After reporting the theft to the sheriff’s department I stormed up to my bedroom, where I traded my hot clothes for cutoffs and a tank top. I twisted my brown curls up onto the back of my head, securing them with a hair clip. Although I felt immediately cooler, I was still fuming about Ida Winkler and her latest act of mischief.
Flapjack found me in my bedroom and rubbed up against my bare legs, purring and meowing at me. Some of my ire drained away as I scooped the cat up into my arms. His purring intensified and he bumped his head against my chin.
“I’m glad to see you too, Jack,” I told him.
I buried my face in his fur and listened to the rumbling of his purr for another moment before setting him back down on the floor.
“Thanks, buddy. I feel better already.”
Flapjack blinked up at me and then padded his way out of the bedroom.
I followed after him and reached the main floor just as a sheriff’s department cruiser pulled up to the house. I met Deputy Kyle Rutowski out on the front porch and explained to him what had happened.
“I’m sure it was Ida Winkler,” I said once I’d told him about the vehicle that had taken off in a hurry right after the theft. “Same with all the problems at The Flip Side.”
“The vandalism?” Rutowski checked.
I nodded and added, “She made a bunch of prank calls to the pancake house this morning too. I did a reverse lookup on the number and it was hers.”
“I understand there’s no proof linking Ms. Winkler to the other incidents.”
“Not the one at the pancake house,” I conceded. “But I’m sure she was the driver of the car.”
“Did you get the license number?”
With satisfaction, I recited it to him from memory. Finally, there was something more concrete to link Ida to my troubles. Once the sheriff’s department determined that the car I’d seen belonged to Ida, that—as well as my glimpse of her—would place her near the scene of the theft. Even if they couldn’t arrest her, maybe they could at least put some pressure on her. That might not be enough to put an end to her shenanigans, but I sure hoped it would.
Rutowski assured me that he’d look into the matter and took his leave.
I sank down onto the porch steps as he drove off, my mind troubled. If the police weren’t able to arrest Ida or warn her off, I didn’t know what I was going to do. Vandalism, prank calls, theft—it was all getting to be too much. I didn’t believe she’d succeed in ruining The Flip Side’s business, but she was already succeeding in causing me plenty of frustration. It irked me that she was getting under my skin, and I could feel my earlier anger returning.
I was still sitting on the porch steps when a silver pickup truck turned in to the driveway. As it pulled to a stop in front of the house, I got to my feet, forgetting my annoyance, a smile spreading across my face. My boyfriend, Brett Collins, climbed out of the truck and I hurried over to greet him. Not waiting to say anything, I rose up on tiptoe and kissed him. As soon as our lips touched, I forgot about everything except him. He pulled me closer and I slid my arms around him. By the time we broke apart a moment later, the tension in my muscles had disappeared and my smile was even brighter than before.
“Wow,” Brett said with a grin. “That was some hello.”
I brushed a curl of blond hair off his forehead and met his eyes, the same gorgeous shade of blue as the summer sky above us. “I’m really glad to see you.”
“Same here.”
I registered the fact that he’d arrived in his pickup truck rather than the cube van he used for his lawn and garden care business.
“All finished work for the day?” I guessed.
“Yep.” He rested his hands on my hips. “And I was hoping we could spend some time together.”
“I’d like that.”
Although I’d been back in Wildwood Cove for a few weeks now, we’d both been so tied up with our respective businesses that it had been hard to see as much of each other as we wanted. We’d made time here and there, but I still longed for more of his company.
“How was your day?” he asked.
“You don’t want to know.”
“That bad?”
I gave him a brief overview of the vandalism at the pancake house and the theft from my front porch.
A crease appeared between Brett’s eyebrows. “Ida’s really taking things too far.”
“You can say that again. I reported everything to the sheriff’s department. Hopefully things will get better soon.” I looked into his eyes and couldn’t help but smile. “For now, let’s forget about Ida Winkler.”
The crease between his eyebrows smoothed out and he grinned. “Good plan.”
“Did you bring your swim trunks?”
“I did.”
“Good,” I said, feeling the happiest I had all day, “because I’m dying to get in the ocean.”
Less than ten minutes later we’d changed into our swimsuits, applied sunscreen, and claimed a spot on the beach. Although the majority of swimmers and sunbathers were closer to town, there were still a few people here and there along this stretch of the cove. Brett and I managed to claim a relatively quiet spot though, and as soon as we’d dropped our towels on a log, we made a beeline for the water.
The tide was on its way out and we had to cross a wet sandbar before reaching the water’s edge. When the first wave lapped over my bare feet, I relished its refreshing, cool touch. As I ventured out deeper into the ocean, the water reaching above my knees, I slowed my pace. The water had gone from refreshing to chilly, almost numbing my legs, a stark contrast to the rest of my sun-heated skin.
Brett plunged into the water ahead of me, not hesitating in the least before diving into an oncoming wave, submerging completely before reappearing seconds later. Knowing he’d tease me if I waited any longer, I took a deep breath—partly to fill my lungs and partly to steel myself for the imminent blast of cold—and dove beneath the water. The ocean enveloped me, the temperature a shock even though I’d tried to prepare myself for it. I broke through the surface seconds later, gasping from the cold.
