by Kim Allred
Stella took a minute to digest everything, then shook her head. “Your mind was playing tricks on you. You know how it is with fog—now you see it, now you don’t. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“That’s what Mom said. And I was planning to ignore it. At least I was, until I went back this morning.” AJ took another sip of coffee. The cup jostled when she put it back on the table.
Stella’s brows narrowed. “It wasn’t foggy this morning.”
“It wasn’t foggy until I got to the inn. By then it was pretty dense. I walked down to the dock.” AJ shook her head, still trying to put the pieces together. “I wanted to confirm in my own mind it was a trick of the weather. That nothing I saw, or thought I saw, was real.”
“You’re giving me goose bumps here. What did you see?” Stella leaned forward in her chair, both hands grasping her coffee mug.
“The weather was clear at the inn itself, but you could tell there had been fog earlier—everything was dripping. But as I approached the dock, the fog was thick, almost palpable, and you couldn’t hear a thing. Which is unusual, right?”
“Sounds can usually be heard better in the fog, but you can’t always pinpoint the direction of them.”
“Right.” AJ couldn’t remember any sounds. “I don’t remember hearing anything strange until the fog started to clear. Once it did, it seemed almost instantaneous. Then I heard the waves hitting the side of the boat.”
“What boat?” Stella almost whispered it.
“Well, when the fog cleared, there was this huge sailing ship sitting at the dock.”
“No way. Where do you think it came from?” Stella leaned in even closer.
AJ stared at her friend.
“What?” Stella said.
“Is that all you can ask? Where did it come from? What about how did it appear out of nowhere? Why did it come and go in the fog? Aren’t those better questions?”
Stella sat back and gave AJ a long look. “We just said fog can make things disappear. That’s not unusual, honey. I’m sure it was there yesterday too, and maybe the fog was too thick for you to see it. Things don’t magically appear. You’re letting the fog play tricks on you.”
AJ wasn’t convinced as she sat back, hugging her mug.
“Things have been nuts the last couple days with Adam, and now Ethan,” Stella said. “You’ve been having problems coming up with stories. Now you’re letting the fog take you for a ride.”
“You’re right.” Her mom had said almost as much. “Guess I’m not thinking clearly.” She laughed, her voice shaky. “And I still need a story for this weekend. Maybe I’m creating one in my head.”
“See. You needed to talk it out.” Stella pried the mug out of AJ’s hands and refilled it, administering the cream to the perfect color. “You said the ship was huge?”
“It seemed pretty big to me. But that wasn’t the strangest thing. It’s an old ship, wood and tall masts, ropes hanging from the masts.”
“So it’s a junky old ship.”
“No, not junky at all. I don’t mean old like built in the last few decades. I mean old like built a couple of hundred years ago. But it was clean, almost looked new.” She wasn’t explaining it right. She put her hand up before Stella could speak. “I know, it’s old but it looks new. You’ll have to see it for yourself. I can’t really explain it other than to say it looks like a vintage ship.”
“Well then, it’s right up your alley. Leave it to you to stumble over an antique boat.”
AJ smiled. “I do have a knack for finding odd rarities.” She took a long sip of coffee, holding the mug close again, comforted by Stella’s reasoning. “I guess the guy on the ship unsettled me after everything else.”
Stella nearly spit out her coffee, dropping the mug to the table with a loud bang. “What guy? You go on and on about the fog and some mystery ship, and you’re just now mentioning a guy. Like no big thing.”
“I guess I should have mentioned him before, but it was the way I discovered the ship that had my mind twisted.”
“I agree your mind is not at its peak right now. You’re talking to Stella here. You always mention the guy first.”
The last tidbits of confusion melted away with Stella’s simplistic view of the situation. This time, AJ’s sigh was long and audible. She leaned her head back. “You’re such a good friend Stella. You do see right to the heart of the matter.”
“Enough. Tell me about this guy. What did he look like? Was he good-looking? How old?”
