It was worth getting up so early. Anger definitely felt better than despair, and Amanda gripped her backpack and shovel tightly as she locked up her car in the empty parking lot.
She didn’t mind the dampness of the fog or the soft darkness of the pre-dawn morning. Once she’d walked through the whip-like seagrass toward the ocean, the empty beach stretched on either side of her for miles. A constant wind nearly muffled the sound of the rolling surf, white with constantly-moving foam, crashing against the shore in timeless rhythm. She pulled out her spade and got to work, a few seagulls hovering nearly motionless overhead in case she’d brought food. Setting her mouth in a grim line of determination, Amanda thought about her plan and how it might play out.
Starting to dig, she focused on the tiny holes and bubbles in the sand, and the reflection of gray sky and green water. Simple and beautiful, and here since ages before people ever walked this beach.
She’d already been working for about fifteen minutes and made several holes when she heard the crunching sound of footsteps on the sand and the scent of a familiar aftershave let her know she wasn’t alone. The seagulls winged off without any sense of panic, in search of quieter hunting grounds.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Detective Landon sounded more curious than accusatory.
She kept digging, her spade making deep cuts as she shoveled the sand out of the hole.
“I’m planting.”
She heard his snort of dismissal. “Planting in the sand?”
“Well, for some odd reason I don’t feel like planting stuff in my garden anymore.”
He ignored her pathetic joke, peeking over her shoulder as she turned her body away from him a bit. Finishing her hole while he watched in silence, she leaned over to pull something out of the nearby backpack.
It was a seashell, huge and beautifully intricate, and definitely not from any sort of shellfish that had ever lived near Oregon. It had obviously come from some exotic tropical beach somewhere. James caught a glimpse of more shells in the bag.
Amanda smiled with satisfaction as she carefully placed the shell, as big as her hand, in the sandy hole, and used the spade to fill it in.
“They’re from my aunt’s collection,” she finally explained as she picked up her pack and moved about ten feet away, starting a new hole as he followed. “She loved to travel and bring seashells home as souvenirs and I found boxes and boxes of them in the inn. I’m just putting them back where they belong. I think she’d approve.”
He watched her, still confused. “If I’m right, the shells you have in that bag were probably collected from beaches all over the world. Why are you putting them here?”
“I’m recycling.”
“Um, technically, you’re littering.”
She looked up, her face showing her annoyance. “I am not. I’m just putting natural things back in a natural place.”
She pulled a small glass fishing float out her pack and dropped it in the new hole. “See? That float probably came from around here. People find Japanese glass floats on the beach all the time.”
James waited, knowing there had to be some sort of reasonable explanation why she was out in the pre-dawn chill, planting seashells and blue glass balls.
“Besides, what kid wouldn’t want to find something like that when they start digging for a sandcastle?”
Her voice sounded deceptively innocent, but the tone confirmed that she was definitely up to something. He mulled it over, trying to put the pieces together. It took him a full minute to start figuring out what his devious, clever, pain-in-the-backside friend was up to.
“You’re doing this to get more kids to the beach, aren’t you? Somehow you’ve got a plan to stick it to Mrs. Sandford and her goal to have this be a quiet retirement community.” His mind was racing, trying to figure out her scheme. “What is it, Amanda? What have you got up your sleeve?”
She ignored him, carefully tamping down the sand on top of the newly-buried treasure, and smoothing the surface before she moved a few yards away and started a new hole. He followed her, still working on the question of what she was doing. It finally completely clicked into place, and his mouth dropped open for a moment before he blurted out his conclusion.
“You know that if a kid finds something like that, the word will get out eventually when more kids find big shells and stuff here. Maybe that means publicity for Ravenwood. That means more families will want to come stay and visit.” He looked at her, wanting confirmation that he was on the right track.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She tried to sound innocent and completely failed. The sand crunched around her shovel as she continued to dig, and tossed in a white shell that looked like an angel wing.
