Page 64 of Echoes at Driftwood Cottage

“Or it could be a complete waste of time.”

“I think we should do it. Tomorrow. I’ll close the shop and we’ll take a day trip up to the area.”

“But—”

He put his fingers up to her lips. “We need to do this. No point in arguing. We’ll both feel better knowing we did something.”

“We might stumble on information Brent couldn’t.”

“There you go. We’ll leave early. Make a day of it.”

Chapter Seventeen

After a quick bowl of cereal for breakfast, Daniel used his laptop to map a route that took them through Kings Mountain, a short forty-five-minute drive inland from Pelican Pointe. From there, they would begin their search in one of the richest cities in the country—Redwood City.

“Even though it’s practically next door to Stanford University, it hasn’t always been a wealthy place to live,” Daniel pointed out as Rowan packed snacks for their trip and made sandwiches for their lunch.

“You could’ve fooled me,” Rowan said, glancing over his shoulder at the photos of the million-dollar hillside homes, stacked like steps on a ladder surrounded by tall redwoods.

“The town didn’t revitalize its downtown until the early 2000s. Prior to that, some of the locals referred to it as Deadwood City.”

“Deadwood to Redwood. That’s funny. I’d forgotten you used to live in the area. How could you afford it?”

“I lived south of there in San Jose. The company I worked for paid well, but it was not a great way to spend ten hours a day. It isn’t just the tech companies like Oracle that dominate the area. It’s also a gaming mecca. If you love the rat race, love commuting to work every day in noisy traffic congestion, then it’s not a bad place to call home.”

“Stacked on top of one another’s houses, that’s like living in San Diego.”

“Exactly. That’s why I got out at the first opportunity,” Daniel admitted. “We need to get a move on. The more we sit here talking, the less time we’ll have to explore the area.”

“I’m still not sure what good this will do. How do you find anyone from 1999 who wants to talk about living in a commune?”

“Don’t be so negative. Besides, we’ll get a nice drive out of it, see the scenery from here to the other side of California at one of its narrowest points.”

Rowan decided that maybe a drive in the country might be just the thing to lift her spirits. She closed the picnic basket she’d prepared and hauled it out to Daniel’s Crosstrek. “We need to write a sign for the front door of the shop.”

“Already done,” Daniel commented, holding up a piece of white cardboard. “We’ll tape it up on our way out of town.”

The route he picked sent them past towering ancient redwoods, their bark a deep chocolate brown, reaching hundreds of feet into the air before fanning out into a thick canopy of green. They drove past a babbling brook and watched water glistening in the buttery sunlight, gushing over stones and twisted roots.

With the smell of fir and pine behind them, they left the coastal forest. The road ahead snaked and curved through an enchanted landscape of rolling hills, abundant with springtime flowers and green herbs flourishing and twisting toward the sun-kissed sky.

They drove past a private estate that looked like a Mediterranean-style vineyard. From the tender green leaves to the deep purple clusters of ripe grapes dripping with dew, the grounds provided a postcard of colors—deep crimson, burnished chestnut, and golden amber—that swept across the sloping countryside. The air seeped with a fragrant, unmistakable sweetness. Somewhere, hints of citrus mingled with wild sage that fluttered on the wind.

Wild poppies sprang up next to the road in spots, creating a living patchwork of red and green. She could almost reach out and brush her fingers through the petals.

The gentle whisper of birds flitting from oak to oak, the buzzing bees, and the rustling leaves created a peaceful symphony to nature’s music.

“This was a good idea,” Rowan admitted.

“I’m glad you think so. The turnoff to the old commune is up ahead. But GPS says it’s closed off. It’s private land now. See?” Daniel explained as he pointed to the map on the screen.

“The sign says trespassers will be shot.”

Daniel chuckled. “Yeah. That would put a damper on the whole trip.”

Instead of testing the warning sign, he stepped on the gas and headed toward Redwood City, keeping to the two-lane Kings Mountain Road with its scenic curves where the speed limit at times dropped to ten miles an hour for safety reasons.

When they drove past a picnic area, Daniel asked, “Do you want to stop and eat?”

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