AJ raised her hand again. “Whoa, calm down. You’d think you hadn’t been out on a date for months, and I know that isn’t even close to the truth.”
“Fair enough, but none have been keepers, so I’m always keeping my options open.”
“Well, you won’t like this one either. He was incredibly rude and condescending.”
“You’re right, sounds more your type.” Stella laughed.
AJ gave Stella a withering look. “He came out of nowhere and half scared me to death. I’m not sure I can put my finger on it. Something seemed off. Maybe it was his overbearing nature. He kept calling me lass.”
“Oh Lord, sounds like you dug someone up from the archives. What is he, ninety?”
AJ could only remember the lean muscular frame, the lock of sunlit hair hanging down across his forehead and the piercing, judgmental gaze. A slight tremor ran through her at the memory. AJ turned away from Stella and dug through her purse until she pulled out a small notebook and pen. “Why would he dock at the inn, why not the marina? There are more services there.”
Stella pursed her lips. “Maybe he’s on a longer trip and stopped there before heading on to his destination. No fees there.”
“Maybe.” Something nagged her about what he said. She finished the last dregs of her coffee. “Oh, I forgot. He mentioned a Mr. Jackson. He thought I was someone working for him.”
“Mr. Jackson? I don’t think I know him.” Stella turned to her computer, working the keys. “Maybe the guy expected the inn to be open for business. It’s been years but maybe he had old information.”
“It’s possible, I guess. Now that you mention it, the place looked like someone was maintaining it. But still, it’s obvious no one lives there.”
“Maybe we can find something out about the owner of the inn, then see if it leads us to Mr. Jackson.”
AJ’s reporter’s instincts told her they’d stumbled onto a mystery, one she was suddenly keen on unraveling. A good story could always use a mystery to draw the reader in. She stood to look over Stella’s shoulder.
Stella’s fingers flew across the keyboard. She moved around the internet, jumping from one site to another, screens flashing faster than AJ could keep up.
“How can you find anything if you’re not stopping to read it?” The screen hopping gave AJ a headache. She preferred a more methodical approach when reviewing search sites.
“Just getting warmed up. I need to find a site with information on the old inns. Unless we know the address, I can’t bring up any current ownership of the place.” A few moments later, Stella stopped searching. “Here we go.” Stella showed her the screen.
“This is the site of a company that used to market inns, kind of a co-op for advertising. Some people still advertise this way, the smaller places and stuff. I’m not seeing anything.” Stella’s search slowed, then she looked at AJ. “Do you know the address of the place?”
AJ tried to picture a mailbox or numbers on the front door or porch. “No. I’m not sure I ever knew it.”
Unconcerned, Stella brought up another page. “Let’s find it on a map and see if we can figure out the address.” After a few more keystrokes, the women waited for the results.
“Well, I can see the street name, but there’s no address. This may take a while to figure out. Let’s try a search on a Mr. Jackson in the Baywood area.”
“Great idea. Search engines seem to have something on all of us these days. That’s how I find most of my contacts for stori
es.” AJ edged closer.
Several listings popped onto the screen. Many of the names appeared duplicated. Stella scrolled down the page, opening some of the links to see more details. “I’m still not seeing anything to help us out.”
AJ slumped back in her chair. Nothing seemed to go her way these days. Even the internet conspired against her.
Stella slid a glance at her. “Hey, maybe we should try this from a different angle.”
“What do you mean?” AJ sprang up.
“Mr. Jackson. Do you think you could dig something up on him? Something from the paper archives.”
“Maybe. But, as you just proved, Jackson is a fairly common name, even in a city the size of Baywood. It’s not going to be easy.” She perked up, reinvigorated. “But I could try to find something on the inn.”
“Excellent idea.” Stella checked her watch. “I need to get ready for an appointment. Yet another trip back to the same house we’ve seen three times already.”
