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.”
6
“How about a wine tasting?” Shelly suggested, tapping her pencil at the desk in the foyer. “Emilie and Tristan want to visit anyway, and they could sell their wine.”
“I forgot to mention that we agreed on a wine tasting week in the new year,” Ivy replied. “But they might like to join us for our Thanksgiving celebration, unless they have other plans. I’ll ask them.”
Even though several days had passed, Ivy still thought about the magical weekend she’d shared at the vineyard with her family and friends. The couple enjoyed visiting while their vines were sleeping in the winter.
However, Ivy couldn’t afford to let the inn sleep in the off-season. To many travelers, this was the best time to visit Summer Beach. Crowds were thinner, and the beach was generally sunny. A light jacket was all people needed to make the transition from summer days to cool autumn evenings.
Every year, their challenge was how to let people knowthat autumn was still a great time to visit the beach. Ivy reviewed the reservations on the screen at the front desk. They needed more ideas, especially given they’d been closed for the renovation this year.
Shelly snapped her fingers. “What about a cooking week? We’ve had good luck with those before.”
“Or a spa week,” Sunny added, rounding the corner. “People would need that after a week of cooking. I was wrapping up homework on the computer, and I heard you talking in the office.”
Ivy appreciated the input from her daughter, but there was a catch. “Those courses depend on who we can get to teach them. Any ideas?”
Shelly shook her head. “I’d offer Mitch for a cooking week, but he’s pretty busy at Java Beach now that one of his part-timers went back to school.”
Sunny spoke up again. “What about that cookbook author who stayed here? Even though I don’t cook, I love watching videos of her making dishes on her social channels. She’s all about the fusion of flavors.”
“Diya Donnelly,” Ivy said. “Those chai cookies she brought with her last year were amazing. I’ll call her. Good idea, Sunny.”
The compliment lit Sunny’s smile. “Thanks, Mom. I’ve got to go to class now.”
