By the next morning I’d decided that something definitely needed to be done to help Mrs. Rideout with the remediation of her property once the hazardous materials were removed from the dump site. Between the breakfast and lunch rushes at The Flip Side, I sent a text message to Patricia Murray, letting her know about the problem and the idea that was taking shape in my mind. I figured she was a good person to approach because she was active in the community and would likely be able to build on my still-forming plan.
I spent the rest of the morning focused on work, but in the early afternoon Patricia stopped by.
“I got your text message,” she said once I’d greeted her. “Do you have time to chat?”
“Sure,” I said as I untied my apron. “Let’s go to the office.”
I stopped by the kitchen to get Patricia a cup of coffee and one of Ivan’s delicious maple pecan sticky rolls for each of us. Once we’d settled into chairs in the office and had savored our first bites of the sticky rolls, we turned our attention to the reason for Patricia’s visit.
“I saw Gwen Georgeson at the grocery store this morning,” Patricia said, referring to Ray’s wife. “She gave me some more details about the dump site on Mrs. Rideout’s property.”
“You probably have more recent information than I do then.”
“The state police are involved now. They’re working with the Department of Ecology and the sheriff’s department to investigate and get the place cleaned up. They did a search of Mrs. Rideout’s property early this morning and found an abandoned trailer not far from the dump site.”
“Was it used for the drug lab?” I asked.
“It looks like it. There’s a road through the forest that leads onto the back of Mrs. Rideout’s property, one that’s rarely used anymore. It looks as though the people involved got the trailer in that way. The police are still investigating, of course, but they seem satisfied that Mrs. Rideout had nothing to do with the drug lab, so the state will likely foot the bill for the cleanup.”
“That’s good news. But if further environmental remediation is needed?”
Patricia set her coffee cup on the desk after taking a sip. “That could be a different story.”
“So my idea about fundraising might still be relevant?”
“Definitely. And there are other things to consider too. I had a chat with a man named Bill Archer before I came over here.”
“Brett mentioned him before. He works for the Department of Natural Resources, right?”
“That’s right. He and his wife live here in Wildwood Cove. We talked about taking preventative measures to keep this from happening again—not just the drug lab problem, but the illegal dumping by the river too.”
“What did he have to say about that?”
“He suggested finding a way to make access to the sites more difficult. One suggestion was to place large boulders along the edge of the road by the river so vehicles can’t get into the clearing. Otherwise we could see about the town putting up a fence there. For Mrs. Rideout’s property, putting a locked gate across the back road could help. A security camera might be a good idea too. That way if someone decides to break through the gate, at least the police would have a chance to see who it was.”
“Those are all good ideas,” I said after swallowing another bite of my sticky roll.
“And I think we can drum up some good support if we go ahead with the fundraising. I’ve only talked to a few people so far, but they all seemed eager to help out. Mrs. Rideout has lived here for decades and is well known in town, and we all want to see the river protected.”
“How do you think we should go about the fundraising? I was thinking The Flip Side could have a day where partial proceeds are donated to the cause.”
“That would be great. Maybe we could get some of the vendors at the farmers’ market to do that too. Maybe on the same day as The Flip Side’s event?”
“Sounds good,” I agreed.
We set a date for the fundraiser before Patricia left, promising to keep me updated on her organizational efforts. I’d made a good decision when I’d contacted her with my idea, and I didn’t doubt that she’d get many other townsfolk involved.
It felt good to know that something would be done to help combat illegal dumping in the area and to ease Mrs. Rideout’s financial burden. Hopefully those responsible for the drug lab on Mrs. Rideout’s property would be caught. I didn’t like the thought of them setting up again elsewhere to continue on with their terrible enterprise.
As the workday drew to a close, my mind drifted away from the illegal dumping and returned to the puzzle of Ida’s murder. I really needed to make some headway on that front, but I wasn’t sure what step to take next. When I got home, I decided to take a swim in the ocean, hoping that would bring me some clarity.
I walked down to the beach and left my towel on a log before wading into the ocean. Once I’d grown used to the chilly water, I floated on my back, watching the puffy clouds drift across the sky as the waves gently took me up and down, up and down. For the first time that day my muscles truly relaxed, all my stress and tension slipping away. I shut my eyes and listened to the water lapping against me, the voices of children playing in the distance. This was what I loved best about Wildwood Beach—the way it calmed me like nothing else could.
I soaked in the peaceful feeling, still drifting on the waves, until goosebumps formed on my skin, the sun’s warmth no longer enough to combat the chill of the ocean. Ducking under the water, I swam toward the shore. When I broke through the surface and blinked salt water from my eyes, I spotted Brett standing at the water’s edge. In my relaxed state, I forgot to be anxious about our relationship and a genuine smile spread across my face.