His eyebrow arched over one eye as he leaned close to her face, and she darted her eyes away to avoid his gaze.
“Uh huh. Right. You’ve cooked up some scheme to get the word out, haven’t you, Amanda?”
She kicked the last of the damp sand in the hole and straightened up, still clutching her shovel.
“Maybe. What if I did, Detective?” She looked him in the eye, defiant. “What if I’m tired of people telling me no all the time and telling me what to do and treating me like dirt? What if I think that I’d rather do something like this instead of..?”
“Instead of planting someone from the city council in your garden?”
She patted the loose sand at the top of the hole. “I’d never do that.”
A deep sigh and then she gave a reluctant laugh. “Well, maybe the thought had crossed my mind,” she finally admitted.
“So, this is your way to protest?”
She straightened up, wisps of her hair moving around her face in the morning wind. “You got a better idea, Detective? This town is dying, and my future is dying with it. If we’re going to keep Ravenwood going we’re going to have to fight back, and I certainly can’t afford some court battle that would bankrupt me. I’d probably lose anyway because what the mayor’s doing isn’t against the law, technically. Tell me, is that justice?”
James thought about it, hearing the near-desperation in her voice. The idea of justice was one of the reasons he’d become a police officer in the first place, hoping to make a difference after he’d seen too many wrongs go unstopped and unpunished.
Amanda watched his face carefully. Finally, she pulled a huge conch shell out of the backpack and held it out to him, waiting. The shell was beautiful, coiled with white and gold, and with a soft blush of smooth Caribbean pink at the opening. It was nearly as big as her head.
“You wanna help?”
“You trying to get me kicked off the force?”
“Just trying to do the right thing, Detective. What about you?”
He hesitated for a moment, sighed deeply, and grabbed the conch. “Okay, lady, I’m in. Just don’t go spreading this around town, okay?”
Amanda giggled gleefully and gave him a quick sideways hug. “It’s our secret. I knew you’d help, though! Now get digging. We don’t want to be out in daylight doing this.”
“Yes, ma’am.” His hug was warm and solid, and she tried to keep her grin hidden as they worked their way down the beach, digging hole after hole after hole.
Chapter 15
Within forty-eight hours the local paper was running a fat front page headline of RAVENWOOD COVE TREASURE HUNT, reporting on the new phenomenon of children digging in the sand and finding huge, exotic shells from around the globe. The reporter had interviewed six different kids who had been happy to pose for a photo and tell the story of how they’d discovered their treasure while building a sand castle or digging a hole. In the next edition of the paper, the Cuppa coffeehouse was offering a free chocolate chip cookie to any child that brought in their discovery, as well as promising to post their picture on the wall and to give their parents a complimentary book of coupons for discounts and freebies from most of the merchants in town.
By the next day the Oregonian newspaper, based in P
ortland, had picked up the story as a human interest feature and had sent a reporter down to get photos of the fun discoveries people were finding in Ravenwood Cove. The reporter interviewed the barista at Cuppa, and was there just in time to take photos of a bubbly seven-year-old with pigtails who had discovered a huge African cowrie while digging a sand fort. The photo of the cute grade-schooler, excitedly grinning a gap-toothed smile and holding up her free cookie and gorgeous seashell, was featured on the front of the Sunday travel section, along with several paragraphs of praise for the town’s unspoiled beauty, historic architecture, and local crafts.
That night the websites for Ravenwood Cove and the inn started getting email, with people asking questions about activities for families and places to stay. As much as it hurt to be sitting in her beautiful inn and telling people that the nearest lodging was a small hotel seven miles down the road, Amanda did just that. She made sure to be welcoming and polite, telling the people about the great shops and the beautiful and uncrowded beach. She also asked if they’d like to be added to her newsletter, so they’d be the first to know when the Ravenwood Inn was open for guests.
