Last Chance Harbor (27 page)

“What are you saying?”

“I wasn’t kidding when I used the words dark and evil to describe Eleanor. I just have to be able to prove it.”

As Ryder and
Julianne walked out to their cars, she turned to him and admitted, “I hate to be a wuss, but that might’ve been the scariest conversation I can remember ever having.”

“I’m with you there. Not even seeing Scott is freaking me out as much as the talk about an ‘evil presence’ inside your house.”

“Tell me about it. I’m done playing amateur detective. I’m not cut out for this investigative thing.”

“There’s something going on with Brent. He definitely knows more than he’s sharing.”

“Yeah, I got that, too. Do you remember what I said about turning the house inside out to see if I could find any clues?”

“Sure.”

“Pop and I did that Sunday, turned up nada. There are no hidden panels in any of the closets, nothing in the heating ducts, no loose boards in the attic.”

“Maybe
the clue
, whatever it is, isn’t in the house at all.”

Her eyes darted to the dark street, the shadows on the lawn, even the flower beds and bushes. “You mean outside in the yard?” She thought about that, lifted one shoulder. “I wouldn’t even know what to look for. That’s why I refuse to act crazy and dig up my grass.”

“A wise decision, I’m sure.”

“But what I am doing is calling Marcus as soon as I get back to Santa Cruz and scheduling that cleansing ceremony as soon as possible. I sure as hell am not waiting until moving day.”

F
or the rest of that month, Julianne ran herself ragged seven days a week, spending her usual five in the classroom while weekends were dedicated to the house alongside her dad.

In one weekend, from seven in the morning until six that night, father and daughter replaced the bath tub, the toilet and the sinks. They put in all new tile in the shower and bathroom area. The next Saturday and Sunday they installed modern, light-colored oak cabinets in the kitchen, put in slate countertops, replaced and hammered out more rotten wood and drywall in the laundry room, opening the space up a good four feet.

Ryder showed up whenever he could spare a precious moment but for the most part, the sweaty task fell to Julianne and her dad.

After Brent’s suggestion, she’d enlisted Marcus Cody to do a thorough purification ceremony of the premises, both inside and out. She didn’t care whether anyone found it strange, crazy, or nuts. Watching the elder go through his ritual made her feel better about the house and its less-than-happy-history.

She divided her time between rehabbing the place and prepping for the P
e
li
ca
n
P
ointe
St
ree
t
F
a
i
r.
S
c
h
e
dul
e
d
f
o
r
the
thi
r
d
wee
k of
M
arc
h, it lasted three days, F
r
i
d
a
y through
Sund
a
y.
Her busy days made it tough to get her booth ready. But she wasn’t about to let an opportunity pass without the chance to make extra money. She’d also be able to get rid of some of her inventory at the same time.

As the
e
v
e
nt got closer, out-of-towners jammed
the sidewalks, the beaches and the waterfront
. V
e
n
do
r
s descended in
R
V
s
a
nd campers along with the
c
ar
niv
a
l
workers pulling their
po
r
t
a
ble
boot
h
s
. Te
nts began popping up along
Main Street.
Parking became a problem. People flocked to the beaches, the pier, and the shops. For a week the little town of l
e
ss th
a
n th
re
e
thous
a
nd burst with the sights and sounds of a spring fair in the making and the chaos that came with it.

She’d seen for herself that Brent had a crime wave on his hands. Complaints poured in from locals—the usual bitching about cars illegally parking in front of houses escalated to fights breaking out among the carny workers.
There was talk about turning one of the old storefronts on Main Street into a police station.

Even a newcomer like Julianne recognized a
c
h
a
l
len
g
ing
th
r
e
e
d
a
y
s ahead.

In order to set up on time, she had to get an early start. With the help of her dad they started loading up all the items she thought might sell into the Turtle at five-thirty. They pulled into Pelican Pointe a little after seven o’ clock. She went in search of Murphy to get her tent assignment and found the grocer inside his store manning checkout.

“Who do I see about donating my profits toward the school renovation?”

The surprise on Murphy’s face said it all. “Who spilled the beans?” 

“Let’s just say, the subject kept cropping up over the last few weeks.”

“It isn’t necessary. Feel free to keep what you make.”

“No, I want to do it. Don’t argue with me about this, Murphy. It’s what I want.”

“Any trouble getting today off?”

“I lucked out. Today is a county-wide administrative holiday. Now tell me where to set up and I’ll get out of your hair?”

