The business will continue to operate as a souvenir shop.
The Cosmic Transmitter must be made available to visitors during business hours, and
The earthly remains of Augustus Xylon Anagnos are to be cremated and interred beneath the Cosmic Transmitter.
What the hell was a cosmic transmitter?
If Xander failed to meet these conditions, the building would be sold and the proceeds donated to the North American Society to Document Extra-terrestrial Visitations.
With a grunt, he pushed to his feet and flung open the only decent-sized window in the place. He leaned out, sucking in a deep breath of salty air.
What an unappetizing choice—clean out Gus’s cobweb-infested junk shop and make a go of the souvenir business, or return to the cramped back office of Niko’s Taverna, working the books for his parents. Gus had him by the short and curlies.
No way around it. Souvenir Planet was his best shot at recouping his losses.
In the narrow residential street below, smiley neighbors greeted each other on their way to the beach or into town. Trappers Cove might be tacky and kitschy, but the town’s soothing, friendly vibe was undeniable.
Gus’s raspy voice rang in Xander’s memory: “Are you up for a challenge, agori mou?”
The eager boy he’d been back then would’ve jumped right in with a whoop of delight. But that kid hadn’t yet had childish optimism beaten out of him by sharp, cold reality.
With a sigh, he closed the window and trotted down the stairs to fetch his belongings from his Prius. On his windshield, he found a welcome message from Trappers Cove—a huge blot of seagull shit.
“Ugh.” He pulled a paper napkin from the door pocket and scrubbed at the gross mess. “Is there even a carwash in this dumpy little town?”
He glared up at the muddy-gray sky. “What have you gotten me into, Gus?”
A peal of avian laughter rang out as two gulls—a snowy white and gray adult and a drabber juvenile—lifted off from a streetlamp and flapped seaward. On an impulse, Xander followed, hands stuffed into his pockets. Soft sea mist pattered his face. Well, that was one plus for this cruddy apartment—only two blocks from the shore, and the ocean’s muffled roar grew louder with each step.
The cottage-lined street ended at a wooden railing. Stepping through a gap, he followed a path through the sea grass to the crest of a low dune.
“Wow.” TC’s eponymous cove stretched out before him, a long curve of pale, clean sand slicked mirror-smooth at the surf line. Comforting memories washed over him like a warm, buoying tide. So many happy, carefree summers he’d spent here, and that magic lingered, even amidst this perplexing crisis.
The tension rolled off his shoulders, leaving him peaceful and relaxed for the first time since he’d arrived in Trappers Cove. What a perfect place to sort out his next steps.
A smile curved his lips. “Okay, Gus, you’re on. Thanks for this opportunity. I promise to give it my best shot.”
Hannah scowled at her blank phone screen. Six days since she’d offered Xander whatever help he needed with his shop, and…nada. Okay, he’d dropped off an obituary while she was out covering a city council meeting, but otherwise, zip. After Sunday’s front-page spread on Gus and his contribution to Trappers Cove, including quotes from over twenty friends, neighbors, and even the mayor, she’d expected at least a text of thanks. But nope, not a peep.
Well then, time to take matters into her own hands. Surely, there’d be a funeral or celebration of life, and her readers deserved the chance to bid farewell to one of the town’s leading lights.
So what if she was itching for another peek at Souvenir Planet’s oh-so-attractive new owner? That was beside the point—mostly.
“Mom, I’m going across the street for a bit.”
Her mother looked up from the Saint Patrick’s Day ad layout. “See if Garrett’s got apple crullers today. I’ve got a hankering for one.”
Caught.“Actually, I was going to stop at Gus’s place first—er, Xander’s place.”