The next morning, Mrs. Sandford had stomped down to the newspaper office and handed in a typed press release about a lice outbreak at the local school, and the proposed expansion of the sewage plant in the next town, Likely. Lisa hesitantly took the piece of paper the mayor thrust in front of her, scanning it quickly.
“Run it. I wanted it printed today.”
The mayor spun on her heel and left without saying another word.
Lisa’s reporter instincts were tingling as she read the paper, and the more she read, the more she understood that the mayor was doing her best to discourage people wanting to visit Ravenwood Cove. The information was mostly true, but the statements definitely made things sound much worse than they actually were. With each sentence, her anger rose. She remembered every bit of info that the mayor had told the newspaper to run or tried to suppress, and the constant battles Mr. Fields, the previous editor, had had with the fierce lady.
She didn’t like it. In fact, she’d had just about enough of the mayor making decisions about the town and its people and economy that suited her own interests, without checking with the residents to see what they wanted. She’d watched her parents struggle to make a profit with the small charter fishing business they owned in Ravenwood, and lately every effort to expand or advertise had been thwarted by Mrs. Sandford.
Lisa thought of all the other shop owners she knew in town. She thought of their families and the kids she’d gone to school with, and the ones who had gone through rough times, trying to keep their business afloat. Something inside her snapped. It was time to take some action.
She flipped open her laptop and got to work. The editorial poured out of her, and by the time she got to the words ‘dictatorial’ and ‘imperious’ she was grinning and feeling like a rogue pirate. She’d never gone this far out on a limb, but was ready for whatever fallout would happen, and it felt damn good to take a stand.
Freedom of the press, she thought smugly, and started putting together the articles to highlight her blasting editorial. She double-checked all her facts and built a case made of unimpeachable data. Tomorrow’s edition of the newspaper was going to be a doozy.
Chapter 16
Amanda spent the next morning scraping paint off the elaborate gingerbread-style trim at the back of the inn. She didn’t like being up too high on the ladder, but she was saving her renovation budget for things that she couldn’t do herself, and even though scraping paint was tedious it was definitely something she could handle alone. The only good thing about being up the tall ladder was the amazing view. If she turned her head a bit there was an amazing panorama of the beach below, and when the soft wind swirled just right, she could actually hear some of the far off breakers.
Scrubbing the peeling paint off the wood with a wire brush, she heard someone talking below her. Craning her head, Amanda could see the pretty blonde girl who had been visiting her Russian neighbor the other day. The girl was smiling at her, a basket looped over one arm, obviously waiting.
“Hello! I’m Jennifer Peetman. I don’t think we’ve met yet.”
Amanda smiled back, tucked her brush into her plastic pail, and carefully went down the steps.
“Hi, I’m Amanda.” She slid off the canvas work glove and stuck out her hand. The first thing she noticed about Jennifer was her vivid blue eyes, warm and friendly.
“I hope you don’t mind me bothering you like this,” Jennifer began, “but I was hoping you’d consider letting me buy some of your apples. The lady I visit has been canning applesauce all week, and your Gravensteins are the best around.”
“Gravensteins?” Amanda asked.
“Yeah, that’s the main type of apple you have. They’re great for eating or cooking, and yours haven’t been sprayed so that’s a real bonus.”
“Please, take all you want. They’re just going to waste here. I don’t even have time to make a pie.” Or anyone to share it with, she thought, then instantly pushed that thought down. Where had it come from?
“I’ve actually seen you before, visiting my neighbor. I haven’t had a chance to meet her yet,” Amanda said as they walked back to the orchard. “What’s her name?”
“Mrs. Petrovski,” Jennifer hastily answered, turning her head to scan the ground for apples. “She doesn’t get outside much at all. She even feeds the local birds off her back porch. There’s a spectacular wild rooster that keeps stopping by for free corn.”
“She’s been feeding Dumb Cluck?” Amanda’s face twisted. “I didn’t know that. I kinda hate that rooster.”
