As he loaded the dishwasher, obviously annoyed at the conversation, he told her bluntly, “Trust me, it isn’t the bed.”
Patrick Murphy had found Pelican Pointe quite by accident some twenty years earlier when he’d gotten lost on a sales call during one of his trips down from the Bay. From that point he’d wandered down to the little coastal town on numerous fishing trips whenever time permitted. But it had taken the breakup of his marriage and the loss of his job before he’d finally gotten tired of the big city and packed up lock, stock, and barrel, and headed to Pelican Pointe for good. At the time, a little more than fifteen hundred people called the town home. As soon as he’d settled in he’d set his sights on the ancient mercantile, a rundown shell of a building left over from the ‘40s that had gone to seed. He decided a town this size needed its own store, one where the residents could shop without having to make the trip into Santa Cruz every time they needed aspirin or toilet paper. He’d opened a renovated Murphy’s Market that first year, and ran for mayor the next.
As the only grocer in town Murphy prided himself on knowing what inventory he needed to stock to keep his customers happy. For the vegans in town, he kept a line of organic and healthy foods. For the bottled water drinkers, all they needed to do was make their favorite brand known and he’d see to it they got it. He had fresh produce delivered four times a week making sure his store rivaled any of the markets in San Fran several hours to the north. He knew down to the customer which non-essential items they bought on a frequent basis and made sure not to run short. He ran two checkout stands, and with five regular part-timers, Murphy’s Market was the third-largest employer in town behind the bank and Ferguson’s Hardware.
With his store such an integral part of the town and the fact that he was mayor, it was a safe bet that nothing much happened in Pelican Pointe without Murphy knowing about it—in detail. This morning he watched a young woman in her early twenties named Lilly Seybold, at least he thought that was her name, do her grocery shopping, or try to. Lilly had only been in town since Christmas and rented a rundown, old trailer on Derek Stovall’s land on the outskirts of town with her two young kids, a boy about eighteen months and the girl, barely three years old.
Living on assistance from the county, Lilly didn’t have much money. On a tight budget she usually shopped clutching a fistful of coupons along with a well-worn, hand calculator, which allowed her to know to the penny how much the bill would be before the cashier totaled it up. Carla Vargas, the county social worker, was in the process of helping Lilly get a divorce from her husband, who was serving time in state prison for a laundry list of charges, the least of which were several drunk and disorderly incidents, a polite way of saying he had beaten the living crap out of Lilly on more than one occasion. It seems Lilly had finally found the courage to file charges and the police had seen fit to lock him up. But according to Carla’s reports, there weren’t a lot of employment opportunities in Pelican Pointe for Lilly. She and her two young children, Kyra and Joey, were having a tough time making ends meet, hence the assistance from the county.
This morning the store was busy. Murphy watched Lilly make her way to the other open checkout and then nervously eye the scanner as it rang up her meager groceries, a generic carton of diapers, a gallon of milk, peanut butter, and a day-old loaf of bread. When the clerk gave her the amount, Lilly pulled a ton of loose change from her ragged purse, barely coming up with the twelve dollars and fifty-six cents to cover the bill.
After paying, she led the kids out the front door to a beat-up old Ford.
Watching them go, Murphy made a mental note to ask Carla if Lilly had enough money coming in each month to cover her bills. It was barely the middle of February. But with rent due on the first, the young mother might not have enough left over to buy food.
As he turned to ring up another customer, he spotted Jordan standing in the produce section. His thoughts turned to her situation, a different kind of hardship entirely, but still a hardship, he decided. That had him wondering how things were going between her and Nick Harris. He couldn’t help but think whoever said life was dull in a small town obviously had never lived in one. Turning his attention back to running register number one, he began scanning Myrtle Pettibone’s twenty cans of cat food.
As Jordan walked up and down the narrow aisles she had to keep a sharp eye on Hutton, who every now and again tried to latch on to anything within her short reach. The fruit wasn’t safe as she tried to lean over and capture a bright red tomato. When she came up empty, Hutton tried again, this time scarcely missing her opportunity to grab an orange. Jordan barely caught her daughter’s arm in time to prevent the neatly stacked apple pyramid from completely collapsing into a mess on the floor. Avoiding the mishap, Jordan didn’t see Sissy Carr barrel straight for her. If she had, she would have tried to duck behind the greeting card display.
