It was far too beautiful of a day to head straight back to work, so I walked Briggs to the door of the police station, kissed him goodbye, then turned back to take a brisk stroll along the wharf and marina. My original goal, as stated to my boyfriend in parting, was to walk off the large lunch. The sandwich soup combo was always one of my favorites, but a creamy soup and a buttery sandwich were heavy comfort food. However, my plans to walk off a few calories were quickly doused when I could no longer wait to nibble on the hand pie. The warm, spicy scent of cinnamon coupled with the tangy bite of apple kept calling to me from the inside of the greasy brown bag.
I pulled it out just as I took my first step on the wharf. It seemed seagulls also had a keen sense of smell. I instantly became quite the adored rock star as I sauntered along with my flaky confection. There was no way not to shed a few crumbs of Franki's light, crispy pastry, so my feathered groupies slapped along behind me on rubbery orange feet, cleaning up every morsel.
The brisk breeze flowing in from the navy blue tide had the scent of romance and faraway places. The ocean was always such an extraordinary sight, endless blue glass trimmed with the occasional white frost and the poetic glide of a meandering sailboat. I closed my eyes and listened for the sound of the ocean but realized there was far too much people noise to find the rhythm. The gorgeous blue day, chilly as it was, had brought people out from houses and businesses to partake in some of the beach-y treats being offered along the wharf. A man carrying what appeared to be a sandwich consisting of two waffles and a piece of fried chicken stole my fickle crowd of long beaked fans away. Off they waddled, although something told me the waffles wouldn't be nearly as generous as the flaky crust on my pie.
I decided to head to the marina to take one quick tour of the lovely boats before heading back to work. Some of the boat owners were busy getting their vessels ready for the onslaught of winter, packing deck chairs into storage areas and covering permanent fixtures with canvas tarps. An unfamiliar good-sized luxury cruiser, big and elegant enough that it might even be classified as a yacht (I wasn't well versed in boat categories) bobbed quietly in the second to last slip. It was cleverly named Funtasy. The owner seemed to be ignoring the chill hovering over the marina. She was stretched out on a lounge in skin tight, white jeans (even though Labor Day had long since passed). Her auburn hair was streaked with honey highlights, and her lips were slightly swollen, as if she had just had them plumped and filled. The snug zebra print sweater that hugged her curves, along with the oversized round turquoise blue sunglasses and the bright pink drink she sipped from a martini glass all reminded me of an old time movie star, as if Greta Garbo or Joan Crawford had just sailed into Port Danby for a day trip.
I hadn't meant to stare but apparently I'd been obvious. She waved hello before picking up her bright pink drink. I waved shyly back and hurried along. I left the marina and headed along the wharf and suddenly got the distinct feeling I was being watched. I spun around and found that I was indeed being watched, by my bird.
Kingston was perched on the back of one of the many benches on the wharf. He glanced nonchalantly off to the side as if he hadn't even noticed me pass by. He was an expert at playing aloof.
I walked back to him. "I guess there wasn't enough entertainment at the town square," I said to him, loudly enough that several people passing by glanced around to see who I might have been talking to. It was just me, a crazy lady talking to a crow. A few gasps followed as Kingston hopped onto my shoulder and settled in for an easy journey back to the shop.
"Oh my gosh, do you see that, Gary? That crow is sitting on the lady's shoulder," a woman said as we strolled past.
Kingston shifted sideways, using his talons to keep steady and making me thankful for the thickness of my coat. He wanted to catch his last glimpse of the beach before we left the wharf. For a brief period of time, Kingston had spent a lot of time sitting on the pylons of the pier and the rooftops of the wharf shops gazing longingly at the gulls on the beach. I was convinced he'd decided that the life of a seagull was far more grand than the life of a crow (with the exception of Kingston himself. He had it pretty sweet.) I thought he was trying to learn their ways so he could hang with them. After all, they spent a great deal of time scouring goodies from the pier and beach in between naps on the warm sand. It didn't take me too long to figure out that his obsession with the seagulls was not out of envy. It was not because the gulls led a more glamorous life. It was more due to the fact that they were sloppy eaters. All that time, I'd thought he was observing the gulls, trying to learn their habits, when it turned out he was just waiting to swoop in and pick up all the left behind crumbs. Occasionally, I gave my bird more credit than he deserved.
I was just about to leave the beach area altogether when I remembered that Mary had told me to talk to Marty Tate about his mother and her possible friendship with Jane Price. I pulled out my phone and texted Ryder.
"Is the shop busy or can I extend my lunch break another fifteen?"
Ryder wrote right back. "Just helped a customer with some of the potted herbs, and now I've got the place to myself. I haven't seen Kingston. Should we be worried?"
I lifted the phone for a selfie. "Smile, Kingston." I took the picture and sent it.
"Ah ha, I see the two of you are doing your pirate and parrot impression. See you soon."
"I'm going to send this bird to the shop before he destroys my coat. Keep an eye out for him." I texted back.
"Will do."
I swung my arm toward Harbor Lane. "Off you go. Ryder will have a treat for you when you get back." The word treat was all the encouragement he needed. His talons poked my shoulder as he pushed off and headed toward the shop. I, on the other hand, spun around on my heels and headed toward Pickford Lighthouse.