Windswept Way (Hope Harbor #9)(8)
Author: Irene Hannon
“It is, from what I can tell. I do want to have a structural engineer weigh in, though. Do you by chance have any recommendations?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. Stevens Design and Construction. In the interest of full disclosure, however, the owner is my wife.” Eric’s lips flexed. “Not that I promote or condone nepotism in general, but BJ’s excellent at her job. She’s an architect with a strong background in structural engineering. Besides, she’d kill for a peek inside that house.”
“Sold.”
Eric withdrew a business card from his desk and held it out. “Tell her I recommended her to you, and she’ll move you to the top of her list. Maybe.” His smile became a flat-out grin.
“I’ll do that.” She tucked the card in her purse. “You wouldn’t happen to know any landscaping firms in the area, would you?”
“Greenscape may be a possibility. I don’t have their number, but you could google them. Or ask BJ to put you in touch. She often deals with them when she does house additions that incorporate patios or decks. I know she’s been impressed with their work.”
Ashley jotted down the name. “You’ve been a tremendous help. Thank you for fitting me into your schedule on such short notice.”
“That’s one of the beauties of practicing law in Hope Harbor. Most matters aren’t super urgent here. Makes for a wonderful pace of life. I highly recommend it. And you won’t find a nicer bunch of people.”
“Good to know.” She stood. “I’ll give your wife a call as soon as I round up lunch.”
Eric rose too and crossed to the window that offered a view of the harbor and Dockside Drive. Peered north. “I think you may be in luck on the food front too. Charley’s cooking today instead of painting.”
She tipped her head. “You’ll have to explain that.”
“Charley’s our resident artist. World famous, though you’d never know it to meet him. He also makes the best fish tacos this side of heaven. His stand is at the end of the street, next to the pocket park. You can’t miss it.”
“Thanks for that recommendation too. The cinnamon roll I had at the bakery this morning was phenomenal, but the energy boost it gave me is beginning to wear off. I’ll call your wife after I sample those tacos.”
“I’ll let her know. Enjoy your lunch.”
Once Eric showed her to the door and she stepped onto the sidewalk, Ashley had no trouble spotting the taco stand. But following her nose would have led her there anyway. Delicious aromas were wafting down Dockside Drive.
She set off at a brisk pace, passing Sweet Dreams bakery where she’d indulged in her high-fat, high-calorie breakfast. Yet despite her hunger, her pace slowed as she surveyed the scene and the peace of the bucolic setting that had charmed her this morning again seeped into her pores.
In the harbor, boats bobbed in the gentle swells. Planters filled with colorful flowers were spaced along the sidewalk above the cascade of boulders that led to the water. Across from the harbor, on the opposite side of crescent-shaped Dockside Drive, shops sporting bright awnings and flower boxes lined the sidewalk. At the far end of the street, which dead-ended at the river, a white gazebo graced the tiny park. The unhitched white food trailer beside the park, with “Charley’s” spelled out in colorful letters above the serving window, appeared to be doing a brisk business.
As the savory aroma roused her appetite, Ashley picked up her pace.
Once in line, she tried to shush the rumble in her stomach as she watched two gulls circle a boat that was passing the long jetty on the left and the pair of rocky islands on the right that kept boats in the marina safe from the choppy waters beyond.
When she at last arrived at the window, the man behind the counter greeted her with a warm smile. “Sorry for the long wait. Everyone must want tacos today. One order?”
“Yes, please.” She scanned the area around the window for a menu, but the sole piece of printed matter was a hand-lettered sign that said “Cash Only.”
“If you’re looking for a bill of fare, I don’t have one. I feature one kind of taco during each cooking session, with whatever fish catches my fancy after the boats come in. Flounder was the top choice today. That work for you?” He pulled two fillets out of a cooler and held them up.
“Sure.”
The man adjusted the Ducks cap he wore over his long gray ponytail and set the fish on the grill before returning to the window. “I’m Charley Lopez. Welcome to Hope Harbor.”
“Thanks. I’m Ashley Scott.”
“Always happy for new folks to discover our little piece of paradise.” He swiveled back to the prep area and began chopping red onion and cilantro as he spoke over his shoulder. “Have you had a chance to see much yet, other than Edgecliff?”
Ashley stared at his back. “How did you . . . did someone tell you . . . no one knows . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“I ran into the manager of the Gull Motel last night.” Charley tossed the chopped items onto a griddle and sprinkled them with seasoning from a large, unmarked container. “She mentioned you’d checked in. First name only, but I did the math when you introduced yourself. She was quite intrigued by your visit to Edgecliff.”
Okay, that made sense. During their brief exchange, she’d commented that she was here to see Rose.
But she hadn’t expected the news to spread so fast.
As if reading her mind, Charley rotated toward her, his dark brown eyes twinkling. “It’s hard to keep secrets in a small town. But on the plus side, we all have each other’s backs. Not a bad trade-off.”
“I guess not.”
“How’s Rose doing?”
He was on a first-name basis with the reclusive owner?
“Are you two acquainted?”
“We met a while back. On occasion, I stop in with an order of tacos for her.” Charley pulled out three corn tortillas and laid them on the grill. Flipped the fish.
Hard as she tried, Ashley couldn’t picture tea-drinking Rose Fitzgerald eating tacos or striking up a friendship deep enough with anyone to encourage impromptu visits.
“She seems fine.” Enough said. Rose wasn’t the type of person who would appreciate being talked about.
“The house is a gem, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”