Second Chance at Life

by Joanna Campbell Slan

  SECOND CHANCE

  AT LIFE

  bOOK #2 IN THE

  second chance SERIES

  (Formerly published as “kicked to the curb”)

  Joanna Campbell Slan

  ~Spot On Publishing~

  Second Chance at Life: Book #2 in the Second Chance Series

  Copyright © 2016 by Joanna Campbell Slan

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  Joanna Campbell Slan/Spot On Publishing

  9307 SE Olympus Street

  Hobe Sound /FL 33455 USA

  http://www.SpotOnPublishing.org

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Book Layout © 2016

  http://www.BookDesignTemplates.com

  Covers by Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs

  http://www.WickedSmartDesigns.com

  Editing by Wendy Green.

  Second Chance at Life: Book #2 in the Second Chance Series—

  Joanna Campbell Slan

  Revised 01/24/2019

  SECOND CHANCE

  AT LIFE

  BOOK #2 IN THE

  second chance SERIES

  (formerly published as “KICKED TO THE CURB”)

  ~*~

  MY GIFT TO YOU

  To thank you for your interest in my book, I have a special gift for you. I’ve created a file with recipes and crafting instructions with so you can cook food and make a beautiful home décor item just like those mentioned in this book. Just send an email to the address at the back of the book, and our computer guru will automatically send the file to you.

  All best,

  Joanna

  CHAPTER 1

  Last week in January

  7:45 a.m. on Thursday

  The Treasure Chest in Downtown Stuart, Florida

  From the press packet —

  The Treasure Chest Philosophy: Even the humblest items (aka “trash”), despite their origins or their prior usage, have value.

  ~Cara~

  “We’ve got a problem,” said Detective Lou Murray, of the Stuart Police Department. His bulk filled the threshold of the back door. He was standing there sideways. The morning sun flooded in through the window behind him, rendering his large presence a silhouette. I couldn’t make out Lou’s expression, but the tone of his voice was ominous.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  The big cop has a habit of dropping by most mornings, before he goes to work. He claims this is part of an initiative to make police presence more obvious in our picturesque downtown.

  I know better.

  Lou is head over heels in love with Skye Blue, my friend and part-time employee. She’s also my tenant, renting one of the two apartments upstairs, while I live in the other, its mirror-image twin.

  Skye had been busy when I walked in. She had her hands in the sink with the water running as she rinsed out a couple of mugs and the water carafe for the coffee maker.

  “Morning,” I told her.

  Drying her hands, she hugged me. “How’d you sleep?”

  I did a so-so motion with my fingers.

  She frowned.

  “Cara? I need ten minutes of your time,” said Lou, more urgently this time. As he spoke, he barely glanced at me. Instead, he kept looking out the window of my back door.

  “Does it have to be right now? My dog needs to go outside, and I haven’t had my morning jolt of caffeine. I am not fully human until I have my coffee.”

  “Yes, right now,” said Lou, firmly. “I need you to look at a car parked behind your grandfather’s gas station.”

  “Let me guess. Today’s the day they start jackhammering that old pavement around the Gas E Bait, right? And the car is in the way? Just tow it,” I said. “That’ll teach the owner a lesson.”

  “Not that simple.” Lou frowned as he ran a hand through his cropped hair.

  CHAPTER 2

  The three of us stepped outside.

  “I’ll take Jack,” said Skye, reaching for my rescue pup. She had just tucked the white Chihuahua under her arm when MJ Austin pulled up in her pink Cadillac.

  “Morning, girls,” said MJ. She’s a full-time employee at The Treasure Chest. While Skye is a crafter who can turn any old piece of junk into something marvelous, MJ is a real expert on antiques and collectibles.

  “We’ll be right back, MJ,” I said, as I caught a whiff of her gardenia perfume. “Lou wants me to take a look at a car parked behind Poppy’s gas station.”

  “Shouldn’t be there,” said MJ.

  “Right,” Lou muttered.

  A truck pulled up as we were crossing the alley that separates the parking spaces behind my store from the parking spaces behind the gas station. A tall man in an orange tee shirt stepped out of the Ford F150. Sunlight glinted gold on his hair, a long surfer cut that brushed his collar. His eyes were a mystery behind his Wayfarer sunglasses. He glanced toward us and then noted the parked Toyota.

  “And you are?” Lou asked the newcomer.

  “Jason Robbins. Project manager for Fill Up and Go corporate.” His voice was deep and masculine.

  “I’m Detective Lou Murray, and this is Cara Mia Delgatto,” said Lou, flashing his badge. Skye and MJ hung back a few paces.

  “You’re exactly as your grandfather described you,” Jason smiled down at me. The pleasing fragrance of sandalwood clung to him. When we shook hands, I realized that the scent transferred to my fingers.

  “Cara, have you ever seen this car before?” Lou asked. He used his hand to shade his eyes against the morning sun. “Take your time looking it over. But don’t touch it.”

  I stared at a rusty Toyota with balding tires.

  “Why don’t you just run the plates?” I wondered.

  “Answer my question, please,” said Lou.

