Chapter 1
Heather
“Woooof.” The soft bark, if it could be considered that, is whispered under Cookie's breath. But the threat is there, or so she believes anyway.
I roll my eyes and glance at my incredibly attitudinal corgi currently splooted on the side table, gazing out the window. It’s her favorite spot, where she can observe the neighborhood and pass judgment as she sees fit. And she sees fitall the time.
“I'm almost done here,” I mutter, typing away on the latest grant application for the library. “Give me a break already. We'll take a walk in a minute.”
Cookie answers with a long whine and follows it with a more insistent bark.
Glancing up, I spot a large green moving truck, a semi from the looks of it, through the living room picture window. The new neighbors must be moving in. It was about time they got someone in there. That house had been empty ever since old Mr. Maddox passed away two years ago.
Hopefully they’ll be a nice older couple, who believe in keeping things tidy and appreciate the quiet. At a minimum, someone who doesn't think two AM is prime lawn-mowing time or blares music in the backyard all hours of the night.
Email completed, I close my laptop and stand, arching my back and stretching. I swear these grants will be the death of me, but they are necessary for my plans to expand the Pelican Point Library.
Interest in our little town exploded with the arrival of the prodigal son, Ryan Murphy, and his wife, Candice. Once the Murphy clan bolstered their family winery, thanks in large part to the new award-winning winemaker Sophia Garrett, they turned their eyes to other in-need organizations in the area. Not surprisingly, people and businesses began flooding in, and the town seemingly doubled in size overnight.
One of their first grants rescued the county's historical archives from their sad existence in what was essentially a glorified musty closet at town hall and gave them a proper home in the old lighthouse. Then the town acquired and renovated the lightkeeper's house for the main library. Needless to say, it was a drastic improvement.
But it wasn't until that Spanish galleon was located off Pelican Point by Cruz Devlin and Crystal Evans, that the spotlight really turned toward the town's antiquated library system. The town was soon swarmed by would-be treasure hunters hoping to cash in, eager to thumb through our dusty collection.
And as the head librarian, the sudden influx was a whirlwind, but I couldn't be happier. Attention equals money to do things I've been dreaming of for years. First, turning the Pelican Point Library into one of the region's top research facilities. We certainly have the history to back it up.
But it's my other project that truly warms my heart and feeds my passion as a librarian. I want to build an interactive children's library that really delivers an in-depth learning experience and bolsters a child's love of reading. That's the grantI’ve been working on for weeks and just sent off. It’s a long shot, but with any luck, it'll be approved as well.
“Okay, Cookie.” I snag her blinged-out pink leash and matching body harness from their place on the wall. “Let's head for the beach today. How does that sound?” I ask, securing the harness.
Cookie's reply is her trademark impatient side-eye. As far as she’s concerned, it doesn’t matter where we go. I've taken way too long at this point.
Stepping outside, the humidity hits like a wave, and mid-afternoon sunlight beats down, baking the sidewalk. Shading my eyes, I catch what has to be at least twenty sweaty men hauling furniture, appliances, and boxes into the house. Based on the size of the truck, it looks like whoever's moving in plans to stay for a while.
A sleek, black SUV is parked on the street in front of the house, and a plumbing van and electrician's truck block my driveway. I wrinkle my nose and will away the annoyance. The new neighbors are only trying to move in, after all. But it's a good thing I don't need to drive anywhere. Otherwise, we'd be having our first neighborly “conversation” about driveway etiquette.
Mrs. Henderson stands sentinel at her mailbox across the street, resplendent in a neon orange muumuu that could probably be seen from space. Her hair is locked tight in an army of pink plastic curlers, and with arms akimbo and her trademark scowl firmly in place, she surveys the scene like a disapproving tropical bird. She’s easily the biggest busybody I’ve ever known and is certain to let everyone in town know that we have a new neighbor.
I wave as we pass. “Hi, Mrs. Henderson.” Her response is a dismissive wave of her hand, her gaze never leaving the activity.
“Come on, girl,” I urge Cookie who keeps turning to look. “Let's stay out of their way. The last thing those poor moving guys need is a bossy corgi underfoot.”
With a growling huff, she reluctantly follows me, constantly glancing back as we stroll down the sidewalk. She utters one final rumbling woof then plows forward, eager to reach one of her favorite places.
Downtown is all abuzz as we stroll past, and businesses are busy taking down Halloween decorations. I glance at the Riley Building that houses the town's new bridal store, Coastal Couture. Based on the foot traffic going in and out, it looks like love is in the air and a slew of weddings are in the works.
But not for me. Thank god! I'll take a good book and a glass of wine over fancy dresses and awkward family photos any day.
We continue on, and I sigh as we reach the access point. The beach looks amazing today, thanks to the grooming efforts of the local conservation society. The town has also received a few grants from the Murphys for a new lifeguard building, as well as planting thousands of native plant species on the natural dunes to prevent sand erosion.
This is my happy place, where I come to decompress or do some deep thinking. Today, my thoughts are on that children's center: interactive stations steeped in the town's history with a fun scavenger hunt section to build problem-solving skills and reading comprehension. There are so many possibilities, and I can't wait to get started.
I'll be biting my nails until I hear from the foundation.
“Hey, Cookie! Once we finish this walk, why don't we stop by Seaside Sweets and grab a treat?” I cajole as we step onto the sand. “I bet Julie will still have one of those peanut butter doggie biscuits you love so much.”
My comment gets another side eye, as if it were ridiculous of me to even mention it, but Cookie’s wiggling backside betraysher excitement. Of course Julie would have Cookie's favorite treats on hand at all times. In Cookie's spoiled dog worldview, it’s absurd to consider otherwise.
Thirty minutes later, with paws and feet cleaned of sand, we stroll along a series of storefronts. Just last year, many of these were either empty or housed dilapidated old stores barely hanging on. Now it's a vibrant town center with new stores, renovated buildings, and cars fighting for the limited parking spaces out front.
