Sea, Sky & Skeleton

by Carolyn L. Dean

  Roy Greeley and his assistant showed up promptly at eight, and Amanda was lucky to have run downstairs in time to get the coffee going and set out some pastries. She was a big believer in keeping her contractor happy, and he certainly seemed to enjoy working on the Ravenwood Inn.

  Maybe it was because of the cinnamon rolls.

  Amanda made a quick call to Meg and then headed out to her car, the still-wrapped bible tucked safely into a canvas bag. She may not be able to fix her Inn, or help James’ father, or solve the mystery of the dismembered hand, but at least she could do some research on who put the bible in the Inn’s staircase. The local historical society had been a wonderful help to her when she’d first arrived in town, digging out old photos of the Inn and telling her all sorts of stories about parties and events that had happened in the historic bed and breakfast.

  The drive to Cuppa coffeehouse was short and familiar, and Amanda was looking forward to a hot mocha and getting some answers. The little shop was known for fabulous pastries and friendly conversation, with many of the local people making it a morning stop every day. Maybe it was the overstuffed armchairs or maybe it was the welcoming smiles that Meg and Tory gave whoever walked in the door, but whatever it was made people come back again and again.

  Walking in, Amanda could smell warm cinnamon and freshly-brewed coffee, along with something baking in the back room. The little bell over the door tinkled and announced her arrival. She could see several people scattered around the small tables at the edges of the coffee shop, immersed in their newspapers and morning routine. Tory, the owner, was wiping down one of the tables and turned to give Amanda a bright smile.

  “Oh, we’ve got a surprise for you today,” she said mysteriously, straightening up and heading for the back room. “Have a seat. The ladies from the historical society should be here soon. I’ll get your mocha.”

  Amanda slung her purse over one of the empty chairs and sat down. It wasn’t long before Meg bustled out of the back room. She was holding a tray of apricot tarts, her hands covered in two big oven mitts. Setting the tarts down on the counter, she grinned at her friend and pulled the oven mitts off.

  “So, I hear you got tired of trying to solve mysteries around town and had to find one in your own staircase. What’s this I hear about you finding silver spoons and old books?”

  Amanda was surprised Meg didn’t mention the skeletal hand she’d discovered, but decided to talk to her about it some other time. Carefully pulling the old bible out of her canvas bag, she set it on a long table. “Oh, there are plenty of mysteries in Ravenwood Cove. This is just the one I’m working on today.” She looked around. “I thought your grandmother was going to be here.”

  “She’s here all right.” Meg’s usually-cheerful face clouded over. “She’s in the restroom. Wait ‘til you get a load of this,” Meg said darkly. Amanda was just about to ask her what she meant, when Mrs. Granger rounded the corner.

  Amanda gave out a startled gasp. “What in the world happened to your hair?” she blurted out, then stopped, realizing how rude that must sound. The old lady calmly looked back at her, then blinked.

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “It’s so…pink!”

  It was true. Mrs. Granger’s hair was normally soft waves of bright white, but today the top of her head resembled a carefully coiffed bit of cotton candy, pin curls and all.

  “Is it? I hadn’t noticed.” The sparkle in Mrs. Granger’s eyes said otherwise. “Actually, I rather like it. I might keep it this way. Makes me look kinda like a punk rocker, doncha think?”

  “What happened? I mean…” Amanda paused, trying to think how to phrase her question so it wouldn’t offend her friend. Mrs. Granger nodded in understanding, putting up a hand to stop Amanda’s next comment.

  “Lydia down at the beauty salon recommended this new rinse for my hair, because I told her I never wanted to be one of those little old ladies with blue hair. She said this wouldn’t turn my hair blue and boy howdy, was she right.”

  “Do you like it?” Amanda tried not to stare, unsuccessfully.

  “Well, it’s not something I’d want to keep forever.” Mrs. Granger pushed her walker over to the mirror by the front door and peered critically at her reflection. “I have to say, it’s grown on me and it is only temporary.” She turned her head from side to side. “It’s not like I’m having my hair done so I can look cute and go pick up sailors or anything.”