  The vehicle looked familiar. I took two steps to the left, blinked in the glare of the sunlight, and looked closer. The giveaway was a dogeared paper sign sitting in the back window. It said SHORELINE NEWS.

  “I’m pretty sure that car belongs to Kathy Simmons. She’s a reporter for the Shoreline News. Her roommate has been calling the store for the past two days. She says Kathy’s been missing. Is that true?”

  Lou didn’t answer my question. Instead, he frowned. “Anything else that helps you identify the owner?”

  I moved even with the rear passenger door. A rotten breeze came from the direction of the ocean. Dead fish must have rolled up with the tide. Cupping my hands around my face, I stared inside the car. A plastic food storage container rested on the back passenger seat. Next to it was a white shopping bag.

  “That’s definitely one of my new shopping bags,” I called over my shoulder to Lou. Skye and MJ stood a few feet away from him. MJ had her hands resting on her hips. Skye was holding Jack and frowning. There was something in the air, a sense that trouble was about to erupt.

  I continued, “Kathy bought a picture from me the night of our media event. I put her purchase inside a bag like that one. MJ packed up leftovers for Kathy to take home. The container looked like the one on the seat. It was dark and raining when I walked Kathy outside, so I didn’t get a really good look at her car, but I’m almost positive this is it.”

  “Let me make sure I’ve got this straight,” said Lou, and his frown deepened. “Three days ago, Kathy Simmons attended your media event.”

  “R
ight. We invited the local media to preview our Old Florida Photo Gallery exhibit. Served them food. Gave them press packets. Let them wander around the store. Answered their questions. Kathy Simmons came on behalf of the Shoreline News. Her editor came too, but he left early.”

  “Had you ever met her before?”

  “No.”

  “Tell me about the event,” said Lou.

  “It started at seven in the evening and ended at eight. A dozen reporters came. I gave a little spiel about our mission to recycle things and be creative with found objects. I showed them the old black and white photos we’d framed. The three of us—MJ, Skye, and I—played hostess.”

  “What was Kathy Simmons wearing?”

  “A weird raincoat. It was printed to look like newspapers. Oh, and a headscarf. Right before we went outside, she pulled it out of her pocket.”

  “What happened immediately before you two walked to her car?”

  “What do you mean?” I couldn’t hide my surprise.

  “Is it true there was an altercation?”

  “W-w-what? How do you know that?” My mouth went dry. I glanced at Skye. She averted her eyes.

  “Let me summarize,” said Lou. “You had an event for reporters. Kathy Simmons showed up and stayed late. You two had words. You walked her to her car—and then she goes missing for two days. This morning her car shows up in a space behind your grandfather’s gas station.”

  “Y-y-yeah,” I stuttered, while trying to think of what to say.

  Skye mouthed one word at me, “Sorry.”

  MJ rolled her eyes. “Cara, quit answering his questions and call a lawyer.”

  “Y-y-you can’t seriously be suggesting that I had anything to do with Kathy’s disappearance!” I looked from Lou to the Toyota and back to him. “You’ve found her car. She has to be around here somewhere.”

  “Maybe,” said Lou. “Maybe not.”

  Jason shoved his hands in his pockets and studied me solemnly.

  “Ladies, go back to the store,” said Lou. “Cara, I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Why? First you drag me out here. Then you accuse me. Now you want me to go inside and wait? I am not your puppet, Lou.”

  There it was, the terrible temper that’s gotten me in trouble my whole life. I should have turned around and left Lou to it. But after the grilling he’d given me, the last thing I wanted was to follow his suggestion.

  Lou reached inside the pocket of his navy blue blazer and withdrew a pair of latex gloves. “Have it your way.”

  Pulling an ink pen from his pocket, Lou moved closer to the car. The trunk was slightly ajar. Lou tucked his pen under the deck lid and yanked upwards. It opened with a squeal of protest. A foul stench rolled out. The bad odor forced Lou to take a step backwards. He moved away from the car. We could see inside the trunk.

  Kathy Simmons stared out at us with dull, dead eyes.

  CHAPTER 3

  Three days earlier

  “Welcome, everybody, welcome. I’m Cara Mia Delgatto, owner of The Treasure Chest. Without further ado, may I present to you this evening’s star attraction, our Old Florida Photo Gallery.”

  I gave a nod to Skye, and she tugged on a blue velvet curtain that opened to reveal a floor-to-ceiling display. We’d covered an entire wall with framed photos, forty-three images of Florida from years gone by.

  I held my breath as I waited for the crowd’s reaction.

  They burst into applause. “Well done!” said one of them loudly, and then all the members of the media started talking at once.

  The knot uncoiled in my stomach.

  “As you can see, these photos offer a broad representation of the people and vistas that make up a vanishing Florida,” I said. “Most of these photos are black and white. Surely you remember the Brownie camera? That little gizmo made photography affordable for the masses.”

  A woman in the front row asked, “Where did you get all those frames?”

  “In keeping with our mission, they are all recycled. You wouldn’t believe the shape they were in when we found them. We carefully cleaned them, sanded them, and repainted all of them black,” I said. “Our goal was to let the photos take center stage.”

