Page 114 of Secrets Along the Shore
I shake my head. “Not worth it. Hopefully, he’s gotten it out of his system.”
“Fat chance,” Cole says, appraising me in a quick once-over, probably to make certain I wasn’t damaged in the tussle.
“I appreciate you having my back,” I tell him, noticing for the first time that my heartbeat is pounding away with post-interaction adrenaline.
“Always. Not that you needed it.”
“Girl in my line of work’s gotta be able to handle herself.”
He nods. “True. Very true. I hear congratulations are in order. Yougot your conviction. Would have been here myself to see it, but I was on patrol.”
“Thanks. It feels a little inappropriate, though, all the congratulations and goodwill, given the context.” It’s something I haven’t said out loud to anyone, but Cole is one of the few people I can let down my guard with.
“I get that. Pretty tragic situation all the way around.”
“People keep congratulating me and I don’t know what to say.”
“Just say thanks. They’re grateful. You’ve helped bring a painful chapter to a close. That’s really what they’re saying.”
“I guess.”
“Okay. Well, if you’re sure you don’t want to drag his sorry butt in, I’m gonna go. Supposed to take Lucy out tonight.”
Lucy and Cole’s on again-off again relationship has been going on for two years. I can’t count the number of times I’ve heard him swear it’s over, only to tell me a week later that they’re back together. “Say ‘hi’ to her for me.”
“Will do.”
When Cole heads for the courthouse, I get in and crank the engine. I’m out on the road, cruising to my meeting before I realize I never got around to showing Cole the note left on my windshield.
I roll up Main Street,the windows down and sunroof open, breathing in the fresh air and hoping it will blow away any lingering traces of Kurt Fogerty. As I pass the post office, mail carrier Ray Winters is pulling into the parking lot in his delivery vehicle, probably about to call it a day. He waves and I wave back.
That’s just how it is here.
Some might say it’s reminiscent of Mayberry, one of the few left of its kind, where everyone knows everyoneandeveryone’s business, for better or worse. It’s more than a one-stoplight town, but it does have less than a dozen—favoring signs over electric controls.
At twenty-two hundred citizens, it’s the largest incorporated town in Mitchell County. There’s no traffic andusuallyno violent crime—although obviously the same can’t be said for Highway 174, Fogerty’s stomping ground. We do have our share of the run-of-the-mill nonviolent stuff—what place doesn’t? One thing we don’t deal with is graffiti. Our teens know that if any of the ladies of the Willow Peak Church senior women’s group were to get wind of who did it—and believe me, they would—your fate would be ten times worse than if the sheriff caught you.
The town of Riverview spans the entire height of Willow Peak—from the base to its broad, flat summit 1,300 feet above sea level. Main Street runs from the bottom to the top, and is the only way up the mountain.
In less than five minutes, I reach the back end of what is essentially downtown—the part of the town at the base—and the road starts to climb. Though you’ll find homes and businesses spread out all over the incline, the two primary areas are “downtown”—home to most businesses, government offices, et cetera—and “uptown,” home to most residents, including me.
Uptown stretches across the plateau at the summit and, in addition to the vast majority of residences, boasts the elementary school, a couple of churches, a small grocery store, and a standout art gallery mentioned in “Spots Not-To-Miss When Traveling through Alabama.” It’s also the location of Willow Peak State Park, one of our best state parks. Mountain bikers from all over the country come here to escape into its woodland trails and raspberry-citrus river sunsets. Two nearby world-class golf courses—Cherokee Ridge and Robert Jones Trail-Hampton Cove—are a half-hour drive away. Between the park and golf course visitors, and those seeking a tranquil spa getaway, Riverview Hotel—a four-star beauty perched on the edge of the plateau—stays full most of the year.
At the moment I can’t see the river, as the road is heavily lined with loblolly pines and red and white oaks bursting with the green of spring. The sun’s rays find their way through the canopy and shine down on me as a red-tailed hawk circles overhead.
Wonder what he’s got his eye on.
Squirrel, mouse, rabbit, deer, fox…it’s a woodland zoo up here. Snow White would be right at home—maybe even with the coyotes, although I’mdefinitelynot a fan of those. If you’ve never heard those things squalling at night, imagine an entire preschool class screaming at the top of their lungs and you’ve pretty much got it.
When I round a bend, the forest falls away to a view of the Tennessee River, its dark, wide waters flowing to the west. Miles of Alabama farmland and backwoods fill the expanse to the north, and the outline of Huntsville—Alabama’s largest city—soars in the distance. Then the road swings almost ninety degrees toward the center of the plateau and I lose the view, once again shielded by woods.
I drive past several residential streets and the entrance to the state park, then pull into the gravel lot fronting a two-story Tudor-style building with dark half-timbering, creamy brick, and gray stone. Though sunset isn’t for another couple of hours, gas street lamps posted along the front are already lit, casting a cozy, welcoming aura.
Next to my own home, The Ink & Ivy is my favorite spot on the mountain. You don’t typically find English-themed pubs in the backwoods of Alabama, but Riverview isn’t your typical place. When lifelong resident Grace Dean became a widow twenty years earlier, she was surprised to learn that her late husband Bill had set her up with a hefty insurance policy. She used the proceeds to take the trip to Europe she wasn’t able to take with Bill, and came back with an absolute obsession with English pubs. Grace combined that with her love of books to give Riverview its fifth restaurant, only bookstore, and the mountain’s go-to hub for unofficial news, otherwise known as gossip.
On occasion, like tonight, it’s also my satellite office. My official place of business is a room I rent in a co-working space in Huntsville—a thirty-minute drive away. The Ink & Ivy is where I meet anyone from Riverview in need of my services. It’s more convenient for me and the client,andI get to eat. So, two birds and all that.
As I shut my car door, the theme from BBC’s Sherlock blasts from my pocket. Yes, I realize it’s a little on the nose as ringtones go, but I couldn’t help myself. I normally have my phone silenced, but didn’t want to miss a call from Tasha if it turns out she needs me after all. I’m fully prepared to let the call go to voicemail for anyone else. It’s been along day. I’m nearly talked out, and still have the client meeting ahead of me, but when I see who it is, I grin and answer.
