Randall #03 - Sherwood Ltd. (37 page)

“We hope you can make your way here for the official launch in April. Brenda says she’ll have a nice room waiting for you, and wants you to know the Merry Miller no longer has karaoke. And we now have another incentive for you to come—a wedding! The Professor and Meggy will be married at Old St. Mary’s on May the first. That’s the day after her divorce will be final. We couldn’t be happier. We’re debating whether Much should do the honors as ring bearer.”

She went on to tell of her household news, and said that Charlie and his family were doing splendidly. Dorie was expecting again.

“Davey, Liam and Tom send their love. I’m sure they’ve filled you in via e-mail about their goings-on. Liam is seeing a nice girl from the local chip shop, and Tom and Davey are the same as ever.”

Fog was moving in, and the December wind felt chilly through my light jacket, but I didn’t want to move. I loved Morro Bay in the winter, after the tourists left and it became a blue-collar fishing town again. This was a moment I wanted to savor: I was a published writer again. A new chapter in my life was beginning.

A seagull perched on the chair opposite and eyed the remains of my taco. I tossed it a bit of tortilla as I looked out at the sea and wished it didn’t always make me think of Peter. I would have loved to share this moment with him. My eyes started to moisten, but I stopped myself. I’d shed enough tears for Peter Sherwood, or whoever he was.

I had a good life here. My job paid very little, but the low rent Silas charged for the cottage allowed me to feel prosperous. He was a great boss, and seemed to be a good partner for Plant now they’d worked out some of their issues.

I needed to start looking for a little romance, too. Lots of nice-looking men in this surfer/fisherman town. I looked out at the fishing boat chugging away from the dock and saw a tall, lanky fisherman waving at me. I waved back. He threw off the hood of his sweatshirt—it would be a green one—revealing long, blond hair. He blew me a kiss.

I returned the kiss, telling myself that sudden thrill didn’t come from the man’s resemblance to Peter.

But back at the store, things weren’t so peaceful.

“Where have you been?” said Dana, the Cuesta College student who came in on weekday mornings. “Some guy was here looking for you. He waited nearly an hour, but he said his boat was sailing and he had to go.”

I shrugged, determined not to lose my good mood.

“Probably some local writer with a self-published novel. Half our customers seem to have them.”

Dana gave change to the customer at the register.

“No. This wasn’t store business. He said he got this address from your ex-husband.”

She turned to the next person in line. It was busy for a weekday—a good omen for the holiday season.

I opened the second register to help another waiting customer.

“He mentioned my ex-husband? Probably a reporter wanting a story about Jonathan—some ‘lo how the mighty have fallen’ piece.”

“He didn’t look like a reporter. He looked more like a fisherman—dressed in jeans and a hoodie.”

“A dark green hooded sweatshirt?” I thought of the man on the boat.

“Yeah. It might have been green. He was kind of a hottie—for an older guy. He said he met your ex in a waterfront bar in Bangkok.”

So the man who had waved was one of Jonathan’s drinking buddies. Just as well I missed him.

When the rush died down, Dana reached under the desk for something.

“He left you this—that fisherman guy.” She handed me an envelope.

Inside was a greeting card—one of the cards by a Native American artist whose works we sold here in the store.

It pictured a coyote, howling at the moon.

I opened the card with trembling fingers. The message inside was unsigned.

“Congratulations on your new book, Duchess,” it said. “Glad to hear the lads got it sorted. I hope you and I can toast your success the next time I’m in town.”

My knees got rubbery. I clung to the register for balance.

“Jeez. I don’t think he paid for that card,” Dana said. “I never rang it up. Something about that guy made me kind of lose track.”

“I suppose he imagined we’re rich, and since he’s obviously poor at the moment, he thought it was all right to steal from us.” I wished I could keep myself from grinning.

Dana looked puzzled. “What is he, some kind of Robin Hood?”

I nodded. “Yes. Some kind of Robin Hood. I don’t know if he’s the good kind or the bad kind.” I put four dollars into the register to pay for the card. “But I’ll make sure he pays me when I see him again.”

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