I liked our life exactly the way it was. For now. I hoped Greg did too. I ran upstairs to change for the run. The pile of bills could wait.

  When we got to the beach, I questioned Amy’s Vegas choice again. And cursed myself for offering to plan the party. What was I thinking? The beach was empty, so I unsnapped Emma’s leash and shoved it in my pocket. Then we started running.

  The best thing about running on the beach was getting out of my head. I worried a lot. I worried about the store. About my aunt. About Greg, when he was on a case. About us as a couple when he wasn’t. You could describe me as a serial worrier. Or maybe slap a label on me, like OCD. It wasn’t like I checked the light switch three times before I went out of a room, but I did think about what part of my routine I’d missed when I’d left the house.

  Today, Amy’s party was my focus. I didn’t have a plan. And I loved a plan. I made plans for everything, including the shop’s future goals and any upcoming trips Greg and I were taking, even just for the weekend. So first step, who had she invited? I knew my aunt, and Mary, and probably Darla. But what about Esmeralda? What about Tina, her boss’s wife? I’d call Amy as soon as I got home. I’d pull out a notebook and get this party started. Well, the planning part of it anyway.

  I was so lost in my planning that I hadn’t noticed the stranger walking toward me. Emma’s bark drew me out of my thinking mood, and I paused next to her, watching the man move toward us.

  He was dressed in plaid shorts and a crew neck T-shirt. His salt-and-pepper hair was cut short, yet long enough to blow around a bit with the breeze. He waved and smiled at me and, with the action, just above his chiseled, cut jaw, two dimples appeared. Well, wasn’t he just a cutie pie? When he was within earshot, I nodded. “Sorry about having her off the leash. I thought we were alone out here.”

  He put his arms out to soak in the beauty of the day. “I bet you get a lot of days out here without any tourists ruining your run. She didn’t bother me at all.”

  Emma sniffed the man’s hand, then her tail started wagging. In dog terms, that meant the man wasn’t a serial killer. Or at least he hadn’t killed anyone lately that Emma could discern. My dog tended to like most people, so I didn’t totally trust her judgment on new arrivals. “Glad to know. You staying in town?”

  “Yes, I have a room for at least a week at the South Cove Bed and Breakfast. Lovely place, although the room is a bit fluffy for my tastes. Unfortunately, I don’t have a Mrs. to enjoy the décor.” The smile came out again.

  I wondered if I was being hit on. It happened so rarely since I was living with the South Cove police detective. No one wanted to challenge Greg. I decided to move this conversation along and finish my run. “Well, have a nice stay in South Cove. I run the bookstore coffeehouse downtown, so if you’re in need of some reading material, I can hook you up.”

  “I brought a bunch with me, but if I run out, I’ll stop by. Actually, I’m here to write a story. About you, Jill Gardner. Well, actually, about your house.”

  His words made me freeze. He must have seen the concern in my eyes when I heard him call me by name.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. I’d been expecting a gun or, maybe, a knife. I took it, not liking the way my hand was shaking. I looked down at the information and almost laughed. “You’re an author?”

  “I write those travel books everyone buys. The local-charm books? I’m working on a series of historical places not on any register, and your house and the Mission Wall came up during one of my interviews.” He held out a hand. “Mike Masters. That’s my real name. I write under several different pens and, of course, I ghostwrite for a lot of other name authors when I have time in my schedule. But I love writing these history books. I think so much is being destroyed without us ever knowing what our past could tell us.”

  I put the card in my pocket and watched him. The man seemed honest enough. “You said someone told you about the Mission Wall. Was it Frank Gleason?”

  “No. That guy is as tight with information as Fort Knox. He thinks everything he works on is confidential. But it was someone in his office. I can’t tell you their name because I don’t want to get her in trouble.”

  “But it’s a woman?” I took stock of the man in front of me. He probably did really well at signings. He was good-looking and personable.

  He rubbed the side of his face with his hand and grimaced. “I’m really not good at keeping secrets. I’d make a terrible spy. But don’t make me tell you. I’d feel horrible if she got fired or something because of the stupid rules.”

  I wanted to say that sometimes rules weren’t stupid, and that I didn’t want people coming by the house to find the rumored hidden treasure. Mostly because what treasure there had been, I’d already found. “Look, I appreciate your honesty, but let me be up front too. I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want the Mission Wall to be in a travel guide. And I don’t want you in my life anymore. Thanks for asking, but the answer is no.”

  As I started to walk away, he called after me. “Keep the card and think about it. You might change your mind.”

  I didn’t think that was possible, but I needed to warn Greg that Mike the writer was in town and wanted to interview us for this book. Even though Greg didn’t actually own my house, he’d be shown as the owner or friend of the owner. No, it was better for us to have a united front from the first day of this.

  United front. I kind of liked the idea. Emma and I finished our run and headed back to the house to get some things done before dinner. Normal, everyday, couple-type things. I’d like our lives to be boring for a few weeks, or even months. A girl could hope, right?