“Hi.” I splashed through the shallows, a minnow darting around my ankles. When I reached Brett, I raised myself up on tiptoe to give him a quick kiss, taking care not to drip all over his clothes. “How are you doing?”
“Good. You?”
“Same. I had a nice swim.”
I picked my way across a strip of pebbles in my bare feet. Brett fetched my beach towel from the log and wrapped it around my shoulders.
“Thanks.” I wiped away the water dripping down my face.
Brett sat down on the log and I joined him, enjoying the warmth of the sun as it chased away my goosebumps. We chatted for a few minutes about how work had gone for each of us that day, and then we lapsed into silence, watching the waves break over a sandbar as the tide crept its way in.
“Patricia Murray told me an abandoned trailer was found on Mrs. Rideout’s property,” I said after a time. “Do you think there’s a chance the police will be able to track down whoever was behind the drug lab?”
“I hope so,” Brett said. “I guess it depends on whether they found any fingerprints or other evidence.”
“You haven’t heard anything about that yet?”
“No, not so far.”
“Patricia and I had a chat about helping Mrs. Rideout with remediation costs or possibly putting up a gate or security camera on her property. We’re planning to do some fundraising.”
“That sounds great. I can help out with any labor that’s needed, and I’ll make a cash donation too.”
“Thanks. Hopefully lots of other people will get involved too.”
“Knowing this town, I think there’s a good chance of that.”
Silence settled between us again as I watched a bald eagle fly by overhead. When the majestic bird was out of sight, I returned my gaze to the ocean.
“Marley,” Brett said after a while, “has there been something on your mind lately?” I was about to respond when he added, “Aside from being a person of interest in the murder investigation, I mean.”
I swallowed before speaking. “I’m still worried about The Flip Side. I just took on the business. I don’t want it to fail before I’m barely out of the gates with it. But if people start avoiding me and won’t come in to eat…”
Trailing off, I glanced at Brett. I knew that wasn’t what he’d meant by his question, but I couldn’t bring myself to give him a different answer.
He took my hand. “That’s not going to happen. Even if a couple of people avoid the pancake house, the business will be fine. Like I said before, this will all be sorted out soon and things will get back to normal.”
“I hope you’re right.”
He raised my hand and kissed my knuckles. “I am.”
I wanted to rest my head on his shoulder, but my hair was still dripping wet, so I contented myself with holding his hand. As my gaze drifted out toward the water, movement off to the right of us caught my attention. Using my free hand to shade my eyes from the bright sun, I took in the sight of a golden dog limping its way along the beach toward us.
“He doesn’t look so good.” I got up from the log.
Brett had spotted the dog now too and followed me as I took careful steps toward it. The dog limped its way closer to us, barely putting any weight on its left hind leg. We stopped and waited as the dog approached, its pink tongue hanging out of its mouth. I knelt down in the sand and Brett crouched next to me. The dog came right up to us and snuffled at the hand I held out to it.
“Hey, buddy,” Brett said, resting a hand on the dog’s head. He examined the hindquarters. “What’s happened to you, boy?”
“Poor thing.” I let the dog lick my hand. “He’s not in good shape.”
Aside from the obvious problem of his injured hind leg, the dog’s curly fur was dirty and matted. Although not emaciated, he was definitely on the skinny side, and clearly hadn’t been well cared for anytime recently.
“Is there anyone with him?” Brett stood up and shaded his eyes as he gazed along the beach.
“See anyone?” I stroked the dog’s fur as I looked up at Brett.
“Only some sunbathers. No one who looks like they might be his owner.” Brett rested a hand on the dog’s head and the dog gazed up at him, his brown eyes full of happiness despite his physical condition. “You guys hang out here. I’ll go ask around.”
The dog looked longingly after Brett, but I kept a gentle hold on him so he wouldn’t try to follow.
“You need to take it easy, buddy.”
The dog returned his attention to me, his tail wagging as he gave me a sloppy kiss on the cheek.
“You’re such a sweetheart. How did you end up like this, you poor thing?”
The dog sat down carefully in the sand and I stroked his matted fur. When Brett returned a few minutes later, the dog bounded back to his feet as if he were in no pain at all, his tail wagging furiously. Brett crouched down and ruffled the fur on the dog’s head.
“No luck?” I guessed.
Brett’s blue eyes were troubled. “No.” The dog licked his hands and Brett smiled. “But don’t worry, bud. We’re going to make sure you’re looked after.”
“Definitely,” I agreed.
“We need a name for him. What do you think?”
My mind drew a blank, so I said, “You choose.”
Brett regarded the dog for a moment. “Bentley?”
I smiled. “I think Bentley’s perfect.”
“What do you think, buddy?” Brett asked the dog.
He received an enthusiastic tail-wagging in response.
“Bentley it is, then.” Brett got to his feet and fished his phone out of the pocket of his cargo shorts. “There’s a vet clinic about ten minutes away. I’ll give them a call.”
