Eastlyn looked over and studied the driver. He seemed relaxed and carefree, his long hair blowing back, his face exuding a calm peacefulness that she’d rarely experienced for herself in the last two years.
It wasn’t long before Cooper slowed so he could take the cutoff east toward San Sebastian. The Mustang forged along the countryside dotted with patches of spring wildflowers. The blooming fields laden with golden fennel and wild lavender sloped and curved into pretty pastureland.
It was two more miles before Cooper pulled onto the rutted pavement that led to the Atkins farmhouse. They hiccupped along the lane, dodged a rabbit hopping from pathway to tall brush.
Even months after Cleef’s death, a jumble of odds and ends still lined both sides of the roadway. Rusted-out metal tractors, the shells of two old Chevys, a mass of broken discarded furniture sat among knee-high weeds.
It seemed the Mustang hit every pothole in the road before Cooper stopped in front of a frame house. “Believe it or not we’ve tried to clean up some of the old tires, sold off most of the corroded barrels for scrap metal, as well as a few of the chunks of concrete that were real eyesores.”
Eastlyn got out of the car, took in the acres and acres of junk and wondered how long it had taken the farmer to carve out this much space for the castoff landmarks no one else wanted. “I think you might’ve missed the faded, decades-old Coke machine rusting away next to that carob tree over there. This place is a graveyard of trash or a goldmine of treasure depending on one’s point of view.”
“Each time I come out here I expect to see Cleef come walking out to the car.”
She walked around the Mustang, patted him on the back. “I’m sorry about your friend. It hurts to lose someone.” In one swoop, she stopped to snap off a pink buttercup pushing its way between a patch of thistle and milkweed.
“I wouldn’t exactly call Cleef a friend of mine but more like a mainstay. I came out here as a kid with my dad. Walked through the junk while Dad held onto my hand. Cleef sold us a train table on one of those trips. It’s another cherished memory I have of my father, at a time when there aren’t enough good ones in the back of my mind because I didn’t have him for very long. My mother’s meanness saw to that.”
Eastlyn handed the bloom off to him in an expression of concern and added, “This won’t help much, but it’s a reminder that all things in life circle around.”
“Why thank you,” he said, taking the stem and sniffing the bud, a little embarrassed that he hadn’t been the one to make the gesture. It wasn’t the first time at the farm that he’d been caught up in a wave of nostalgia. “Sometimes this place has a creepy feel to it.”
“How so?”
“Before Isabella married Thane they had some trouble out here with her ex. I’m not completely certain about all the facts involved but since…”
She grabbed his arm in the middle of his tale. “Wait. Am I to understand that something happened in this town and you don’t know all the gritty details? That’s pathetic. Sounds to me like you don’t have access to intel the same way Myrtle Pettibone does.”
“No one possesses intel like Myrtle. Although I should point out that she got the stripper story totally wrong about you. You should deduct points for that. It shows there’s a chink somewhere in her system.”
“Good point,” Eastlyn conceded with a laugh. “Myrtle could’ve at least pegged the source before starting those rumors.”
“Do you want to hear the story about Cleef’s murder or not?”
“Sorry. Absolutely.”
“Okay then. One night the ex showed up in town and abducted Isabella right off the street as she headed home from working at the pizza place.”
Eastlyn’s mouth dropped open. “Abducted? As in against her will? She never said a word to me about that. But then come to think of it, most of our convos have been centered around the planting project. So how does Isabella’s kidnapping relate to what happened out here to Mr. Atkins?”
“It was Isabella’s ex, a man by the name of Henry Navarro who killed Cleef.” Cooper left out the gory details and went on, “The sad thing is, if Isabella hadn’t been kidnapped and if her ex hadn’t brought her back out here to Cleef’s farm that night, the old man’s death might’ve gone unnoticed for days—since the guy lived alone, so far away from town—his body might not have been discovered for weeks. If Isabella hadn’t overpowered Navarro that night, if Scott hadn’t directed them out here…”
“Scott? Ah, I’m beginning to get the picture.”
