“So why did Captain Jack send you to that fancy school in San Francisco?”
Marquetta averted her eyes, and her brow furrowed as she looked at the ground. Something tormented her. Why would she not talk about it? For a moment, he thought she contemplated a dark decision. Was this it?
“That’s not something I can discuss.” She swallowed hard and winced. “I’m sorry.”
His heart broke at the pain she must be feeling. He should reach out, take her hand, tell her he cared.
“Let’s call it a day, okay? We both have big days ahead of us tomorrow. You have a murder to solve, and I’ve got a dozen guests to cook for. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She did an abrupt about-face and left. It was that quick. He couldn’t think of what to say, other than to mutter, “Right, see you then.”
He scrutinized the white siding of the B&B—another feature that had been part of the “grand remodel.” In some ways, the changes to the exterior symbolized what little he knew of his grandfather’s life. He whispered, “What kinds of secrets did you have, Captain Jack?”
His shoulders slumped; he might never know. Besides, he needed to start dinner soon. With a last look out to sea, he headed into the kitchen.
No sooner had he closed the door than Reese appeared. She occupied the same spot where he and Marquetta had been. He glanced at the clock on the wall. Quarter after five. Should he leave her alone?
Reese pulled her thigh-length sweater closer. The sun was still high above the horizon, but one thing he’d learned about Seaside Cove was how quickly the gusting breeze off the ocean chilled the air. What the heck? Everyone reacted to death differently and in her case she might need to talk. He was the innkeeper. Wasn’t that like a bartender? He opened the door and stepped out onto the patio.
At the sound created when the door sealed shut, Reese turned, wiped a tear from her cheek, and sniffled. “Have you come to cheer me up?”
Rick shrugged and gave her a consoling smile. “If you need it.”
Her watery blue eyes didn’t waver from his scrutiny. Her confidence impressed him. It also confused him. Was he attracted to her?
“I’ve always been controlled by worry,” Reese said. “Am I overweight? Will I lose my job?” She choked back a laugh and squinted at Rick. “Do my ears stick out too much?”
“You’re far from overweight. You’ve got a runner’s physique. And your ears? They only stick out a little—gives you that sexy pixie look. I can’t help with your job, though.”
She clutched her arms to her chest. “I get cold easy, too.”
The sweater’s heavy weave of blacks, grays, and white yarns looked warm enough, yet she still shivered. “Not used to the sea breeze, Miss Potok?”
“Please, call me Reese. I live in San Clemente, so I should be used to it. But, I don’t deal well with dampness. It seems worse here.”
“Maybe it’s stress. It could be affecting your resistance to the cold. It can be terribly draining.”
Seagulls rode the air currents above as Reese seemed to ponder the idea. She frowned and turned to face the shoreline. “Jim had a slew of medical problems, not the least of which was his mental state. He was—disturbed. What it comes down to is simple. He was a strange man and didn’t have a lot of friends. We were alike in that way; neither of us were fond of the party scene.”
“Disturbed? How so?”
“Can we leave it at that?”
“Sure. Did you see much of each other?”
“We were friendly.”
“Sounds to me like you’re going to miss him. Were you close?”
After a long pause, her jaw tightened. “If you want to be cliché about it, we were strictly casual. We attended a few parties together, but for Jim and me it was some sort of weird addiction. We couldn’t focus on fun when we had so much work to do. That’s what really bound us—finding the San Manuel, getting the job done.”
In a way, the relationship she described reminded Rick of his connection with Marquetta. Bound by duty? Or pulled apart by it?
The breeze whispered overhead through the clump of fir trees at the edge of the patio. A distinct chill filled the air. Clouds hung low on the horizon. California coastal living, thought Rick. The day was drawing to a close, and he still had questions about what he’d seen that morning. There was the encounter between Monica and Jim Gordon. At the time, he’d wondered if they were lovers, or if the relationship was one-sided. Unrequited love? He cleared his throat. “I hope you don’t mind if I ask a personal question, but I thought Monica was involved with Mr. Gordon.”