Brett laughed. “Nice and refreshing, huh?”
“That’s one way to put it,” I said, wiping dripping curls out of my face. But he was right. Although chilly at first, the water felt great.
I swam out to meet Brett, the waves gently lifting and dropping me. When I reached his side, I saw him eyeing a clump of kelp bobbing on the surface of the water a few feet away. Memories of summer days in my teens spent with Brett and his friends surfaced, and I knew what was coming.
“Oh, no you don’t!”
I threw myself toward the kelp, swimming as hard as I could to reach it first, but Brett had the same goal. He snatched up the kelp and pulled it out of my reach before flinging it toward me. I managed to get my hands up in front of my face to deflect it before the soggy seaweed got into my hair. I tried to throw it back his way, but the clump fell apart and dropped into the water between us.
Brett dove under the water, grabbing me around the waist as he surfaced. I moved in closer and looped my arms around his neck. With the water up to his chest, he planted his feet on the sandy bottom, anchoring us in place.
“Just like old times,” he said, resting his forehead against mine. “Well, except for this part.”
He kissed me, and I kissed him back. His lips tasted of sea salt and summer, and I wanted the kiss, the moment, to last forever. The ocean had other ideas though. A big wave knocked Brett off balance, breaking us apart. When he’d regained his footing, I wound my arms around his neck again.
“I wanted you to do that back in the day,” I said, thinking back to the intense crush I’d had on him that summer when I was fifteen.
“I thought about it many times, believe me.”
“Really? Then why didn’t you?”
“I was too shy.”
“I don’t remember you being shy.”
“With that sort of thing I was.”
I ran my fingers through his wet hair. “I’m glad you aren’t now.”
He grinned and kissed me again before saying, “So am I.”
We swam for a while longer before heading up to the beach and lying in the sun to dry off. Later on we returned to the Victorian and changed out of our swimsuits before grilling up some dinner on the back porch. After eating we relaxed in our porch chairs, holding hands and talking as we looked out over the ocean. As the light slowly started to fade from the sky, I said a reluctant good night to Brett, watching him drive off toward Wildwood Road.
The late afternoon and evening had provided a great end to an otherwise not-so-great day, and I hoped that my current mood of contentment would set the tone for the rest of the week.
I woke up the next morning still happy from my time spent with Brett. I hummed as I picked a graphic tee from my collection to wear with my jeans, and I gave Flapjack extra snuggles before feeding him and leaving the house. It wasn’t until I reached the promenade on my way to The Flip Side that tension crept back into my muscles. I held my breath as I approached the pancake house, letting it out with a rush of relief when I saw that there was no sign of vandalism on the front of the building. In fact, even the smears of dried red paint that Tommy and I hadn’t been able to remove were now gone.
With my fingers crossed, I made a quick circuit around the building, checking for any signs that Ida had returned during the night. Fortunately, not a single stroke of paint marred any of the walls or windows, and I was able to enter the restaurant with my cheery mood intact.
I stopped by the kitchen to say good morning to Tommy and Ivan, and then asked the younger man, “Tommy, did you do more work on the front windows?”
“Yep. I came in a bit early to do it. Some soapy water and a razor blade did the trick.”
I thanked him, truly grateful for the help, and left the two men to their work. I retreated to the office, thankful many times over that the young man had applied for the job of Ivan’s assistant back in March. He not only got along with Ivan and eased the chef’s workload, he was also a joy to have around.
My good mood persisted through the breakfast rush and into mid-morning. That was when the phone calls started up again. After the third call without a word spoken from the other end of the line, I unplugged the phone, irritation crackling through my bloodstream like an electric current.
Taking a steadying breath to calm myself, I surveyed the restaurant. Diners currently occupied only four of the tables, and I knew Leigh and Sienna could easily manage without me for a while.
Untying my apron, I intercepted Leigh as she came out of the kitchen. “I’m going out for a bit. Hopefully I won’t be too long, but you can reach me on my cell if you need me.”
“Take your time,” Leigh said. “We’ve got everything under control.”
I made a quick stop in the office to grab my phone and look up the address that went with Ida’s phone number. I memorized the house number and then set off with my tote bag over my shoulder.
The day was already warm, but pleasantly so, not yet so hot as to leave me sweltering in my jeans. I questioned the wisdom of what I was doing as I walked along Main Street, but I never once slowed my steps. I hadn’t yet received word from the sheriff’s department about any action taken with respect to Ida, and I couldn’t wait around any longer, hoping someone else would take care of the issue for me.
I didn’t have a whole lot of faith that I could talk sense into Ida, but it was worth a try, especially if I stressed the fact that the sheriff was now getting involved. If nothing else, maybe the prospect of serving another jail sentence for theft would get her to rethink her actions. Although I didn’t really want to see the woman get locked away in prison, I did want her out of my hair. At the moment, she was the only less-than-perfect part of my new life in Wildwood Cove.