Her booth turned out to be a good location, right across from the store. One piece at a time, she and her dad hefted the furniture into the tent—pretty chairs and tables, dressers and chests—all things she’d refurbished and polished to a gleam. There was the sideboard she’d put back together. The old cabinet she’d rescued from the trash bin.

Once they got everything unloaded and set in place, she breathed in the smell of fresh coffee. “Pop, I don’t know about you but I could use a shot of caffeine.”

“You read my mind. You making the run or am I?”

“I’ll do it. You get off your feet.”

John shook his head. “Girl, I’m not even winded.”

“Sit down anyway. I have a feeling it’ll be a long day.”

She followed the smell of warm dough and cinnamon coming from the food court, set up practically next door. A high-traffic area, she decided, as she made her way to the common area between the bank and the market. The park, such as it was, already swarmed with activity. People waited in line to order from the menu of breakfast items someone had scrawled on a chalkboard along with a list of flavored coffees.

“You have a very good location.”

Julianne turned at the voice and saw it belonged to Drea Jennings. “Well, hello. That’s what I was thinking. A lot of foot traffic near the food court is always a plus. This is like a circus atmosphere. I didn’t expect to see so many people.”

“I know. For the next three days it’s absolute gridlock. The throngs are getting bigger and bigger each year.”

“By the way, Jordan loved the arrangement of tulips you made for her. I’m glad you suggested the pink. I’m staying out at Promise Cove again this weekend and I need to stop by and pick out something else for her. The woman adores flowers, has an amazing green thumb. And I know she’s giving me a discounted rate for the weekend so...”

“Hey, I’d be terrible at what I do if I didn’t keep track of what my customers prefer.”

“That must be a story in itself.”

“Oh it is. For instance, I know for a fact every time Bran Sullivan goes fishing, he always comes back into town and orders his wife, Joy, yellow roses. So you come by and see me when you get ready to order Jordan’s next thank-you and I’ll fix up something special for her.”

“I will. So you sell a lot of flowers during this event?”

“A ton, not just in bunches either, but herbs and specialty plants, so many we have to restock the garden center afterward.”

About that time, Ryder and Zach walked up, followed by Troy and Bree.

“You’re out and about early,” Julianne said to the four of them. “Making the rounds already?”

“It’s tough to work when the place is bursting at the seams,” Zach grumbled. “You can’t even get from one end of town to the other without detouring to Ocean Street, let alone find a decent place to park.”

“You walked over here,” Ryder pointed out. “You walk to work every single day.”

“Zach just likes to bitch,” his sister said to Ryder. “Zach needs a girlfriend. If he’d get out of the house once in a while and do something other than work, he’d be a lot happier.”

“Bite me,” Zach returned in the way of familiar sibling conflict. “Could I at least get some coffee in me before you air all the family secrets on Main Street?”

Bree laughed at her big brother. “Come on. Admit you haven’t dated since you got back from Colorado.”

“Excuse me if my priorities are keeping food on the table and my wayward kid sister in college.”

Bree ignored his grousing and leaned in so only he could hear. “What about the cute florist?” she suggested eyeing Drea Jennings, the brunette. Aiming an elbow at her brother’s rib, she added, “There’s a dance tomorrow night, maybe you should ask her to go.”

“Cut it out, Bree,” Zach demanded with one lethal glare. He looked back, hoping Drea hadn’t been listening. When he realized she was still in conversation with Julianne, he dropped his head to whisper, “Stay the hell out of my business. Do not embarrass me like that again.”

“Okay, okay. No need to come unglued.” Bree neatly changed the subject. “McCready’s will be packed from noon on. I’ll be on my feet for almost ten hours straight.” She turned to Julianne. “But the tips I bring in should pay for that white lace dress you have on display, the one on the mannequin. Please don’t tell me you want two hundred dollars for it or something equally beyond my budget.”

To Julianne the Battenberg lace and bolero sleeves made it look more suitable for a wedding, but who was she to question a potential customer so she kept her opinions to herself. “You want to buy the 1950s cocktail dress?”

“If the price is right, I do. Did you make it? It’s so sophisticated-looking, so Nicole Kidman-ish.”

Julianne fought an inner battle to divulge that she’d come across the outfit in a pile of old clothes dumped on the curb after one of her neighbors moved out. It had been her rotten luck that the ecru gown had been two sizes too large. But even as she’d lamented about the fact she’d never wear the vintage frock herself, she’d assessed its resell value. “No, I didn’t make it, but I guarantee I’ll give you a great deal on it.”