  Amanda burst out in laughter and couldn’t help but tease a bit. “If you wanted to start a conversation that hair would definitely help. So, no new men for you, huh?”

  Mrs. Granger smiled. “Nope. I had a good man for fifty-four years, and now that he’s gone it’s just too much effort to try to train up a new one.”

  “So I hear you’ve been down at the beach.” The words were spoken in a deceptively calm voice, but Mrs. Granger’s eyes were mischievous. “Heard you found some guy’s hand.”

  Amanda glanced around but no one seemed interested in the old lady’s comment. “Is it in the Ravenwood Tide already? Meg and Tory didn’t say anything.”

  “They don’t read the paper first thing like I do. Yep. Front page, big as life. Said you’d found something on the beach that had a hand attached to it. The reporter got a real good look at the hand and said it had most of the first finger and part of the middle finger missing, like they’d been chopped off.”

  “Uh-huh.” Amanda looked warily at the smug Mrs. Granger, who had both arthritic hands wrapped around her warm coffee mug.

  “You know, I knew a wild boy who had his fingers chopped off like that. A few years back he was out elk-hunting and was trying to chop firewood after he’d been drinking straight vodka. Mrs. Mason’s nephew had to drive King all the way to the hospital to stop the bleeding.” The old lady turned toward Amanda, her bird-like eyes sharp. “You know, I haven’t seen Nelson King in quite some time around here, not since he had that thing going with Jennifer last year.”

  Amanda stopped breathing. “Thing with Jennifer? Jennifer Peetman?”

  Surprise flashed across Mrs. Granger’s face and she leaned toward Amanda, her voice a hoarse whisper. “He was the baby’s daddy, you know. The baby that she gave up for adoption.” Leaning back, she sighed. “He wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box, I can tell you that. Probably couldn’t have found his own butt with both hands and a roadmap. Good lookin’, though. Decent dancer.”

  Amanda stifled a laugh, and it came out as a smothered cough. Mrs. Granger helpfully slid a glass of water over to her, and once she was satisfied that Amanda wasn’t choking, continued with what she’d been saying. “Most of his family still lives in a single-wide up in Likely, but he seemed to be doing okay. I guess Jennifer met him at a dance a while back. Poor girl. She should’ve had more sense than to date a loser like that.” Mrs. Granger paused, seemingly embarrassed. “God rest his soul, of course. I mean, if it was actually him.” She darted a glance at Amanda, obviously trying to gauge her reaction.

  It took every bit of acting ability Amanda possessed to keep her expression blank as Mrs. Granger told her about Nelson King and his relationship with her friend and employee, Jennifer. Jennifer hadn’t had an easy life. Her father had been an accountant for a crime syndicate, she’d been attacked by a hit man a few months back, and she’d gone to Portland for a few months before she’d given her baby up for adoption. Apparently, dating Nelson King was just another bad encounter on a very long list of troubles in her young life.

  “Care to comment on that? On whether it was actually him?” Apparently, Mrs. Granger wasn’t going to let go of the subject.

  “Not at this time,” Amanda said, ignoring the instant pout that appeared on Mrs. Granger’s disappointed face.

  “Fine. I’ll just sit here with my pink hair, in my squeaky walker, waiting for my inevitable death because no one will answer a simple question,” the old lady grumped, making Amanda burst out in laughter.

  “Mrs. Granger, you know more about
Ravenwood Cove than anyone I know. You also know darn well that just because I’m dating James I can’t tell you everything.”

  The old lady switched tactics. “So, you’re finally admitting you’re dating. That’s a step in the right direction. What’s the deal with you two, anyway? Do I hear wedding bells?”

  Amanda laughed again and shook her head in defeat. She’d learned long ago that her ancient friend had no social boundaries when it came to asking questions and getting gossip.

  “We’re taking it slow.”

  “Slow? Why? If I had a man likes James Landon I’d be jumping on marriage like a duck on a June bug. I’d be on him like white on rice, like–“

  Amanda cut her off. “I get it. I tell you what. If anything happens, you’ll be the first person I mail an invitation to.”

