge creature.
"You could park your tiny house here," Reese said, watching the bird.
"I can," she agreed. "But the point is you. What you need."
"Don't you see?" he asked again.
She shook her head.
"Where do you see me in twenty years?" he asked.
"I know where I want to see you," she said. "I see you whole. Happy. Living in peace. Getting up every morning just like your dad does, excited to face the day because you have a goal. A purpose."
He took her hand and placed it on his chest. She felt his heart beating through his T-shirt. She rested her palm against him, counting the beats.
He spoke softly. "If I want a house, I can buy one. Buy a hundred. I can have Patricia pick one out for me, furnish it with everything she knows I like, and then go there and sit in it and still be lost." He paused. "And I'm tired of being lost," he whispered.
"I know," she said. She pulled away, dug her hands into her pockets and breathed in the fresh country air. "The house isn't what you're looking for. I understand."
"Better than anyone else," he said, in that same thoughtful whisper.
"Yes. I was a bored trophy wife with an empty life. I had to find the things I felt passionate about, like my beadwork, my business, my dog, my tiny house. This is me. It took me a long time to get here, but I know who I am now."
"I know," he said. "It's what attracts me to you. You're true to yourself. Not pretending, not phony. Not lost."
The giant heron took flight then, and they stood in rapt silence until it had lifted its huge body out of the water and flew up to perch in one of the tall trees.
Reese picked up a small stone from the ground.
"I talked to those people at the barbecue about moving sprinklers and propagating tomatoes and timing harvests," he said. "That's how I grew up, ranching and farming and living in the country."
"Like your parents' farm in Deep Creek, I know. You said that was what you were looking for."
"Exactly. I realized it's not the farm I'm looking for. It's the project."
"You need a job," Maggie whispered, remembering the time a few days ago when she'd sent Jasper from one end of her tiny house to the other, fetching object after object, because the dog was so bored and stir-crazy from not having anything to do. "You need a purpose. A job." She looked around at the abandoned campsites and the old barn and the run-down lodge house. "You need a project."
"I need to build something. To make something. To see it come to life through my own sweat."
Now she got it. "You aren't planning on having Patricia hire contractors and fix this place up for you."
He laughed. "Is that what you thought? No wonder you didn't get it."
He held the rock in his fingers and skimmed it across the pond. It bounced four times before sinking below the surface.
Jasper gazed appreciatively at the result, clearly impressed by his rock-skipping skill. Then he lay down in the dirt and began scratching his ear.
Maggie watched Reese as he stood looking out at the spot where the rock had landed. He had a faint smile on his face, and she again noticed that serenity that had come over him. She had misunderstood. She had been so uncomfortable with the empty mansions he'd been looking at, knowing he needed something else. Thinking he needed a purpose. A project. He had found the solution himself, in a way she never would have guessed.
He had found it in this shabby old campground that somehow called to something deep inside him, taking him back to his country boy roots and reminding him of the boy he had once been: skipping stones on a pond, walking through dusty fields, getting his hands dirty and working hard to build something.
All the parts of him that had been lost when the world had made him sick and cynical.
"It'll be a lot of work," he finally said. "Rebuilding this place." He turned to her and grinned. "Nora will have a fit."
Then he ran his hand through his hair. "You think I'm crazy, don't you?"
She shook her head. "Nope. I think you're finally becoming sane."
"I'll have a to-do list a mile long," he said.
She laughed. "There's one item already taken care of."
"What?" he asked.
She bent down to the edge of the pond and pointed, covering her eyes with her other hand.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"I'm covering my eyes because it creeps me out. But you look."
"You want me to look at something that is creeping you out? Not another dead body, please."
She squirmed. "Ugh. I don't think I could take another dead body. But there's something. Something horrible in there you have to see."
He came closer. "Where?"
"In the water. Down there."
"What are you talking about?"
"There was something in the pond when we were here before. And I realized what it must be. Look at it."
She peeked through her fingers and watched him.
He raised an eyebrow at her.
"Please, just look," she begged, and he bent down to see what she was pointing at.
Then he started laughing. He laughed so hard the tears rolled down his face, and he had to sit down, right there on the muddy bank next to the slimy little pond.
He reached a hand up to her and she took it, and he pulled her down to sit in the mud next to him.
He leaned down and picked something up out of the mud at the shoreline.
She wrinkled her nose at the ugly lobster-like creature he held out to her. "It's horrible!" she said.
"City girl," he teased, and tossed it back into the deeper water.
They sat there for a while, her wrinkling up her face in disgust, and him laughing and laughing, as if letting out all the tension he had been carrying around inside of him for so long.
