Woohoo!
Meg Perry to the rescue!
Dear Merrymakers, the talented and generous Meg Perry has once again contributed a delicious morsel of festive fiction to the Advent Calendar. This year her series regulars Jamie Brodie and Pete Ferguson decide to get away for the holiday, and guess where they decide to visit? ;-)
Small World
“I want to go to New England.”
My husband, Pete Ferguson, and I were sitting on our front
porch in New Mexico, adult beverages at hand, watching the sunset. A warm
spring breeze was ruffling my hair; my feet were propped on the porch rail, and
contentment was spreading through my veins along with the Glenfiddich.
I’d never felt less like going anywhere.
I said lazily, “Sure. We’ll go sometime.”
“I mean this December.”
I turned my head to look at him. He had a dreamy,
pie-in-the-sky expression on his face that I recognized well. It usually meant
trouble for me in the end.
“We’re going to be in North Carolina in December.” We were
spending the holidays with my entire extended family. Even my German cousins
were coming.
“We can go to New England the week before. It’ll be perfect
timing. We’ll be on the East Coast anyway, and we can recover from jet lag
before we join your family.”
“It’ll be cold.”
“No colder than it would be if we stayed here.”
I wasn’t too sure about that. “It might snow.”
“Yes!” Like that
was a good thing. “Just picture it.” He spread his hands in front of him,
panorama-style. “A quaint New England fishing village, decorated for
Christmas.”
“We decorate for Christmas.”
“Twinkling lights, hot cocoa by a fireplace…”
“We can have cocoa by the fireplace here.”
“Strolling along the harbor, enjoying the ocean breeze…”
“More like a gale-force wind, that time of year.”
“Watching boats come and go, eating fresh lobster…”
He had me there. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten fresh lobster I. s it still in
season in December?”
“I bet it is. What do you think?”
“I think you should stop sniffing the candles at the
Hallmark store.”
He laughed. “It’ll be romantic.”
I sighed deeply. “We’ll have to drive to LA first to leave
Ammo with Ali and Mel.” At the sound of his name, our yellow Lab thumped his
tail on the floor.
“So, we do that a week earlier than we’d planned to.”
There was clearly no point in arguing. I said, “Okay. I’ll
look at flights. Tomorrow.”
He beamed. “It’ll be great!”
Uh huh.
One week before Christmas, we flew from LAX to Boston. I’d
been shocked to locate accommodations in the off-season in a quaint seaside
fishing village, a bed and breakfast in a place called Pirate’s Cove -
seriously - on an island off the coast of Rhode Island. So, once in Boston, we
picked up our rental SUV - with four-wheel drive in case of snow - and headed
south.
Getting to the island required a ferry ride from Newport.
The “ocean breeze” was frigid, and the ferry rocked in the whitecaps on the
bay. By the time we disembarked at Pirate’s Cove, we were both tinged with
green.
Our B&B was a place called the Seacrest Inn. It did look
inviting as we drove up. A lit, fully decorated Christmas tree stood in one
window; the other windows glowed with light à la Thomas Kinkade.
Ours was the only car in the parking area.
The door opened as we hauled our bags from the trunk,
revealing a woman wearing an apron. She waved at us. “Welcome! You must be Pete
and Jeremy.”
I said, “Yes, ma’am. I go by Jamie.”
“I’m Nan Sweeny. I’m so delighted that you’re here! Come in,
get out of that cold wind.”
We trundled into a reception area with a crackling fire.
Overstuffed chairs and sofas were scattered around the room; the decor was
strictly nautical. Nan said, “You must have had a long day! Did you fly into
Providence?”
Pete was raptly taking in the Christmas tree with its
lighthouse ornaments and the jars of sand and seashells. I said, “No, Boston.”
“Oh! It’s a lovely drive through the country, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Now, you have to call me Nan.”
“Yes, ma’am. Nan.”
She giggled. “Let me show you to your room.”
The room was up a flight of stairs and at the end of a cold
hallway. She opened the door and waved us in. “Each room has its own
thermostat, so you can set it however you like. I thought you might appreciate
the warmth.”
The room was toasty. It would be too warm to sleep, but I
said, “We do. Thank you.”
