Last Chance Harbor (21 page)

“Then maybe we could combine the shops. Split it up into two ventures. We’d put out a line of surfboards long before we could ever make our first boat,” Ryder pointed out.

“Not if we got our boat buyer up front. Although making surfboards might keep us afloat during the time we’re in the design phase. Is this really feasible?” Zach wondered.

“It doesn’t hurt to explore the possibilities,” Ryder said, packing up his lunch. “But for now, it’s time to head back to work.”

The bad weather
made for a long day without much of a break for her students. Because it had been Julianne’s turn to supervise recess, which didn’t take place outside due to the downpour, she’d spent her time maintaining order in the gym.

Now, as she sought to correct one of her more active pupils, a headache formed at both temples.

“Miles, remember to raise your hand each time you want to speak, okay?” Julianne reminded the fidgety six-year-old.

“Why?”

That one-word question had her believing the children were just as ready to call it a day as she was.

“So that I’ll know you have something to say and I’ll know to call on you so you can say it. Think about it. If everyone talked all at once without raising their hand, then I’d have trouble hearing them all at the same time, now wouldn’t I? Do you understand?”

Miles bobbed his little head, but immediately shot out of his chair. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Go ahead for now, but next time, remember to raise your hand.” Her temples throbbed even more than the dull ache she’d had earlier. Even her eyelids were starting to hurt. It had been one of those Mondays that seemed never-ending.

When Rita Coffee, a third-grade teacher and potential recruit, tapped on her classroom door, Julianne went to answer it.

“You don’t look good at all. Is my interview still on for three-thirty?”

Julianne rubbed at her forehead. “I’m sorry, Rita. I forgot all about it. I hate to do this to you but could we postpone this for a couple days. I’m not feeling well at all.”

“Sure. You let me know because I’m so excited about starting at a new school.”

When the blessed final bell rang at three o’clock, all Julianne wanted was to make it to her car and get home. Because of the rain, it took her longer to make a drive that usually took no more than ten minutes at the most. By the time she got home, her dress and shoes were soaking wet. She changed out of her clothes and into a pair of comfy PJs. She barely made it into the kitchen to put on a pot of tea before having to sit down. Cold, she carried her cup and saucer into the bedroom and crawled in between the sheets.

But by that evening, her fever started to shoot up along with a bout of chills and nausea. She supposed this was the downside to coming in daily contact with children. Knowing it couldn’t be the flu because she’d had a flu shot, she fell asleep without identifying what horrible disease she’d contracted or which one of her thirty students had been the germ carrier.

After several of
his text messages went unanswered, Ryder took the initiative and hunted down the street number for Julianne via Murphy. After learning she’d been sick, he decided he needed to do something.

It was six-forty-five by the time he pulled his F-150 up to the curb in front of a bungalow as cute as a button and about as small. The lawn was almost nonexistent but the flower beds were draped in deep colors of plum and gold. He’d done his share of landscaping back in Philly and knew from experience she’d made the most of her courtyard on a tight budget. She’d do a whole lot more with the house she planned to buy.

The windows were the old-fashioned crank kind and the front door was mostly glass.

He rang the bell and waited.

When the door flew back, he stood there staring at Julianne. Her hair was tousled. She wore cream-colored pajamas with bright pink and yellow flowers. The cropped top showed a smidgen of bare midriff. The bottoms were snug around her slim waist. But it was her eyes that showed the first indication she didn’t feel well. They looked puffy, red, and glazed.

“Ryder, what are you doing here?” she croaked out. “I’m sick.”

“So I heard, but I decided to see for myself.” He held up the bag of provisions he’d picked up from Perry Altman’s fancy restaurant called The Pointe. “My mother always said chicken soup is good for what ails a person, no matter if it’s the flu or a cold or what. Chicken noodle soup puts you on the road to recovery.”

“But I could be contagious.”

“I never get sick. Don’t I get to come in?”

“Oh. Sure.” She swung the door wide so he could enter.

She noted Perry’s logo on the bag. “You bought me soup from The Pointe?”

“I did. Perry says to get well soon. Troy pointed out it’s the best soup in town and Zach backed him up. It might be the first time in two months those two have agreed on anything.”

Smoothing her hair back, she made room at her coffee table for the sack of food by rearranging her box of tissues and nasal spray. “I feel like such a grub.”

“You’re uncomfortable that I’m here.”