  Chapter 2

  Greg grabbed the pile of mail I’d left on the kitchen table and did his own sort. I paid the bills for the house, then he sent me his share every payday. We also had a couples travel account that we put extra money in when it came. Right now, we were saving for an Alaskan cruise. My aunt had made noises about wanting to go with us, but I was hoping to keep it just a couple thing. As soon as she asked Greg, though, I knew it would be a done deal. The man may fight criminals for his day job, but he was no match for my aunt when she wanted something.

  “Did you see this letter from the Heritage Society?” He held up the business-sized envelope.

  I stopped chopping veggies for a salad and reached out for the envelope. “Let me have it.”

  Greg handed it over and I put it up to my head. “I see the following. ‘Dear Ms. Gardner. The commission is significantly behind in our historic site evaluation and processing backlog. Please be sure that we are doing everything possible to complete your evaluation as soon as possible due to funding limitations. We will be in touch again in six months to let you know the status of your application. Feel free to contact us directly with any questions. Yours in magic, Mathilda Parker.’”

  “Almost a nice Potter reference, but I don’t believe her last name was Parker. That was Spider-Man.” Greg snatched the letter from the spot on the table where I’d tossed it after my show.

  “I don’t know why I even let anyone talk me into this. The decision takes so long.” I went back to chopping the cabbage for the salad.

  “Because you’re a good citizen, and if there is proof that the wall in your backyard is part of South Cove’s history, you’d move heaven and earth to save it.” He opened the letter himself. “I hate to say it, but your psychic powers are way off the map.”

  “What do you mean?” I didn’t even turn around. It was probably a letter stating the commission was moving or something.

  “The society has issued a decision on the application.”

  I turned, my chef knife still in my hand. “And?”

  “I’m sorry, Jill, they said they don’t have the funding to approve the site.” He kept reading. “Weird, though; they don’t say if it was a historic site or not, just that they don’t have the money to chase it this year.”

  “They spent four years on hold just to tell me the funding is low?” I put the chopped cabbage in a bowl. “What a waste of tax dollars.”

  “It says you can reapply next year if you want.” Greg set the letter down and came behind me and wrapped his arms around me. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. It was stupid anyway.” I felt tears on my cheeks. “I don’t mind, except for Miss Emily. If this land is actually a historic site, it should be protected.”

  “We could just do it ourselves.” He kissed the back of my neck. “Maybe get some press on the issue?”

  I groaned, thinking of the writer I’d just blown off at the beach. “Speaking of media, there’s a writer who’s going to try to get an interview with me or you about the wall. I was thinking our answer should be no comment. But now that the Heritage Society has bailed, maybe we should think about talking to him. What do you think?”

  “I think I’m not getting my barbeque party patio.” He glanced out the window to the backyard. “It’s too bad too. The spot would have been perfect for private evening dinners and a little canoodling.”

  I started to laugh. “Did you really just say canoodling?”

  He gently bit my neck, then let me go. “What can I say, I’ve been hanging out with Harrold too much these last few months. Are they still coming for dinner Sunday night?”

  I finished the salad and cleaned up the sink. “As far as I know. Aunt Jackie’s been busy with inventory. And her shift has really picked up since the chain bookstore in Bakerstown shut down. I hate seeing any bookstore close, but we are gaining a lot of business. Especially the online orders. Deek’s new platform has paid for itself the first quarter out. I may have to give that kid a raise.”

  Greg’s phone buzzed. He picked it up and looked at the text. “Sorry, I’ve got to go. You go ahead and eat. I’ll grill something when I get home.”

  “Something wrong?” Toby Killian, Greg’s part-time deputy and my part-time barista as well as the guy who rented out the shed-turned-apartment in the backyard didn’t usually bother Greg at night unless it was important. Like a murder serious. And we’d had more than our share of those in the last few years for such a little town.

  Greg smiled. “Kind of. At least it’s serious to the sea lion.”

  “Excuse me?” I put wrap over the salad and put it in the fridge. I wasn’t that hungry, and if I waited a few hours, we might still be able to have dinner together.

  “You’ll see it on the news. Toby says there’s already a television crew out there. Look, I’ve got to go save a wandering sea creature. And you say my job’s boring.” He kissed me as he grabbed his keys and left the house.

  “At least it’s not a dead body,” I told Emma as she watched him leave through the back door.

  She barked a response that could have meant she agreed with me, but probably meant “where’s my favorite guy going?”

  I grabbed a bottle of water and went over to the table to work on Amy’s party again. I would figure this out before Greg got back, send an email to Amy for approval, and make the reservations. I’d planned two weddings, my fake one and the one for my failed marriage. I could plan one little party for a few women.

  I opened my notebook and made a list of the things I knew and the things I didn’t. The list of didn’t knows was way longer. I sent an email to Amy with my questions, then started sorting through options.

  I still hadn’t heard from Amy and my head was pounding by the time Greg came home. He came in through the kitchen door and stopped short when he saw me. “I thought you would have been in bed by now.”

  I closed the laptop and put the notebook on top of it. “Nope. Project Bachelorette Party is kicking my butt. Do you know how many options there are for a female-themed party in Vegas? If we were all twentysomethings, I would have been done by now. But I know my aunt’s coming, so our ages range from twentysomething to Aunt Jackie. That’s hard to plan for.”

