Mooncusser Cove Page 5

  He touched the fire basket to the hull of the ship in several places. It lit up like paper thrown on a campfire. Foul smoke ushered forth, black and stinking. The oil and creosote burned hot. There'd be nothing left of the hull save the ashes covering the bottom of the cove.

  He waded ashore to the applause and cheers of the clan.

  He was a good fire-starter. A good Paladin.

  It was a good life. A good day in the life of a Paladin, on March fifteenth, the Year of Our Lord seventeen hundred and sixty-two.

  * * * *

  Jerrod awoke to the vibrating of his cell phone. He reached out groggily. “Yeah,” he said. “Jerrod here."

  "Vesper here. Just wanted you to know that I received your message, and I look forward to meeting you tomorrow. Oh, and you can move into the mansion anytime you'd like. No need to stay in town."

  "Yes. Thanks,” Jerrod replied.

  "Did I wake you, Mr. Castaneda?” Vesper asked.

  "Yeah—but it's okay. I was dead tired from the drive. What time is it?"

  "Four-thirty,” Vesper replied.

  "Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow,” Jerrod said.

  "I look forward to it."

  Jerrod ended the call. Man, she has a voice on her. Sweet.

  He rolled over, recalling bits and pieces of his dream before falling back asleep. Freakin’ write a best-seller off my dreams alone.

  He awoke hours later to the face licks from the dog. A hungry dog with a full bladder. Time to get up.

  It was past midnight.

  Marshes Coomb was not a town of vibrant night life. No neon. Five streetlights. No taxis. No hookers. Ah-ha! There was an open bar.

  Jerrod walked down the street and pushed open the door of the tavern with its flickering OPEN sign. “Can I bring my dog in?” he called.

  "Ayuh, long as he does his business outside,” the bartender called.

  Jerrod picked up his dog and walked into the tavern. Save for a few young men playing pool, it was empty. He bellied up to the bar. “Beer."

  The bartender handed Jerrod a frosty glass and bottle of Killian's Red. “Just passing through?"

  "Took a job out at Mooncusser Cove,” Jerrod replied. “Can I have a dish of water for my dog?"

  The bartender nodded. “Mooncussah Cove, eh? Not much out that way ‘cept a few local spooks."

  "Ghosts?” Jerrod asked.

  "The beach is filled with memories of wrecked ships and sailors who took their last breaths while staring down the barrel of a Mooncussah pistol. Beach stinks of ghosts."

  "Well, I'm writing a book on local legends. Sounds like you may be a person worth interviewing,” Jerrod replied. He passed the dish of water to the dog.

  "What's her name?” the bartender asked. “Your retrievah?"

  "Moonie."

  "Ayuh. Another beeah?"

  Jerrod nodded. “Thanks."

  "Nuts?"

  "Excuse me?” Jerrod asked. He realized the bartender wasn't referring to him—but to a dish of salted Spanish peanuts. “Oh, no, thanks. This is a quiet little town."

  "It picks up when the season changes."

  "Tourists?” Jerrod asked.

  The bartender shook his head. “By the busload."

  "Good thing there's another bed-and-breakfast opening up soon. I suppose the hotel fills up fast."

  "Bed-and-breakfast? Around herah?” the bartender asked.

  "Vespers by the Sea. At the cove. I've been hired as the inn's handyman,” Jerrod replied.

  The bartender leaned forward, his elbow on the bar. “Nevah heard of it."

  Jerrod finished his second beer. “I'm sure you will before too long. How much do I owe you?"

  "Happy hour. A five-spot will do."

  Jerrod placed seven dollars on the bar. “Thank you."

  The bartender nodded. “Be careful out at the cove, young man. There ah more ‘an legends to that place."

  "I'll watch my back,” Jerrod replied. He exited the bar, Moonie tucked under his arm.

  Wanting to stretch his legs, Jerrod strolled the dim streets around the bar. For a five stop-light town, there seemed to be a disproportionate number of restaurants. Maggie's, The Public House, Lucky Panda Chinese and Scooter's Authentic Gourmet Pizza. Plus a hot-dog cart outside the bank and two espresso stands. One tiny bookstore. No Wal-Mart. No Starbucks. There was a grocery store two blocks over and a post office. It wasn't the end of the earth. He could see signage for fairly recent movies released on DVD in the store windows.