Leaving Main Street, I followed a side road to Clement Street, where Ida lived. I’d never ventured into this part of town before and I could tell right away that the neighborhood was newer than my own beachfront one. The two-story houses lining the street appeared to have been built a few decades later than the Victorian homes in my part of town. Most were well kept, with tidy green lawns that hadn’t yet been too scorched by the summer sun.
One front yard halfway up the street didn’t quite fit in with the others, however. The grass needed cutting and a rusty bicycle frame lay abandoned near the side gate leading to the backyard, along with several old bicycle wheels and piles of newspapers and magazines. When I paused at the end of the cracked cement walkway, it didn’t surprise me to see that the number of the neglected house matched the one I’d memorized before leaving The Flip Side.
Wasting no time, I marched along the walkway and up the steps to the front porch. I hopped aside when a board sagged beneath my weight, threatening to give way. When I felt sure I’d found a safe place to stand, I knocked hard on the front door.
As I waited for a response, I studied the front porch. The rotting boards weren’t the only sign of neglect. The peeling dark red paint on the front door cried out for attention and a crack in the window to the right of the entrance had been sealed with duct tape. If Ida had spent as much time maintaining her home as she did harassing me, she probably would have had the nicest property on the block. As it was, her place stood out like a sore thumb, and I wondered what her neighbors thought of that.
Several seconds passed in silence. I tried again, rapping my knuckles hard against the wood. I noticed a doorbell off to the side and pressed that as well. Raising myself on tiptoe, I peered through the semicircular window near the top of the door, but I couldn’t see much more than shadows.
While it was possible that Ida wasn’t home, I also thought it likely that she wouldn’t bother to answer the door even if she was inside, especially if she figured out that I was the one on the porch trying to get her attention. I pressed the bell again, knocking as well, before leaning closer to the door.
“Ida!” I called out. “I want to talk to you!”
When I still received no response, I let out a frustrated breath and gave up on that approach. Careful to avoid the rotting boards, I picked my way down the front steps.
“Ida Winkler’s in high demand today.”
I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of the voice. It took me a second, but when I spotted a woman descending the front steps of the next house over, I realized she was the one who’d spoken. Dressed in a knee-length skirt and a sleeveless top, the woman had straight dark hair that reached down to the middle of her back. She carried a large handbag and a pair of sunglasses, which she set on the top of her head as she crossed her lawn toward me.
“You’re not the first person today to knock on her door and shout at her.”
I winced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make a racket.”
She waved off my apology. “Trust me, you were as quiet as a mouse compared to the last round.”
“Oh?”
“Melinda Haynes.”
For a second I thought she was introducing herself, but then she flicked her hand toward the house on the other side of Ida’s.
“She’s the daughter of the owner of the next house over. Couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes ago that she was up there on Ida’s porch, screaming like a banshee. Her mother had to come over and drag her away. And thank goodness she did. I was about to call the sheriff. Juliette Tran, by the way,” she said, and this time I figured she really was introducing herself.
“Marley McKinney,” I returned before trying to steer the conversation in a more helpful direction. “Did she get any response from Ida?”
“Not a peep, as far as I know. Not that I could blame her, for once. Who’d want to open their door to all that screeching?”
I took a step back, planning to excuse myself, not wanting to end up standing there for the rest of the morning listening to all the neighborhood gossip.
“Anyway,” Juliette went on before I had a chance to say anything, “you can always try around back if you’re really anxious to talk with the woman. Not that talking to her ever does any sort of good.” She shook her head and glanced at the slim silver watch on her wrist. “I’ve got to be off, but good luck to you.”
“Thank you,” I said to her retreating back as she walked briskly to a red convertible parked at the curb.
As Juliette climbed into the car and drove off, I turned back to Ida’s house, my eyes wandering from the front door to the side gate. I decided to act on Juliette’s advice and check around back for Ida. If she was lurking out of sight, hoping I’d go away, she’d soon find out that I wouldn’t give up so easily.
I unlatched the gate and it swung open with a squeak and a groan. Worried that the noise might have alerted Ida to my approach, I hurried along a cement path that was as cracked and choked with weeds as the one out front. I rounded the corner of the house and paused.
The back grass was as much in need of a trim as the front lawn, and even more junk had been piled here and there, rusting pieces of things I couldn’t identify heaped on top of each other, weeds growing up through the metallic trash. A gnarled old apple tree grew in one corner of the yard, near the carport. Parked beneath the sagging roof of the carport was the old brown car I’d seen Ida driving right after the theft of my lamp base. There was, however, no sign of the woman herself.
I was about to climb my way up a rickety set of steps to the back porch when I spotted a shed almost completely surrounded by a jumble of prickly blackberry bushes in desperate need of pruning and taming. The door to the shed stood open, and I decided to have a peek inside before risking the stairs.
Carefully picking my way through the long grass, I approached the shed.
“Ida?” I called out as I got closer.
As I expected, I received no response, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t hiding in the shed. When I reached the door, I grabbed it and pulled it open wider. Although I was about to say Ida’s name once again, the syllables died away in my throat before I could get them out.
Ida was indeed in the garden shed.
But she was sprawled out on the dirty floor, as still as a corpse.