notebook and reviewed my list of suspects. A list Greg would be none too happy to find, but I’d needed to write it anyway. On the page titled “Craig’s Murder” I added the unanswered questions from the day.
When I finished, I realized I’d written the names of most of the townspeople due to one or more conflicts with Craig. The man did know how to create enemies. Sighing, I closed the notebook and gently pushed the swing back and forth with my foot. Emma tired of chasing rabbits out of the yard and lay at my feet, ready to call it a night.
My thoughts were on Craig and Josh when I heard Emma’s low-throated growl. I focused on the backyard, but didn’t see anything, not even a wayward deer or one of the coyotes who ran the foothills. Emma stood, her nose pointed to the back of the property, back where the wall sat. I couldn’t see the wall from the house.
I reached for Emma, her body shaking under my touch. “What’s going on, girl?” I whispered, not wanting to bring more attention to my location. Even though I sat in the middle of the porch, candles and the porch light were making me the perfect target, if someone was aiming at me.
Slowly I reached into the doorway and turned off the porch light. In the dim candlelight, I made my way down the porch and extinguished each one. Once it was totally dark, I sat back on the porch swing and focused on the yard.
Nothing. Even though Emma still stood at attention. I trained my gaze on the spot where she stared. Still nothing.
Feeling foolish, I stood and opened the screen. I called for my dog. “Come on, time for bed.”
Emma turned her head, made sure I was watching, then turned back and barked into the night. Satisfied she’d made her point, she trotted into the kitchen.
As I locked the door, I glanced out the window in my door. Was that a glimmer of light? Leaning forward and squinting, I focused, but no, it must have been a reflection from the moon or something. Turning away from the door, I headed up to bed. Tomorrow I needed to go visit with my favorite business owner, neighbor, and the one guy alive who stood in the way of certifying the Spanish mission wall site: Josh Thomas.
A smile curved on my lips. Greg couldn’t even complain about my visit since Bill at the Business to Business meeting had asked me to bring Josh up to speed on our organization. I was doing my job. Sometimes being council liaison was a good thing.
Saturday morning came bright and early. Glancing at the clock, I had a couple hours before I needed to open the shop. People apparently didn’t want their caramel lattes quite as early on the weekends. I pulled on my running clothes, and as I tied my shoes, Emma sat patiently. Well, as patient as a dog could be when she can read my actions and know we were heading outside for a run. Her body quivered as she waited, reminding me of the weird incident last night. Before I took off for the shop this a.m., I’d walk back to the wall and make sure no kids were using the place as Friday night make-out central. I lived at the edge of town, so the mission site had been the perfect place for kids to meet up before I moved into Miss Emily’s house. My friend had been a firm believer in the early-to-bed-early-to-rise theory of life, so the local teens took advantage of the one place their parents wouldn’t look for them.
When I’d gone to fence the property after Miss Emily passed on, we’d found the remnants of the old Spanish mission where South Cove’s existence had begun. Now I was fighting for the historical commission to certify the site so I could ensure future generations would know the sordid history of this part of the California coastline.
And have the funding for a decent fence to protect the site. I stood on the porch, watching the birds circle over the road, and stretched. Emma, already on her running leash, sat and watched me. I loved my dog.
Remembering our run from yesterday, I wondered if Brenda had come for Fifi yet.
When I finished, I realized I’d written the names of most of the townspeople due to one or more conflicts with Craig. The man did know how to create enemies. Sighing, I closed the notebook and gently pushed the swing back and forth with my foot. Emma tired of chasing rabbits out of the yard and lay at my feet, ready to call it a night.
My thoughts were on Craig and Josh when I heard Emma’s low-throated growl. I focused on the backyard, but didn’t see anything, not even a wayward deer or one of the coyotes who ran the foothills. Emma stood, her nose pointed to the back of the property, back where the wall sat. I couldn’t see the wall from the house.
I reached for Emma, her body shaking under my touch. “What’s going on, girl?” I whispered, not wanting to bring more attention to my location. Even though I sat in the middle of the porch, candles and the porch light were making me the perfect target, if someone was aiming at me.
Slowly I reached into the doorway and turned off the porch light. In the dim candlelight, I made my way down the porch and extinguished each one. Once it was totally dark, I sat back on the porch swing and focused on the yard.
Nothing. Even though Emma still stood at attention. I trained my gaze on the spot where she stared. Still nothing.
Feeling foolish, I stood and opened the screen. I called for my dog. “Come on, time for bed.”
Emma turned her head, made sure I was watching, then turned back and barked into the night. Satisfied she’d made her point, she trotted into the kitchen.
As I locked the door, I glanced out the window in my door. Was that a glimmer of light? Leaning forward and squinting, I focused, but no, it must have been a reflection from the moon or something. Turning away from the door, I headed up to bed. Tomorrow I needed to go visit with my favorite business owner, neighbor, and the one guy alive who stood in the way of certifying the Spanish mission wall site: Josh Thomas.
A smile curved on my lips. Greg couldn’t even complain about my visit since Bill at the Business to Business meeting had asked me to bring Josh up to speed on our organization. I was doing my job. Sometimes being council liaison was a good thing.
Saturday morning came bright and early. Glancing at the clock, I had a couple hours before I needed to open the shop. People apparently didn’t want their caramel lattes quite as early on the weekends. I pulled on my running clothes, and as I tied my shoes, Emma sat patiently. Well, as patient as a dog could be when she can read my actions and know we were heading outside for a run. Her body quivered as she waited, reminding me of the weird incident last night. Before I took off for the shop this a.m., I’d walk back to the wall and make sure no kids were using the place as Friday night make-out central. I lived at the edge of town, so the mission site had been the perfect place for kids to meet up before I moved into Miss Emily’s house. My friend had been a firm believer in the early-to-bed-early-to-rise theory of life, so the local teens took advantage of the one place their parents wouldn’t look for them.
When I’d gone to fence the property after Miss Emily passed on, we’d found the remnants of the old Spanish mission where South Cove’s existence had begun. Now I was fighting for the historical commission to certify the site so I could ensure future generations would know the sordid history of this part of the California coastline.
And have the funding for a decent fence to protect the site. I stood on the porch, watching the birds circle over the road, and stretched. Emma, already on her running leash, sat and watched me. I loved my dog.
Remembering our run from yesterday, I wondered if Brenda had come for Fifi yet.
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