Second Wind (Cypress Coast Book 1) Read online

  Jake debated how much to tell her. He didn’t want to worry her or involve her any more than necessary. At this point, there was no apparent connection to the murder of her ex-fiancé, and his investigation of her employer had been suspended. As far as the Bureau was concerned, she was nothing more than a witness.

  He kept his tone casual. “I hope it was that simple and those bikers won’t have any reason to bother you again.”

  “Me, too. They were polite enough, but…”

  “If you see them again, would you let me know right away?”

  She hesitated. “Sure.”

  He didn’t want to cut her off, but he had to get these warrants ready before the judge left his office for the day. “Was there anything else? I hate to rush you, but I’m—”

  “No. Nothing. I won’t take up any more of your time.”

  “Laurel, I—”

  Before he could explain, his phone went black.

  ****

  Laurel stuffed her phone back into her purse. From now on, Jake Carlson could do his own spy work. Victor and Martin had never been anything but kind to her. She felt like a traitor, reporting their conversation to the FBI. If they were mixed up in some illegal activity, it probably wasn’t by choice.

  Victor had spent the rest of the day moving inventory around in the gallery—sprucing the place up, in his words—so she’d had to come up with a reason to leave the building long enough to make her call. Since they both loved the nearby coffee shop’s signature Mocha Chai, an afternoon tea run had been the perfect excuse. She rose from the mosaic-topped table in the courtyard outside the coffee shop, picked up the pair of lidded paper cups, and headed back to the gallery.

  Victor glanced up from the computer as she approached with both hands full and hurried to open the door. Relieving her of one cup, he took an appreciative sniff of the steam wafting through the narrow opening in the lid. “Ah, fabulous stuff. The aroma alone is enough to put one in a holiday mood.”

  He reached behind the counter and produced a holly-decked paper plate mounded with a variety of cookies and what looked like home-made chocolate truffles. “While you were out, Ermengarde Hoffmann—you remember, the lady who drove her Cadillac into the fountain outside—well, she stopped by with two plates of Christmas treats, one for us and one for Martin.”

  Laurel eyed the array, chose one of the chocolate-coated spheres, and took a bite. The moment it touched her tongue, velvety chocolate spiked with a hint of something alcoholic threatened to drown her in pleasure. She might have moaned.

  Victor chuckled and selected an iced gingerbread man. “Ermengarde might be a lousy driver, but she’s a fabulous cook.”

  Laurel had to agree. By the time she finished her second truffle, most of her annoyance with Jake had melted away. Chocolate was the perfect cure-all.

  Shortly before six o’clock, her phone buzzed. I hope it’s Jake. She would feel better after she apologized for being short with him earlier. However, the caller was her sister.

  “Hi, Sage. What’s up?”

  “Mom told Angelica and me about your break-in. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. It looked a lot worse than it was. The burglars left a mess, and a couple of pots were broken, but as far as I could tell, nothing was stolen.”

  “Do you need help cleaning up?”

  “Thanks, but Jake and I had everything back to normal in a couple of hours.”

  “Jake?” Sage’s voice sparkled with sudden interest.

  Uh, oh. She’d stepped in it now. “We were at brunch in Moss Landing when it happened.”

  “Aah.” Sage managed to pack an impressive amount of innuendo into a single syllable.

  “Yes.” What else could she say?

  “Have you been seeing a lot of each other?”

  It was silly to be embarrassed or try to hide her social life from her sister. “We’ve been out a few times.”

  “Excellent! I’m glad to hear it. He’ll be good for you.”

  Not the response she’d expected. “I hope so, but I’m curious—what makes you say that?”

  “I didn’t know your ex-fiancé, but he certainly didn’t make a very positive first impression. Jake, on the other hand, is a straight arrow and a genuinely nice guy. Midwestern through and through.”

  With her phone pinned between her ear and her shoulder, Laurel shrugged into her coat then picked up her purse. “A regular Boy Scout. Yeah, he told me.”

  “I’m serious. I’m glad you’re giving him a chance. He can be tough, but I can’t imagine him hurting anyone or anything weaker than him.”