“I wouldn’t say that, just embarrassed that I look so awful.”

He took her chin. “You look like you don’t feel good. Big difference. You couldn’t look awful if you tried.”

“I’d kiss you for that if I didn’t think I’d give you this crud I have.”

“Downside to coming in contact with rug rats five days a week.” He took her by both arms, placed his lips on her forehead. “You feel like you still have a fever.”

She sighed. “Low-grade now. I’ve felt so rotten I haven’t even looked at the paperwork for my house that Nick emailed me.”

“Don’t worry about that now. I know how excited you were but that house isn’t going anywhere. A couple of days delay won’t make a difference in your grand scheme.”

She sniffed and grabbed for a Kleenex, blew her nose. “I’m sorry.”

He started unpacking the bag, brought out some extras besides the soup.

“Is that chocolate mousse from The Pointe I’ve heard so much about? Ryder, you shouldn’t have.”

He laughed at her reaction to getting chocolate. “My mom swears that it fixes anything.”

“I’m beginning to feel a real affection for your mother.”

“My mom’s a gem. When you get to feeling better why don’t you schedule a field trip for your class, bring them out to Taggert Farms. We have teachers making arrangements for class trips all the time. Better still, bring the kids after April First when the fruit stand is up and running.”

“Actually that sounds like a good idea. They’d get to see a real working farm up close.”

“Now that that’s settled, let’s eat and then pop in a movie.”

“What movie did you bring?”

“Something I think you’ll like. My own personal favorite. I hope you like monsters.” He located her DVD player and slid in the disc.

Julianne recognized what he’d brought as soon as it began to play. “How in the world did you know
Aliens
is one of my all-time favorites?”

“Who in their right mind doesn’t like sci-fi thrillers featuring an ugly, giant, menacing space alien? And this one is tops in my book.”

For the next two plus hours, they sat glued to the screen watching as Ellen Ripley took charge on planet LV-426. By the time the credits rolled, they’d drained the containers of soup and scarfed down the remnants of the pudding.

“Being sick I’ve had time to think about our next step.” When she saw him cringe at the words “next step” she sighed. “Relax. I’m not talking about the next step in our relationship, not that we have one. No, I mean I think we should try to figure out the names of the people in those class photographs I saw.”

“Isn’t that Brent’s job?”

“It is. And I plan to talk to him on my next trip to Pelican Pointe. But in the meantime, I thought I might get in touch with the former principal, a guy by the name of Henry Nash.”

Ryder frowned and shook his head. “I talked to Brent this morning when he wandered over to the site to see how much work we’ve done so far. Even though I prodded him, he wouldn’t give me specifics. But he did give me the impression he’s making progress on the case by talking to several of the former staff members still in the area.”

“I should’ve known Brent would be one step ahead of me. It’s just as well. I’m no cop and with everything else on my plate, not much time to devote to solving mysteries.”

“It’s normal to be curious, especially since you’re the one who discovered the bloody fabric. You look better,” Ryder decided as he stared at the way she stretched out on the opposite end of the couch.

“I feel better thanks to you.”

“What are friends for?”

“I promise I’ll return the favor when you come down with this crap.”

“I never get sick,” he echoed.

“Uh-oh, famous last words.”

Two days later
, the virus had worked its way through Ryder’s system enough to knock him on his ass and cause him to miss a day of work. Every bone and joint in his body hurt. Even his eyelids had trouble closing without causing him pain.

It sure as hell was no way to spend a Saturday.

He pulled the blanket from the bed, threw it around his shoulders for warmth. Coughing and hacking, he hobbled into the kitchen to get water, convinced this must have been what Valley Forge felt like in the winter of 1777. It was impossible to get warm. Even jacking up the thermostat hadn’t produced enough heat. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. And frankly at this point, he didn’t have the strength to fix anything other than to reach for a loaf of stale bread.

About that time, he heard a car pull up outside. He hoped to God it wasn’t another problem to deal with. He’d already had a disagreement with a vendor who was late on a delivery. On top of that he’d authorized overtime for several employees, and approved shipments that had to get where they were going by Monday. The bad thing about living so close to your job was that sometimes you couldn’t get away from its demands.

Redirecting his momentum, he shuffled to the window to look out. His eyes hurt so much he thought he was seeing things when Julianne got out of her minibus. He watched as she removed a crock pot from the passenger side and hauled it up to the porch.

Dragging his feet to the door, he turned the knob.