Curveballs in Pelican Point (Pelican Point #8)

Chapter 1

Heather

“Woooof.” The soft bark, if it could be considered that, is whispered under Cookie's breath. But the threat is there, or so she believes anyway.

I roll my eyes and glance at my incredibly attitudinal corgi currently splooted on the side table, gazing out the window. It’s her favorite spot, where she can observe the neighborhood and pass judgment as she sees fit. And she sees fit all the time.

“I'm almost done here,” I mutter, typing away on the latest grant application for the library. “Give me a break already. We'll take a walk in a minute.”

Cookie answers with a long whine and follows it with a more insistent bark.

Glancing up, I spot a large green moving truck, a semi from the looks of it, through the living room picture window. The new neighbors must be moving in. It was about time they got someone in there. That house had been empty ever since old Mr. Maddox passed away two years ago.

Hopefully they’ll be a nice older couple, who believe in keeping things tidy and appreciate the quiet. At a minimum, someone who doesn't think two AM is prime lawn-mowing time or blares music in the backyard all hours of the night.

Email completed, I close my laptop and stand, arching my back and stretching. I swear these grants will be the death of me, but they are necessary for my plans to expand the Pelican Point Library.

Interest in our little town exploded with the arrival of the prodigal son, Ryan Murphy, and his wife, Candice.

Once the Murphy clan bolstered their family winery, thanks in large part to the new award-winning winemaker Sophia Garrett, they turned their eyes to other in-need organizations in the area.

Not surprisingly, people and businesses began flooding in, and the town seemingly doubled in size overnight.

One of their first grants rescued the county's historical archives from their sad existence in what was essentially a glorified musty closet at town hall and gave them a proper home in the old lighthouse.

Then the town acquired and renovated the lightkeeper's house for the main library.

Needless to say, it was a drastic improvement.

But it wasn't until that Spanish galleon was located off Pelican Point by Cruz Devlin and Crystal Evans, that the spotlight really turned toward the town's antiquated library system.

The town was soon swarmed by would-be treasure hunters hoping to cash in, eager to thumb through our dusty collection.

And as the head librarian, the sudden influx was a whirlwind, but I couldn't be happier. Attention equals money to do things I've been dreaming of for years. First, turning the Pelican Point Library into one of the region's top research facilities. We certainly have the history to back it up.

But it's my other project that truly warms my heart and feeds my passion as a librarian.

I want to build an interactive children's library that really delivers an in-depth learning experience and bolsters a child's love of reading. That's the grant I’ve been working on for weeks and just sent off. It’s a long shot, but with any luck, it'll be approved as well.

“Okay, Cookie.” I snag her blinged-out pink leash and matching body harness from their place on the wall. “Let's head for the beach today. How does that sound?” I ask, securing the harness.

Cookie's reply is her trademark impatient side-eye. As far as she’s concerned, it doesn’t matter where we go. I've taken way too long at this point.

Stepping outside, the humidity hits like a wave, and mid-afternoon sunlight beats down, baking the sidewalk.

Shading my eyes, I catch what has to be at least twenty sweaty men hauling furniture, appliances, and boxes into the house.

Based on the size of the truck, it looks like whoever's moving in plans to stay for a while.

A sleek, black SUV is parked on the street in front of the house, and a plumbing van and electrician's truck block my driveway.

I wrinkle my nose and will away the annoyance.

The new neighbors are only trying to move in, after all.

But it's a good thing I don't need to drive anywhere.

Otherwise, we'd be having our first neighborly “conversation” about driveway etiquette.

Mrs. Henderson stands sentinel at her mailbox across the street, resplendent in a neon orange muumuu that could probably be seen from space.

Her hair is locked tight in an army of pink plastic curlers, and with arms akimbo and her trademark scowl firmly in place, she surveys the scene like a disapproving tropical bird.

She’s easily the biggest busybody I’ve ever known and is certain to let everyone in town know that we have a new neighbor.

I wave as we pass. “Hi, Mrs. Henderson.” Her response is a dismissive wave of her hand, her gaze never leaving the activity.

“Come on, girl,” I urge Cookie who keeps turning to look. “Let's stay out of their way. The last thing those poor moving guys need is a bossy corgi underfoot.”

With a growling huff, she reluctantly follows me, constantly glancing back as we stroll down the sidewalk. She utters one final rumbling woof then plows forward, eager to reach one of her favorite places.

Downtown is all abuzz as we stroll past, and businesses are busy taking down Halloween decorations.

I glance at the Riley Building that houses the town's new bridal store, Coastal Couture.

Based on the foot traffic going in and out, it looks like love is in the air and a slew of weddings are in the works.

But not for me. Thank god! I'll take a good book and a glass of wine over fancy dresses and awkward family photos any day.

We continue on, and I sigh as we reach the access point.

The beach looks amazing today, thanks to the grooming efforts of the local conservation society.

The town has also received a few grants from the Murphys for a new lifeguard building, as well as planting thousands of native plant species on the natural dunes to prevent sand erosion.

This is my happy place, where I come to decompress or do some deep thinking.

Today, my thoughts are on that children's center: interactive stations steeped in the town's history with a fun scavenger hunt section to build problem-solving skills and reading comprehension.

There are so many possibilities, and I can't wait to get started.

I'll be biting my nails until I hear from the foundation.

“Hey, Cookie! Once we finish this walk, why don't we stop by Seaside Sweets and grab a treat?” I cajole as we step onto the sand. “I bet Julie will still have one of those peanut butter doggie biscuits you love so much.”

My comment gets another side eye, as if it were ridiculous of me to even mention it, but Cookie’s wiggling backside betrays her excitement. Of course Julie would have Cookie's favorite treats on hand at all times. In Cookie's spoiled dog worldview, it’s absurd to consider otherwise.