  “I’m glad he has your seal of approval.” She closed the gallery door and locked it. “I’m heading to my car now. Was there anything else?”

  “Are you doing anything this evening?”

  “Nothing special. Why?”

  “Angelica and I thought we might come over for a girls’ night in. We can make pizza and catch up. Even though you’re back in town, we’ve hardly seen you.”

  Guilt poked at Laurel. Sage was right. Her sisters had put in a lot of time working on the apartment conversion, and between the whole mess with Richard and her new job, she’d never repaid them. “That sounds wonderful! I’ll stop at the store on the way home.”

  “Don’t bother. We’ll come prepared. See you in an hour.”

  “I’ll be waiting. Bye.” She smiled to herself all the way to the car. A fun evening with her sisters was one of the things she’d missed most while living in Seattle. They had a lot of lost time to make up for.

  As Laurel neared the VW, a vehicle rolled past with its lights off. It was too dark to see anyone inside, and the car’s slow movement gave her a brief shot of anxiety until she convinced herself she was being silly. She shook her head and unlocked her door. The driver was probably drunk, or another lost tourist. In a small village with neither street lights nor house numbers, the driver was never going to find his hotel without headlights. It was a good thing Carmel had plenty of police officers on patrol to come to the aid of clueless visitors.

  The late rush-hour traffic had thinned, so she made good time and arrived ahead of Sage and Angelica. Sage had said they were coming “prepared,” but Laurel wanted to make sure she had a couple of bottles of wine to contribute. She changed into fleecy leggings and her favorite loose-knit pink sweater and found a bottle of Pinot Noir in a cabinet. She had just discovered an almost-full bottle of Chardonnay in the fridge when she heard a knock at the door.

  She opened the door, and her sisters spilled in, laden with grocery bags. She gave them each a hug and directed them to the compact kitchen area.

  Sage set her bag on the counter and began unloading vegetables—carrots, yellow squash, zucchini, onions, mushrooms, and even a couple of artichokes. “I brought these from work—everything we need for pizzas.”

  “And I’ve got the ingredients for the dough, already measured, and some nice mozzarella.” Angelica raised her bag with a smile.

  Laurel’s eyes rounded. “Wow. When you say prepared, you mean it. All I can say is, red or white?” She raised her hands with a bottle in each.

  Sage glanced up from the drawer she’d opened. “Red for me. Where are your knives?”

  “I’ll take white,” Angelica chimed in.

  Laurel pointed Sage to the knife block on the counter next to the fridge. “As Mom would say, any closer, and it would have bitten you.”

  Sage rolled her eyes. “Ha, ha.”

  Laurel handed her a cutting board, then poured them each a glass of wine. She raised her glass. “Here’s to us.” The sisters clinked glasses and drank.

  She turned to Sage. “This was a great idea. I’m glad you thought of it.”

  “Angelica and I came up with it together.”

  Angelica’s sea-blue eyes were sympathetic. “After everything that’s happened, we figured you could use some company.”

  “You were right. We should plan to get together every week.”

  Sage flashed
a sly grin. “Are you sure Jake won’t mind?”

  Laurel gave her shoulder a playful slap. “Will you knock it off? You’re as bad as you were in high school when I started dating Chaz Brinkley.”

  “Oo-ooh. Cha-az,” Sage mocked in a sing-song voice.

  When they all stopped laughing, Angelica said, “Seriously, Laurel. I’m sorry about your fiancé, but I’m really glad you’re home.”

  “I’m glad, too. I know it sounds trite, but I need to re-discover myself—find the real Laurel again.”

  Sage glanced up from chopping zucchini. “Trite, maybe, but still true.”

  Laurel took another sip of wine. “I’m tired of treading water. I need to move forward.”

  “What do you mean?” Angelica asked.

  She hesitated. Since she’d returned, she hadn’t shared her plans and hopes with her sisters, but they were both artists—they would understand. “I’m ready to try sculpting again. I’ve spent the last nine years doing things I hate because I thought I couldn’t do the thing I love.”

