by Kim Allred
Ethan studied her. “A philosopher. Well, I don’t see any reason why you can’t keep climbing here if it’s your favorite spot. As long as you don’t mind occasionally discovering me out here as well, welcoming in the new day.”
“I’m sorry. I forgot where the climb was taking me.”
Ethan barked a short laugh. “I seriously doubt you forget anything. The invitation still stands.” The light was probably now sufficient for Ethan to see AJ’s small blush at being caught. “Do you want to come in for some coffee?”
“No.” AJ’s response was more abrupt than she intended. “I need to get to work.” Her tone softened. “Thank you for letting me climb here. It means a lot.”
“If not coffee, why don’t you come down the shore with me? I heard there were some antique shops in some town called Chilton, not far from here.”
AJ couldn’t help but be surprised. “You want to go antiquing? There are better places than Chilton.”
“I’m not expecting to find a treasure, but I could use your expertise in what you look for. Better still, how you know something is not what it appears.”
AJ pulled at a curl. Her mind raced through her limited options, but an excuse refused to show itself.
“Perhaps your friend Stella would like to come along,” he said.
“Stella would enjoy some time away from work.” AJ refused to concede more, but Stella would love the adventure and wouldn’t mind seeing Ethan again.
“Saturday, then?”
“Saturday it is. We’ll meet you here at eight.”
AJ stood and grabbed her rope, cinched in, and pushed off for her descent. A few feet down, she looked up to the edge and saw Ethan watching her, his face shadowed against the blue sky. Yet, for an instant, she caught something in his regard. She was almost to the bottom of the cliff when it came to her.
What she had seen in his gaze was admiration.
The alarm hadn’t been set. Stella’s languid body, curled against her pillow, jerked in reflex to the sun hitting her face. She had overslept. This was not her favorite way of waking up, preferring about six slaps of the snooze button before prying her eyes open. Stella’s feet hit the cold wood floor, jolting her senses. This day was going to go awry, she just knew it.
Making an effort to shuffle into the kitchen to hit the button on the coffee machine, Stella trudged back to the bathroom. She was half-alive by the time she brushed her teeth, but it was the first long slurp of her steaming morning brew that woke Stella’s brain. She sat at the breakfast nook, allowing the sight outside her window to complete her morning ritual: the flowers, alive in kaleidoscope colors, contrasted with the darker shades of foliage, her own private Eden.
Stella smiled with pride as she turned back to her kitchen. She remembered the first time she had pulled up in front of the place, a small cottage styled house bearing up under neglect. Purchased a couple of years earlier, it had been a dump. Keeping the bones of the place, Stella refashioned the house into a showplace, combining modern with traditional, her rustic kitchen filled with granite counters and top-of-the line appliances. The focus of her open living room was a large sitting area with plush, comfortable couches and chairs, framed by artwork, and along one wall, a state-of-the art entertainment center. Replicating her office, several ornate vases overflowing with floral bouquets dominated the rooms, filling the whole house with spring.
Sipping her coffee until it cooled enough to take larger gulps, Stella considered the day before her. She could have slept in more than she already had. Stella wasn’t prepared for the idleness of her next two days. It wasn’t that Stella never took time off. She enjoyed taking a couple of days of retreat to recharge her batteries, pampering herself, spending long days shopping, or attending events at the town’s small art center. Underneath all the flash, the chaos of hectic schedules, and demanding mercurial clients, she was self-aware enough to know it was her own homebody nature that she witnessed in her clients, and she embraced it. She usually had to carve out time for herself, because it didn’t typically fall at her doorstep.
Over breakfast, she recalled her late conversation with AJ and her obsession with the Westcliffe. Stella understood AJ’s passion for her stories, it matched Stella’s own enthusiasm for work, but something seemed different. AJ’s fixation seemed more about the captain and his mysterious ship than the inn. They lived in a coastal town—it wasn’t like there weren’t a ton of boats out at the marina. AJ hadn’t said much about the man, other than his obnoxious behavior, and Stella found it odd that AJ would have been bothered by it.
There was only one way to see what all the excitement was about. She needed to jump into the fray, and her best angle was to put her own skills to use. If AJ thought this mystery man and the inn were tied together, she was probably right. Her instincts rarely led her astray when she was hot on a story. Let AJ work on the captain and Mr. Jackson. Stella would dig from the other end.
When Stella finally emerged from the house, the sun was well on its way toward midday. Even with her mission in front of her, Stella had succumbed to a bath, indulging before pulling herself together for town.
Stella loved the city. She loved how the ocean air clung to it, the exhaust from the cars, the faint drift of roses, and, if it was Wednesday, the encapsulating aroma of the barbecue special from the diner that sat across from the city and county building. Baywood lacked the glamour of the big cities, but it was hers just the same.
Living in the heart of the city, Stella could easily walk to most of the city and county offices, but she lived by the adage, “Why walk if you can do anything else?” Today, she had let the hour grow too late and ended up parking at a meter two blocks away from the old historical building.