  The reporters scribbled notes on legal pads we’d provided in their press packets. Taking this as a sign of interest, I continued, “Here at The Treasure Chest, we focus on upcycled, recycled, and repurposed items. The Old Florida Photo Gallery is one example of our unique mission.”

  A hand flew up. I nodded to a man wearing a colorful Tommy Bahama shirt. “How would you describe these photos? In your own words?”

  “We have landscapes showing the St. Lucie River, the sea coast, and the interior of the state. You can see images of old drawbridges, docks, and piers. There’s a picture of the Apollo School in Hobe Sound, as well as other area historical buildings. A handful of the photos are of people. It’s fun to see how clothing and hairstyles have changed, isn’t it?”

  “Could you explain your gallery concept?” another reporter asked, his pen poised to write down my answer.

  “Gladly. Starting this Friday, all of these photos will be on display for thirty days. That gives your readers and viewers an entire month to drop in and see the exhibition. At the end of that period, we’ll change out the photos. We hope that you and your readers will mark your calendars and visit the store frequently. We can promise you an interesting selection—and to sweeten the deal, I’ll keep supplying the coffee, tea, and biscotti.”

  “Your biscotti alone is worth a visit to the store,” murmured a man in the front row.

  “Why thank you,” I said. A few happy nods of agreement echoed the compliment.

  “But people can buy the pictures, right?” asked another reporter. “I just want to be clear.”

  “Yes, they can buy the pictures now, but they will have to wait to claim them.”

  “Is it correct, Cara,” asked a woman reporter, “that you ran a restaurant before you re-opened The Treasure Chest?”

  “Yes, my family owned a restaurant in St. Louis for three decades. I grew up helping out in the kitchen. I love to feed people, can you tell?”

  This provoked more laughter because they’d fallen like a hungry hoard on the hors d’oeuvres and pastries I’d prepared. In fact, it had been hard to pry them away from the food table so they could sit down for my presentation.

  “Where did the pictures come from?” asked another reporter.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t reveal our sources,” I said. “It’s a matter of privacy.”

  “Can you identify the people in your pictures?” asked Adrian Green. He’d introduced himself as the editor of the Shoreline News. His plummy English accent made him easy to remember.

  “No, I can’t. I don’t know who they are,” I said. “It’s a bit sad, isn’t it? Someone loved these people, took photos to remember them, and here they are…anonymous.”

  “How did you get the idea for this, Cara?” asked a woman in the second row.

  “My grandfather is Dick Potter, who used to own the gas station behind this building. We visited Poppy every summer, until I was sixteen. I hadn’t been back to the Treasure Coast for almost twenty years when I moved here last summer. I wasn’t prepared for all the changes. That got me thinking about how much history I’d missed. One thing led to another, and the Old Florida Photo Gallery was born.”

  “Tell us about your VIP Event,” said a man.

  “You are getting a sneak preview. This Friday we’re officially unveiling the Old Florida Photo Gallery at a VIP Event. We’ve already sent out invitations. That said, I’m new in town, and I might have overlooked someone. Therefore, if your readers or viewers or listeners want to come, we’re accepting RSVPs over the phone. We’ll gladly accommodate people as long as we have space.”

  The reporters wrote furiously in their notepads.

  “My cell phone number is in your media packet, in case you have more questions later.”

  As a matter of fact, I hop
ed they would call me. I wanted an ongoing, positive relationship with the media. From the looks of it, we were off to a good start.

  CHAPTER 4

  “Good job. You’ve made a great impression on these people,” MJ whispered to me, while the reporters refilled their plates with food.

  “I sure hope so,” I whispered back. “It’s not just me, either. They’re impressed by the store and by both of you.”

  MJ and Skye were a study in contrasts. MJ was older, with a voluptuous figure that she displayed to advantage in a form-fitting, hot pink dress with a low-cut necklace. Skye Blue was about my age and slender. Tonight she had paired a cream-colored crocheted sweater with a gauzy skirt. Brown boots gave the outfit an edgy vibe. My style falls somewhere between the two. I had changed earlier into a Lilly Pulitzer A-line shift. I loved the Florida designer’s signature colors of lime, coral, lemon yellow, and pink.

  Although my two friends put the “treasure” in The Treasure Chest, this store is definitely my “baby.” It had once been a well-known purveyor of antiques, but over the years, the place had lost its luster. The building was an abandoned tear-down when I bought it on impulse. Not only did I redecorate the sales space, I also revised the merchandise theme. In addition to antiques, I broadened our stock to include all sorts of “green” merchandise. If something has been cast-off or broken down or washed up on the sand, we’ll turn that trash into treasure. My friends and I pride ourselves at looking at the world differently, seeing possibilities that other people overlook.

  Judging by the eager questions from our guests, the reporters appreciated our eco-friendly merchandise. A few even said as much.

  “Must run back to the office,” said Adrian Green. “We have a tight deadline tonight back at the Shoreline News. Love your store concept. Glad you didn’t let them knock down this old building. You Yanks are so eager to demolish things and start over. You keep destroying your history. We don’t do that in the UK.”