Page 12 of Echoes at Driftwood Cottage

Seven’s fine.

Making dinner plans didn’t mean she could put off buying groceries. She decided to push Scott out of her head and think about a list of things she needed. After writing down everything from toilet paper to wine, she grabbed her keys and bag and headed out the door.

Cape Geneva was located four streets over from Murphy’s Market on Main Street. So it didn’t take long to make the trip. But at the last minute, she decided to take the long way around via Ocean Street, driving past the pier and Daniel’s ice cream shop. The Vanilla Bean Machine seemed to be doing a brisk business with a line out the door. Rowan recognized a successful enterprise when she saw it. No matter how much he protested, he’d likely be looking at getting a bigger shop by the end of the year.

She decided to test the radio on the Dodge, pushing the buttons until she found an oldies station that came in loud and clear without static. To the sound of the Scorpions’ Winds of Change, she continued along Ocean Street, past the hospital until the road narrowed into the lighthouse where she turned around at the keeper’s cottage. Before heading back down the hill, she stopped to take in the view from the cliff. The sea shimmered in the golden sunlight and stretched on for as far as the eye could see.

Truth was, Rowan didn’t like the water. She’d never been shy about telling anyone interested enough to ask. She’d had nightmares about drowning ever since she could remember. And yet, here she was, living in a seaside village smaller than San Diego.

As beautiful and tranquil as the scene was, a corner of her mind nagged with a troubling edginess that refused to go away. Chalking it up to the incident with Scott, she put the truck in gear and headed to the market.

She found a parking place on the side of the store and looked forward to browsing the aisles. She’d shopped here many times but always with a list from Gran. Now, as she walked through the double doors, she tried to remember the layout. After grabbing a cart, she started in the liquor section. Sticking to the same local winery label called Dancing in the Moonlight she’d sampled in December, she decided on two bottles of white. When she spotted a red from the same vineyard, she added one of those to her cart. But then a huge display of rum caught her eye. Smiling to herself, she picked out a bottle with a Havana label, wondering if Daniel would be impressed.

She moved through the coffee section, picking out a robust Costa Rican blend she’d never tried before and headed through the cereals, where she grabbed her favorite Special K. The meat aisle proved challenging because she wasn’t sure how much she needed to buy for one person. She ended up choosing small cuts she could make into a stir-fry. From there, she perused the produce section, grabbing an assortment of organic vegetables and lettuce for a salad. In the dairy section, she bought more milk for her cereal, cream for her coffee, picked up a tray of cheeses with cold cuts just in case she needed a snack. She was about to head to checkout when she caught sight of a woman she recognized from her Google search—Scott’s widow—Jordan. The woman had two kids in tow.

Rowan wheeled her cart in that direction, but before she could introduce herself or start a conversation, she saw Scott standing a few feet away. Feeling lightheaded, she changed course, and ducked behind the bread display.

What had she gotten herself into? She was beginning to think giving up the security of a stable job and moving back to this weird little town had been a huge mistake.

Chapter Three

“Wait a second. Slow down. You’re saying there’s a headstone at Eternal Gardens with your name on it? And Scott Phillips pointed this out to you when you went out there today to visit your grandparents?”

They’d already polished off the pizza and drank half the bottle of red when Rowan dropped her bombshell.

Sitting across from her on the sofa, Daniel did his best to play catch up, still trying to process the gravity of the situation. “Maybe it’s as simple as your grandparents purchasing a future plot for you and somebody made a mistake with the dates. Could be nothing more than a misunderstanding. You did say this headstone was several rows over from theirs. Maybe that’s the closest they could come to getting you near them, especially after you came to live with your grandmother. Cemeteries fill up, and the plots go fast. That’s a fact. But the thing is, if that’s the issue, it wouldn’t make sense for Scott to show that kind of interest in your headstone.”

“See? None of it makes any sense.” She showed him the photo she’d taken. “That’s my full name, my date of birth. No question about that. But it says I died in November of 1999, age four. I don’t see how the people who make the monuments could’ve made a mistake like that. Or why Gran would’ve allowed it to sit there all that time without correcting it.”

Daniel studied the image and picked up his wine glass. “That is weird.”

“That’s an understatement. It freaked me out. The whole thing freaks me out. I can’t stop thinking about it. Then I go shopping and see Scott again at Murphy’s Market. Why didn’t you mention back in December this town was haunted? That certainly never came up in conversation.”

“You were only here for four days as I recall. Hard to cover all the town’s quirkiness in that short amount of time. Not only that, before you got here, I was pretty new to the area myself. I’m not exactly the expert on our resident ghost.”

“That’s not making me feel any better. Scott said something about being stuck in purgatory here on earth. He didn’t seem to be in a great mood.”

“I hate it when ghosts get moody,” Daniel cracked before turning serious. “Okay. Here’s what I’ve heard. You probably already know most of the basics. Ghostly sightings of him are prevalent around here. They’ve been happening now for more than a decade. People accept seeing him as a kind of rite of passage. For some reason, it’s usually the newcomers. Although he’s liable to pop up around long-time residents. Whoever it is, views him as their protector, a guy with good intentions who fixes problems.”

“Seeing as how I died back in 1999, I’d say that’s a problem he won’t be able to fix. Besides, up to now, I never thought much about ghosts. Even when companies organized ghost tours in the Gaslamp Quarter near my house, I never actually believed people would see anything spooky. I’d see mostly tourists taking the walking tour, usually around Halloween. But I thought it was hokey and another way to milk them out of their money. Do you believe in ghosts?”

Daniel took a sip of wine and leaned back on the couch. “I didn’t until I moved here. There’s no denying that Scott’s been a mystery around here for a while now. People claim to see him in different places, usually around the pier, or out at Jordan’s B&B. You know Scott’s widow remarried his old friend, Nick Harris, another soldier from the National Guard. She and Nick had a son together in addition to Scott’s daughter Hutton. They called the boy Scott, which ironically has to be a tribute to his memory. People have also reported seeing him in the cemetery where he’s buried, like you did today. Some have even claimed to have seen him in their homes. Others say he watches them from a distance. But no one knows the real reason behind his presence. Some people say he died while trying to save someone, others think that he’s stuck in purgatory because he has unfinished business. But no one knows for sure.”

The spooky conversation had Rowan draining her glass. She felt a cold draft that made her shiver, common in an old house. But the subject matter wasn’t putting her at ease. Reaching for Gran’s hand-knitted throw on the back of the sofa, she wrapped it around her legs. “And you think he’s interested in me because of that headstone?”

“It’s hard to say, but it’s possible. Maybe he’s trying to warn you about something. Or maybe he’s trying to tell you something important, a message from your grandmother maybe. I’ve read stories about people getting messages from beyond the grave. Never experienced it myself but it could be what’s happening here. Maybe this is Scott’s way of trying to communicate with you.”

Daniel shifted his weight and leaned closer. “Or it could be more sinister, like a warning.”

“A warning? You’re just messing with me now.”

“No. Really.”

“What do you mean?" Rowan asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“What if someone is trying to harm you? Someone here in town. Maybe they’re planning something, and this is a sign that you need to be careful,” he explained, picking up the wine bottle and pouring more wine into her glass.

Rowan sat in silence, mulling over Daniel’s theory. In a way it made sense. After all, she had been receiving strange calls back in San Diego on her landline before she gave up her loft. But those had sounded like kids doing the typical heavy-breathing crank calls. And then there were the odd emails from addresses she didn’t recognize. She’d thought the emails were probably spam. But what if they weren’t?

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