“We’ll make this year a celebration of what the year hasbrought us,” Bennett said. “And share it with others. That’s what we do in Summer Beach.”
“The holidays at the inn are different,” Ivy said thoughtfully. She recalled guests they’d had in years past, those who’d appeared with gifts of the spirit they hadn’t known they needed.
This was the season of harvest, the time to reap what had been planted. “I wonder if we planted enough goodwill to harvest this year?”
Bennett chuckled. “Every crop grows better with fertilizer. With the renovation, you certainly had your share of manure, so to speak.”
Though Ivy laughed at his joke, she still had a prickly feeling that this year’s harvest season might serve up the unexpected.
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 wasbrewing coffee and selling it on the beach to the morning surfers.
