Chapter 5
Bennett braced his foot against the side of Mitch’s boat, testing the tension on the rope he’d just secured. The dock swayed beneath them, responding to the gentle roll of the harbor. Overhead, white seagulls circled and called.
“That should hold.” Bennett brushed off his deck shoes and straightened, wiping his palms on his khaki shorts. “When did this cleat start pulling loose?”
“Last charter trip. I noticed it when we were cruising the coastline.” Mitch ran his hand along the hull, checking the repair. “This boat keeps threatening retirement, but we’re not there yet.”
The craft showed its age in the weathered trim and faded deck paint, but everything else reflected careful maintenance. Bennett had been aboard enough times to know Mitch treated the vessel like family. Regular upkeep, prompt repairs, nothing deferred.
“How does she handle with a full group?” Bennett asked.
“Steady and comfortable.” Mitch moved toward the stern, inspecting another cleat. “The small cabins below make overnight trips possible, like runs to Catalina Island. Even the Channel Islands. People want experiences now, not just a sunset cruise.”
Bennett followed him. They’d all returned from the crush just a couple of days ago. “Speaking of experiences, any more on the vandalism at Java Beach?”
Mitch glanced back at him. “The Polynesian beach scene on the side wall is completely trashed. Jagged black paint streaks across the whole mural. Have you seen it yet?”
“When I went for my run this morning. Looks like you tried to clean it off.”
Mitch’s jaw tightened. “Shelly and I scrubbed it some when we got back from the vineyard, but it was useless. The whole thing needs to be redone.”
“I’m sorry, man.” Bennett shook his head. “Any idea who did it?”
“None. Happened sometime after closing and before Ginger’s book club ended.” Mitch picked up the wrench and turned it over in thought. “Most of the chairs and tables I put out there for customers were okay. Two chairs were broken, but they can be repaired.”
Bennett watched the water lap against the hull, considering his next words. “I was at Nailed It earlier, and Jen mentioned that she and George caught something on the hardware store’s security camera.”
Mitch looked up sharply. “I saw they called, but I haven’t gotten back to them. What did they see?”
“Someone walking around the corner of your building toward the beach during the time you said it happened.” Bennett crossed his arms. “Looked like a skinny guy with jeans and a dark hoodie with something printed on the back. Couldn’t make out the face.
The camera angle was wrong, but the build suggested a teenager, maybe early twenties. ”
“Half the guys around here fit that description, including me, but that’s more than we had before.” Mitch set down the wrench. “Did they give that to Clark?”
“Jen gave it to the police officers. They’re working on it.” Bennett hesitated. “I might have an idea who it is.”
“Yeah?”
“My morning runs take me through town around six. For the past couple of weeks, I’ve seen a young guy matching that description.
Similar hoodie, dark with faded lettering across the back.
Can’t quite read it, but it’s there. He’s always alone, walking with his hands shoved into his pockets like he’s trying not to be noticed. ”
Bennett had been watching him, and something about the guy made him think of Mitch when he’d first seen him at the beach years ago. The young man had been on his mind lately, and this was disturbing Bennett.
Mitch frowned. “Where does he hang out?”
“Different spots. Sometimes near the marina. Once by the public restrooms at the beach access. Yesterday, I saw him sitting on a bench near the library lot.” Bennett rubbed the back of his neck.
“He’s got that look. Unwashed hair, same clothes.
My guess is he’s homeless or a runaway. Probably both. ”
Mitch looked out at the horizon. “Kind of like I was.”
Bennett didn’t need to say anything. When he’d discovered Mitch all those years ago, he was just released from prison but also determined to make a fresh start. He was brewing coffee and selling it on the beach to the morning surfers.
“Do you think he’s in trouble?” Mitch asked.
“I can’t tell. He doesn’t seem like he’s on drugs, and he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave.”
Mitch’s anger seemed to deflate, and concern filled his eyes. “He might be staying at the shelter or looking for work.”
“Possibly. They don’t have many beds, so he could be sleeping on the beach. There are spots in the coves where someone could camp without being obvious. I haven’t seen him since last week.”
“I feel kind of bad for him,” Mitch said quietly.
“Still, if he wrecked my mural and destroyed property, that’s not okay.
But if he’s homeless or running from trouble, that’s another story.
” He trailed off, continuing to stare in thought.
“There’s a reason people lash out like that. Usually, they’re hurt or angry.”
“Doesn’t make it right.”
“No, but it’s understandable.” Mitch picked up his toolbox, sliding it toward the dock.
“The artist who painted the original mural is Carmella. She paints murals all over Southern California and got her start as a graffiti artist. I’m not saying that was right, but she’s talented and learned her craft.
Now she paints a lot of murals. Anyway, my regulars at Java Beach set up a fund to pay her to repaint it, and they’ve already raised enough.