She brushed away a few strands of blonde-streaked hair blown across her face by a gust of wind. Her blue eyes once again brimmed with moisture. “No. Monica wanted to be with Jim, but he wanted nothing to do with her. She’s a let’s-settle-down kind of girl—her goal in life is to get married, have a passel of kids, and attend PTA meetings. Jim and I both had too many other things to do, you know? If Mr. Right comes along, that’s great. But I won’t daydream my life away.”
“I understand completely. It’s been a while since I’ve had time to daydream.”
“I’ll bet. You have a daughter and a business to run. You’re not married?”
How did he answer that? Could he? “I suppose I’m a cliché, too. It’s complicated.”
She laughed and nodded. “The story of our lives.”
“I get it,” he said as he gazed at the horizon, then massaged the spot behind his right ear where the tension had been building all day. He inclined his head from side-to-side.
“Headache?”
“Long day, I guess.” Had she been watching him? He leaned back on his heels and held her gaze. “You must have those, too. Researching sunken treasure ships—that has to be tedious.”
She shivered, then glanced over her shoulder at the house. “At times.”
“I’m fascinated. This morning, you said you’d researched the San Manuel. How extensive was it?”
“Enough to know there’s a problem with the legend.”
Rick’s stomach fluttered. The legend? He’d told it to Francine almost as a ruse, but deep down he’d hoped it was real. “What kind of problem?”
“There are no solid facts one way or the other, but by the 1560s, the cargo on those galleons was incredibly valuable. The silver and gold from the New World supported Spain’s economy and privateers from other countries made the voyages very dangerous. So, I keep asking myself, why did the San Manuel sail off on its own?”
The fluttering increased, and Rick had an urge to do what he’d done as a reporter—raise more questions and dig for confirmation with a second source. “Did you collaborate with Mr. Gordon on your research?”
“Jim wasn’t much of a collaborator.”
“Then why’d he set up this weekend?”
“I’m not sure.” She forced a smile. “I need to go in. Is there someplace in town that’s good for dinner?”
“Try the Crooked Mast. It’s a funny name but they’ve been around forever and the food is amazing. The place is a favorite of all the locals.”
“Thanks.”
Some emotion Rick couldn’t read played out on her face over the next few seconds as she looked at him. He was about to offer the classic penny for her thoughts when she bobbed her head and walked away.
Rick stared after her. Had he just been asked on a date? That wasn’t happening. He had Alex to think of and had a nagging desire to walk the shoreline one more time. Perhaps in a different light—and with the shock of finding a body behind him—he’d see things more clearly.
He passed between the fir trees and followed the path to the shore. The tide was coming in and would soon make traversing the rocks treacherous. The roar of heavy surf drowned out all other sounds. White foamy spray tingled his skin and left the moss-covered surface slick with spray. He tasted the salt on his lips. So enchanting. So dangerous.
But, it was tempting. What if he moved slowly? A series of swells rolled in.
Rick counted the seconds between each. No, there wasn’t enough time between them to avoid being drenched or knocked over.
Another heavy surge exploded directly in front of him. A plume of spray rose ten feet into the air and dissipated as it drifted past. He breathed in the heavy, wet air and sighed as he scrutinized the crime scene. He hated to admit it, but the B&B now had one of those. It was time to make Alex’s dinner, but later tonight he would go through his photos from this afternoon.
He turned away from the questions dominating his thoughts, gazed up at the B&B, and saw Reese standing outside the dining room French doors. He quickened his step, and she retreated into the house. Another mystery to unravel? Perhaps, because he did feel an urge to discover what secrets she might be guarding.
Chapter 12
RICK
Rick and Alex sat side-by-side at the end of the center island. White granite, marbled with gray veins stretched before them. Glossy white cabinets, several with glass panes, rose to the ceiling. This was a far cry from the small apartment they’d had in New York.
“Daddy?”
“What, kiddo?”
“I like Marquetta’s oven stew. A lot.” Alex sopped up some of the broth with the French bread they’d purchased at Crusty Buns.
