After Brett left I took a quick swim in the ocean, but even the salt water couldn’t wash away the jumbled emotions tangled up inside of me. Once I’d changed back into my shorts and tank top and had hung my swimsuit and towel out on the clothesline, I stood in the middle of the family room, feeling lost. Flapjack snoozed away soundly on the kitchen windowsill, and I wished I could be as relaxed and untroubled as he was.
The evening breeze wafted in through the open French doors, bringing with it the scents of the ocean and summer. With the warm air brushing against my skin, I wandered over to the fireplace and picked up one of the framed photos on display on the mantel. It was a group shot from a happy time in my life—shortly after my mom married my stepdad when I was seventeen. One of my mom’s friends had taken the picture at a barbecue in Seattle. My mom and stepdad had their arms around each other, and I stood in front of them, hugging my two giggling stepsiblings, Charlotte and Dylan.
At that point in time we had no idea what lay ahead. We never anticipated that in just over ten years my mom and I would once again be on our own, the rest of our family wiped out by a tragic accident on a mountain highway. Ever since that terrible day four years ago, I’d kept a wall up around me, burying myself in my work and never letting anyone get too close. I’d dated, had even thought I was falling in love at one point, but I’d always held a part of myself back.
Leaving my job in Seattle and moving to Wildwood Cove had been a major step for me. I’d felt like I was coming out of hiding, finally moving forward. Now I feared I could lose everything I’d gained over the last few months. If my reputation suffered, so could The Flip Side’s. My relationship with Brett was worrying me too. I didn’t know why though, and that made me more uneasy than ever.
With a last look at the smiling faces in the photograph, I set the picture back on the mantel and put out some dinner for Flapjack. I picked at my own meal, returning most of the pasta salad to the fridge untouched. I took a book down to the beach to read, but mostly ended up staring out at the water as the tide inched its way up over the sand and pebbles. When the light finally began to fade from the sky, I shut my book—only a few pages farther along than when I’d settled in to read—and headed for bed, hoping that life would seem far less complicated in the morning.
Despite my hopes, none of my problems resolved themselves during the night. I tossed and turned for a couple of hours before finally drifting off into troubled dreams, waking up twenty minutes before my alarm was set to go off. When I threw back the covers, Flapjack jumped off the bed and trotted hopefully out into the hallway, pausing to look back at me.
“You know the drill, buddy,” I told him as I made my way to the bathroom. “Shower first, then breakfast.”
I left a disappointed Flapjack out in the hall and found him waiting for me when I emerged with freshly washed hair. He meowed at me and rubbed against my ankles as I got dressed in my usual outfit of jeans and a graphic tee, and he barreled down the stairs ahead of me when I left my bedroom. I smiled as he purred and wound a figure eight around my legs while I doled out his breakfast. It was hard to lose myself completely in my low spirits with the cute tabby around, and I was more grateful than ever for his companionship.
As soon as I’d finished my own breakfast and had brushed my teeth, I set off for The Flip Side, eager to get my day started. I was glad to have hours of work ahead of me. Hopefully serving meals, paying bills, and ordering supplies would keep me well distracted. After a quick stop in the kitchen to say good morning to Ivan and Tommy, I ensconced myself in the office and dove into my work. I took a short break to open the restaurant at seven o’clock sharp, but then I was back in the office for another hour.
When I returned to the front of the house to help out Leigh and Sienna with the breakfast rush, I gladly dove into that task as well. The tourists were mostly chatting about their plans for the day or what they’d done the day before, but it didn’t take long for Ida’s death to emerge as the hot topic of the morning among the local residents. Several people—including regulars Ed and Gary—had already heard that I was the one to find Ida’s body.
“Terrible,” Ed commented when I confirmed that I was indeed the one to report Ida’s death.
Gary nodded in agreement as he poured a generous stream of maple syrup over his pancakes. “That woman caused you enough problems while she was alive, and now she’s still making trouble for you when she’s dead.”
“Trouble?” I echoed, hoping he was only referring to the unpleasant experience of finding her body.
Ed lowered his voice. “We heard she was murdered and you’re a suspect.”
I’d hoped that bit of information hadn’t yet spread through town, but I wasn’t surprised that it had.
“A person of interest,” I corrected, but Ed and Gary didn’t seem to hear me.
“Makes no sense.” Gary shook his head as he sank his knife and fork into his stack of pancakes. “Marley a killer?” He shook his head again.
I glanced toward the neighboring table to find wide eyes staring back at me. Gary, unlike his friend, hadn’t lowered his voice before speaking.
“I had nothing to do with it.” Although I aimed the words at Ed and Gary, they were equally for the tourists at the next table.