So that’s taken care of. Carmella can use the work, so in a funny way, it’s a win. ”
Bennett lifted a corner of his mouth. “The community sure shows up for you.”
Mitch climbed onto the dock, offering Bennett a hand up. “Doesn’t mean I wasn’t disappointed about the vandalism when it happened. But at least the place wasn’t robbed or the kitchen smashed up.”
They secured the boat, double-checking lines before gathering their tools. The afternoon sun hung low over the water. A few other boat owners worked on their vessels nearby, calling out greetings as Bennett and Mitch headed from the marina.
Bennett was reaching for his keys when Mitch stopped abruptly.
“Hey, is that the dude?”
Bennett followed his gaze. Walking along the marina access road, head down and shoulders hunched, was the guy. Same dark hoodie with faded lettering. Same jeans, torn at the knees. Same defeated posture.
“That’s him,” Bennett said softly.
They exchanged a look. Mitch set down his toolbox by the vehicle. “Let’s talk to him.”
They approached carefully, not wanting to spook the kid into running. Bennett took the lead, keeping his voice neutral and non-threatening.
“Hey, buddy. Excuse me.”
The kid froze, eyes darting between them like he was calculating escape routes. Up close, Bennett saw he was younger than expected. Sixteen, maybe seventeen. Gaunt cheeks. Dark circles under wary eyes.
“I didn’t do anything,” the kid said automatically.
“Didn’t say you did.” Bennett stopped a few feet away, keeping his posture open. “Just want to talk to see if you need help. I’m Bennett Dylan. We’re not cops.”
“I know who you are.” The kid’s voice carried an edge. “You’re the mayor. Saw you in the paper.”
Bennett gestured toward Mitch. “And this is Mitch Kline. He owns Java Beach, the coffee shop.”
Something flickered across the kid’s face, maybe guilt, but he masked it quickly. “So?”
“Someone vandalized Mitch’s place a couple nights ago. Spray-painted the mural on the side wall and broke some furniture.”
The kid’s jaw tightened. “That doesn’t mean it was me.”
“You’re right. It doesn’t.” Mitch stepped forward, his voice gentler than Bennett expected.
“It’s cool, though. The artist is going to repaint it.
You know, when I landed in Summer Beach, I was kind of lost and hungry.
Now that I have my coffee shop, I usually make more food than I need.
Some of the surfers chasing the waves stop by.
I’m usually in the kitchen, and there’s a back door. Come anytime you’re hungry.”
“I don’t need help.” The words came out defensive, brittle. “I’m fine.”
“Are you?” Bennett asked. “Because from where I’m standing, you look like someone who’s been sleeping rough and hasn’t had a decent meal in days. Maybe you left home, and maybe you had good reason.”
The kid’s eyes went glassy. He blinked hard, looking away. “I didn’t mean to,” he began, then stopped.
“Listen, dude,” Mitch said, lowering his voice. “If you did it, you need to own that sometime. But I think you’re hurting. And I’d rather help you than throw you to the cops. I know what the inside of a cell looks like. It ain’t pretty.”
The kid stared at them with raw desperation in his eyes. For a moment, Bennett thought he might confess and let them help him.
Then his expression shuttered. “I have to go.”
He turned and hurried off, not quite running but close. Bennett started to follow, but Mitch caught his arm.
“Let him go.”
They watched the kid disappear around the corner toward a beach path.
Bennett pulled out his phone. “I’ll call Clark and tell him we just talked to the kid. Maybe the police can track him down before he bolts.”
Mitch shook his head. “I think he’s scared. Do you need to make that call right now?”
“This puts me in a tough spot. I should.”
“I won’t press charges.”
Bennett sighed. “I still need to make the call.”
Mitch drew a hand over his jaw. “I’ll bet that was a grainy video. Could have been anyone with jeans and a hoodie. Heck, I looked like that when I was his age. But you do what you need to do.”
Bennett dialed Clark’s number. The phone rang twice before the police chief answered. Bennett turned away, lowering his voice as he explained what just happened.
He stood by the marina railing, looking out at the boats rocking gently in their slips. “I’ve seen this kid around, but I can’t be sure he was the one in the video Jen showed me. Might be one of the surfers passing through. They’re usually harmless. Maybe Brother Rip has seen him around.”
The dreadlocked pastor served locals and itinerant surfers, often surfing with them in the morning and afternoon when the waves were good. He also officiated at beach weddings, including Bennett and Ivy’s.
After speaking with the chief and hanging up, he turned back to Mitch. “I did what I could.”
“Thanks, man. I hope he stops by the kitchen. I feel bad that I didn’t even ask his name. I’d like to hear his story.”
Mitch’s compassion was touching, especially since Bennett knew what he’d been through. “Maybe he will.”