Rick broke off a piece from his own slice and did the same. “Your taste buds must be changing. You never used to be much for stews.” He looked again at her plate. “Wow, clean as a whistle. You know, we had tons of bakeries in our old neighborhood, but Crusty Buns is as good as any of those.”
“Daddy…”
“Okay. I won’t make a big deal of it. You’re growing up. Just don’t run off and get married. Your old man couldn’t take the strain of losing his daughter so soon.” He leaned over, kissed her forehead, and winked.
She rolled her eyes and wrinkled her nose. “Okay.”
After dinner, they hung out in Rick’s room and watched TV until Alex’s bedtime. He sent her off to brush her teeth and put her jammies on. When he entered her room to tuck her in, she held out the hairbrush.
His vision misted over; his throat tightened. Was she asking him to do what he’d done when she was little? Gladly. When he finished, he handed the hairbrush to Alex. She kissed him on the cheek and gave him a hug. “Thanks, Daddy.”
She climbed into bed and he helped fluff up her pillow. When that was done, he straightened the coverlet.
“Daddy…”
“I’m fawning, aren’t I?”
“It’s okay.” She smiled up at him. “It’s kinda nice sometimes. But don’t get used to it. You can’t do it all the time.”
“Right. At least I’ve got now.” Though exhaustion weighed him down like a yoke around his neck, he did not want their few minutes to end. These were the moments he looked forward to all day. This little snippet of time was the one he cherished most. The two of them could talk without interruption or distraction. Connect. If only for a few precious minutes. “Today’s been stressful for everyone,” he said. “I can’t imagine how bad it must have been for you.”
“It’s not your fault, Daddy. Are you gonna find out who killed Mr. Gordon?”
What did he say to that? His daughter was precocious and fearless, and he often lay awake at night wondering how to keep her safe from a world spiraling out of control. He opted for noncommittal. “Deputy Cunningham is in charge of the investigation.”
“No way. He needs your help.”
“I’ll consider it.”
“Is that what you told Marquetta? She said you’d help.”
He reached up and made an adjustment to the covers. “That’s not exactly what I said. I told her I’d think about it.”
“Oh.”
Alex scooted up against the pillow and she sat straighter. She had her mom’s freckles, red-flecked hair, and blue eyes. Every time she smiled, he saw Giselle in her. The girl-next-door he’d married, not the star-struck career seeker.
“What’s wrong, Daddy? You look sad.”
He shook his head and steadied himself with a deep breath. Only recently had he come to accept that Giselle was their past, Seaside Cove, their future. He glanced around. White, antiqued furniture—a small desk, dresser, and a headboard—all matched thanks to Marquetta’s help. The aqua and purple color scheme gave Alex’s room a classic, girly appearance.
“You and Marquetta did a nice job in here.”
“I love it. It’s all my favorite colors.”
“You like Marquetta, don’t you, Alex?”
“She’s the best.”
“Well, I like her, too. But, men and women don’t have to be…involved. They can be just friends.”
“Like you and Marquetta?”
“Exactly.” Rick nodded, not sure what words to use next. Stick to the message, he told himself. No more matchmaking. He smoothed the purple backing on the coverlet and bit his lower lip. “Alex, you remember what happened at Scoops & Scones today?”
“You mean getting ice cream from Mrs. Carter?” Her brow furrowed, and she shrugged. “Sure.”
“The ice cream was a good idea. I really like it, too. Going there made me realize something. It’s about Bella.”
Alex’s face lit up. “We’re gonna go to Mrs. Carter’s for dinner?”
“No,” he said quietly, but firmly. “That’s what we need to talk about.”
The smile disappeared. Apparently, she already understood what was coming. He didn’t want to belabor the point, but he did need her to understand how he felt. “Alex, ever since your mom and I separated I’ve been trying to figure out my life. But, those are decisions I have to make on my own. Bella Carter is way too young for me and you should not be attempting to play matchmaker for me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Daddy. I’m sorry.”