The county records office was located next to the office of permits, allowing Stella to tap both offices for the information she sought. Armed with the address of the old inn AJ had provided, Stella entered the building and was assailed by shiny marble floors, freshly polished wood furniture, and an underlying hint of mustiness a century-old building couldn’t escape. She understood the attraction this old building held for the city. AJ was enthralled by the architecture, the old paintings, and the sensation some people got just walking into a slice of history. For Stella, it was just a building she frequented for her business, and if it had held charm for her once, it had long worn off.
She checked her watch. Stella had timed it perfectly. The county workers would hustle more when kept from their lunch hour, and she hoped she would find a halfway competent person to help her before the break. She stopped to admire a fresh bouquet of spring flowers. Turning to enter the title office, she ran into a man making a quick escape out the door.
The bump was jarring, and though his head was turned away from her, Stella recognized the man’s voice from his hurried apology.
“Adam,” Stella said.
He stopped short, hesitated, then dropped his shoulders. He turned and managed a small smile. “Stella. I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you.”
As usual, Adam’s smile seemed forced. Neither one of them liked the other. They both happened to be connected to AJ, dooming them to see each other at the occasional family gathering, to which AJ sometimes dragged Stella. She assumed as some form of punishment, though she never quite knew who AJ was punishing at the time.
“That happens. I’m usually in a hurry to get out of government offices as well.” Stella kept her expression friendly. “Working on a case?”
“Huh?” Adam searched the lobby, looking like he wanted to melt into a wall. “Yes, yes, that’s it. A case. It’s a real strange one.” Adam gave Stella a quick glance and seemed to snicker. “Well, I must run.” He turned and dashed off before Stella could respond.
“Good seeing you too,” Stella said to the retreating figure. She stared after him for a minute, then turned back to the office. It didn’t make sense, but Adam had acted guilty about something. She was still sorting it out when she stepped up and plopped her bag onto the empty
counter.
The clerk, a woman in her fifties or so, was picking up a stack of folders and, seeing Stella arrive, set them back down. “Can I help you?”
Her voice was perky, and Stella felt a little ashamed of her earlier misgivings about government workers. “Yes, sorry, I need to get myself together. A man nearly knocked me down leaving here.” Stella pulled a notebook from her bag and riffled through the torn, overused pages to find the address of the Westcliffe.
“Oh yes, he was pretty brusque, wasn’t he? But we’re always the last place people want to be, and sometimes the searches take a while when we have to dig through old files. I’ll be so happy when we get the old ones on the computer. We never seem to have enough budget to get it all done.”
Stella paused in her organizing. The chatty clerk was well-dressed, her softly graying hair cut short in a modern style. Her makeup was perfect for an office setting, and her eyes twinkled in response to her smile. Stella caught a whiff of a powdery floral scent she couldn’t imagine wearing herself, but it seemed to suit this woman. Stella instantly liked her.
She returned the clerk’s smile. “Money is always the problem, isn’t it? Well, I’m not in a hurry myself, and I’m afraid I may have another one you’ll have to dig for.”
“Well, that’s my job, so tell me what you need.”
Relieved she wouldn’t have to beg for such an old file, she wrote the address on a small slip of paper and slid the note across to the clerk. “I’d like to get the titles for this address since the house was built. It might go back a hundred years.”
“It shouldn’t be a problem.” The clerk took the paper and had taken a few steps when she looked at the address, then stopped, turning back to Stella. “Are you sure this is the right address on Shoreline Drive?”
The question caught Stella off guard and, though she knew she had written the correct address, she checked her notebook again. “Yes, 453 Shoreline. Isn’t that what I wrote?”
“Yes, that’s what you’ve written. It’s just, well, I pulled the title on this property a few minutes ago, for the man you ran into.” The clerk walked to the stack of folders she had set down when Stella arrived and picked up the top file.
Stella stared at the clerk and then at the thin old file the woman placed in front of her. She was at a loss for words.
“Must be a hot property, with it being on the coast and all. I was wondering if the old inn would ever open back up.” The clerk went back to other tasks, leaving the folder with Stella.
Stella stared at the folder, afraid to open it, as if a dozen snakes might be coiled under the first page. Adam had asked for the same information. Her hand hovered over the folder until she mentally kicked herself for being foolish. Opening it, she flipped through the pages.
She didn’t see anything that might require an attorney. Maybe it was like the clerk said and the property was being sold. She returned the pages to their original order before going over each page, snapping photos of them with her phone. Wait until AJ heard who she had run into.
16
After her morning climb and the surprise welcome from Ethan, AJ second-guessed a trip to visit the ship’s captain. She felt silly about that. She was investigating a story and there was no harm in it. Yet something troubled her about the captain. The way she discovered the ghostly ship still left her a little on edge.
Her morning tasks completed, AJ checked the clock on the wall. There was nothing holding her to the office, and a drive to the inn couldn’t be avoided, as she would need pictures for the article. It was simple. She would get the shots and only then decide whether to walk down to the dock.
It didn’t occur to her until she parked in front of the inn that the captain might not be there. Her stomach tightened, and she convinced herself it was only because she might miss out on a good story. The sun warmed her face as she approached the Westcliffe, and she wished she had left her sweater behind. But in the next moment, a shiver ran through her, a combination of the salty breeze brushing her skin and the remnants of ghosts lingering on the front porch. She pulled her sweater close.
At the split in the path, she hesitated. Her plan was to get the pictures, but she could do that anytime. She wanted to see if the captain and ship were still here. Emboldened by the good weather, her investigative curiosity returning, AJ turned left and headed to the dock.
The ship impressed her each time she saw it. On this trip, she could see it wasn’t as large as she remembered. The main mast, devoid of full sails, still made the ship appear larger than it was—or perhaps it was just that it was a centuries-old ship. The wooden hull wasn’t as sleek and shiny as the refined wood of some sailboats or the fiberglass of others. As she got closer, she could see the wear in the ship, though it did not have an old, worn-out look, nor an appearance of having been moored at some marina or dry docked for months on end. The deck was scrubbed. Bits of brass sparkled in the sunlight. This was a well cared for, well-used ship, not some museum piece.
This time AJ walked the entire length of the ship, taking in what she could see of the deck. The sails were tied tight to long wooden beams that, if she remembered correctly, were called yards, but her knowledge of sailing was limited. She wasn’t sure how the rigging really worked, but she assumed some form of pulley system, as the canvas of the sails had to be heavy.
She strolled, taking her time as she looked over every piece of the ship. When she arrived at the stern, she pulled out her phone to take a picture and saw the name Daphne Marie carved in soft bronze stretching across the transom. What type of woman could make a man name a ship after her?
For the second time, the voice made her jump.
“It’s you again. The reporter.”
She turned to face him, caught by the amusement that crinkled the corners of his eyes, accompanied by a crooked grin. How many women had fallen for his looks—perhaps someone named Daphne? He wore work jeans and a sweatshirt. A hammer perched in a bucket he carried by his side. His face held the tanned color people got from working all day in the sun, and he wiped at a trickle of sweat that rolled from his brow.
The captain looked at his hammer. “Sorry, I’ve been doing some repairs. There’s always something to do on board a ship.” The captain set down the tools, his hands moving to his hips. “Is there something I can help you with?”
The breeze picked up and, not wanting to shout, AJ took a step closer. “Yes, my name is AJ Moore, and I’m a reporter for the Baywood Herald. I’m doing a story on old historical buildings and was interested in the inn.”
“I see. And so tell me, Miss AJ Moore, what makes this inn so interesting?”
His question seemed sincere, but his penetrating stare weakened her resolve. AJ pulled away from the inspection to take a long look at the dock and then toward the main house. “I thought it might have a story to tell.”
He took his own time to look around, matching AJ’s tempo. “I’m new here, so I’m afraid I can’t tell you one way or the other. Mr. Jackson might be able to help you. From what I understand, he’s cared for this place for some time.”
“Mr. Jackson. Isn’t that the man you mentioned the first time I was here?”
“Yes it was. You have a good memory. It must be those reporter skills.”
“Have you known Mr. Jackson long?”
“I believe I mentioned I was new here so, no, I haven’t known him long.”
“How did you come to dock here instead of the marina?” The questions rolled out of her, refusing to stop. She matched his glare, refusing to waver.
The captain’s gaze hardened, the smile no longer reaching his eyes. “Didn’t you say your story was on the inn?”
AJ detected the change before seeing it on his face. She had felt some pull from this man, as if a thin, unseen string connected them. Then, just as quickly, it broke. He didn’t like being questioned. AJ wanted to push forward, dozens of questions unanswered, but the captain had folded his arms in front of him. She tried a different tactic.
>
“Sorry. I guess this old ship intrigued me. I’ve never seen anything like her. She seemed like a nice addition to the story on the inn.” AJ walked toward him, focusing on the ship, her admiration sincere.
He joined her as she strolled by. “She’s a true ship to be sure. She’s never disappointed.” His natural pride for the ship couldn’t be hidden.
AJ found herself leaning in to hear the last sentence. The captain’s change in demeanor made her want to place a hand on his arm before being caught by an urgent need to pull it back, although she hadn’t actually reached out. “And does she have a story to tell?”
His smile returned, his body visibly relaxing. He patted the side of the ship. “She’s seen many a storm and has pulled me out of each, delivering me to sunny shores.”
They stood at the end of the dock and the path leading back to the inn. AJ struggled with how to get the discussion back to her story, surprised when the captain helped her out.
“Mr. Jackson should be here later this afternoon.”
“I guess my timing’s off. I could use an interview with him.” His green eyes snared her, and she couldn’t stop the blush from reddening her cheeks, forcing her to look away.
“He was to meet with me to look over the repairs for the inn.”
“Repairs. Is there going to be construction on the place?”
“Nothing that dramatic. Enough to make it livable again.”
“Are you moving in? Do you own it?” The questions piled up in AJ’s head and rushed from her mouth.
The captain’s laugh was loud and spontaneous, and for a moment, the mystery of the man seemed to fall away.
The questions begging to be released vanished when AJ heard his deep, joyful laugh. It made her laugh in return. “I know.” She turned back to look at the ship. “I can’t seem to help myself. It’s almost as if I’ve dropped into a different time, and I just don’t know where to begin.”