CHAPTER TWELVE
LUKE STOOD AT the base of the glistening white steps to the Flutterby Inn, Butterfly Harbor’s mainstay for almost half a century. He’d always considered the Flutterby a beacon in town, its sunshine-yellow paint reflecting against the morning sun, standing strong against cool morning breezes as the weather settled into its normal temperatures.
With the Pacific roaring beyond Lookout Point, Luke hitched Cash’s leash around a porch post and tried not to feel guilty when the dog let out a belabored sigh and plopped his butt down to wait.
“Good morning, Sheriff.” Abby greeted him from behind the lobby counter with her usual ebullient smile. “Seems you made quite an impression at the town meeting last night. No battle scars, so I guess you survived.”
“I did.” Prior to attending, Luke would rather have faced a firing squad than be paraded in front of the town residents again as the mayor’s new appointee, but he’d been pleasantly surprised by the warm welcome he’d received. Especially given how many of those in attendance had been around long enough to remember the Luke who used to live here. Not everyone clung to the past like a life preserver. “What’s going on, Abby? You having some problems out this way?”
Abby shook her head. “Lori told me she’d called the station. You didn’t have to make a special trip out to investigate. I really don’t think it’s a big deal.”
“Don’t think what’s a big deal?” Holly walked through the open set of double French doors with a steaming mug in her hands. It was then Luke noticed the small dark head perched behind the computer screen. Simon peeked around the edge, a satisfied gleam in his eyes as he typed.
“Good morning, Holly.” Since he and Holly decided they should keep their distance, it seemed as if every time he turned around, there she was. Best laid plans... “Trespassers apparently,” Luke said. “Down at the cabins?”
“It’s nothing new,” Abby insisted, then glanced at Simon. “No, see, right there. That’s what it’s been doing. Why won’t it accept that field for entry? Sorry.” She grimaced at Luke. “Computer gremlins, and this guy here is the only one who can find them.” Abby dropped a hand on Simon’s head. “I thought Fletch or Ozzy would come out. I didn’t expect the sheriff.”
“Oz is working on our own computer issues,” Luke explained, “and Fletch had to go over to Mrs. Eddington’s. Someone broke into her garden shed overnight. So you’re stuck with me.” Truth be told, Luke had been glad for the opportunity to visit one of his favorite spots in town.
“Well, I’d hate for you to have wasted a trip,” Abby said. “Holly, do me a favor and show Luke the cabins?”
Holly swallowed, her eyes tearing as she fanned her mouth. “Me?”
“You’re the one who doesn’t want me to leave someone alone with my computer,” Abby all but sang as she angled her eyes in Simon’s direction. “Lori said it’s the one by the back, just off the shoals.”
“It’ll be quick,” Luke assured Holly. “After you.” He moved a step back for Holly to take the lead and tried not to take offense at the uncertainty blanketing her pretty face. He’d take it over apathy any day.
Outside, Holly stopped at the foot of the stairs to give Cash a warmer greeting than she’d ever given Luke. Her yellow T-shirt hiked up and exposed a sliver of smooth back over snug jeans. Luke flipped his cap around to give himself something to focus on other than how Holly’s hair glistened in the morning sun, or how—
“What?” she asked when she caught him staring at her.
“Nothing.” But his mouth twitched as he headed down the path behind the inn, Holly the spitfire following at a distance.
The sandy trail forked in three directions and led either to the beach or to the observation area or down the wooded, garden path, Luke remembered vividly. “The place is a lot more overgrown than I remember.” Luke bent down to examine the remnants of multiple footprints in the still damp earth and more than wind-tossed trash lying about. “Lori was right to call.”
His ears roared. He remembered hiding in the thickets waiting to see if a cabin would go unclaimed for the night. For him, it was worth the risk of getting caught trespassing rather than face going home. An unlocked window or door on one of these pseudohomes was salvation, given the promise of a good night’s sleep.
“Mr. Vartebetium stopped booking these for guests after his wife passed away.” Holly’s sandals slapped along the occasional stone. “Abby’s hoping to convince him to reopen them once and if business picks up. As of now, there are only a couple that are habitable and she’s living in one of them.” Holly moved ahead of him down the path and into the front yard of one of the cabins.