AJ collected her purse. Stella followed her to the door and surprised AJ by giving her a huge squeeze. “I know this is bothering you. I’m not sure why yet, but we’ll figure this out. I have some time this afternoon, so I’ll do some digging.”
Tears welled up, and AJ squashed them, not knowing where they came from. She forced a smile. “Maybe it’s my way of trying to make a softy out of you.”
Stella turned back to her office, waving to AJ. “That’ll be the day.”
10
Several messages awaited AJ when she arrived at the office, most of them from Samuel. The pressure of needing a story within the next couple of days was starting to take a toll on both of them. AJ peered at Samuel’s glass-walled office, relieved to see he wasn’t there.
“The boss was looking for you again.” The sudden appearance of Robert’s tall, gangly frame made AJ flinch. At least it wasn’t Samuel.
AJ nodded toward his office. “It looks like he left.”
Robert looked behind him. “Yeah, the coatrack is empty.”
“Samuel and his raincoat.” Samuel always kept his raincoat with him, right up to the first of July. At least she wouldn’t have to lie about the story.
“Now that Tuesday’s paper is out, I’m going to need to know how much space your article will need. Same as usual or you have something bigger?”
Robert’s innocent question made her cringe. AJ wouldn’t need more space, but she wasn’t ready to admit she might not need as much as usual. She decided on the non-committal approach. “Give me another day if you can.”
“Sure. Samuel has something big in the works, so he may need more space.” Robert shuffled back to his own desk.
AJ could have hugged him. He probably knew that she didn’t have even a single word drafted for her story. She turned to her blog, but after an hour of responding to subscriber comments, she was no closer to a story than when she started and found herself glum as well as bored.
Distractedly hitting the keys, AJ gazed around the office and spied Clara at her desk. With the Tuesday edition out, Clara would be updating the latest edition into the paper’s database. No better time than now. Relieved to find a distraction, AJ sat up and pulled her keyboard closer.
She typed “Jackson” into the paper’s database search field, not surprised to see how many hits filled the screen. AJ scrolled through the listings, clicking anywhere the topic of the article wasn’t clearly identified. She searched back ten years, finding only wedding announcements, new business openings, and obituaries. Nothing seemed to tie in with the old inn.
Even though Stella had tried a few hours ago, AJ gave up on the paper’s database and tried the name Jackson on the web, adding the name Baywood, hoping to localize the search. She found the same references to the more recent wedding and obituary results, and little else. A few listings appeared to include addresses, but without knowing if it was the right Mr. Jackson, the articles were useless. She assumed he lived close to the inn, so the addresses themselves could prove useful. Might as well send them to the printer. It gave her a place to start.
AJ sat back and stretched, then looked up at the huge clock hanging on the far wall, surprised to see it was lunchtime. She hurried to catch up with Clara, who was leaving her desk. “Are you going to lunch?”
Clara slowed. A harried expression sharpened her thin face, and her bobbed hair, cut at an angle, did nothing to soften her features. With her quick wit and bluntness, she could have been an East coast transplant, but Clara was homegrown and would live here forever, someday running the paper. “Just down to the café. I’m buried.”
“Yeah, me too. Mind if I follow?” AJ never understood what kept Clara so busy playing part-time office administrator, but having no clue about all it entailed, she probably shouldn’t judge.
The paper shared space in the building with a small neighborhood diner, the Hill Street café. Only open during the weekdays, Hill Street had a tiny seating area, catering more to the carryout clientele. AJ usually brought her own lunch from home, but her current inability to handle the smallest of tasks had taken a toll on her normal routines.
Gazing at the menu reminded AJ of her dinner plans with Ethan. She wished she could find a way out, as her moods hadn’t been social lately, but she knew she had to go. Maybe he really did have a story idea for her. Thinking about the evening dampened her appetite, and she decided on an apple and a bag of chips.
On the way back to the office, Clara turned back to AJ, a step behind her. “What were your searching for this morning?”