“Good girl.” He got up and stood at the door with his fingers resting on the wall switch. He waited. Watched. And realized how lucky he was to have her. “Goodnight, kiddo.”
“G’night, Daddy.”
He flipped off the light and closed the door behind him. Not until he was standing in the hallway did he realize Alex had only said she understood. She hadn’t promised to not do it again. He sighed. Bella might be off the list, but that left a whole bunch of mothers in this town with daughters they’d like to marry off.
Rick shuffled down the hall to his office and entered what he considered his sanctuary from chaos. He let his attention flit from one part of the room to another. The atmosphere surrounded him. Brought him solace. Whenever he was here, it was as though he’d been transported back in time. Captain Jack had loved the mahogany desk, leather chair, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. The smell of leather and old books clung like moss to everything.
At his computer, Rick examined the photos he’d taken of the body and the surrounding area. Twenty-one altogether. That included several tight shots from varying distances and angles.
A low moan pierced the air. Rick glanced at the window. As usual, he’d left it open a crack. The noise was nothing more than the breeze whistling through the opening. He slid the paned glass up and drank in the moisture. The temperature hung in the mid sixties and the distant crash of waves created a steady peaceful thrum.
Rick returned to his computer and continued scrolling through photos. One-by-one, he zoomed in and scrutinized what the camera captured. At ten-thirty he sat back, no longer able to fend off the exhaustion overtaking him. How ridiculous was this? He was going cross-eyed examining all this detail. For what? He’d found nothing.
He closed up the office and headed downstairs for some water. Tomorrow he might spend more time looking through the photos. But to what end? He didn’t bother turning on a light. Instead, he navigated around the kitchen island by moonlight. He pulled a glass from the cabinet, filled it, and stood in the darkness to gaze out the window.
Silver moonbeams glinted off the waves. A never-ending parade of iridescent white streamers marched toward shore. His shoulders ached from too much time spent leaning over the s
creen of his laptop. He opened the patio door and went outside.
With his eyes closed, Rick listened to the sounds of the sea. Distant surf. A steady rhythm so calming it quieted his soul. Even the ocean air brought a fresh and new feeling to everything. Seaside Cove had captured his heart. He hoped Alex felt the same. Did she want to leave? He didn’t—and he needed to face reality. “File the divorce papers,” he muttered. “Put Giselle behind you.”
He rolled his shoulders while gazing at the bay. A glint of light caught his attention. He blinked and stared more closely. Was that a flashlight down by the rocks? His mind had to be playing tricks on him.
The longer he watched, the more obvious it became. This was no illusion. Someone was wandering around on the shore. Only the surefooted or the foolhardy ventured out there at night. In the daytime, the area was tricky—as they’d seen earlier. But now? The conditions were nothing less than treacherous.
Who would be stupid enough to go out there? It had to be one of those treasure hunters. What if it was Reese? Had she been planning her return when he’d talked to her earlier? One wrong step and she’d crack her head open. The thought sent a chill down the length of his spine.
Rick set his glass on the patio table. He rushed to the kitchen and grabbed the flashlight. He kept the beam off as he followed the path to the shore. The last thing he needed was for that idiot out there to panic when they saw him coming. Whether it was Reese or one of the others he was obligated to warn them about the dangers. After that, if they stayed, it was at their own risk.
He was at shore level when the flashlight holder, a silhouette in the white glow of the moon, stooped down. Rick stopped in his tracks. That was not Reese. She was much smaller. This was a man. And what had he picked up? A weapon? What if this was Gordon’s killer? Oh my God, he might be the one in danger.
Rick reached for his phone, but didn’t pull it from its holster. Adam wouldn’t be happy about a false alarm. He sucked in a breath and shot an involuntary glance over his shoulder at the B&B. Alex’s bedroom light shined behind the white curtains. Why was she still up? He’d have to go check on her later, right after he dealt with this midnight stranger. Rick took a step forward and flicked on the high-powered beam.
A Treasure to Die For (A Seaside Cove Bed & Breakfast Mystery Book 1) Page 4