Pete was peering out the window. “There’s a lighthouse out
there!”
“Yes, that’s the North Point lighthouse. You’ll have a
wonderful view of it in the daytime. Are you early or late risers?”
I said, “Tomorrow, probably late.”
“How does breakfast at eight sound?”
“That sounds perfect. Thank you. Where’s the best place to
get supper tonight?”
“Oh, that’ll be the Salty Dog pub. It’s on Main Street in
town.”
The stiff wind off the harbor was bitterly cold, but the
interior of the Salty Dog was warm and inviting. There weren’t a lot of
patrons. The man behind the bar waved at us. “Welcome! Sit anywhere you like.”
“Thanks.” We chose a table near the fireplace. A
college-aged girl appeared at our elbows as soon as we were seated. “Hi! I’m
Libby. What can I get you to drink? We have hot mulled cider.”
I said, “Ooh. That.”
She laughed. “I’ll be right back.”
Pete perused the menu while I scanned the room. A few clumps
of people who had to be locals were scattered about. Another male couple was
seated to my left. I shared a glance with the guy facing me - then he did a
double take and stared.
I narrowed my eyes at him. He looked away.
Libby reappeared with our cider and took our orders. Once
she was out of earshot I said, “There’s a guy to your right who’s staring at
me.”
To his credit, Pete didn’t immediately look over. “Which
one? The dark-haired one?”
“No, the other one.” The guy had light brown hair. He was
wearing jeans and an Aran sweater, but his demeanor screamed cop. “I think he’s law enforcement.”
Pete grinned. “Well, you do look suspicious.”
I sipped my cider. “Here he comes.”
The guy stopped a couple of feet away from our table so that
he wasn’t looming over us. Considerate. He asked me, “What’s your last name?”
I crossed my arms and scowled at him. “Who wants to know?”
Recognition dawned on his face. “Brodie.”
Whaaaat? “Who the hell are you?”
“Sorry. Jack Carson. I’m the police chief in Pirate’s Cove,
but I started my career with LAPD. I knew a guy, a homicide detective at West
LA Division, who looks a lot like
you.”
Pete was chuckling. I said, “Kevin.”
“Yes. Kevin
Brodie. You must be brothers.”
“We are. I’m Jamie. This is my husband, Pete Ferguson.”
Pete said, “I was ten years on the street with LAPD. Kevin
was my partner for a while.”
Carson shook his head in disbelief. “What are the odds? Is
he still at West LA?”
I said, “No. He’s a social worker with the DA’s Victim
Services now.”
Carson looked like he thought that was crazy. “Has anyone
broken his marksmanship record at the academy?”
“Nope. Would Kevin remember you?”
“He might. I was homicide, too, but at Wilshire. We’d see
each other at West Bureau meetings.”
“I’ll tell him we ran into you.”
Pete asked, “How’d you end up here?”
Something flickered in Carson’s eyes. “Long story.” He
turned to his dinner companion, who’d come up behind him. “Turns out, our New
Mexico visitors are actually from Los Angeles.”
“No kidding.” The dark-haired man was incredibly good-looking. “I’m Ellery Page. How on earth did you
stumble across Pirate’s Cove?”
I said, “You have the only seaside B&B in all of New
England that’s open in December.”
Page laughed. “I’m sure. Several of our other businesses
stay open all year, too. I own a bookstore just down the street. You’ll have to
stop by.”
I was sure that my face had lit up like - well, a Christmas
tree. “What kind of bookstore?”
“A mystery bookstore. It’s called the Crow’s Nest.”
Of course, it had to be a mystery bookstore. I hoped I
didn’t sound snarky. “This place has all the ingredients for a cozy mystery
series.”
Page and Carson shared a look. Carson said, “Yeah, well.
Tell Kevin I said hello.”
“I will.”
Page said, “I’ll see you at the shop tomorrow.”
“Absolutely.”
The two men pulled on coats and left, wishing a good night
to everyone in the room. Our lobster rolls arrived, and we dug in. I said, “Mm.
This is good.”
“Yep. Are you glad we came yet?”
I rolled my eyes at him. “I’ll let you know tomorrow.”