  “Pinky swear?”

  Amanda stuck out her pinky and soberly linked it with Mrs. Granger’s crooked little finger. “Pinky swear. But don’t hold your breath. I haven’t exactly had the best luck with men.” She sighed. “Sooner or later, the other shoe always drops.”

  Mrs. Granger blinked at her. “Maybe, but every once in a while a good guy does come along. They do still exist, you know.” She patted Amanda on the shoulder. “Good men. You need to quit going out with boys. Go get yourself a real man.”

  Amanda picked up her mocha and took a sip. “I’d have better odds hitting Bigfoot with my car than having a happy ending. It’s not my first time dating, you know.”

  Mrs. Granger huffed in disapproval. “That’s plain as the nose on your face. Nobody gets such a crappy attitude about love unless someone gave it to them.”

  By the time Ruth Bitterman and Myrna Shelby from historical society had arrived, Amanda was starting to get used to her 90-year-old friend’s pink hair. Mrs. Granger took the shocked expressions and barrage of questions from the historians with good humor, and it wasn’t long before the ladies turned their questions on Amanda and her gruesome discovery. Brushing off their questions as quickly as she could, she could tell it obviously annoyed the women when they couldn’t get more details. She finally started unwrapping the bible, and as soon as the elaborate leather cover was revealed she had their full attention.

  “I was hoping you could help me with this,” she said, sliding it over to Mrs. Bitterman as the other ladies clustered around her. Mrs. Bitterman put on a pair of white cotton gloves with some ceremony, then carefully opened the front cover, muttering comments to the lady to her right as they read the inscriptions and the handwritten notes of births and deaths.

  “I found some silver spoons in the same stair, and they had a P monogram on them.” Amanda fished one out of her purse and handed it over, the old ladies peering at it closely.

  “Definitely Pringle.” There was a mutual nodding of little white heads and one pink one as the ladies agreed.

  “Who’s Pringle?”

  Mrs. Granger looked up, surprised. “Why, the original owner of the Ravenwood Inn. Weren’t you paying attention when we talked about this last fall?”

  Amanda shrugged. “It didn’t make an impression, I guess. So, what should I do with the Bible? It looks like it was in the family for generations.”

  Mrs. Granger was peering at one of the pages carefully, her reading glasses riding dangerously close to the end of her nose. “Didn’t you tell me once that your mother’s maiden name was Ascott?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “Look.” The old lady pointed to an entry at the bottom of the page listing marriages. “There’s a Calvin Ascott who married into the family.”

  “Really?” Amanda leaned over to look. “My grandfather’s name was Calvin Ascott. So, this bible is from my family?”

  Ruth Bitterman shook her head, setting off the other ladies doing it, too. “Yes and no. It looks like your branch of the family is definitely recorded here, but the Pringle family is still in town. Only one left, actually.”

  Amanda’s mouth dropped open. “There’s a…really? I have a relative here in town? I don’t know anyone with the last name of Pringle.”

  Mrs. Granger reached over to pat Amanda’s hand. Amanda wasn’t sure if it was for comfort or sympathy. “It was her maiden name, honey. She hasn’t used that name for a long time.”

  Heartbeat racing, Amanda blurted out, “Well? Who is it?”

  The old lady paused. “It’s Hortense Sandford.”

  Chapter 9

  Fine. Just fine.

  Out of all the people in Ravenwood Cove that she could’ve been related to, why did it have to be the former mayor, Hortense Sandford?

  Amanda clutched her steering wheel as she drove, muttering dark epitaphs under her breath and considering an early morning beer or two.

  Mrs. Sandford. The elegant, cranky, tall battle-axe of a woman who had made her life so miserable when Amanda arrived in town. She’d deliberately tried to close the Inn down by saying it couldn’t be a business, knowing that it would bankrupt the newly-unemployed woman with a sparse bank account. Amanda had to fight to make her business work and to get justice, and going toe-to-toe with Mrs. Sandford had been stressful and frustrating.

