“Oh, is he drinking soda now? That actually sounds pretty good. I’ll grab one, too.” Roz took a detour into the small open kitchen, popped a can of ginger ale and poured it over ice in a tall glass. She followed her mom into a roomy living area. It was full of the beachy furniture that came from the old house. A lot of the art had migrated, too, including the black-and-white photos of people and places of Comet Cove, many of which had once run in the newspaper.
Roz set down her bag and sat on the couch next to Major Tom, a beautiful gray cat with golden eyes. He gave her a dour look before lazily rolling onto his back. Roz chuckled and took the invitation to rub his soft belly. “He’s not missing many meals, is he?”
“He eats more than I do.” Megan sat in her favorite armchair, and they both looked out of the fifth-floor window toward the river, beautiful even under the gloomy clouds. A misty wall of white descended to the steel-gray water under a brooding mountain of vapor, looking soft and light from up here but, Roz knew from experience, drenching anyone under it with a pounding barrage of rain.
“You like it here?” Roz blurted. Yep, still feeling guilty.
“I love it. No maintenance to worry about. And I feel really good right now. I’m on a new medication. But let’s not talk about that.” Megan sipped her ginger ale and looked at Roz. “How do you like the house?”
“The house” was in fact the house Roz grew up in. She’d given up her furnished rental bungalow and come to terms with her mom to buy the family’s modest 1960s rancher in southwest Comet Cove. She’d kept a few of the things Megan didn’t want but had installed some of her own and still had a lot of work to do.
“Honestly, it feels a little weird, but I’m doing some painting and updating. I’m leaning in to the mid-century feel of the kitchen, though.”
“That’s all hip again,” Megan agreed. “And lord knows the house needed some TLC. I’m glad. When is Alden moving in?”
Roz almost choked on her ginger ale. “Wha-what?” she sputtered. “We haven’t talked about anything like that.”
“I like him. I’d jump on that if I were you.” Megan waggled her eyebrows.
Roz’s face heated. She was jumping on that on the regular, which was a nice change for sure. But she wasn’t in a hurry to combine households. “It’s awkward enough at work already. Speaking of which, we’re working on a story—the death of that man at the book signing Saturday?”
“I read what you have so far. Not a lot, is it?”
Roz grimaced. “That’s the problem. We have a lot of irons but no fire. I wanted to ask you something.”
Megan looked delighted. “How can I help?”
“We’ve heard that Wayne Vandershell might’ve been building a movie studio by the airport and that he might have a partner. So I talked to a source at city hall who said they’d received construction permit applications from a company who owns some warehouses down by the airport. Production facilities were mentioned, and some have been approved. The problem is, I can’t figure out who really owns the property. It’s one of those companies owned by a company that’s owned by a company …”
“And you don’t know who it is.”
“Right.” Roz sighed. “Any idea who that might be?”
“My best guess would be the Esquivels. When the airfield expanded, the airport authority had to buy land from them. If the warehouses are near the airport, that would be a place to start.”
“Is there anything they don’t own in this county?”
Megan smiled. “Quite a few things, but the family’s been here a long time, and they had a lot of property south of the inlet. Some of it was left wild, like the refuge they donated to the town, but they also farmed pineapples and grapefruit back in the day. That’s all gone now, of course.”
In favor of houses and strip malls, Roz thought. “I met Nicole Esquivel on Saturday. She was at the signing with her kids. Her husband’s a developer—Sebastian.”
Her mom nodded. “Yes, I’ve heard of him. One of Antonia’s sons, I think. She’s the matriarch. But I don’t know much about him.”
“Maybe the best way to reach him is through Nicole. I’ll work that angle and see if they know anything about the warehouses or the project.”
“Or the partner,” Megan said. “Even if Sebastian Esquivel says it’s not their project, he might know whose project it is. Kind of a long shot, though.”
“We have to start somewhere. And Duke isn’t calling me back.”
“He’s jealous,” she teased. “But he’s a good guy. You’d better get going. You don’t want to be late for lunch with Alden.”
“Ha! And I have to get some solid reporting in so we can post an update.” As she stood and grabbed her bag, Major Tom rolled over and sat up with a grouchy mrrrow. “Oh, cat, you have it so good. I don’t want to hear it.”
Megan laughed. “He sure does.”
“Need anything before I go?”
“No. Get out of here.” Her mom didn’t get up, but she looked good. Content. At least for now. And now is really all we have, isn’t it?
