A Shore Thing (4 page)

My chest tightened. I’d been in this place before, and not just physically, but emotionally too. Justin used the same tone of voice the first time he tried to talk me into selling a piece of our company to a high bidder.

“We’ll never do this on our own, Callie,” he had pleaded. “This guy has the bucks to help us make our dreams come true.”

But the investor in question had wanted a controlling interest in the company.
Our
company. He wanted to jack up prices, use suppliers with less than reputable quality, and pay our employees dirt rates. We had only just begun, so why would I agree to give everything away before we’d even had a chance to try to make it on our own?

Jim advised me to take the money and run.

Sheila urged me to listen to Justin—then marry him quick.

Even Bobby said he doubted a better offer would ever come my way.

Not taking their advice had furthered the divide between my siblings and me, at least the older two who seemed to think it was up to them to provide parental guidance since our own were so often traveling. “Traveling away our golden years,” as Mom always said.

And it definitely drove a wedge between Justin and me. If I had acquiesced early on, would our story have had a different ending?

At times I still wondered.

I took in the faces of each of my family members, aware of how quickly they moved on to other conversations and topics. Why hadn’t the news about the Kitteridge property bothered them as much as it bothered me? They passed platters and flung jokes with ease. After Vince delivered a punch line, my brother Jim threw back his head and launched his booming voice to the rafters while our father smiled mildly at his model son with the comedic bent.

In the backyard my doggy companion smashed his nose against the clear French door, his breath and wet tongue leaving a mess that resembled my mood: foggy and in disarray. While my family had moved on—rather quickly even for them—I had not. I planned to call the Kitteridges first thing tomorrow. Maybe they would have a change of heart.

Chapter Four

Bobby’s voice sounded groggy over the phone. “It’s seven in the morning, Callie.”

“You used to be an insomniac.”

He sighed. “That was before we got pregnant.”

I laughed. “We?”

“You know what I mean—Greta’s pregnant, and she’s been keeping me up late with baby projects.” I heard him yawn. “And now my kid sister won’t let me get my beauty rest.”

Thank God for Bobby. Everyone called him Bob but me. I refused to be pulled into the stodginess that so much of my family had embraced. Despite his usual tailored, nine-to-five inspired appearance in a white starched shirt coupled with dark, pressed pants, one look at Bobby and in my heart we’re five and six again, huddled at the cove during low tide, trying to pry an abalone from its rocky home—before learning that was a big no-no, of course.

He grunted into the phone. “You still there? Or did you wake me for nothing?”

“I’ve been thinking all night about the Kitteridge property.”

Bobby groaned. “You’re obsessed. You know that?”

I grimaced. “What? Am I really the only one who thinks that property is worth saving? Don’t you remember all the hikes we took down there? We’d be gone for hours—”

“Of course I remember.”

My left hand gestured while I talked, even though no one was around to see it. “If we don’t at least try to intervene, your baby will never have the kind of childhood you and I did.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

“Advise me. Help me figure out where to turn first.”

“Before I’ve even had my coffee?” He sighed. “Don’t you think you should call the Kitteridges first?”

“Of course, and I did that already. There was no answer, though. I haven’t seen Timothy’s old Ford pickup rambling through town in days, and I think they may have gone to visit their daughter.” I tapped my pencil on the table. “You and I are both old enough to remember how they promised to leave that piece of land open for the community—that’s what they’ve always wanted—so my guess is that they aren’t aware of the buyer’s plans.”

Bobby sighed again. “Or maybe they are very aware of it and don’t want to face the neighbors.”

“You think they know?”

Bobby’s low voice challenged me. “Maybe we shouldn’t interfere, Callie. They might really need the cash.”

My heart softened recalling the recent rumors about the Kitteridges’ money troubles. “I’ve wondered that too, but maybe they can sell the property to someone else. Maybe the city should buy it for a park.”

He scoffed. “Fat chance. Otter Bay is synonymous with ‘cash-strapped’ these days.”

“Oh, shush. Financial hard times or not, this is one of the most beautiful spots on earth. All I’m asking is for help in collecting information.”

The tone of Bobby’s voice turned lighter. “That’s it? Collecting info, huh? Sounds more like you’re building a case.”

My sigh was drenched in exasperation. “Against a project that just might ruin Otter Bay forever!”

This time Bobby’s sigh blew through the receiver. “I don’t know why you always fight so hard, but okay. You can start by calling the National Marine Sanctuary office. Try searching Google for the number.”

I scribbled that down. “Check. What next?”

“How should I know?”

“What about your friend . . . the money guy? He seems well-connected.”

“Henry? No, no. He’s a private guy who prefers to stay out of the limelight. Let’s keep him out of this. Besides what he told me was said in confidence—and secondhand.”

“But he may—”

“He’s off-limits, Callie.”

I huffed. “Okay. Fine. Thanks for the advice.”

“Callie?”

My mouth twisted into a pucker. “Hmm?”

“I hope you get somewhere with all this.”

I thanked my brother and hung up. Although I always put two feet forward into any situation that caught my heart, my family seemed to believe this would be my undoing. I finished college in three years including summers and took mostly night classes so I could keep the days open for whatever cause came my way: working at the garden co-op, teaching school children how to grow pumpkins from seeds, volunteering in the fight to keep the library open, things like that. After graduation, there was the interior plant design business I opened with Justin . . .

I turned to the computer, hoping to dig up the Sanctuary office phone number. Within seconds, the number appeared on the screen.

“National Marine Sanctuary. How may I help you?”

I cleared my throat. “I’m wondering about some property.”