But since she hadn’t yet made the turn into frozen foods, it was too late to try and hide from the tall, bleached-blonde in her mid-thirties who was Scott’s ex-girlfriend from high school and the spoiled daughter of the president of the First Bank of Pelican Pointe. Although she’d already been through two messy divorces, Sissy considered herself the pillar of the community, serving as the only woman on the city council. Since Scott had brought Jordan back to Pelican Pointe, Sissy hadn’t hidden the fact that she didn’t like Scott’s wife. It was a fact that Sissy, like many residents here, considered Jordan, an outsider. And Scott was no longer around to defend her or set them straight. So much for the friendship of a small town.
At first glance, Sissy looked harmless, but Jordan knew better. They’d encountered each other several times in the past, each meeting more awkward and unpleasant than the last. Niceties were nonexistent. This morning was no exception.
“Daddy says you’re still trying to turn that rundown old house into a motel, of all the silly notions I’ve ever heard.”
Mindful of Hutton’s presence, Jordan tried to keep her cool and watch her language. Through gritted teeth, she managed to spit out, “Bed and Breakfast, Sissy, not a motel. There’s a difference.”
“Whatever. I can’t believe you really think anyone’s gonna pay good money to stay in a dump like that. I’d be insulted if a man even tried to take me to a place like that for the weekend.”
More like a quickie, thought Jordan. Temper flaring she bit her lip to keep her nasty thoughts to herself. “You’re talking about our home, the place where we live, Sissy. It’s supposed to be quaint.”
“Quaint’s just a fancy name for dump. Daddy says you won’t make it anyway. And you owe money to practically everybody in town. It must be so embarrassing for you. Scott deserved better.”
Jordan moved to get by the woman to continue her shopping, but Sissy’s obstinate stance had her blocking the narrow aisle.
“You’re wasting the bank’s money, Jordan, and too stubborn to realize you’re throwing good money down a rabbit hole. That house should’ve been demolished years ago. It was rundown when Scott lived there and it hasn’t improved one bit. No one wants you here. Why don’t you pack up and go back to San Francisco where you belong?”
Jordan finally managed to push the cart past Sissy and sent the woman a sweet smile in spite of the way she felt. “It was nice seeing you again, Sissy. Be sure to set aside some time to stop by for the grand opening.”
After that Jordan wrapped up her shopping in a matter of hurried minutes. Murphy was waiting at the checkout. “How are you, Jordan?”
She breathed out an angry sigh and for the time being let her frustration with Sissy go. “I should probably thank you for sending Nick out my way. He’s really making progress. The guy already fixed the porch, has one of the bathrooms almost done and he’s been here less than a week. I’m grateful Murphy.”
Sheepish, Murphy wasn’t about to give away Nick’s secret. But he didn’t want Jordan finding out his part in the subterfuge and that fact blowing up in his face later. He cleared his throat in an attempt t
o hide his deceit. “I’m glad he’s working out then.”
When other customers started lining up behind Jordan, he let the conversation die a quick death. The townspeople didn’t need any more fodder for the grapevine. Nick’s arrival out at The Cove had spread like wildfire through town. Jordan didn’t need spiteful gossip making things any worse for her.
Once outside, Jordan pushed her cart toward her Ford Explorer and noticed a woman squatting next to it holding a tire iron in her hand. She was trying desperately to get the lug nuts off a flat-as-a-pancake rear tire on a faded-out red Escort parked in the space next to the SUV. The trunk stood open. Two small children with runny noses were hunkered down next to their mother watching as she struggled to loosen one of the bolts holding the tire like glue onto the wheel. The lug nuts refused to budge.