The question caught AJ off guard, and she hurried to catch up. “What do you mean?”
“You were searching the database. Did you find what you needed?”
“How do you know I was searching for something?”
Clara raised her hands in surrender. “I can’t see what you’re searching for, just that you’re accessing the search command. I was in the system uploading the latest edition.”
“Oh, right.” AJ was embarrassed by her outburst. “No, I didn’t. I was looking for a person, but the name didn’t bring up anything more interesting than weddings or funerals.”
“That’s right. Searching on a single name, especially if it’s a common name, could bring up too many possibilities, so the searches are limited.”
“I assumed the search would bring up everything.”
“We’re not Google. Our system is only so big, so we have to give it parameters. You might try combining more related elements to get a different output. Something more than the name or, in our case, the city. You know, are they related to any business, or something more specific to the person?”
AJ stopped walking. Clara took a few more steps before turning back, her response terse. “Wait till you’re in the office to have a brain fart. I need to get back.” Clara walked on, and AJ, still not sure she’d heard the term “brain fart” come out of Clara’s pristine mouth, jogged to catch up with her.
Plopping down at her desk, AJ tried Clara’s idea. The only other term she could add was the name of the inn, the Westcliffe. This search proved less productive than her earlier attempts. Frustrated, she gave up and soon lost herself in reviewing old articles, searching for inspiration, even turning to articles in papers from across the country. Nothing resonated with her. She became so engrossed in reading that she didn’t hear the approaching footsteps until they stopped next to her desk. She glanced up, expecting Robert or Clara, or worse, Samuel.
“Am I too early?” Ethan’s question was casual, as if he didn’t care one way or another but wanted to be polite.
AJ was struck again by how tall he was, how handsome. With his dark looks, he seemed broody most of the time, but today a half smile lightened his face.
She stared at him, and visions of wavy brown hair and laughing eyes on an old wooden ship blurred her vision. AJ shook her head to clear the cobwebs. She had started to stray, and saw no reason to compare them. The glance at the wall clock was instinctual—she had lost track of time again.
“No.” AJ banished the crazy boat man from her mind. “You’re right on time. Let me shut things down.”
“Take your time.” Ethan took a slow turn around the office, quiet and stealthy. He had a way of blending into his surroundings, a useful skill for his security work, and was just as interesting to watch. He stopped in front of a collection of pictures that, over time, had come to be known as the “wall of history,” a wall of old front-page pictures considered the best of their time.
“We haven’t added any pictures for a few years now,” AJ said. “I guess Baywood has gotten a little boring over the years.”
“You’re looking at it the wrong way, then.” Ethan’s scrutiny shifted to her.
“What way is that?”
He returned to surveying the prints in front of him. “I don’t see a collection of big, exciting stories. I see a story of the town. How it grew and where it’s been. Maybe you’ve forgotten the point of the wall.”
As soon as he said it, she knew he was right. She should have seen it herself, but it had become part of the décor, and everyone had lost sight of it.
Before she knew it, he was standing next to her. “Shall we go?”
AJ stared at Ethan, suddenly interested in what other insights she could garner from this man, who looked at everything from a different perspective. So far, he hadn’t been dull.
Ethan selected Serrano’s, one of AJ’s favorite restaurants, famous for its pasta, fish, and intimate setting. The place was tucked away, down a side street in the heart of town, and she didn’t know who could have told him about it. Maybe Adam. The host guided them to a small table overlooking a lush enclosed patio where, in warmer months, customers waited in line for a table. Ethan ordered a bottle of wine, set the menu aside, and gave AJ his full attention.
“So how was your day?”
AJ exploded with laughter. She covered her mouth to contain the unexpected display, thoroughly amused by what sounded like such a routine question, as if they were an old married couple. Then Ethan joined in. They both quieted, containing their mirth around the other diners, as the waiter decanted the wine and received Ethan’s approval.