I grabbed my beach towel and slipped my feet into my flip-flops. Once Brett found a number for the clinic online, he put a call through and spoke with someone on the other end for a minute or two.
“They’ll see him?” I said when he hung up, gathering as much from his end of the conversation.
“Yep. They said to bring him right in.”
“Hear that, Bentley?” I said. “They’re going to help you feel a lot better.”
We headed up the beach toward the house, having no trouble getting Bentley to follow us. We walked slowly so the dog wouldn’t try to rush. He was hardly putting his injured leg down at all, hobbling along on three legs through the soft sand. Walking got easier for him once we reached firmer ground, and we soon arrived at Brett’s truck, parked near the front of the house.
“Want to come with us?” Brett asked me as he opened the passenger door.
“I want to,” I said, “but I’d have to change first and I don’t want to make you guys wait.”
As Brett coaxed Bentley toward the open door, I remembered my trip to the bakery the day before.
“Oh, but I’ll just grab something for you while you’re getting him into the truck.”
As quickly as I could in my flip-flops, I hurried around to the back of the house and in through the French doors. I grabbed the bakery box from the kitchen and was back out the door a second later. When I returned to the front of the house, Bentley was settled on the passenger seat of Brett’s truck, his tail thumping against the upholstery. Brett shut the door as I approached.
I held out the box. “I forgot to give these to you yesterday. Sorry they’re a day old now.”
“Are those what I think they are?” He peeked inside the box. “Yep.” He grinned and gave me a quick kiss. “Thank you.”
“Let me know how things go at the vet clinic?”
“I will.” He climbed into the truck and started the engine.
I waved as he pulled away from the house, and he raised a hand in response. Once the truck had turned onto Wildwood Road and disappeared from sight, I made my way inside to change out of my swimsuit. I was worried about Bentley but relieved that he would get the care he needed now. I wished I could find similar relief in relation to my other worries, especially the ones that had to do with my relationship with Brett.
He knew something wasn’t quite right, and I hated to think that I might be planting seeds of doubt in his mind as to how I felt about him. I needed to get a grip, but I wasn’t sure how to do that.
After I’d changed and had eaten a simple meal, I called out to Flapjack. I hadn’t seen him since I’d come back into the house and figured he was sound asleep somewhere upstairs. Soon after I called him, he padded into the kitchen, blinking.
“Hey there, sleepyhead. Ready for some dinner?”
I set his dish down on the floor, but instead of going straight for his food as usual, he paused to sniff at my feet and legs.
“I’m guessing you smell Bentley. He’s a sweet dog.”
Whether or not Flapjack thought any dog could be sweet, I didn’t know, and he didn’t give me any clues as to his opinion. After another sniff he lost interest and zeroed in on his dinner. I wandered over to the open French doors and looked out over the water as I considered what to do with myself that evening.
I had plenty of tasks I could tackle inside the house, but most of them were big projects that I wasn’t quite ready to delve into. I hadn’t changed much of the decor or furniture since I’d moved into the Victorian, and I still found it hard to think of the house as my own rather than Cousin Jimmy’s. My goal was to redecorate and do some updating—especially in the kitchen, which hadn’t had a face-lift in at least twenty years—but those projects would take far more planning than I’d had time for. I could have spent my evening browsing online catalogs to come up with design ideas for my new kitchen, but that didn’t appeal to me at the moment.
With a cloud of suspicion hanging over my head, I couldn’t get excited about home renovations. After all, if The Flip Side lost too many customers, I’d be more hesitant about spending a chunk of my inheritance on sprucing up the house. I recalled Brett’s reassurances that the pancake house would weather the storm just fine, and I hoped fervently that he was right. I loved my new life in Wildwood Cove and I didn’t want any part of it to slip through my fingers.
Deciding I needed to take steps to make sure that didn’t happen, I grabbed my phone and called Lisa.
“I stopped by to see Joan earlier, but she wasn’t home,” I said once we’d exchanged greetings. “Do you know if she’s there now?”
“She is,” Lisa replied. “I can see her from here. She’s out in her backyard watering her plants. Do you want me to see if she’ll talk to you this evening?”
“Please.”
“Okay, hold on a moment.”
I waited, hearing only muffled noises on the other end of the line. A full minute later, Lisa was back.
“She says to come on over.”
“Great! I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Come around back when you get here,” Lisa said. “We’re going to be on her porch. Oh, and I recommend you walk rather than drive.”
Although her last words made me curious, I agreed to what she’d suggested. After giving Flapjack a quick goodbye cuddle, I locked up the house and set off on foot for Lisa’s neighborhood. A short time later, as I walked along a shady street toward Joan’s house, I hoped desperately that Lisa’s neighbor would give me a lead to follow, one that would take me in the direction of clearing my name.