Authors: Vickie McKeehan
“I am not.” Her forehead creased in deep lines. “Is it that obvious?”
Scott cocked a brow. “You can deny it all you want but look at what’s hanging in your closet. It’s either boring pants near the same color or sturdy work jeans.”
“What are you the fashion police? Go away.”
“I’m just saying you should wear what’s comfortable. Pay no mind to what people say. Who cares if people think you dress like a guy most of the time? No jewelry, no frills, that’s Eastlyn Parker.”
“What people?”
Scott ignored the question and went on, “No, you definitely have the right idea. Stick to what works for you. Keep wearing your work clothes wherever you go, no matter where it is. A trip to an old barn deserves a practical outfit. I wouldn’t even bother to accessorize or put earrings on, plain works for you.”
“What is this, reverse psychology? Why should I care about what I wear?”
“That one’s easy to figure out. Since losing your foot, the prosthesis makes you self-conscious about wearing anything other than pants or jeans. Putting on a dress might test the limits of Cooper’s attraction to you. You’re not prepared for the disappointment in his eyes when he sees your leg uncovered for the first time.”
“Oh, go to hell. Leave me alone.”
Scott held up his hands in a sign of concession. “I’m out of here. But don’t say I didn’t try.”
After his disappearing act, she plopped down on the edge of the bed.
She decided today wasn’t the day for pushing the envelope. What would it hurt if she kept the fantasy for a little while longer that he’d find her attractive regardless of what her leg looked like?
Having made that decision, she tapped her prosthesis before tugging on her jeans. She found a bright red blouse in the back of her closet and snubbed her nose at Scott while she buttoned it up.
She started out of the room and spotted her little ceramic jewelry box. Digging around the few pieces, she found what she wanted, a pair of earrings made from carnelian gemstones. The jewelry had been a gift from her father for her sixteenth birthday.
She looked at herself in the mirror, and with some reluctance, had to admit the orangey-red jewels made the blouse pop. The stones also set off her hair and eyes.
“Okay, Scott, you win. Satisfied now?” she asked as she made her way into the kitchen.
After cramming down toast and jam, Eastlyn cleaned up the mess, drank the last bit of coffee and went outside on the stoop to wait for Cooper to show up.
Prepared for a late arrival, she was surprised to see Cooper show up at ten on the dot.
It shouldn’t have surprised him that she was waiting outside, pacing back and forth on the concrete.
At the wheel of his 1967, fully restored Ford Mustang, he swung into the driveway, and watched her jaw drop at the sight.
Eastlyn stared at the two-door vintage forest green convertible. “Holy crap… That’s one nice pony you have there. This ride rocks.”
She ran her hand over the hood, felt the heat of the engine. “What have you got under the hood?”
Cooper grinned at her reaction. “Two-eighty-nine.”
“Dual muffler,” she muttered in approval, as she climbed into the passenger seat. She rubbed a hand over the dash in appreciation. “Restored to factory condition. You have good taste.”
He slanted her a look. “I certainly do.” He picked up her hand, kissed the palm before shoving the gear into reverse and taking off down the street.
She noted he hadn’t let go of her hand until he’d shifted out of the driveway. A tad uncomfortable in the close quarters, she made small talk. “Where is this place we’re headed? Will we get to let this baby run on the open road so I can see what she’s got?”
“Cleef’s place is a few miles south of town and about five miles after the cutoff. I think that’ll be enough distance to show you what she’s got.”
“Where’d you get the wheels? This car suits you.”
“It belonged to my father, Layne Richmond. After my dad disappeared—and before anyone knew he’d been murdered under the pier—my grandfather kept his car in the garage. All that time, I don’t think grandpop had the heart to take it for a spin, not even to keep it in running order. When grandpop died, about ten years back, he left the Mustang to me in his will. He left Drea the loft space over the florist shop and Caleb inherited his house on Cape May. After such a long time parked, however, the car needed a major overhaul to get it on the road. The good part about that was it didn’t have many miles on it. Grandpop had kept it out of the elements and the damp weather we have around here.”
“Your grandfather must’ve known you didn’t want to live in town. So he left you something other than property.”
“Oh, he did. I’m sure that’s the reason for it. I feel bad about that now.”
She ran a hand up his arm. “Don’t. The guilt is a waste of energy. Believe me, I know.”
“What about yours? The guilt, I mean.”
“I deal with it every single day,” Eastlyn said with a bite to each word, shutting down any further discussion. But then she realized he was staring at her. “How do you know? What makes you think I’m dealing with guilt?”
“Simple. Scott mentioned it…several times as a matter of fact.”
She rolled her eyes, exasperated. “You too? Scott’s been bugging you about me? Who does this guy think he is anyway?”
“I’m pretty sure if they live in Pelican Pointe, they’re on Scott’s radar. After all, he bugs everyone.”
As soon as they reached the Coast Highway, Eastlyn prompted, “Punch it. Show me what this pony can do.”
Coop didn’t need any more encouragement than that since there wasn’t much traffic. He gunned the engine for a burst in power and speed. They hugged curves and zipped along flat stretches of roadway, eating up pavement. With the ocean on the right and rolling hills to the left, they cruised with the wind in their faces.
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 farmer 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.”