“I hate that,” Jordan commented, pulling the cart to a stop at the rear of the Explorer. “Got your milk and eggs in the car, your perishables, and the car leaves you stranded.” It had happened to her last spring when Hutton had been just three months old. Fortunately, she’d been able to use the phone in the store, get Wally Pierce from the gas station to come over and change the tire for her. But this woman dressed in her worn-thin jeans and a ratty old T-shirt didn’t look like she could afford to do that. And trying her hardest to pull on that tire iron, she couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred and five pounds.
“I thought I could just…you know, get the old tire to come off, but these things won’t budge,” she squeaked in a quivering voice as if she’d reached the end of her rope. “I’ve been trying.”
“Those things are hard to get off.” Not to mention they looked like they’d been welded onto the car’s wheels since the eighties. Jordan knew nothing about cars or tires or lug nuts. But she did recognize thread-bare tires when she saw them. All four tires looked in bad shape. “I’m Jordan by the way. Jordan Phillips. And this is Hutton. Do you have a spare?”
“There’s a tire in the trunk.” The woman blew out a breath. She had no idea what shape it was in. “I’m Lilly. Lilly Seybold.”
Jordan smiled at the two kids. “And who do we have here?”
“That’s Joey, the baby,” she pointed out as she gently reached down to pat the little boy’s head leaving a trail of grime on his forehead before pulling the little girl into an embrace. “And this is Kyra.”
Jordan looked at both little brown-eyed tots and said what any mother never got tired of hearing, “What pretty children you have, Lilly? Well, let’s see what we’ve got.” She peered into the trunk. Again, Jordan was no expert, but to her the tire in the trunk looked in worse shape than the flat one. “This happened to me just last year. Right here in this very parking lot. I had all my groceries in the car, Hutton was fussy. Then I noticed the tire was flat.” But she’d had a brand-new spare tire to replace the flat one while this woman didn’t. Tentatively, Jordan offered, “Can I make a suggestion, Lilly?”
“I guess,” Lilly answered shyly.
“I don’t have a cell phone, but how about if I run you over to the gas station and…”
Before she could finish Murphy walked up to the women. Looking over the situation he remarked, “Flat tire, huh?”
Relieved, Jordan said earnestly, “Murphy, just the man we need. Lilly here’s been trying without success to change a flat tire.”
“But the lug nuts won’t budge,” Lilly confirmed.
“Can’t have my customers stranded in the parking lot,” Murphy declared with a smile. When Lilly started to protest, Murphy held up a hand and added, “All part of the service.” Murphy bent to get to work. He might have been just over five feet, but he had more muscles than Lilly had or Jordan for that matter.
Watching him work, Jordan reluctantly felt the need to tell him, “I’m not sure her spare is in such good shape, Murphy. Better take a look.”
Glancing in the direction of the trunk, he groaned, “This old thing won’t cut it. You’d be better off patching the one that’s flat.” He reached in his back pocket and pulled out a cell phone, dialed a number by heart. “Wally, I’ve got a customer with a flat tire. And we need a patch job as soon as you can get to it.”
As Murphy talked, Jordan loaded her groceries into the back. As the cart emptied, a thought occurred to her. On impulse, she dug into one of the sacks, pulled out a box of Lorna Doone’s and a couple of juice boxes.
When Murphy hung up, he turned to Lilly and held up a hand when she started to protest at what she’d overheard. “Wally can put a patch on the tire. It costs almost nothing.” He wasn’t absolutely certain of that fact, but in the event he couldn’t patch the tire they’d fix her up with a retread. He had no intentions of leaving Lilly stranded.
Jordan picked up his intent. With a cheerful tone, she piped up, “That’s great. A patch is almost as good as a new tire. And I know for a fact Wally needs to get rid of that stack of old tires he’s got over there.” She knew no such thing. But Murphy and Jordan exchanged a knowing glance before she motioned to the grassy common area next door and said brightly, “Murphy, we’re going to walk over to that park bench there and take the kids, get them out of the parking lot and the traffic.” The only moving cars anywhere near the parking lot were the ones doing a slow twenty-five down Main. As she snatched Hutton out of the shopping cart, she said casually over her shoulder, hoping Lilly would follow, “Come on, Lilly. Grab the kids. Hutton’s ready for her snack and there’s plenty here for Kyra and Joey.”