“Of course you didn’t, Marley,” Ed said. “Don’t you worry yourself about it.”
It was too late for that. I moved on to the neighboring table and asked the four fifty-something tourists if they were ready to order. They exchanged glances, and one of the two women cleared her throat as she pushed back her chair.
“We’ve actually changed our minds.”
Her companions joined her in getting to their feet.
Speechless, I watched the women grab their purses and turn for the door with their husbands.
“Have a nice day,” I managed to say as they left the restaurant, my words too weak to have reached their ears.
“What was up with them?” Leigh asked on her way by with a plate of s’mores crêpes and another with a breakfast roll and scrambled eggs.
“I think they were afraid I’d poison their food.”
“What?” Leigh sent a glare at the door. “That’s insane.”
“Is it?”
“Yes!” Leigh leaned closer to me. “Don’t you let those people get to you. I know it’s unpleasant, believe me, but keep your chin up. Everyone who matters knows you’re innocent.”
She set off around the nearby tables to deliver the meals. What she’d said was true—those who were most important to me knew me well enough to know I wasn’t a killer. The problem was that my business relied on more than those people I’d grown close to over the past few weeks. With the news of my connection to the murder investigation spreading through town like wildfire—among the tourists now as well as the locals—I couldn’t help but worry about the future of The Flip Side.
Maybe my name would be cleared soon, but maybe it wouldn’t. And even if the sheriff’s department no longer viewed me as a person of interest, as long as the real killer went unidentified, would there still be some people in town who looked at me with suspicion, who gave me and my restaurant a wide berth?
As I grabbed the coffeepot, intending to make the rounds to provide free refills, a sense of determination came over me. I didn’t want to wait around, worrying and fretting, while the future of my business and my life in Wildwood Cove remained in jeopardy. A firm time of death might or might not clear my name, but I knew what definitely would—identifying the true murderer.
Although The Flip Side’s regulars continued to pepper me with questions throughout the morning, no one else rushed out of the restaurant without eating. A few people shot glances my way—some suspicious, some curious—and occasionally whispering broke off as I passed by a table, but the rest of the morning was otherwise uneventful.
Even so, the steady flow of diners and the pile of office tasks needing my attention kept me busy, so busy that I didn’t have a chance to consider how to start my investigation, how to figure out who had killed Ida. When I arrived home in the late afternoon, I thought I would sit down and plan my strategy, but once at the kitchen table I found I couldn’t remain still or settle my mind.
“I need to go for a run,” I said to Flapjack.
He was curled up on the back of the couch, and only cracked open one eye at the sound of my voice, closing it again a second later. He clearly had no interest in my plans, but I knew I was right. I had too much anxious energy buzzing through me to be able to sit still or think effectively.
After a quick change into my running gear, I gathered my hair into a ponytail and spent a few minutes stretching before setting off at a brisk walk along the driveway. The hot weather wasn’t ideal for running, but I figured I could cool off in the ocean afterward. Once out on Wildwood Road, I kicked up my pace, jogging into town. I almost took a left, thinking I’d jog through one of the residential neighborhoods at the eastern edge of town, but a new plan lodged in my mind and I kept going straight.
I passed through the small commercial district that made up the center of town and then veered southward, my back to the water. The curls that had escaped from my ponytail were already sticking to my temples and the ice cream shop near the marina almost tempted me into reversing my direction, but I resisted and continued on into Ida’s neighborhood.
At the end of her street, I slowed to a walk, noting that no cars were parked at the curb in front of the Tran house. That didn’t bode well for my plan to talk with Juliette about the morning of Ida’s death, but I decided to knock on the door just in case she was home despite the absence of her red convertible. I rapped my knuckles against the front door and waited, listening for approaching footsteps, but heard nothing. I tried once more with the same result and left the porch disappointed.
Not ready to give up on my quest for information quite yet, I retraced my steps past Ida’s house and knocked on Sheryl Haynes’s door. I had no more luck there than I’d had at Juliette’s house. Apparently, Thursday afternoon wasn’t a good time to find people at home in this neighborhood. I’d have to try again another time, I decided.
Leaving Ida’s street behind, I settled back into my jog, continuing southward at a steady pace. The farther I got from the center of town, the more space there was between the houses. Some homes were partially hidden from view by towering trees and the driveways grew longer the farther I went. After a few minutes, I reached the edge of the neighborhood, the border created by the Wildwood River, which curved around the back of the nearest houses.
I had the choice of winding my way back through the neighborhood or continuing along a dirt road that disappeared into the trees growing next to the river. It wasn’t a difficult decision. I wasn’t yet ready to head home, and the road through the woods offered the luxury of shade.
