let me think.” Josh leaned back in the wooden chair and I thought I heard the wood groan under his weight. Apparently either it was common or Josh was deaf when he had on his thinking cap.
While he pondered the deal, I pretended to step closer to the cash register to thumb through a box of vintage Life magazines. I slipped the receipts I’d copied back at the shop into my right hand, outside of Josh’s view. All I needed to do was reach over the top of the counter. I inched my arm upward, then jerked back when Josh spoke. The thick receipt paper slipped through my hands. “Okay. But I get to pick the restaurant. And I’m only buying mine and your aunt’s dinner. The two of you have to pay for your own.” Josh tapped the desk with his portly finger.
“That’s fine. Next Friday night, we’ll meet at the shop.” I kicked the papers under the counter and walked back toward Josh. “So what were you going to show the commission?”
“Not going to , am going to show the commission. Just because Craig is gone”—Josh paused and eyed me like it was my fault Craig Morgan was dead. After a couple of beats, he continued—“just because it’s only me now, doesn’t mean I’m not going to honor his final wishes.”
Even if it burns me in the process? I wondered. But I bit my tongue. I was making progress with the man, even if it was at a glacier pace.
He nodded to the back. “I’ve got the journal in my office safe.” He pulled himself to his feet and lumbered to the back of the building. I followed, not knowing if I’d been invited or not, but he didn’t stop me, so I must have guessed correctly.
My phone buzzed with a text message. Glancing down, I saw Greg’s quick note: Heading to Bakerstown, will be back soon. Need anything?
I typed a quick response asking him to stop at the bakery and pick up an assortment of muffins and several loaves of French bread. Okay, so it was a shopping list, but I did text “thanks” at the end. The man knew how to stay on my good side; mostly, it involved food. Fresh loaf bread was one of my favorite things in the world. Besides my boyfriend.
Josh stood behind his desk watching me. When I clicked off the phone and went into the small, dark office, he shook his head. “You need to stop wasting busy people’s time. Anyway, here we are.”
I glanced at the small, leather-bound book sitting on a piece of parchment on the desktop. Carefully, Josh opened the book and went right to the page he’d been looking for. He spun the parchment around so I could see the hand-drawn map. Leaning down, I could make out the ocean and several crude marks. The words weren’t in English.
There in the middle of the page, right where the current courthouse would stand if this was a map of South Cove, was an X mark and the words, Misión de estrellas meridionales. I glanced up at Josh. “You think this is the mission site? City Hall?”
“I don’t think, I know. The map shows the location of the mission is a good three miles from your house. Maybe your wall is the residuals of a long-ago barn. But it’s clearly not the mission. The mission no longer exists.”
Walking down the street toward the diner, my thoughts swirled around Josh’s evidence. I’d taken several shots of the page with my cell phone until Josh protested the light from the flash might damage the paper or ink. What should I do with the photos? Greg could send the photos to his university professor friend to verify the wording. I could go to Frank and press him to speed up the certification, but what if Josh turned out to be right?
Then my wall would go back to being a garden wall and I could go back to running my business. Maybe even put up a hammock out near the site for a reading cove.
But what if Josh was wrong, and Frank didn’t find out in time? Then a national historic site would have been ignored and destroyed. I couldn’t just leave it to someone else to decide. I’d come to love the little stone wall.
While he pondered the deal, I pretended to step closer to the cash register to thumb through a box of vintage Life magazines. I slipped the receipts I’d copied back at the shop into my right hand, outside of Josh’s view. All I needed to do was reach over the top of the counter. I inched my arm upward, then jerked back when Josh spoke. The thick receipt paper slipped through my hands. “Okay. But I get to pick the restaurant. And I’m only buying mine and your aunt’s dinner. The two of you have to pay for your own.” Josh tapped the desk with his portly finger.
“That’s fine. Next Friday night, we’ll meet at the shop.” I kicked the papers under the counter and walked back toward Josh. “So what were you going to show the commission?”
“Not going to , am going to show the commission. Just because Craig is gone”—Josh paused and eyed me like it was my fault Craig Morgan was dead. After a couple of beats, he continued—“just because it’s only me now, doesn’t mean I’m not going to honor his final wishes.”
Even if it burns me in the process? I wondered. But I bit my tongue. I was making progress with the man, even if it was at a glacier pace.
He nodded to the back. “I’ve got the journal in my office safe.” He pulled himself to his feet and lumbered to the back of the building. I followed, not knowing if I’d been invited or not, but he didn’t stop me, so I must have guessed correctly.
My phone buzzed with a text message. Glancing down, I saw Greg’s quick note: Heading to Bakerstown, will be back soon. Need anything?
I typed a quick response asking him to stop at the bakery and pick up an assortment of muffins and several loaves of French bread. Okay, so it was a shopping list, but I did text “thanks” at the end. The man knew how to stay on my good side; mostly, it involved food. Fresh loaf bread was one of my favorite things in the world. Besides my boyfriend.
Josh stood behind his desk watching me. When I clicked off the phone and went into the small, dark office, he shook his head. “You need to stop wasting busy people’s time. Anyway, here we are.”
I glanced at the small, leather-bound book sitting on a piece of parchment on the desktop. Carefully, Josh opened the book and went right to the page he’d been looking for. He spun the parchment around so I could see the hand-drawn map. Leaning down, I could make out the ocean and several crude marks. The words weren’t in English.
There in the middle of the page, right where the current courthouse would stand if this was a map of South Cove, was an X mark and the words, Misión de estrellas meridionales. I glanced up at Josh. “You think this is the mission site? City Hall?”
“I don’t think, I know. The map shows the location of the mission is a good three miles from your house. Maybe your wall is the residuals of a long-ago barn. But it’s clearly not the mission. The mission no longer exists.”
Walking down the street toward the diner, my thoughts swirled around Josh’s evidence. I’d taken several shots of the page with my cell phone until Josh protested the light from the flash might damage the paper or ink. What should I do with the photos? Greg could send the photos to his university professor friend to verify the wording. I could go to Frank and press him to speed up the certification, but what if Josh turned out to be right?
Then my wall would go back to being a garden wall and I could go back to running my business. Maybe even put up a hammock out near the site for a reading cove.
But what if Josh was wrong, and Frank didn’t find out in time? Then a national historic site would have been ignored and destroyed. I couldn’t just leave it to someone else to decide. I’d come to love the little stone wall.
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