  Pulling into the Inn’s circular driveway, Amanda didn’t notice any of the landscaped beauty around her as she walked up the front steps. The huge rhododendron bushes in the manicured borders were almost in bloom, and pansies and daffodils, full of cheerful color, were tucked in among the foliage. The broad front porch was ready for spring, with white wicker furniture pulled back against the building, and potted plants on either side of the huge, antique front door. On any other day she would have looked at the front of the beautiful old Inn with pride, and maybe made a mental list of things she could do to make it better. Today she just wanted to sit in a hot bubble bath with a big piece of chocolate pie and a fork, and ignore the rest of the world.

  Amanda had to restrain herself from slamming the door shut behind her as she strode in, but she knew the leaded glass insert would shatter across the hardwood floor if she did. She could hear Jennifer whistling something cheerful in the kitchen as she chopped something on a cutting board, so Amanda hung up her coat and purse and headed that way.

  Jennifer’s back was to her, earbuds firmly in place while she whistled along to whatever tune was in her iPod. She was chopping vegetables, a crockpot next to her, but what caught Amanda’s attention wasn’t what she was doing, but how she was doing it. Using a chef’s knife with amazing speed and precision, she effortlessly cut the washed vegetables in perfect cubes. Her hands were moving so fast they were almost a blur as she masterfully sliced everything, as if she’d been doing it for years with the best chefs in the world.

  “Jennifer!”

  Amanda had to walk around the side of the marble-topped kitchen island to get her employee’s attention. Jennifer jumped, startled, her hands instantly paused in mid-slice. She pulled the earbuds off.

  “Oh, sorry! I was rocking out.” She grinned sheepishly. “I finished all the cleaning so I thought I’d make a beef stew for your dinner while I was waiting for you. If I get it started now it should be ready around six.” She started chopping the last potatoes, but this time she was slow and a bit clumsy. “Hope you like stew.”

  “I do, actually.”

  “You okay?” Jennifer looked concerned. “You look upset.”

  “Just a tough morning.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  Amanda sighed. “No, but thanks for asking. I’m going to take a bit of a break and then meet up with some of the merchants later today to see if I can get that package deal idea off the ground. Maybe I can get us some discounts that will help business for the Inn.” She gestured at the cutting board. “Don’t cut yourself.”

  Jennifer smiled. “I’ll try not to.”

  Chapter 10

  When Amanda had first come to Ravenwood Cove the town had been slowly dying. The economy had sagged when the logging industry dried up, taking much of the local business with it. Since Ravenwood had been built off the m
ain highway that traveled along the Oregon Coast, there weren’t many tourists that took the extra effort to drive the pothole-riddled roads to visit. Once Amanda had realized that helping the local merchants was the only way she’d get her own business up and running, she’d thrown caution to the winds and had worked relentlessly to try to get tourists to town. She’d put together a local merchant association, and they had started a weekly farmers market and promoted various events and festivals. As soon as news became public that visitors were finding exotic seashells and hand-blown glass floats down on the beach, the town had seen an influx of money and people it hadn’t had in years. There had definitely been a few hiccups, though, when people who weren’t eager for outsiders had to deal with extra folks in line at the grocery store or fewer available parking spots on Main Street. It was only recently that Amanda had figured out that some people thought her changing things right away was reckless, and possibly hurtful. The merchants were thrilled, but she’d come to learn that her drive to fix a problem she saw might be perceived as a bad thing by others.

  In her opinion, it had been worth it. She didn’t like people being upset with her, but if she waited for people to agree with everything she did, she’d never get anything done. I’m not running for Miss Congeniality, she thought, as she parked in front of the Liberty movie theater.

  It took Amanda less than fifteen minutes to get Heinrich at the pizza place to agree to give a discount for couples that wanted a heart-shaped pizza included in the romance getaway package she was putting together, and Madeline Wu was happy to include some of her famous smoked salmon at a great price, in case Amanda’s guests wanted a romantic picnic. Standing outside under the dark green awning over Kazoodles toy store, Amanda hummed happily and ran down her list. She was hoping to get ideas for family getaways and girlfriend weekends at the beach and offer them as package deals on her website.