  Angelica dumped her dry ingredient mixture into a big mixing bowl and added water and a couple glugs of olive oil. “It’s hard to make a living as an artist. Every artist I know has to do something else to pay the bills, at least for a while.”

  “I know, but I gave up too easily. Other people I knew from art school found ways to keep working, no matter what day jobs they took. I always found some excuse. I couldn’t find the right studio space. I couldn’t afford the right studio space. I didn’t have the energy to be creative. Blah, blah, blah. The truth is, I think I’ve been afraid to find out if I have the talent to make it as a sculptor.” Her voice trailed off. “Richard certainly didn’t think so.”

  Sage set the zucchini aside and picked up a carrot. “I only met the man once, and then he was trying to break into the house with a gun. You need to forget everything Richard ever said to you. He wasn’t worth the breath it took to tell him to get lost.”

  Laurel couldn’t argue. Sage’s assessment might be harsh, but it was accurate.

  “You don’t have to tell us, but I have to ask. What did you ever see in him?”

  That question had plagued her over the past few weeks, too. “He was older—handsome, self-assured, and sophisticated. He was unlike any man I’d ever met. He was exciting.”

  “He was also crazy,” Sage observed drily.

  “In retrospect, yes. But what’s more exciting than crazy?” Laurel’s short laugh had a brittle edge. “Apparently, he was looking for someone obedient and ornamental. That wasn’t me. I’m disappointed that I allowed myself to be dazzled by his surface attributes.” She sighed and took a sip of wine. “I never knew him for the man he really was, and now he’s dead. I still can’t believe it.”

  “And murdered.” Angelica shivered. “That must have been a terrible shock. The last year has been rough for you.”

  “I didn’t think so at first. But now that I have a little distance, I think being with Richard was damaging from the start.”

  Angelica split the dough into two rounds, dropped them into a pair of oiled bowls, and covered them with plastic wrap for a quick rise. “I’m glad you’re home. This is a good place to heal.”

  Laurel pictured the rugged coastline, the sparkle of the sun on the breakers, and the soft, pine-scented air. This was where she belonged, where she needed to be to put down new, permanent roots. “It’s a good place, period.”

  Ten minutes later Sage commandeered the pizza rounds, added sauce, and sprinkled chopped vegetables over them. Angelica added shredded mozzarella, and in fifteen minutes dinner was ready. The sisters carried their glasses and food to the living room, where they spread everything on the coffee table before settling on the sofa. While they ate, they laughed, drank wine, and filled in some of the gaps caused by lack of contact over the past five years. After a few minutes, Rufus insisted on joining the party and climbed onto Angelica’s lap, basking in his position as the center of the attention.

  She reacted to his bulk with a mock groan. “Laurel, I think your cat needs to join Weight Watchers. He’s huge!”

  Rufus narrowed his eyes and flipped his tail menacingly.

  Laurel laughed. “Watch what you say. He’s a little touchy about his weight. Besides, he’s mostly muscle and fur.” She glanced between her sisters. “I just realized I don’t even know if either of you has a pet.”

  “Not at home,” Angelica replied. “I’m surrounded by sea creatures every day at the Monterey Bay Aquarium, where I work. The otters are kind of like pets, except I don’t have to take care of them.”

  Laurel turned to Sage. “What about you?”

  “I’m like Angelica. We have a gang of outrageously spoiled goats at Valley Farms, so I get plenty of animal attention at work.”

  Laurel hefted Rufus off her sister’s lap and set him on the floor, where he promptly draped himself across Angelica’s feet. “What about your art? I know you’ve both continued to make and sell your work since you got out of school. Have you managed to find studio space somewhere?”

  Sage answered first. “I have a potter’s wheel and a small electric kiln in a shed behind the guest house I rent from the owner of Valley Farms. It’s nothing fancy, but it works for me.”

  Laurel set her wineglass on the table. “Angelica?”