As soon as I left the sun behind, I was glad of my choice, immediately feeling cooler. The sounds of civilization faded away and all I could hear around me was birdsong and the rushing of the river, just out of sight beyond the trees to my right. I was enjoying the new route and decided I should come this way more often when out running, especially on hot days.
I continued on around a bend in the road and spotted a clearing up ahead. Although I intended to run past it, something caught my eye and I slowed to a stop. A pile of junk had been dumped in the clearing, closer to the riverbank than the road. I made my way toward it for a better look. The small mountain of rubbish included what looked like yard waste, broken bits of lumber, an old bicycle, a large battery from some sort of machinery, and a cracked canoe paddle.
I turned around in a slow circle, scanning the rest of the clearing. I didn’t spot any other waste or any clues as to who was responsible for dumping the stuff next to the river. Pulling my phone from my armband, I snapped a couple of photos. Then I walked around the junk heap, making sure that none of the garbage had spilled down the riverbank into the water.
It hadn’t, as far as I could tell, but that didn’t douse the flame of annoyance that had flickered to life inside of me. What kind of person would dump trash in the forest? It was hazardous to the environment, the local wildlife, and any people who might pass through this way.
I wasn’t sure whom to contact about the problem. The sheriff, maybe, since I was almost positive it was illegal for someone to dump the trash there. I tried calling Ray’s direct number, but he didn’t pick up and I didn’t leave a message. I sent Brett a quick text message, telling him what I’d found. With that done, I decided to head home, and tucked my phone back into my armband before setting off toward town.
On this leg of my run, I made no stops, keeping my pace steady until I’d almost reached my driveway. I walked the rest of the way and downed a tall glass of cold water as soon as I got into the house. I checked my phone, but I hadn’t heard back from Brett, so I exchanged my running gear for my swimsuit and cooled off by going for a refreshing swim in the ocean. Once I’d returned to the house and changed, I tried calling Ray again. This time he answered, and I told him about what I’d found near the river.
“What did you see in the pile?” he asked, sounding more interested than I’d expected.
I described some of the items I’d recognized.
“Any propane tanks, glassware, or unknown liquids?”
“Not that I noticed. Why?”
“We’ve had some issues with clandestine drug laboratories on the peninsula in recent years. Those items are often indicative of a meth lab dump site. That’s not what this one is sounding like, but if you ever come across a site that does have those things, keep clear and call my office right away. Meth lab dump sites can be extremely dangerous.”
I assured him that I’d exercise caution if I ever came across anything like that. It disturbed me to think about drug labs in the area, but I figured there were probably few places free of such problems. I described to Ray the location of the dump site as specifically as I could, and he assured me that he’d check it out before the day was done.
With the phone call over, I wandered out to the front of the house, Flapjack following me. A large fir tree was currently casting a cool shadow over the two raised garden beds my cousin Jimmy had built near the fence dividing his property from the neighbors’ land to the east. After moving from Seattle and making the blue-and-white Victorian my permanent home, my time had been swallowed up by getting settled and learning the ropes of owning a restaurant, so I hadn’t had a chance to plant the garden I would have liked. All I’d managed to do was put in some kale and carrots, but I had bigger plans for next year. For now, I spent some time in the shade, pulling weeds while Flapjack stalked around the yard, looking for grasshoppers to pounce on.
I gave up on gardening when my phone rang in my pocket.
“Hey,” I greeted Brett as I sat down on the edge of the raised bed.
“I got your text,” he said after returning my greeting. “Have you told Ray about the dump site?”
“Yes, I talked to him a little while ago. He said he’ll check it out today.”
“That’s good. Illegal dumping is getting to be a major problem around here.”
“But why? There are places people can take their stuff legally.”
“Sure, but some people are too cheap to pay the fees that might be required, and others are just too lazy to do the job properly. They have no conscience. They don’t care about the environment or wildlife. They don’t even care if they dump their junk on someone’s private property.”
“That’s so frustrating. Can’t anything be done?”
“There are a few things. My dad knows a guy who works for the Department of Natural Resources, Bill Archer. I know he’s been involved with trying to prevent illegal dumping in the county. I’ll make sure he knows about the site you found.”
“Thanks.”
At least all the interested parties would be informed, but my frustration hadn’t disappeared. I loved the Olympic Peninsula, and especially Wildwood Cove, and I couldn’t stand the thought of people harming the area with their junk and their laziness.
I spent a few more minutes talking with Brett, but then he had to go to one last job site for the day. I asked if he’d be free later, but he needed to go to Port Angeles to get a new part for his tractor mower. With Brett busy and the garden all weeded, I called to Flapjack and returned to the house to spend the evening with my feline pal.