Thirty minutes later, with paws and feet cleaned of sand, we stroll along a series of storefronts.

Just last year, many of these were either empty or housed dilapidated old stores barely hanging on.

Now it's a vibrant town center with new stores, renovated buildings, and cars fighting for the limited parking spaces out front.

We reach the bakery and the chime of the bell over the door announces our arrival.

The scents of bakery spice, butter, dark chocolate, bread, and warm fruit fill the bakery.

It’s impossible to nail down just one scent.

The aromas merge into a force of temptation that even the staunchest dieter can't ignore.

“Cookie!” Julie cries from behind the counter. “You came to see me.”

Cookie's floofy booty immediately begins to sway side to side and the nub of her tail wriggles back and forth. She whines and pulls against the leash, anxious to receive her treat.

“And hello to you, too,” I tease Julie, releasing the leash. Cookie is everyone's favorite, so I can't be too harsh when people fawn over her. My corgi has everyone in this town wrapped around her sassy little paw. Honestly, I'm just her personal assistant at this point.

Julie snickers, waving a hand. “You know I'm happy to see you, too.” Waving a biscuit shaped like a bone, she croons, “But I've been saving this beauty for my favorite girl.” Cookie struts over, leash trailing behind, her gaze locked on the treat.

With an impressively athletic move, she springs up and snags the biscuit, then ambles over to the corner table and sploots beneath to dig in.

Julie has clearly outdone herself today. Various pastries are showcased in the display and my resolve already begins to weaken.

“Damn, girl! I was only planning on getting a café mocha, but I might have to try that chocolate croissant.”

“These just came out of the oven a few minutes ago,” Julie replies. “It's one of my better batches, if I do say so myself.”

My mouth waters and my stomach growls, reminding me I haven’t eaten yet today. Julie is a master at croissants, and I can almost taste the chocolatey goodness.

What the hell… I deserve a treat for finishing that god-forsaken grant application. “Sold. I'll take one along with that café mocha.”

She motions toward Cookie with her chin. “You go have a seat and I'll bring them over in a minute.”

Cookie is busy munching away, clearly in heaven, as I settle into my seat.

My gaze moves to the bakery's décor. I can see why this place has become such a popular hang out because every detail feels thoughtfully chosen.

Not only has she hit it out of the ballpark with her pastries, but she now has advertisements for wedding cakes adorning the walls.

It looks like the marriage business really is booming.

Julie slides the warm croissant and café mocha on the table, and I hum as the buttery smell wraps around me like a comforting blanket.

“Holy lord.” I bite into the croissant and moan as the flavors combine into a taste of absolute heaven. “This is amazing. Julie, you have outdone yourself.”

Julie flashes a grin. “Right? I lucked into that recipe. You should try my brownies the next time I make a big batch.”

My eyes widen at the thought. Brownies? Yes, please!

Julie settles into the seat across from me. “So how goes it?”

I shrug, taking another huge bite out of the croissant. “Damn! Did you put crack in this? It's insanely good.”

The corner of Julie's mouth lifts. “I'll never tell.” She leans down to ruffle Cookie's fur. “I bet the library is hopping with all the new residents we have flowing in.”

I nod. “It is, definitely. I just submitted a big grant to fund that children's program I told you about. If I get that, it'll be a huge expansion.”

“Oh! That sounds fantastic. When will you hear something?”

“No idea.” I lean back. “Oh! I have a new neighbor. Someone is moving into Old Man Maddox's place today. There's a huge moving van being unloaded as we speak.”

“Wow.” Julie straightens. “That place has been vacant at least a year. How long has it been since he passed?”

“A little over two years. I know because I've been mowing the lawn so it didn't overgrow into my yard. But there have been a ton of construction trucks there in the last two months, so I shouldn’t be too surprised. I just didn’t realize it was on the market or that someone had bought it.” I take a sip of my cafe mocha.

“I'm hoping whoever’s moving in isn't one of those people who decorates with lawn gnomes and plastic flamingos.

My property value can't handle that kind of trauma.”

Julie chuckles. “Well, when you meet your new neighbors, send them my way.”

“You know I will.” I finish off the croissant and grab Cookie’s leash as the bell chimes and a group of ladies stream in. “Cookie and I will get out of your hair.” I move closer. “Let’s plan to meet at The Celtic Knot soon. It’s been too long,” I add with a wink.

Julie wriggles her eyebrows and heads to the counter to greet her new customers as we turn to leave.

Several minutes later, we stroll up the sidewalk in front of my house. The moving crew is still weaving in and out like an army of ants carrying food back to the anthill. That huge van must have been packed to the gills to be taking this long.

My gaze lands on a man standing in the driveway, hands on his hips, legs braced, and staring in my direction.

The late afternoon sun is behind him, so I can't make out much detail.

But from what I can tell, he's tall, broad, and well-muscled.

A pair of aviators cover a good portion of his face, and he has darkish hair.

There's something oddly familiar about him, but I can't put my finger on it. He must be in good shape for me to make out the roundedness of his shoulders from my vantage point. Props to his significant other.

He doesn't signal that he notices me, so I don't wave as I make the turn to my house. Of course, my nosy corgi freezes, refusing to budge as she watches the activity with interest.

“Come on, Cookie.” I tug on the leash. “Let's get inside before the mosquitoes attack.”

With an authoritative woof, she follows. Thank goodness. The last thing I want my new neighbor to witness is a wrestling match with my stubborn dog, especially since Cookie would probably win right now. My mind is focused on the bath and a glass of wine that's part of my near future.