  “I’m lucky enough to be able to use the equipment at the community college near my apartment in Monterey—that’s where I first learned to blow glass. The art teacher texts me whenever they’re going to fire up the furnace. She says it’s good for the students to see a professional glass artist at work, but I think she’s just being nice because she knows I can’t afford my own equipment.”

  Sage set a half-eaten slice of pizza on her plate. “Mom said you’ve started turning the garage into a studio for your sculpture.”

  Laurel took another swallow of wine. “Started, yes. I gave the place a good cleaning, picked up a few basic supplies, and built a workbench.”

  An elfin smile lit Angelica’s delicate features. “I think that’s exciting.”

  “I have to admit I’m excited to start working again, but I’m nervous, too. I have no idea if anyone will like my wind sculptures, much less want to buy them.” Laurel took another bite and chewed. “I was wondering, where do you sell your pieces? Do you have connections at any of the local galleries?”

  “Us?” Sage snorted. “We’re just a couple of local kids, complete nobodies. As I’m sure you know, the galleries in Monterey and Carmel carry the work of well-known artists from around the world.”

  “What about some of the smaller galleries outside the main tourist areas?”

  Angelica reached down and rubbed Rufus’s ears, eliciting a rumbling purr. “Most of those are owned by the artists themselves. We don’t have the money to do anything like that. The most we can afford is a booth at an occasional craft fair.”

  Owned by the artists themselves. The words sparked a lightning-fast chain of thoughts in Laurel’s brain, giving her a swift vision of what could be.

  Her head felt oddly light as she faced her sisters. “What if we did that?”

  “Did what?” Sage’s expression radiated skepticism. “Set up our own gallery? Do you have a secret stash of cash we don’t know about?”

  “No, but there’s that building Dad used for storage down the hill a ways from the restaurant.”

  Angelica looked thoughtful. “I know the one you mean, but I don’t know what kind of shape it’s in. Nobody’s been in it for years.”

  The vision was evolving rapidly in Laurel’s brain. “It couldn’t be in much worse condition than this place was.” She waved an arm, encompassing the whole of her bright, cheerful space. “And look at what a few weeks of hard work and a few thousand dollars can do.”

  Sage set her empty glass on the table and leaned forward, resting her forearms on her knees. “You might be onto something. If we pooled our labor and resources and enlisted Rafael and his sons to help, we might be ab
le to pull it off.”

  “We’d want it to be accessible by walkway to Earthly Delights,” Angelica mused. “The restaurant gets so busy, especially on summer weekends, that people often have to wait quite a while. Browsing in a gallery would give them something fun to do, and we’d have built-in traffic.”

  Laurel continued, her words tripping over themselves with enthusiasm. “Since we have different work schedules, we could arrange to be open three or four days a week, and eventually we might be able to expand.”

  Sage nodded. “If we’re going to do it, we need a theme, something that ties the gallery to this place. After all, that’s why visitors come to Big Sur.”

  “I think we already have that,” Laurel replied. “Even though we work in different media, we’re each using art to express the natural beauty of the Cypress Coast. Angelica’s glass sparkles like the sea. Your pots are literally rooted in the land. And my sculpture whispers with the wind.”

  “That’s so poetic!” Angelica clapped her hands in delight, which caused Rufus to rise and storm off in high dudgeon.

  Sage stared at the surface of the coffee table, absently stroking its smooth surface with two fingers, doubtless weighing the pros and cons as she always did. Finally, she nodded. “It’s a good plan. We can make it work.”

  Laurel beamed. “Now all we need is a name. What do you think of Sisters Three?”

  “How about Sisters Three by the Sea?” Angelica suggested.

  “Sisters Three by the Sea,” Laurel repeated. “Now that is poetic.”

  She thrust out her fist, and the others stacked theirs on top the way they had when they were young, in their own version of the Three Musketeers’ One for all, and all for one. “To Sisters Three by the Sea!”

  “Hear, hear!” they chorused.

  Laurel picked up a half-empty wine bottle in each hand. “I think this calls for refills all around.”

  Sage stood and raised her glass with a grin. “A toast to the McDowell girls and our new venture.”

  All smiles, they clinked glasses and drank.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN