Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
A shley tugged the cuffs of her worn sweatshirt over her fingers. Despite the change of dry clothes, dressing for comfort and not style, she still hadn’t warmed up. Inside the vehicle with Christopher, the air had hung heavy and unmoving. Full of suspense and anticipation. But the moment she had slipped out into the pine-soaked fresh air, she’d been chilled to her bone.
She entered the coffee shop through the open front door, her steps creaking on the uneven pine floorboards. The smell of coffee and the whir of the bean grinder greeted her first. She scanned the interior, noting most of the tables were occupied.
Approaching the counter, she ordered a hot chocolate with whipped cream and stood to the side. She loved the warm ambiance of the coffee shop. Her stint working in one hadn’t been enough to cure her of the good feelings. Despite her lack of skills, she’d recharged every time she met a smile or chatted with a new customer. Extroverts did their best in public, and she was no exception.
It was why the only way she could stay in Loon Lake was in the center of the action at the Inn. If he cared about her, he wouldn’t deny her the chance. But if she cared about him, she wouldn’t ask him to sacrifice his career. Her temples throbbed. The longer she stayed, the more confused her goals and motivations were.
“There you are!” A gruff, wheezy voice called.
She stiffened, lifting her shoulders to her ears and slowly turning toward the door.
Carl Prim shook a beefy finger as he approached, his ruddy cheeks shining from exertion.
Behind him, head and shoulders above, Steve mouthed sorry .
“Oh, hi, Carl.” She forced a smile. “Hi again, Steve. Thank you so much for the rescue earlier.”
“You were supposed to wait for us,” Carl said. “Wait. Not leave. Stay.”
When a man raised his voice at her, she knew the expectations. The man wanted her to go meek and boneless, nodding like a good girl and apologizing for nonexistent errors and faults. But she’d never been called submissive or obedient. Instead, she got angry. She was not a child, and she would not be told what to do. Steve had angled her into the hospital, and she’d been too stunned by his agreement about her ghost to push back and insist he take her home.
But she wouldn’t be intimidated by him or his father. And she wouldn’t be addressed like she was a stray dog. The last man who tried that had been sorely disappointed to learn just how stubborn and strong-willed she was. Her heart ached a little for Dad and the hollow victory. She widened her stance and lifted her chin. “No. I was fine. I appreciate your concern, but I am perfectly sound and was able to leave.”
Carl sputtered, opening up his mouth again.
“And besides,” she continued before he could speak. “I’ve already talked to Christopher about the dinner cruise. I think it’s great. You have my support.” She nodded at Steve.
Now, the younger Prim gaped at her. “You do?”
The barista called, “Ashley.”
She turned grateful to be saved from a response or giving either man any more of her attention. Grabbing the hot chocolate, she took a sip and turned away. Surveying the room again, she spotted Seth at a table near the window.
She glanced back over her shoulder, ignoring Carl and smiling at Steve. It was a shame he couldn’t escape from under his father’s thumb. Couldn’t the Inn somehow absorb the marina and bring Steve on board? He was too gentle to deal with the constant barrage of insults.
But maybe that was just Ashley feeling petty and wanting to take everything good away from Carl.
Lonnie Treacle appeared behind Steve and Carl. “Guys, glad you’re here. Come join me.” He eyed Ashley warily and tilted his head to a table in the window.
She understood. The last place she wanted to be was seated with that trio on display for anyone walking past the coffee shop. She wouldn’t have paired them as friends. But perhaps being old-timers gave them a shared sense of purpose. She hoped they weren’t plotting against her husband. She couldn’t fight for him as a double agent on every front.
Could she find an alliance with the younger crowd? Today’s meeting was a good place to start. She made her way towards Seth. But as she neared, she realized he wasn’t alone.
He’d told her about his meeting with Elise McKenna. She’d forgotten. Ashley could only hope he had offered a similar warning to the woman in return as she approached the table.
With a starched collar that was buttoned to the top, pale white skin, a constant expression of boredom, and brown hair tightly pulled back in a bun, Elise, leader of the historical society and director of the town tourism board, made an excellent ghost. Perhaps she would have been a good recruit if she hadn’t always looked down on Ashley’s antics as childish. How strange now to see the woman sitting side by side with Seth, arguably an even more foolish dreamer, and a small smile tugging up the corners of her mouth.
Elise would have been a better match for Christopher.
Even thinking it squeezed her heart so tight, Ashley struggled to take a full breathe. She reached the table. “Good afternoon. Am I too early?”
Elise lifted her chin and frowned.
“Not at all,” Seth said with a smile. “We were finishing up.”
Ashley pulled out a chair opposite the pair and sat. “What are you working on?”
Elise’s forehead wrinkles deepened.
The flaw in the woman’s otherwise perfect fa?ade encouraged Ashley to keep pushing. Elise was so calm, cool, and collected. She evaded every argument with polite manners. Her adherence to etiquette grated Ashley’s nerves, because she only realized Elise’s slights after the fact.
“I had a few ideas for next year’s big quasquicentennial celebration,” Seth said.
“Wow. It almost rolls off the tongue. I’m surprised you need much more than that,” Ashley said, hoping her teasing tone was effectively delivered.
Elise remained unmoved.
Seth chuckled. “It is something. One hundred and twenty-five years. Elise is heading up the committee.”
“Yes, I’ll have lots more to share with the Inn soon,” Elise said primly.
At least she hadn’t fired a verbal shot by singling out Christopher as the sole decision-maker, even if her wary expression held steady. How strange to encounter another naysayer when she’d been so welcomed by the shopkeepers on the boardwalk. Now she had to wonder why she hadn’t received more pushback.
Zach, Seth, Lonnie, and the others joined Team Ashley almost as soon as she returned. She reevaluated how much the response was due to her and how much was an angry show against Christopher. Was she viewed as the lesser of two evils or the easier to manage? She’d have to think about it more. Later. Now she squirmed in her chair for a meeting she’d arranged but had become the third wheel at. “Is there a theme?”
“Seth was sharing a few slogans.”
Seth blushed.
That bad ? Ashley could only blame herself for asking. She had to prepare to not react. “Oh really?”
“You can’t choose other people’s memories. Make good ones that’ll last over a century on Loon Lake,” Elise said.
Ashley gaped. The surprising sentiment touched her heart. She couldn’t control the narrative or influence anyone’s opinion. She’d been trying to do both her whole life, especially with Christopher. She feared her husband considered her the comic relief and not serious enough for a real partnership.
“Ouch,” Seth whispered.
Ashley shook her head and rubbed at her watery eyes. “No. It’s good. Really good. That just kind of…” She pressed her right hand over her heart. “Sorry, it hit me. I wasn’t expecting that.” She smiled at Seth. He was a hustler. His print shop was a full-time job. But he still pursued his other interests.
“I was talking to Elise about your online stuff. I suggested you as the digital liaison,” Seth said.
Elise stiffened.
Ashley did her best to keep her reaction neutral. Pitying the dreamer went both ways? Zach must have asked Seth to help her in the same way Christopher asked Ashley to partner with Seth. She and Seth had more in common than she realized . Why not team up? “I’m sure there will be a lot of details to settle.”
“And you’ll have the Inn,” Elise added in very clipped tones.
Somehow, she made the casual words threatening. Was she shy and uncomfortable around someone she hadn’t seen in years and had never had anything in common with? Or was it something more?
Elise pushed back her chair. “I’ll be in touch, Seth.”
“Thanks.” He stood and stuck out a hand.
He was all fumbling gestures and stiff points. Elise wasn’t much smoother, raising one hand and then the other. Their handshake seemed overly enthusiastic and lingering.
Ashley glanced away from the awkward goodbye. Was this what she looked like around her husband? At least she could count out the other woman as a love rival. Ashley had to figure out a solution to a new problem. How did she make Christopher fall in love with her again?
“Goodbye, Ashley,” Elise said.
Ashley lifted a hand and nodded.
Seth sat and leaned forward. “Hey, are you okay? We can reschedule if this isn’t a good time for you?”
“Umm?”
“I heard about the lake. Are you feeling alright?”
He did? Heat swept up her neck as a shiver raced down her spine. In a second, she was back in her sopping clothes, feeling foolish on the Prim’s boat. “I’m fine.”
“You were at the lighthouse? Did you see anything unusual? Any strange movements in the water?”
She shook her head.
“That’s too bad. Zach is going to write an article about your ghost.”
“Oh?” Her response was more gasp than vocalization. She hated her initial reaction to question whether Zach believed her ghost story or wanted ammunition against Christopher.
“When I went public about the lake monster, I had an initial rush of leads. Maybe you’ll get something positive out of it. Before we talk about Soupy, I was hoping you could drop something off at the Inn?”
“Sure.”
He pushed a box on the ground toward her.
Bending, she was glad for the excuse to hide her face under the table and take a break from the conversation. “What’s this?” she asked, reaching inside for a smooth faux leather portfolio before straightening.
“The menus for the Inn. It took me several attempts to stop the smearing and fix the formatting. But I hope Christopher will be pleased. Third time’s the charm, right?”
She opened the menu and widened her gaze. The letterpress printing on textured paper invited her to run her fingers down the sheet. “I can’t imagine he won’t be. These are beautiful.”
“Thanks. I invested in a new machine when I took over. I had to work through the kinks of the process. But now I have a handle on it. I should be good to go from here on out. I promise.”
She closed the menu and held it to her chest like a talisman. Christopher would be the biggest supporter of anyone trying to better themselves. And he believed in Seth. It’s why Seth had so many opportunities to fix the mistake and why Christopher encouraged her to help.
What memories had Christopher made ? She’d always thought of him as her partner in crime. As the lead character, he was her equal and her foil. Never her sidekick. Was reality totally different ? She slipped the portfolio into her purse behind the envelope.
In the chaos of the day, she’d forgotten to give the package to Christopher. She could have handed it over in the car on the drive home from the hospital. She was lucky her bag hadn’t been blown apart by the explosion or tossed into the water. What had the delay cost him? A job? Would he have to stay?
“You said you had some ideas about Soupy?” Seth asked.
“Yes.” She nodded, glad to push aside her worry over her husband’s next act. “My impression from the other day is that you’re leaning into the paranormal phenomenon with real facts about mosasaurs.”
“Exactly. The book is informational about mosasaurs and the ancient history of this region.”
“I think it’s the wrong direction. It’s not very endearing to hear about prey, especially considering you propose this creature is in the lake and could devour us all. That’s not a positive for tourism.”
“What do you propose?”
“Couldn’t Soupy be more like Puff the Magic Dragon?”
He scrunched his face. “But Soupy is real. I’ve seen him. I don’t want kids thinking they can ride on his back or pet him. Can you imagine the lawsuits?”
Her stomach twisted. She didn’t want to stop the creativity, but Seth needed to be grounded in some reality, or the project wouldn’t take off.
“I don’t quite follow why you want me to turn him into a fairy tale,” Seth said.
She was glad he cut through her thoughts. She wasn’t sure where she was heading either. She cleared her throat. “What else can be said about history? You have something unique to offer here. Have you ever considered writing a different sort of book?”
“Sure, of course I have.” He shrugged.
She relaxed, letting out a ragged breath.
“I’ve been working on a memoir for years. Nothing is written down. I just sort of think about what I would include. I use my phone to record my thoughts sometimes. Dad and I researched for years. He motivated the whole project. He encouraged me every step. Sharing my experiences might be just what others need to explain their paranormal encounters. Give others tools to advocate for themselves.”
It was hard to argue with sweet, sincere Seth. She’d probably love to read his book about searching for Soupy with his dad. The retelling of a wonderful parent and child relationship would only add to the ache and longing for something she’d never had. “A memoir is one angle. But I’m thinking about Soupy from a children’s picture book perspective. That’s your best bet for merchandising and scaling up. Good IP is priceless. Could Soupy teach a lesson?”
“He can explain about being a mosasaur. Also, hopefully he can shed light on some new research. Mosasaurs lived in shallow salt water, but there is evidence of freshwater mosasaurs, too. Did you know plesiosaurs lived in freshwater rivers? A lot of exciting developments.”
She nodded, her lips straining under the weight of pleasantries. Had Seth missed his calling? He had a lot of enthusiasm. “Or maybe he’s lonely? Having a hard time fitting it until he learns he has to stand out?” Is that me? The conversation was derailing. She came as a concession to Christopher and was now uncovering more of her insecurities than she had ever guessed existed.
“So… not roaming the lake?”
She shook her head.
“I’ll give it a try. I want to stick to the facts about Soupy and not write some fantasy about the monster. But maybe I can explain how the prey has evolved as the landscape has changed? I’m sure the science could be really interesting to schools to help keep kids engaged in learning.”
She held his stare. Was she this hard-headed about the ghost? An accident sparking the fire was the most rational explanation. Her memory wasn’t infallible. She didn’t think she could have caused the blaze, but how else could she explain it?
The explosion was simply the next step after the building suffered so much damage. Maybe she was wrong. The strange skin-crawling encounters were hard to explain. The emotions clogged her throat, and the moments were locked in her visceral awareness. Something lingered at that lighthouse. Christopher was on board to meet her tonight. She’d propose a stakeout. And she’d prove she wasn’t making up the incidents. They could both be right.
She had to have him on her side.
“Yes, that would be a great start,” she said. “I am curious about something. The other day at the ice cream shop, you mentioned an encounter with Soupy?”
“Yep. As a kid.”
“Tell me more.”
“Do you really want to know? You aren’t worried you’ll get too scared to get into the water?”
Not likely . She didn’t want to discourage him. She had the sense Zach and Christopher didn’t believe Seth as much as they supported him. She wanted more information before she got on board. Someone didn’t claim to see a long-extinct dinosaur relative with no reason behind it nor did a person perpetuate the myth without having a strong positive or negative memory attached to the moment of discovery.
She wasn’t seeking to make sense of the psychology behind Seth using his fervent belief for Soupy to process his grief. She’d admit to herself that she wanted to work through his encounter to help her understand her own otherworldly experience. “I promise I won’t.”
“My dad loved ice fishing. He made me go. I hated every second. It was cold and boring. We had nothing in common. One trip, everything changed. I was alone in the hut. A dark shape swam under the ice. I got off my seat and kneeled on the ground near the hole. It opened its jaws and displayed its massive rows of teeth. I couldn’t explain it. For once, Dad didn’t brush me off when I told him or tried to explain. He listened. We went back the next weekend and the next. I didn’t make another sighting until a year later. But that didn’t discourage me. Dad got into the hunt too. We researched and studied. Once, we traveled to Chicago for a special museum exhibit about Mosasaurs. Before he died, he asked me to keep going. He didn’t want me to give up. I won’t.”
I miss my dad, too. She opened her mouth and quickly shut it. Her children’s book angle wasn’t wrong, but knowing what she did now, she’d admit her instinct had been dismissive. Seth had reasons for Soupy she could understand. She needed to support and not challenge him. Maybe someone would do the same for her regarding the ghost.
* * *
Christopher hadn’t strolled along the boardwalk in a year. He’d been meaning to for a while. The Memorial Day kickoff was more chaotic than usual, with stormy weather that continued into the first few weeks of June. After losing Xavier, however, Christopher had operated in a fog. Now, with the start of an understanding between him and Ashley, the sun burned off the low-hanging clouds, and he could see the terrain again.
And he spotted Zach Jenkins blocking his path. Metaphorically.
At the ice cream shop, Christopher dragged in the deepest breath he could and pulled open the door.
The silky-smooth voice of a male R&B singer lured the unsuspecting inside. Can we talk? Christopher almost choked on an ill-timed chortle. If only a conversation could smooth over years of distrust on both sides. They were way beyond civilized discussions.
Zach wanted blood.
Christopher wouldn’t claim innocence on his part of the long-simmering feud. From the start, he’d retaliated against every one of Zach Jenkins’ petty remarks with some form of passive aggression from himself or his business. A mediator or a miracle were the only viable solutions.
Nineties R&B couldn’t hide the sins of the proprietor of the shop, as much as Zach might wish.
Christopher strode toward the counter.
The wind had picked up, chilling the day. Ashley had probably encountered an afternoon crowd at the coffee shop, tourists seeking hot beverages. Less than a half dozen patrons savored a cold treat around two bistro tables in the front window.
“Yo! It’s a great day to keep it real. How may I help you?” Zach asked with his typically brittle tone. He was the iciest thing in the shop. Dressed like a geriatric member of a failed hip-hop revival, he crossed his arms over his chest and his chin hardened. He assumed a tough pose for the D-list group’s latest album cover.
It was hard not to laugh at a grown man in neon and overalls. But Christopher wouldn’t dare provoke him, no matter how funky fresh the ensemble. Instead, he arched a brow. “Have a minute?” He was always careful in front of tourists. More than anyone, he was aware of his public image.
Zach dried his hands on his apron. “Scotty,” he called without turning. “Cover the front, please?”
Sneakers squeaked on the tile, and a pimpled kid burst through the door to the backroom in a neon apron to stand at Zach’s side.
“Let’s step out back,” Zach said.
Christopher nodded and strode the length of the counter toward the exterior door. He pushed open the fire-rated metal panel and scanned the gravel lot filled with dumpsters and cars for the employees of each shop.
He wasn’t sure this was a better place for the conversation. For his sake, his office would have been best. At least he didn’t spot anyone with pitchforks waiting to march on the Inn.
The door slammed shut.
“How can I help you? Need more projections?” Zach rubbed his hands together. “Perhaps you want to see my dream journal, too?”
Christopher crossed his arms over his chest. He couldn’t totally hide his incredulity, but he successfully held back an eyeroll. Not giving into his worst impulses to taunt back was going to cause him to develop a twitch. “I trust you want what is best for the community and businesses as much as I do.”
“Of course.”
Deep breath in one, two, three, and release. If Christopher hoped the breathing technique would slow the rapid race of his pulse, he was wrong. His fingers itched to curl into a fist and punch the smug grin off Zach’s face. At least he hadn’t been told to talk to the hand. “Then I have to wonder at your methods.”
Zach rolled his eyes. “Always so formal and fancy. You love a ten-dollar word when a penny would do. Say what you mean.”
“Why are you blogging about the lighthouse and a ghost?”
Zach shrugged. “Why not? Ashley seems pretty convinced there is something supernatural occurring at the property. Shouldn’t her voice count?”
Not in this way. Christopher gritted his back teeth.
“She is your wife. Shouldn’t you be supporting her?”
Christopher might have growled. He definitely curled his upper lip. He wouldn’t have his honor called into question by this man. “Enough. I’m handling what is happening at the Inn. I don’t need any outside involvement.”
“You demand respect for your boundaries, but you won’t do the same for us in return? Mind our own business and leave yours alone?” Zach wagged a finger. “Tsk tsk. Very unbecoming.”
Christopher wanted to say a lot. Words like criminal investigation floated through his brain. But how much could he give away? Being provoked by a bully wasn’t anything new. He wouldn’t give in to the urge to silence his opponent and reveal too much. “I guess I don’t understand you. What is best for the Inn is best for the whole town.”
“We disagree about the definition of best .”
“You think Ashley is the winner? Or do you think she’ll be easy to control?”
“She’d definitely change things up. We could all use that.”
She would. But without someone to reign in her flights of fancy, she’d be running from one ghost story to another. Chaos would ensue. If channeled properly, she was an asset. “The Inn is central to the town.”
“Maybe it shouldn’t be. Maybe we’re tired of living in a dictatorship and want a democracy.”
Christopher snorted. “Or you intend to set up a puppet autocracy.”
“Well, the stories are interesting.” Zach stroked his chin. “I didn’t give Ashley any credit for her ghost theory. But now that she’s supporting Soupy, perhaps I should give her idea another look. And, of course, there is still the treasure.”
Christopher rolled his eyes. “There is no treasure. You know that. It was a marketing ploy.”
“And it’s still working. I get that you tried to set up Ashley as some sort of mole. But you’re not the only player in this game.”
Christopher couldn’t shake his distrust or his respect for the other man. While Christopher admitted he was guilty of trying to use Ashley’s return for his gain, he had never worked against her. In his heart, he wanted to establish a partnership for their own best interests. But his attempts at controlling how he let her back into his life had failed. She owned him body and soul. He owed Zach no explanation. Christopher lifted his gaze to Zach’s. “This all started because a savvy guy like you didn’t want to write a business plan. Your anger and campaign against me started with numbers. Do you see how silly this has all become? And I think, deep down, you’re grateful that I forced you to analyze your books. That makes you madder than anything.”
Zach flared his nostrils like he’d breathe fire. “You know, I can’t wait to see what Ashley does with the Inn. She is so creative.” He turned and stalked back inside his shop, slamming the door.
