Page 21 of First Street (Harbor View Cozy Fantasy #1)

Chapter Seventeen

Skye

My phone rang.

When my daughter wasn’t with me, I always answered, no matter the hour. A parent thing, I told myself. I could never ignore a call or a text.

She was just across the street. But still!

I flipped the phone over. Ocean . That alone was enough to jolt me. She never called. Always texted.

Arthur was mid-sentence, but I raised a hand to pause him and picked up.

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re still across the street, right?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Well then, someone else is in the barn.”

I moved to the window in Arthur’s apartment.

From here, I had a clear view of the old barn.

Bernie’s truck was nowhere in sight, not that I was expecting him today.

Clare’s station wagon was in the driveway, and the ‘Closed’ sign still hung on the door of the shop. But one of the barn doors was ajar.

“Don’t go out there,” I said. “I’ll check it out.”

I hung up and quickly explained the situation to Arthur. He nodded once, then looked toward a spot over his shoulder.

“Henry says, ‘Quite rude. No self-respecting criminal would strike before noon. It’s barely ten.’” Arthur paused, listening again. “Also, he says I have to take this.”

He picked up the ornately carved walking stick that had been gathering dust by the apartment door for years.

“I get it,” he said impatiently to the ghost before turning to Skye. “You never know when you might need to look dangerous...or whack someone on the knee.”

Without another word, Arthur led the way out the door, walking stick in hand, and we headed downstairs through the bookstore.

George was already at the front counter.

“What are you doing coming this way? Trying to sneak up on me?” he asked, frowning at Arthur. He grinned at me. “He’s always sneaking up on me.”

“You need to get your hearing checked,” Arthur said. “Listen, we’ve got a potential break-in at the barn. You’re now our official backup.”

George blinked. “What do you want me to do? Yell at them through the window?”

“Keep your eyes open and your phone on,” Arthur said. “Answer if I call or text.”

“And then what?”

“I don’t know. Call the sheriff.”

George scoffed. “Oh, perfect. So the two of you die waiting while he finishes his donut and a rerun of Matlock .”

“Nothing’s going to happen to us,” I said, giving Arthur a reassuring pat on the shoulder, though my nerves were ticking up. Ocean was alone in the house, and I’d left the door unlocked when I went out this morning.

I immediately sent her a text. Lock the front and back doors .

First Street was quiet when we stepped outside. No tourists around yet. I looked up and down. The same cars were there, parked where they had been when I came across the street to Arthur’s earlier.

Arthur and I walked up the driveway past the station wagon to the barn. I pulled the door open wide, letting the light pour in.

“Hello?” I called, staying just outside. “Whoever you are, we’re closed and you’re trespassing.”

The sound of footsteps reached me.

A figure shifted in the shadows, then came hesitantly into view.

The woman was thin and slightly stooped, with sun-leathered skin and wispy gray-blond hair pulled back into a messy bun. She squinted in the sunlight, blinking like she hadn’t expected to be caught.

She wore a pale yellow cardigan over a faded floral blouse and loose khaki pants that bunched around her ankles. Her heavy boots were not exactly right for the warm weather.

When she saw us, her shoulders hunched a little more, and she offered a small, guilty smile, like a kid caught sneaking cookies. She looked more embarrassed than anything else. Her eyes flicked between Arthur and me, unsure which one of us she should be addressing.

“We’re closed ,” I said again, this time more firmly. “What are you doing in here?”

“I…I’m so sorry,” the woman replied quickly, hands half-raised like she was warding off trouble.

“I’d heard around town there was going to be a sale of everything in the antique store.

So I was just sneaking a look. I hoped I could maybe talk to the owner, see if she’d let me buy back a couple of pieces. ”

“Buy them back?” I asked. “What do you mean back ? Who are you?”

She hesitated, tugging at the frayed cuff of her cardigan, clearly stalling. She finally met my gaze.

“My name’s Elara. Elara Vance,” she said, voice quiet but steady.

“I am...I was Mrs. Ainsworth’s assistant.

..for years. After she passed, all her belongings were auctioned off, and I believe Ms. Randall bought much of it.