  He got out the pork chops and frowned when he saw two still on the plate. “And you didn’t eat.”

  “I forgot. And now I have a headache to prove it.” I stood and grabbed the salad and French bread, slicing off a bit. I spread peanut butter on it and started eating. I was starving. “So tell me about the sea lion.”

  He glanced at his watch. “Let me put these on the grill and you turn on the television. Channel Seven will have the story. I’ll fill you in while the meat cooks.”

  I opened the fridge and grabbed two bottles of beer. “You want one?”

  “I do.” He grabbed the chops and the tongs and headed out the door. “I’ll be right back in.”

  We had a small television mounted on the kitchen wall now. Greg’s idea. When I was home alone, most of the televisions stayed off unless I was watching a movie or a cooking show, or if I just wanted some noise in the house. Greg, on the other hand, always seemed to have some sports game or the results of a game on. He also watched the news a lot more than I did. I really didn’t want to hear about all the negative events around us. He wanted—okay, maybe needed—to be informed for his job. I liked to think that my piece of the earth was happy and easy-going. Kind of like a free Disneyland without the rides. Well, maybe like Disneyland if no one was murdered and I didn’t get involved in solving cases all the time. Okay, maybe not like Disneyland at all.

  He came in a few minutes later and I turned down the volume. The murder mystery cop show was just finishing up and the main character was running through a dark alley, getting ready to save the day. He glanced at the screen, then grabbed his beer and sat next to me.

  “Some kids called the station about five. Reporting a sea lion over in Patterson’s soybean field.” He took a swig out of his beer, leaning back in his chair. He’d taken his gun belt off and stored the gun in the safe we kept in the mudroom. It was such an automatic thing now, I didn’t even notice he did it anymore.

  “Wait, isn’t that the field on the other side of the highway from the beach? How in the world did he get over the road?” I was trying to imagine the spot Greg was talking about. The beach at that place was the sunning place for the sea lions when they came in for the day. There was a gate keeping people off that section, allowing the large creatures not to be bothered by tourists and humans wanting a picture. Greg had to rescue people who’d ignored the signs and the fence at least a few times a month.

  “Yeah. From what I could tell, he came up the service road and through the gate, which was wide open. Someone had cut the chain and dropped the lock. I’m going to have to get that replaced in the morning. Right now, we have it wired shut. Then the guy just inched his way about the length of two football fields over the road and into the field.”

  “I can’t believe some car didn’t hit him.”

  The local newscasters came on the screen and Greg turned up the volume. “Here’s the piece.”

  I watched as the large sea lion moved back toward the ocean and through the field. Toby was on one side of the guy, Tim on the other. Greg was talking to the reporter, a few feet away. “We appreciate the call from this guy over here.” Greg pointed to the kids. “It’s great when young people step up to keep our wildlife safe.”

  He grunted next to me, and I eyed him. “You think the kids are the ones who broke open the gate?”

  “I think this kid had a lot of friends and they were the ones who started this chain of events. That kid was the only one who stayed around and called it in when the sea lion got out of the fence. He had the good sense to call for help, even if it meant he was in trouble.”

  I watched as the camera panned over to the teenager who stood watching, his face pale and his eyes downcast. “What’s going to happen to him?”

  “He’ll probably get a commendation from the mayor for good citizenship. Which is going to make him feel even guiltier. But maybe we caught him early from a life of bad pranks gone wrong.” He stood. “Pause that a second. I need to flip the chops.”

  When he came back, we finished watching the video clip. I turned off the television. “You looked like a hero on television.”

  “Yeah, Marvin is going to hate that. Even with the election over and his seat secured for four more years, he’s convinced he’s going to lose the spot to me as soon as I actually run for mayor.” He sipped his beer and nodded to the fridge. He stood and kissed me. “You get the rest ready and I’ll go get the chops. I’m starving. And I’m really glad I don’t have to eat alone tonight.”

  That brought a smile to my lips. My hero boyfriend. It sounded like a title to one of the romances Sadie purchased by the truckload.

  * * * *

  I realized the next morning that we really hadn’t talked about Mike the writer and if we wanted our house to be on the unofficial register of historic stops on the central California coast. Greg had left early to take care of the paperwork on rescuing the sea lion. Which was surprisingly extensive. He’d told me that there were at least five agencies where he had to file his official report, not including the South Cove Police Department. And he had additional deadlines to meet, so it would be a morning filled with paperwork. We were still on our winter schedule at the shop, so I didn’t open until seven. So I had time to run with Emma before walking into town for my shift.

  Have I mentioned how much I love living in South Cove lately? When I worked in the city, I had an apartment, but I still had to take a bus to the stop closest to the law firm’s building, then walk from there. Which was great on nice days. I started to hate the rain after a week of downpours, when I’d had to carry dress shoes in my backpack and schedule my arrival at least an hour before my first meeting so my suits would have time to dry out a bit. My hair just pulled into a tighter curl, so there wasn’t anything I could do with it. Humidity plus curly hair equaled frizz. My boss called me Rosanne Roseannadana on those days, and I’d had to Google the reference, but she hadn’t been wrong.