Jennifer looked up, obviously surprised at Amanda’s comment. “Hate him? Why?”
“That stupid chicken keeps crowing at the crack of dawn and waking me up! I know it sounds silly but I think he kinda hates me, too. I had no idea why he kept hanging out around here.”
“Well, it might be because of all the free corn or it might be because he’s been roosting in your chicken coop.”
Amanda’s face fell. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me! He’s been sleeping in my henhouse? Free room and board. No wonder he’s been staying.”
Her guest shrugged, apologetic. “Sorry, I thought you knew.” She picked up and discarded a couple of apples. When Amanda pulled a fresh one off the tree she shook her head.
“I don’t need the good ones off the tree for applesauce. She…can use the windfalls.”
There was an odd catch in her voice, and Amanda suddenly felt like she’d stepped in something that Jennifer didn’t want to discuss. It caught Amanda’s attention, and she studied the back of the woman next to her, industriously picking up apples off the ground.
“Have you known Mrs. Petrovski for a long time?” she asked, watching her guest bending over and plopping the bright apples in her basket.
“Not too long.”
Amanda bent over, too, scooping up apples and checking that they were in good shape before handing three of them to Jennifer. “I’m afraid I don’t speak Russian. Would you please let her know that she can come over anytime and get as many apples as she’d like? I don’t want her to feel like she has to run off if I come outside.”
“Thank you. I will,” Jennifer said as she straightened up, stretching out her back.
“So, is Mrs. Petrovski new to Ravenwood Cove?” Amanda knew she was asking a lot of questions, probably too many, but she had the strangest feeling that Jennifer wasn’t telling her everything about her Slavic neighbor.
“Yes, she’s new here. Doesn’t know anyone really and she’s very reclusive and shy. Well, I’d better be going and get these apples over to her,” Jennifer said, and with a quick wave of her hand she slipped through the same loose fence board that Mrs. Petrovski had used to run away from Amanda the other day.
Definitely something weird there, Amanda thought to herself, and moved the ladder a few feet over. Maybe some time scraping paint would give
her some time to help her figure out her mysterious neighbor, even as she tried to ignore the gaping hole in the dirt of her garden, right under her leaning scarecrow.
Chapter 17
It was amazing how just a few days of sunshine and some new tourists could lift an entire town’s spirits. When Amanda strolled down the sidewalk of Main Street, threading her way through the brightly-colored pots of flowering plants and outdoor tables with festive tablecloths, every merchant had a broad smile and a friendly greeting for her.
It had already been a good and productive morning. Dropping off her legal documents to Charles, she’d accidentally interrupted him as he was setting up a chessboard on the table by his office window. After she’d given him the paperwork she couldn’t resist sitting down and accepting his invitation to a rousing game of chess. They were nearly evenly matched, which seemed to surprise her handsome lawyer, and there had been a lot of laughing and teasing as they battled over the board. At last, Charles emerged as the victor, barely eking out a win and complimentary of Amanda’s chess skills. As she was leaving, Amanda made him promise to give her a rematch in the next few weeks, and when she was out on the sidewalk, had waved at him when she saw him smiling at her from his office window. Definitely a good way to start the day!
The breeze carried the smell of cooking garlic from the pizzeria, mixed with the welcoming aroma of Mrs. Mason’s freshly-baked bread. Up and down the street almost every shop had a new window display or newly-painted door. The bakery had added a pink- and white- striped awning and a brand new candy counter, full of sweets in large glass jars. People smiled and waved, and she heard story after story of happy kids and new customers who had read the articles and had come to town. The merchants were thrilled with all the new business, and openly wondered how the seashells had gotten planted on the beach. Amanda did her best to listen and to keep her face carefully neutral when they chattered on about the treasure trove found in the sand, and how parents had wandered into their shops, coupon books in hand.
Ravenwood Cove Cozy Mysteries Books 1-3 Page 8