  Jerrod headed back to the hotel to await his appointment at Mooncusser Cove.

  Chapter Six

  Jerrod brought his truck to a dead stop and shifted into park.

  He'd seen the ocean before. On TV. In movies. But not like this.

  He'd read the great ocean-adventure books in childhood. Moby Dick. Captains Courageous. He didn't remember the books all that well, but he knew he'd read them. He still had them. In storage. Each book was marked in pencil with the words, “Finished reading on such-and-such-a-date by J. Paladin."

  No television show or movie—even those he'd seen recently and could recall, matched the splendor and glory of the seaside. The cries of the gulls and terns, and even the tide washing up against the shore, were a brilliant new world symphony. And the scent! The salty aroma on the breeze ... its lung-tingling, pure scent was more intoxicating than expensive perfume on a beautiful woman. It made him crave sex. It made him want to taste a woman's salt on his tongue, on the beach, with the tide lapping at his feet.

  Jerrod shook off his lascivious thoughts and put his car back into drive, depressing the gas slightly. He hadn't had sex in ... forever. He didn't recall. That meant it had to be pre-accident and tucked away in one of those still-locked memory engrams of his. He hadn't even spanked the monkey in a dark age. No wonder air was making him think about having intercourse. Air!

  The lighthouse and spit came into view. Just over a slight rise, he saw the old mansion. Highgate Manor, once a hotbed of Mooncusser activity, lay empty and gray on the shoreline. It was clearly as ominous as the Bates’ house in Psycho.

  Jerrod laughed. The house had probably seen just as much craziness, too. He'd found a couple of historic references to the Mooncusser mansion while researching the legend for this book. It was pretty much the last grand dame of the coast. Completed in eighteen hundred twenty-one, the manse was a prime example of “new world opulence.” Every beam and leaded-glass window had been imported from Europe at great expense and peril, on sailing ships laden with other precious cargo, as well. Human cargo. The house had been built from materials carried in holds shared by slaves. Until it was more profitable for sea captains to leave building materials behind and concentrate solely on their inhuman import/export businesses. Bastards.

  The house played a fairly significant role in the coast's history, including being used as a part of the Underground Railroad system during the Civil War and up until the mid-nineteen forties, when it was suddenly vacated.

  He pulled over to the side of the road. His vision tunneled and fixed on a most magnificent sight. More magical than the white caps on the bay or the placid lighthouse or the gulls soaring on invisible updrafts as they searched for food.

  Just a little further ahead stood the shapeliest woman he'd ever seen. That he could remember. No ... he was pretty sure she was it. No other woman on the face of the earth could look that good. His nipples hardened, and he felt all the blood rush to his unused manly parts as the lone woman shifted her form, stretching her attractive arms.

  The sun was behind her. Through the gossamer fabric of her pale-yellow summer dress, all that God had seen fit to give her in womanly attributes could be easily discerned. She had a subtle roundness of her belly above shapely hips, topped off by full breasts with nipples reacting to the bite of wind off the bay. Crazy-curly dark hair trailed across her shoulders like rivulets of a stream seeking the sea.

  The retriever pup yipped at the closed door. Jerrod turned off his tru
ck and exited. He couldn't take his eyes off the woman standing serenely at the back stoop of the mansion. The sun reflected off her so magically—like she was a part of painting of a perfect day at the beach. He nodded to her and smiled.

  Jerrod opened the passenger door and quickly leashed the wild puppy, which dashed out of the truck with leaps and bounds, sniffing the air, sniffing the ground. Pulling him toward the woman.

  Vesper smirked. “Mr. Castaneda, I presume,” she said as the dog led the man to the manor house.

  "Hi. Sorry ... the puppy seems very interested in exploring your property. I'll clean up any droppings.” Jerrod moved the leash to his left hand and held out his right. “Nice to meet you, miss..."

  Vesper extended her hand. “I'm Vesper Highgate-Adaire."

  Jerrod frowned. “The younger? I assumed the Miss Highgate who owns all the land around here was ... older. No offense."

  "None taken. But sadly, there's only me. I own it all. Everything except your little corner of the world. Vesper is a family name. There've been several.” It was a lie. There'd been two.