There were a couple of items I have a sentimental attachment to, and I was hoping I might be able to buy them. Are you a relation of hers?”

“Yes. I’m her daughter.”

Elara’s face softened with what seemed like genuine regret. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

I nodded. But before I could respond, Arthur cut in, dry and direct.

“Yes, well, sentimental or not, that doesn’t explain breaking and entering,” he said sternly. He paused, then asked pointedly, “Have you been in the shop before?”

“No, never,” Elara said quickly, shaking her head. “I’ve been out of town. I just got back. Yesterday was the first I learned who bought Mrs. Ainsworth’s furniture. That’s when I heard Ms. Randall’s house and business might be up for sale soon.”

“Let’s talk outside,” I said.

We all stepped out of the barn. The midmorning sunlight was golden and the sea breeze light. So beautiful, and completely at odds with the knot of anger forming in my chest.

It stung how quickly people had begun to assume I’d pack everything up, sell it off, and disappear.

What stung even worse? That had actually been the original plan.

That’s what my husband wanted. What I had told him I’d do.

And now here I was, staring at someone who had trespassed because she heard exactly what I’d intended. And I was the one feeling defensive. This was a conversation that I was yet to have with Arthur.

“Who did you hear this from?” I asked, my voice quieter than before but still firm.

She hesitated. “Oh, you wouldn’t know her.”

“I know everyone in town,” Arthur said flatly. “But I don’t know you .”

“I used to stay at my employer’s house when she came to town,” Elara said quickly. “She lived in Manhattan and only came up here occasionally. That’s probably why our paths never crossed. And you are?”

“Arthur Booker,” he said, giving the walking stick a solid tap on the driveway. “But you still haven’t said what gave you the idea that you could simply wander into a closed place of business uninvited. Who were you talking to?”

She fidgeted with the strap of her bag. “A real estate agent. Karen?—”

“Karen White,” Arthur cut in, his mouth tightening into a grimace. “Of course it was.”

This was the same real estate agent who was supposed to come over and give me an estimate tomorrow.

I’d already canceled the appointment, and now I was even more relieved I had.

But clearly, Karen had already started spreading the idea around town that the property was for sale.

..that it was only a matter of time before I boxed up my mother’s life and sold it off.

“So,” Elara started hesitantly, “Is there any chance that I could buy the items I had in mind?”

Never mind that this woman had gone into the antique shop uninvited, there was something about Elara that rubbed me the wrong way. She had a sneaky air about her.

“No,” I said, sharper than I intended. “I’m not ready to part with anything of my mother’s yet.”

Even if I had planned to contact a few dealers about the excess inventory, I wasn’t going to reward this woman for what was pretty brassy behavior. The fact that she’d broken into the barn crossed a line. It sat wrong with me on a personal level, on principle.

She must have been picking up my vibe. “I’m truly sorry for how I went about it this morning. I shouldn’t have gone in like that.”

“Look, Ms. Vance. I’ve got a busy day ahead.” I shook my head. “But if you ever do this again, I will call the police.”

“Of course.” She glanced back at the open barn door. “But can I at least leave you my phone number, so you can call me when you’re ready to?—”

“No.”

She blinked, stunned. She clearly wasn’t expecting that to be the end of it. Like she thought her apology should’ve been enough.

Standing beside Arthur, I watched her walk slowly down the driveway, her shoulders slumped, her pace uncertain, until she disappeared around the corner.

“Bravo,” Arthur said, giving my shoulder a light pat. “That’s a side of you I haven’t seen in quite a while.”

I turned to him, and the tears came before I could stop them. Fast and hot and relentless.

“I can’t let go of her,” I said, my voice cracking. “I won’t let people come in and paw through her life as if they have a right to it. I won’t let them tear her apart piece by piece like she never mattered.”

I wiped at my cheeks, but it didn’t help. Because I knew deep down that not letting go of Clare’s life meant I would have to let go of my own as I knew it.

To hold on to her, I’d have to tear it all down. And rebuild. Become something else.

So be it.

“No,” I whispered. “I’m not doing it. She didn’t deserve this.”