Lilly looked worried about leaving her only means of transportation. No one in this town had been nice to her except for Carla Vargas and she had to be because she was the county social worker. But she followed Jordan holding Kyra by the hand and carrying Joey on her slim hip across the parking lot to the grassy park where one ancient, wooden bench had been bolted to a poured cement square block. She settled Kyra and Joey on the bench and stood nervously over them as if she already regretted the decision to leave her car.
Before she ever sat down, Jordan tugged open the box of cookies and looked into the children’s wide eyes at the prospect of getting a treat. She wondered how long it had been since these kids had had any kind of extra in their lives at all. She plopped down on the grass with Hutton on her lap and started doling out juice boxes and cookies. All the while wondering how to broach what she wanted to say. Jordan felt like she understood Lilly’s reluctance. After all, she didn’t have any friends in town either and certainly not any with children. She was certain Lilly didn’t either. If she was wrong about that then she’d leave it to Lilly to set her straight. Hutton had no children her own age to play with and Lilly’s kids looked like good prospects. “I’m fairly new in town, Lilly. I’ve only been here a couple of years.” She didn’t mention how rough those years had been. “I live out near The Cove.”
Lilly’s eyes bugged. “I’ve seen that big old house before from the road. You live there?”
Jordan nodded. “Do you live nearby?”
“Trailer about a mile out of town the other way. I lived there once with my mother a long time ago before she died. When my husband…left, my stepfather said I could come back here and stay in a trailer he has on his property until we got up on our feet. I mean it’s not free. I have to pay rent and all, but it’s a roof over our heads.” For some reason Lilly felt like she needed to tell this woman the rest. “It’s kind of a dump. But we came back here after…my husband, my soon to be ex-husband is in prison.” She spoke the words as if Jordan might want to rethink her choice of friends.
And just as needy, Jordan told her flatly, “My husband died.”
“Oh.” That threw Lilly. “I’m so sorry.”
“Me too. Anyway, I was thinking that maybe you and I could get the kids together, like a playdate. I’ve been busy with the house, and Hutton has no one but me to play with. It couldn’t hurt if the kids got together at least once a week to keep each other company.” She didn’t add that the get-together might mean she’d have someone to talk to as well.
“You want to do that even though my husband’s—my ex is in jail.” Lilly couldn’t believe anyone wanted to be her friend, not in this town. Most of Pelican Pointe did their darnedest to avoid the three of them whenever they saw them on the street. Her kids sure weren’t responsible for anything their daddy had done, but the townsfolk here had acted as if they were contagious or something.
“What’s he in for—your ex?”
“Assault.”
“Did you hurt anyone, Lilly?”
Lilly looked appalled. “No. I never hit him even when he hit me.”
Jordan winced. “Well then, why don’t you plan to come out to the house next Wednesday afternoon? I could really use a friend, someone to talk to, couldn’t you, Lilly?”
Lilly nodded almost in wonder. “You want me to bring anything?”
“Nope, just yourself and the kids.”
Lilly’s face looked as if someone had handed her a gift.
Forty-five minutes later after Murphy had discreetly talked to Wally and Wally had assured Lilly no less than four times that the retread he’d just put on her car had been sitting around taking up space at the station, Jordan and Murphy stood by the SUV talking.
“That was a nice thing you did for her, Murphy.”
“It’s a retread.” As if that explained everything, he cocked his head and looked at Jordan. “What was that about her seeing you next Wednesday?”
Jordan chuckled. “Okay, I guess we’re both saints. I could use a friend here, Murphy, and I think she could, too.”
He nodded. But unfortunately he knew that most people in town didn’t share that sentiment.
“Before sending Nick out my way did he tell you anything about himself, Murphy?”
Murphy looked a little desperate at the question. Damn, he thought that had certainly come out of the blue. To stall, he took out a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped the grease off his hands. “Uh, I talked to him at length. I know he’ll do a good job for you. Look Jordan, if you’re worried about him living out there with you…I could…”
Pelican Pointe Boxed Set Books 1 - 3 (A Pelican Pointe Novel) Page 7