  "And my corner of the world I shall share openly with all friends and lovers.” Jerrod paused. Perhaps that had been a bit too forward. Then again, maybe not. “Looks like I have my work cut out for me, doesn't it?” Jerrod ran his hand against the weathered wood siding of the mansion. “This is a two-case job if ever I saw one."

  "Two cases of what?” Vesper asked.

  "Beer. If I'm to repair those cornice pieces, pressure wash the house and repaint the trim and gingerbread, well—that's two cases. If the weather holds. Otherwise, it's probably, hmmm ... I'd say a dozen."

  "A dozen?"

  "Pots of coffee."

  "Do you always timeline your jobs with how much coffee or beer you'll be drinking?” Vesper asked.

  "Why not? It's kind of boring to come out and say that this job is going to take a month or that job will take two weeks. Incidentally, would you like to join me for a beer?"

  Vesper smiled. “Four o'clock is Miller time, hmmm?"

  Jerrod returned the smile. Damn. She's enough to make me forget about writing. Book? What book? “Best time for a brew. The beer's cold. I've got a car adapter for my jet-fridge."

  "Tell you what ... let's meet on the beach. The sun is heading west, and it's going to be an unseasonably warm evening. A storm is brewing. See the red ring around the sun? That means a storm, for certain. You bring your dog. She'll like it down there. Golden Retriever? Pure-bred?"

  Jerrod nodded. “Yeah. She's a good girl."

  Vesper nodded. “There's a log bench set up and a fire pit just up from the front porch. Why don't you grab your cold beer and meet me on the beach?"

  The retriever yipped.

  Vesper leaned forward to pet the pooch. Jerrod closed his lips tightly when he realized his tongue was hanging out of his mouth at seeing her cleavage. He calmed his libido and replied as “neighborly” as he could, “I'll meet you around front, then. We can work out the details of our agreement like civilized folk."

  Vesper nodded. “I look forward to it."

  The pup answered a call of nature as Vesper sauntered away. Jerrod chuckled to himself. This woman was amusing as Hell, and as cat-like as she walked, he was surprised the dog didn't want to give chase. He wanted to give chase!

  * * * *

  Jerrod unleashed his puppy as he approached Vesper. He held out a cold six-pack. “Like I said, cold beer!"

  Vesper laughed as the dog climbed onto her lap. “Your little friend likes me. What's her name?"

  "Moonie. Short for ‘Mooncusser,'” Jerrod replied. “You know ... after the coastal legends."

  Vesper held the puppy's face and leaned forward to let the pooch give her a doggy kiss. “Moonie! You are an affectionate puppy with onion breath!"

  Jerrod cracked a beer and passed it to Vesper. “So, I have about a thousand questions."

  Vesper brought the beer to her lips. “Shoot."

  "Why hire me? I wasn't even looking for a job. I must admit, however, your offer intrigued me."

  "It's your land abutting mine, Mr. Castaneda. I figured I'd better find the owner since I'm opening a bed-and-breakfast. Give my neighbor a heads-up. Maybe some say so."

  "What if I turned out to be a dick? Or wasn't interested in coastal living? Or didn't know how to install a garbage grinder?” Jerrod asked.

  "But you aren't, and you are, and you do. The moment my lawyer told me that you used to be in construction, I knew I had the right man for the job. I bought all your books, incidentally."

  "You're taking a chance letting a complete stranger move into your house. I don't even come with references. I might not be housebroken. What if Moonie or I piddle on a Persian carpet?"

  "I have my reasons for not hiring the locals to work for me. I need someone with fresh eyes,” Vesper replied.

  "Too bad I can't give you a fresh brain."

  Vesper laughed. “What?"

  "When your people caught up with my people, I was in rehab after a serious car accident. I'm still missing memories. Doctors said part of my brain is still asleep. As it awakens, I'll remember more and more."

  "I'm so sorry. I do know that,” Vesper replied. “I don't know the details, however. You seem to be physically fit from my perspective."

  "I'm healthy as a horse and looking forward to making new memories. Right here. On my beach."

  Vesper smiled and leaned in toward Jerrod. “This is my beach. Your beach is a quarter mile north."

  "I stand corrected.” He finished his beer. “So, I do have a couple of questions for you, Miss Adaire."

