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CHAPTER 1

E leanor Clark walked down the seashore, the early morning sun casting pastel hues through the air as the ocean crescendoed then receded beside her. The late April day was the perfect temperature—not warm enough to be hot, but not cold enough for a jacket. Her sweatshirt and jeans felt just right.

This was one of her favorite months on Lantern Beach. The tourists hadn’t begun to descend and wouldn’t for another month or so. Life on the shore was quiet, and the empty beaches gave her more opportunities to treasure hunt—her favorite hobby.

She paused on her walk and stared at an object partially buried in the sand near her feet. Using her hands, she swept away the gritty grains from the top.

Her pulse quickened when she saw the faded gray paint.

Then she dug out the edges until the shape of the object materialized. It appeared to be metal, probably three feet long and eight inches in diameter. It was shaped like a missile.

Normally she found shells and occasionally some beach glass. Her best treasure up until this moment was a red antique perfume bottle that had been perfectly weathered by the waves and sand.

She’d never found something like this before.

She was nearly certain this was a wartime relic.

Had it come from an old shipwreck? Or had a plane dropped it from the sky?

A grin curled her lips.

Eleanor shouldn’t be surprised that this had washed up. Last night’s storm had been a doozy. It was one of the reasons she’d come out early this morning to beachcomb. Those kinds of weather systems usually churned up the best treasures.

She glanced up and down the shore.

No one else was walking the beach this morning. But the last thing she wanted was for someone else to find this and claim it as their own.

No, Eleanor had found this first, and it was hers. She was going to be the talk of her beachcomber club.

As determination—and excitement—hardened inside her, she stared at the object another moment.

How heavy could it be?

She circled it and observed the fins on the back that made it look like a mini torpedo.

A torpedo? She nearly laughed at herself.

How crazy was that thought?

This was a treasure of the sea.

She bent down and tested the object’s weight by lifting the narrow end. Her sixty-six-year-old body didn’t flex the way it used to. But she could handle this.

The object was heavy but not as hefty as she’d thought it might be.

She stepped closer and straddled the relic. Then she reached for the center, wrapped her arms around the middle, and lifted.

With a heave, she hugged the object to her chest and tried to catch her breath.

It wouldn’t be an easy walk back to her beach house. But thankfully, she just needed to make it over the wooden walkway crossing the sand dune. Then she’d be home.

She took a laborious step through the thick sand. Then another. The added weight slowed her progress as her feet sank with every pace forward.

People here said this beach was full of sugar sand because of the consistency of the grains. Eleanor got a workout each time she came out here. But the effort was worth it—especially on days like today.

Finally, though her lungs and limbs screamed in protest, she made it inside her house. She slowly hefted her find onto her kitchen table.

Then she stared at it and grinned.

The task had felt monumental, but she’d done it.

Her friends at the Sunrise Beachcomber Club would be so jealous. She could only imagine their reactions.

She grabbed her cell phone from her back pocket and snapped a picture. Then she opened the Facebook page for her group and typed, “The early bird gets the worm! Look what I found this morning. Anybody have any idea what this is? No identifying marks, FYI.”

As she hit Post, she grinned again. She couldn’t wait to hear what her friends had to say.

She set her phone on the kitchen bar and walked past it to get some coffee while she waited for the responses to begin pouring in. She would be the talk of the group today.

The small moments like this were what she lived for.

Her breathing finally returned to normal after her impromptu workout. She fixed herself a cup of coffee in her favorite mug—one that read “World’s Best Wife.” Her husband had given it to her a month before he died. Using the mug always filled her with a bittersweet sadness.

She watched the steam rise before circling the mug with her fingers and taking a sip.

Today would be a good day. She could feel it in her bones.

It had taken her a long time to find her new normal as a widow. But she’d finally found her groove.

Carl, her husband, had been gone for five years. The two of them had purchased this small oceanfront home ten years ago after she’d bought a three-million-dollar winning lottery ticket. They’d immediately quit their jobs, bought this place, and moved here.

It had always been their dream to live in an oceanfront cottage, and that lottery ticket had allowed them the opportunity.

Life hadn’t been as easy as Eleanor had thought it would be after winning so much money.

She frowned. No, if anything, life had become more complicated as people came out of the woodwork wanting some of their windfall.

But at least she had beachcombing to help her relax. Hobbies and friends kept her active and entertained.

Dings began sounding on Eleanor’s phone, and more excitement coursed through her. Holding her coffee with one hand, she grabbed her phone with the other. Then she sat at the table, her new treasure in front of her.

She clicked on the post and read the first response.

“That’s an unexploded WWII ordnance. You need to stay far away. Please tell me you didn’t bring it inside!”

Her eyes widened. What? That couldn’t be right. And would something this old still be dangerous?

Certainly, Donald757 was overreacting.

Then she read the next comment. “You need to call the authorities so the bomb squad can come out. Get away from it. Now!”

Her lips parted. Another outrageous theory? What was wrong with these people?

Maybe they’d been watching too many of those World War II documentaries.

But the comments kept furiously coming.

Eighty percent of them were the same—warning of danger.

One commenter offered to buy it.

Only three comments shared her amazement of what she’d found.

Eleanor frowned as her gaze drifted to the object. Could this really be dangerous after so many years submerged in the ocean?

Besides, didn’t mini torpedoes have an expiration date?

Some of her joy began to fade as apprehension set in.

Maybe she should call 911. What could it hurt?

But, first, she’d take the thing back outside. She’d carried it all the way across the beach, and nothing had happened. Certainly, she could take it a few more feet.

She didn’t want anything to happen to her beach house—all her treasures were stored inside these walls. She had an entire bookshelf full of shells and bottles and even a couple of old buoys she’d found.

Without wasting any more time, Eleanor set down her coffee and her phone and carefully lifted the object, holding it the same way she did before.

Then she turned and headed toward the door. But after taking two steps, her foot caught on the table leg, making her stumble and lose her balance.

Eleanor reached out to steady herself with one hand.

Lost her grip on the ordnance.

The metal object tilted. Slid out of her hand. Then it hit the floor.

Nose down.