"I'm right, aren't I?"
she finally asked.
"Yup," he said, gasping for breath as he tried to stop laughing. "You sure are."
"This is a crawdad pond?" she asked.
"Yup," he said. He wiped away his tears, leaving a streak of mud on his handsome face.
"Welcome home, Stanley."
He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek, depositing a bit of mud there, too. "Welcome home, Magdalena."
Maggie's dog-training buddy drops off her German Shepherd for a play date–then disappears. Soon Maggie begins to wonder if her friend could be leading a deadly double life.
Find out in Maggie and the Whiskered Witness, the next Carita Cove Mystery.
The Carita Cove Mysteries
Maggie McJasper is starting over in a little California beach town. She has a craft shop, a nice circle of friends, and a handsome movie star who keeps flirting with her. Life would be pretty great if she could just stop stumbling over dead bodies….
* * *
Maggie and the Black-Tie Affair
A bored trophy wife. A cynical movie star. One evening to save an innocent girl from prison. None of them will ever be the same after this Black-Tie Affair.
* * *
Maggie and the Inconvenient Corpse
A handsome movie star in her kitchen, and a corpse in the swimming pool. Just your typical Monday morning.
* * *
Maggie and the Mourning Beads
Can Maggie find the real killer when her teenage student threatens to strangle someone with a jet-black necklace... hours before the woman is found dead?
* * *
Maggie and the Empty Noose
When the handsome movie star renting Maggie's house is accused of murder, she's the only one who believes he's innocent. Now all she has to do is prove it.
* * *
Maggie and the Hidden Homicide
Maggie faces her most confusing case yet when she finds a treasured beaded knife–in someone's back! Can she figure out what happened before anyone else ends up dead?
* * *
Maggie and the Whiskered Witness
Maggie's dog-training buddy drops off her German Shepherd for a play date–then disappears. Soon Maggie begins to wonder if her friend could be leading a deadly double life.
* * *
Maggie and the Serpentine Script
A nasty paparazzo is accused of murder, and Maggie is torn between relief that he's out of her hair—and worry that the police have captured the wrong man.
* * *
Maggie and the Rattled Rake
Maggie's friend Nora is charged with trying to murder her younger boy toy husband, and Maggie is sure it's a bum rap. But to clear her friend's name, she's going to have to break a few laws herself….
* * *
And more to come. Click here for the latest booklist.
The Pajaro Bay Mysteries
Welcome to Pajaro Bay, the little California beach town where the cottages are cute, the neighbors are nosy, and it's always possible to find your personal Happily Ever After. The novels can be read in any order, or follow along from the beginning to see how the world develops:
* * *
Honeymoon Cottage
A tiny beach town, a handsome sheriff, and a chance for a fresh start. Sure, there's a serial killer on the loose, but no place is perfect, right?
* * *
Boardwalk Cottage
Hallie thought she'd spend a fun summer at a funky old amusement park. She didn't expect to become the key to solving a kidnapping plot!
* * *
Lighthouse Cottage
Alone at a lighthouse with a handsome, sweet… murderer? Lori had better figure out what he's hiding before they both end up as shark bait.
* * *
Little Fox Cottage
Deliver a dog to its new owner, they said. It'll be easy, they said. They didn't say anything about murder.
* * *
Rum Cake Cottage
Roxy spent 10 years in prison for a crime she didn't commit. Now she's got 72 hours to find the real killer, or she'll lose her daughter forever.
* * *
Songbird Cottage
The abandoned cottage with her grandmother's portrait on the wall is the first clue. Will Robin find the others before it's too late?
* * *
Sunshine Cottage
Witness protection in a small town. If Teresa's cover is blown, she'll lose the best life she's ever known. Oh, and she'll die. That, too.
* * *
Riverstone Cottage
A cynical private investigator—and former secret agent—finds himself in the sweet little village of Pajaro Bay, sipping blackberry tea with a hippie chick who raises goats. But when danger arrives in town, he has to figure out if the killers are after him—or the bohemian artist he's falling in love with.
* * *
And more to come. Click here for the latest booklist.
Barbara Cool Lee writes the kind of books she likes reading: fun and heartwarming romantic mysteries where the good guys treat people with kindness and you can always count on a happy ending.
She lives in a cozy cottage by the sea on the California coast. While she's writing her next book, she's got a loaf of sourdough bread in the oven, a pot of veggie soup on the stove, and the fog is billowing outside the windows.
Be sure to sign up for her newsletter to get all the free short stories and be first to find out when the next book is released.
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Maggie and the Hidden Homicide Page 16