  "Go ahead."

  "You don't have that quaint New England accent I heard in town."

  Vesper smiled. “That's a statement of fact, not a question. As it stands, the kin did not mix with the locals, and we do not speak with the accent so otherwise familiar in these parts. I've worked very hard not to pick up the accent."

  "Ah, second question. You know much about the Mooncusser legend?"

  Vesper took a swig. “I've lived here all my life."

  "You remember I'm writing a book on the legend, right?” Jerrod asked.

  "Of course. You help me, I'll help you. Quite frankly, do I look like an encyclopedia of Mooncusser lore?"

  "No, you don't."

  "Well, I am. I am the last living descendent of the Highgate-Adaire clan. I am a Mooncusser's daughter."

  "A very sought-after commodity in the early years of our country, I understand,” Jerrod said, trying to lead the conversation into a bit of information spilling.

  "Indeed. From men of high rank to men running for their lives from slavers, all wanted to marry a daughter of the kin. It was a fair insurance that you wouldn't starve during the winter."

  Jerrod laughed. “My first juicy tidbit for the Mooncusser legend coffee table books."

  "I see. Well, Mr. Castaneda, I have a coffee table. What would you suggest I place atop it until your book is published?"

  Your round ass with your legs straight up and spread wide. “Definitely something with a local flare. Perhaps we could head into town and hit the bookstore sometime."

  "And have pasta with the amusing house wine?” Vesper replied.

  Jerrod mock-toasted Vesper with his beer bottle. “I'm a dark beer man, myself. But if there's an amusing wine in town, then I'll have a go."

  Moonie's ears perked, and the pup instinctively went on point. Jerrod nodded toward his dog. “Well, what's caught your attention, little girl?” He stood as the pup dashed away.

  Vesper reached out, stopping her new neighbor from taking off after the pooch. “It's all right. She's just going to explore. There's nothing around here to hinder her. She'll be back. Wet and sandy, but she'll be back."

  Jerrod relaxed. “Yeah, okay."

  "You are an overprotective father,” Vesper teased.

  "A man should protect a beautiful girl. Didn't your father keep you on a short leash?"

  "Mr. Castaned
a, are you flirting with me?” Vesper asked.

  "That wouldn't be right, now, would it? You're my employer,” Jerrod replied.

  "Ours is more of a trade situation than actual employment, is it not? I am going to compensate you for the work you do, but you're going to plug my bed-and-breakfast in return on the book jacket's back flap. It's a win/win situation. Besides, I haven't had anyone else on my beach for a very long time. I might not recognize flirtatiousness. I prefer a more direct approach. Do you know how to use a direct approach, Mr. Castaneda?"

  Well, isn't she a pistol? “Are you attached, Miss Highgate-Adaire?"

  "No. And call me Vesper."

  Jerrod scooted closer. “Vesper. Like a prayer.” The setting sun banked the horizon in magnificence. He smiled, took a breath, then recited the Catholic Vespers from memory. An old memory, resurfaced.

  "Deus, in adiutorium meum intende. Domine, ad adiuvandum me festina. Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto. Sicut erat in principio, et nunc et semper, et in saecula saeculorum. Amen. Your name means ‘evening prayer,’ and in this setting, I don't think I can tell the difference."

  "Altar boy,” Vesper giggled.

  "Actually, I was never an altar boy. My mother was a closet Catholic and loved Latin. She used to play Gregorian chants while cooking dinner. I must have heard Vespers a hundred times as a kid. She had a rosary hidden in the flour jar, too. I can't believe I remember that."

  "Something better left forgotten?"

  "My memory returns like flotsam. It washes in and out with the tide. Sometimes things wash ashore that leave a bad taste in my mouth. Anything about my father, for instance. He was raised an Orthodox Jew and fell in love with a woman who loved the taste of a Communion wafer. He forbade my mother from attending Mass."

  "My parents were devout Early American Anglicans. I believe a pew at the church in Sommerland still has our family name tagged to it. However, I do not attend Mass. I'm a bit of a rebel and local flavor around here. The good citizens of Marshes Coomb nod their heads politely at me, but the further north or south I go, the more people look at me with suspicious eyes. It's like they can tell I'm left over from the old days when my family thrived with their nasty little beachling ways."