Christopher stood in place. The longer he stared at the door, focusing on inhaling and exhaling, the more his vision cleared. He wasn’t sure how long he remained. But slowly, the world came back into view, no longer tinged with angry red but the bright colors of the day.
And then he moved. If he stayed, he was likely to get hit by a bag of garbage Zach would gleefully fling at him from the ice cream shop.
Christopher strode along the gravel road connecting the boardwalk shops to the main street. The building’s public entrances overlooked the lake. The back doors faced the road, making deliveries and garbage day out of sight from the guests’ view.
It also gave the long stretch a false sense of peace. The pine scent was strong enough to cover the trash. Bird song echoed. The cool air refreshed even the weariest of souls.
Loon Lake managed to avoid much of the commercialization that overtook a lot of other communities. But it was a constant battle to maintain their way of life. The future held no guarantees.
Tires crunched over the gravel.
He lifted his head off his feet just in time to spot the SUV barreling down the road. Jumping back, he slammed into a dumpster, the lid hitting his back. He wrapped his arms around himself, tight, hoping compression might ease the sharp ache piercing him.
A door slammed shut.
The sound reverberated against his ribs, and he shut his eyes.
“Chris?” Seth Boyd asked, his heavy steps coming close. “Oh, man. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
Only one person used the nickname. Opening one eye at a time, Christopher spotted Seth.
Chewing his lip and nervously shifting his weight, Seth would probably offer assistance.
Christopher didn’t need any help. He dropped his arms and stood as straight as he was able. “I’m okay. What’s got you in such a hurry?”
“Hold on a sec.” Seth held up a finger before racing to the trunk. He opened the back, grabbed a box, and shuffled over. With a big grin, he set the box down and pulled out a newspaper. “Check this out.”
Christopher grabbed one, impressed by the feel of the print. “You printed this?”
“I did.” Seth’s grin broadened. “I had an idea, and the local business owners bought ads, so I could get going with it. This is sort of a test run. I’m dropping off a box at Lonnie’s and Zach’s to start. They’ve been really supportive of the whole thing.”
Christopher stiffened. The project might not be in his best interest if those two were involved. He scanned the front page. “ The Summer of Soupy ,” he read the headline out loud.
“Yeah, this was before I met with Ashley. We just finished up. She had a lot of great ideas about Soupy, but this was already complete. Can you give her a copy? I forgot to give her one when she grabbed the menus. I squeezed in a whole section devoted to her ghost.”
From the very center of his being, Christopher radiated his displeasure with a deep, furrowed brow. What would an article achieve? He worried someone had taken advantage of an opportunity, the fire, and risked her life with the explosion unknowingly.
More attention on her ghost story wouldn’t help. Curious onlookers would mill on the lakeshore and complicate his surveillance of the lighthouse. Should he call the police and file a report before his insurance company caught wind of the issue?
Why hadn’t she asked him for his advice? He promised to discuss her sightings. Her lack of faith disappointed him, lodging a rock in his throat. “She wrote an article for you?”
“No, no. Zach did. But I think she’ll be pleased. He’s a good writer.”
Christopher opened the paper, scanning the local calendar and ads until he spotted the article, a full page in the center. Words popped off the newsprint. Conspiracy? Treasure? Danger? Throbbing started in his temples and continued down along every nerve ending. Zach had done more than just blog on a page no one would visit. He found a way to bring the fight to the public and used Seth as a shield. More than that, he called Christopher’s bluff.
If Christopher avoided the tabloid blog The Jenkins Report , he’d have a harder time ignoring stacks of print in every building in town, including his lobby. Loon Lake Life might be a newspaper to Seth, but it was an incendiary eighteenth-century revolutionary pamphlet to Christopher. Or so Zach Jenkins would have it. Christopher wouldn’t give in to his nemesis with an outburst.
“You’ll tell her?”
“Sure.”
A crash of metal on metal saved him from more response or having to gracefully decline to accept any copies for the Inn.
“Hey, Seth,” Lonnie called from the fudge shop door. “You coming?”
“Yes, sir,” Seth said, straightening the box in his arms. “Bye, Chris.”
Christopher nodded. With a heavy sigh, Christopher decided on the long way along the gravel road back to the Inn. Maybe crunching stones under his feet would drown out the voices in his head. Or maybe he owed himself and her the truth.