“Anyone ever tell you that you interrupt a lot? Anyway, if it all hadn’t come down the way it did, Brent might’ve thought that Cleef’s death had something to do with the meth labs out here.”
Eastlyn shot a look around the line of trees in the distance. “Here? In Pelican Pointe?”
“Not in town, no. But back to the east of Cleef’s farm sits a compound along with a dangerous element that prefers to be left alone, prefers to keep their illegal enterprises from becoming public knowledge.”
“But you already got wind of these ‘enterprises’ and you’ve been in town for what…? Less than a year?”
“I should emphasize the word ‘prefers’ more because the people involved fail miserably at keeping their activities quiet. When I first heard about Cleef’s death that’s who I thought was responsible for killing him. Then of course the news slowly trickled out about Isabella’s ex and the real story behind it all.”
“So the town cop knows about the meth activity around here and does nothing about it? No wonder he acted as though he didn’t really want to do much to look for Durke.”
Coop shook his head. “I think that’s unfair. I don’t know about looking for your friend Durke, but I do know Brent Cody. I know he keeps a close eye on the situation. The meth problem has been common knowledge in these parts for years. One family used to head up the entire operation. Harley Edgecombe pretty much ran the whole set-up. But while Brent was sheriff, he cleaned up the area as much as he could, more than anyone else ever did who held that office. Brent even sent Harley to San Quentin for twenty years and put away his sons, Rodney and Bruno, in Corcoran for fifteen. It’s one of the reasons the Edgecombe family steers clear of Brent and Pelican Pointe. Which means it can’t be easy catching the rest of the scum in the act of running meth. That part requires some cooperation from the current county sheriff. Richardson is his name. That’s the tricky part for Brent. From what I gather there’s no love lost between Richardson and Brent Cody.”
“And all this time I thought I’d landed in Mayberry.”
“For the most part you have. But hey, we live in a real world scenario that is by no means perfect. Even Andy Taylor sometimes had to crack down on moonshiners and bank robbers.”
She hooted with laughter. “Yeah, but Andy Taylor had help from his trusted sidekick, Barney Fife.”
“Maybe Brent needs his own Barney Fife.”
She ignored that last bit of sarcasm, suggesting instead, “Let’s see this chopper.”
They made their way into the barn through a minefield of outdated hubcaps and old rims. Filled to the brim with all kinds of furniture and equipment long sitting idle, the ramshackle building reeked of musty smells. Everything contained layers on layers of dirt and dust.
“Here it is,” Cooper declared, pulling a filthy cover off the dated aircraft.
Eastlyn whistled through her teeth. “Wow, you weren’t kidding. This is really old.”
But despite its age, she stepped forward to run her hand over the discolored metal like a familiar lover. Peering into the cockpit, she rattled off what she knew about the model. “The army used these little babies starting out in 1948 all the way up to 1969, mostly in a general purpose, all-around role. They used the Sioux H-13 to perform medevac missions, strapping two litters on either side. Or in the event they needed reconnaissance, they could fasten thirty caliber machine guns to the skids. In its time this chopper probably saw a lot of service. Wonder who the old farm
er picked it up from? I wonder how long it’s sat here gathering cobwebs.”
Cooper leaned over, inspected the rusted mounts. “This one doesn’t look like it ever had litters or weapons attached to it.”
“Might’ve ended up in a civilian role. Aren’t there papers on it somewhere?”
“If there are papers among Cleef’s possessions, we haven’t found them yet.”
“I venture there’s a story about how this chopper ended up here.”
“The only guy who knows for sure is dead. But could you fly it?”
She sent him a withering stare. “Is the sky blue? The controls in this thing are straight forward, I’d even say simple.” Her hand roamed to the bubble. “And look at this, no cracks in the cockpit, not one. In her time, she provided an excellent view for reconnaissance or search and rescue.”
“So what do you think? Is it worth fixing up?”
“Oh yeah, I’m in. You get a price for me and I’ll see if I can raise the cash.”
They started for the car and Eastlyn looked around at the rest of the junk. She stopped to stare at the broken parts of a marquee. “So when does this movie theater reopen in town? I thought you said they planned to use the sign from the old theater?”
“That was the plan. It’s scheduled to open the end of summer. June through August the town has what they call movie nights in the park. Thane thought it best if they didn’t compete with that and let the people enjoy their summer evenings in an old-fashioned venue, sitting on the grass. They’ve already gutted the insides though and begun the refurbishing. The project’s pretty far along. It put a lot of the locals back to work, which I’m thinking was part of the idea.”
“But they didn’t use the old sign?”
“They couldn’t. They tried to salvage the signboard but found it was in no shape to repurpose. Some months back Thane and Isabella started scratching their heads to figure out what to do. They decided to tear the sign apart, rewire it with new lighting and rename it using all new neon.”
“Well, I’ve seen the sign in town, passed by it five dozen times, hoping it would be open by now. You know, for someplace to hang out. I like movies. I kind of like the name they settled on.”
“Yeah, The Driftwood works. I think everyone is disappointed it hasn’t opened yet. I’m told that even though Thane and Isabella opted for a new sign, they still intend to keep the retro look, inside and out. We’re all waiting for the grand unveiling.”
By the time she reached the Mustang, she’d thought of something she wanted to clear up. “So Coop, who owns all this stuff? Where does the money go exactly? Who gets the profits from the sales?”
“Technically the town owns the place. And actually the city council voted to set aside any proceeds to go solely to the school fund with the hope that one day we’ll be able to expand and open up a middle school.”
Eastlyn smiled. “I like that about this town, optimistic enough that they can sell a bunch of junk sitting around a barn gathering cobwebs and seven layers of dust to benefit the kids.”
“Those who knew Cleef think he’d be pleased knowing all this stuff out here might help keep the school going, maybe even get enough to support opening a junior high.”
“Ever thought about holding an auction for the big ticket items? Although I’d appreciate it if you’d keep from making that particular suggestion until I get my hands on the Bell helicopter.”
Coop grinned. “Someone already came up with that idea. But look around you. It would take a massive amount of organization, someone would have to go through every single piece of machinery and catalogue it. Maybe one day, the right person will come along with enough time to do that. But for now, I don’t see it happening.”
“It’s a shame the old guy had to die.” She spread her arms out wide, turned a circle. “Just look, after years of collecting all this, probably driving for miles to pick it up and going to the trouble of hauling it back here, this is his legacy. It makes you wonder about things.”
“It often makes me wonder how I’ll be remembered, what legacy I’ll leave. Makes me want to do better.”
“Good point. Because I guess we could all do so much better.”
To break the melancholy atmosphere, Cooper asked, “So what would you like to do now?”
“What are my choices?”
“We could take a tour of the local Chumash Museum. It’s something River’s worked really hard getting open, something the town’s really proud of.”
“Okay. I’d also like to take a look at the mammals inside the Fanning Marine Rescue Center. Cord’s been bugging me to do that since I got here. After that, I’ll show you around the lighthouse.”
It never occurred to Coop to mention that he’d already been up to the cliff at least a dozen times already. But the truth was, he’d never been up there with her.
At the moment, that was all that mattered.
For the rest of that day, Cooper showed off all that Pelican Pointe had to offer in the way of things to do.
Their first stop was the museum where they spent two hours picking their way past glass cases that held cultural artifacts—hunting tools, assorted beaded necklaces, cookware. They studied exhibits, even watched a video demonstration, a vivid depiction that showed how the Chumash had lived for thousands of years along the same stretch of beach they all enjoyed now.
“Brent’s wife dug all this stuff up out of the ground?” Eastlyn asked as she examined a series of rudimentary bowls and eating utensils. “What a fascinating job to have, uncovering all these old things.”
“The dig in town is what originally brought her to the area,” Cooper explained. “All this is what River’s team excavated from the site.”
She stared at the large canoe called a tomol that hung from the rafters down to eye level. “They used these things to paddle across the bay and into the ocean to fish.”
“Which reminds me I’m getting hungry. How about we go across the street to Perry Altman’s restaurant for lunch?”
She looked down at her jeans, still grimy from their excursion at Cleef’s. “The fancy place with a view of the water? That’d be great but I’m not really dressed for anything so formal.”
She looped her arm through his. “Instead of eating inside, it’s a pretty day, why don’t we take advantage of that and pick up food and eat at the lighthouse?”
“Now you’re talking. We could buy sandwich fixins at Murphy’s, grab a nice bottle of wine if you don’t consider it too early in the day.”
“Soft drinks might be the way to go.”
“Soda it is. So what will it be? Greasy cheeseburgers-to-go at the diner, or head to Murphy’s for ham and cheese? What’s your pleasure?”
Arm in arm, they strolled out of the museum and headed toward the car.
After sniffing the air, Eastlyn decided, “I’m in the mood for that greasy hamburger and a chocolate malt.”
“Looks like it’s the Hilltop Diner then. We should really get pie. Margie makes a mighty fine apple pie. And it is Sunday.”
“What does Sunday have to do with pie?”
“No Sunday should pass without indulging in fruit-filled pastry.”
“Words to live by.”
They drove the two blocks to Main Street to find the diner almost empty. Despite the lack of customers, Tim McGraw’s sexy voice spun from the Wurlitzer jukebox singing his praises for southern girls.
The place looked exactly like what it was—a retro malt shop that had been part of the town for almost five decades. It had a stained black-and-white-checkered linoleum floor, a black marble-looking counter, red barstools that had seen better days, but not since Kennedy had been in office.
The owner, Margie Rosterman, greeted them with menus but Cooper waved her off. “We know what we want. Give us two of Max’s biggest cheeseburgers with all the trimmings and a basket of fries. Throw in two chocolate malts and two slices of your apple pie to go and a couple of Cokes.”
“Sounds like you two
kids worked up an appetite,” Margie said with a wink. She stood almost six feet tall with flaming red hair she’d recently tinted, pale skin with a ton of freckles, and big blue eyes. Margie did her best to make people believe she was tough as nails. But everyone in town knew the woman had a heart of gold. She often took a chance on hiring waitresses with little experience and would give them multiple chances until they proved her wrong. It was common knowledge she and her cook, Max Bingham, had been together for years but had never bothered to make it official.
“We decided to take our food and eat up on the cliff,” Eastlyn explained, not knowing why she felt the need to set the scene for anyone else.
“You picked a pretty day for it.” Margie yelled out the order to Max and turned back to the counter to take Cooper’s money. Margie counted out his change and turned to Eastlyn. “Pacific storm’s predicted for the middle of the week. Hope you’re done with the plowing by then. Max and I are chomping at the bit to get that call that tells us it’s time to plant the seeds. Haven’t been this excited about anything since we went to Sissy Carr’s funeral just so we could make sure she was dead.”
Cooper glanced at Eastlyn and winked. “By way of explanation, Sissy Carr was the small town hussy who finally got her comeuppance when they found her drowned in the bay.”
“Ah. Translation appreciated for the benefit of the newcomer.” Eastlyn turned to Margie, snaked out a laugh. “Isabella is in charge of eager volunteers. So any day now you should expect the call.”
“That’s us, we’re ready and willing. Isabella just has to say the word. Imagine, coming up with the idea to grow our own food out of that piece of land that’s sat vacant for years before Logan came to fix it up. That’s one renovation that’s been good for the whole town.”
“I agree,” Eastlyn said, noting Margie’s type of excitement seemed to prevail throughout town. “I’d also like to go on record as saying Max makes the best burgers. I’ve been all over and his are, by far, cooked to perfection every time.”
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