“We don’t sell real estate, ma’am.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping to clear my head. Maybe Bobby was right. Certain things should not be tackled before the requisite caffeine boost. “Sorry. Listen, I’ve learned that property abutting a portion of the National Marine Sanctuary is being considered for a large development, and I’m wondering why this would be allowed.”

The woman paused. Had I annoyed her? “I feel your frustration. I really do, but frankly, there is not much help we can offer you. We do not regulate development in the coastal zone, unless of course the structure is to be constructed over the water. Is that the case?”

“I’m not sure. All I know is that there are plans for some kind of mixed-use development—which would be great in town.”

“But probably not-so-terrific along federally protected waters. I hear you.”

My heart lifted. “So you might be able to help?”

“I wish we could, but you see, our jurisdiction does not extend inland beyond the mean high tide line. My guess is that you would have to work within your local jurisdictions for permitting clarifications on upland developments.”

“I understand.”

“Miss?”

“Yes?”

“Good luck.”

My heart sank and I glanced at the Sunday paper still spread across my kitchen table. Not one mention of an impending shoreline project lay within its pages. And although a tattered welcome flag furled and snapped in the wind from its perch on the Kitteridge home, there was still no sign of the elderly couple in Otter Bay.

My mysterious doggy friend jostled my leg, and I gave him a pet while still sorting through my thoughts. It was going to take more than good luck to figure out what was really going on down by the shore.

Monday, my usual day to plow through the housework left behind by a busy life, and yet here I was, taking another trek along the bluffs at Otter Bay.

Lord, please don’t let this area be fenced off from your people.

Sheila would come down hard on me for a prayer like that. She’d say, “Prayers are for important things, not the whims of your head.”

What made her think my quest was a whim?

Doggy tugged at my homemade leash. His nose had been moving faster than a hungry squirrel since the moment we arrived here. “We need to find your owner, you know.” I glanced around, deep translucent blue ocean water on my left and a slow rise of land to my right. There would be chances for searching out his owner later.

“Excuse me? Do you have the time?” The woman’s voice sounded familiar.

I glanced back at her. “Sorry, no. Don’t have a watch.”

The woman shrugged. “Me neither.” She stood tall and wiry and wore a floppy hat over moppish, blonde curls. Ruth. Her name was Ruth. We’d been thrown together on the library fund-raising project two years back. She had an obsession with lead ink in books and had lobbied to have testing added to the library’s budget.

I smiled at her. “Ruth, right? It’s been a long time, but we worked together awhile back.”

She returned a feeble smile. “We did?”

My smile faded. “On the library project about two years ago?”

Her mouth puckered as she squinted and began a slow nod. “Yes, uh-huh.”

I swallowed the sigh that wanted to barrel out of me. Why didn’t I just say I didn’t have a watch and keep on moving? Even in this small community, I had somehow managed to stay invisible to so many.

Ruth popped a gloved finger into the air. “Wait. You set up a composting system over at the library and helped build a rain garden. Right?”

Vindicated. “That’s me.”

She grasped my hand and gave it a few quick pumps, her glove rough and scratchy against my palm. “Sorry. Didn’t recognize you at first. It’s been a long time.”

I put one foot in front of me to keep her at bay. She’s a close talker and I’d forgotten about that. “Yes. Long time.”

She lifted a bloated garbage sack with her other gloved hand. “I’ve been picking up trash all the way from south of the cove. I usually do this on Mondays. Never seen you here before.”

I shrugged. “Probably the only day of the week that I don’t make it here. I’m usually cleaning up the house after working the weekend up at Pine Ridge.”

“The camp?” There. That’s the expression I remembered from her. Ruth’s right cheek muscle stuck in a grimace, causing one eye to remain half closed. “Bet there’s a lot of mess up there.”

“Not really.” I considered the mouse trapped in the box with days-old crumbs. “Well, maybe a little. But teaching the kids to clean up after themselves is part of the program. By the time the weekend is over they’re able to handle KP like pros.”

“Glad to hear it.” She dropped the bag and the doggy approached her. “Who’s this?”

Again I shrugged. “Wish I knew. He followed me home yesterday.”

She squatted and gave the doggy a good scrub. “He’s skinny and without a collar, so that makes him yours. Adoptees are the best kind of pets in my book. And this one’s already in love with you.” She gave him one more pet before standing. He came back to me and sat at my heel. “Told you.”

Her comment lifted my spirit and I let the leash drop to my side. My smile widened when I thought about telling Mom how I’d finally decided to start that family.

Far behind Ruth, a lone man paced the eastern path beneath some pine trees located at the top of the incline. His head hung forward; hands clasped behind his back. He walked to the left for several paces, and then to the right, and back again.

Ruth followed my gaze. “We get all kinds out here. Maybe he’s one of those labyrinth walkers, although shouldn’t he be going in a circle?”

I started to laugh, but air caught in my windpipe.

Ruth watched me. “What is it? He an old flame?”

“Not exactly.” I pulled my stare away from Gage and his curious behavior. “He’s an architect on a mission to turn this acreage into condos and office buildings.”

“Impossible. The Kitteridges—”

“—are apparently selling this property.”

She planted both hands on her hips. “Nu-uh.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Says who? What makes you think that could ever happen? Especially here?”

As I told her what I knew, she twisted in the breeze first looking to the dramatic sea and then back at the intense architect pacing the hill.

“But the property’s not actually sold yet? Is that right?”

“I believe that’s true.”

“So we stop it. Plain and simple.”

Relief gushed through me, a warmth cascading over my shoulders. Having an ally would be a great help, especially one with time and a can-do attitude. Hopefully she’d remember me the next time we met. “It’s a daunting task, but I’ve got some ideas.”