So many happy childhood memories centered around this place. As far back as she could remember, Gus stocked her favorite saltwater taffy flavors: tangerine and peppermint. She’d loved impressing out-of-town cousins with his creepy taxidermized creatures, like the two-headed calf and the “mermaid,” with a monkey’s body and a salmon’s tail. A good portion of her allowance went to seashell jewelry and other tchotchkes purchased at Gus’s emporium of the weird and wacky. Back then, space alien-themed trinkets only made up a tiny portion of Gus’s inventory. Lately, little green and silver ETs grinned from nearly every shelf in the store, and tourists gobbled it up. Seemed Gus found his market niche.
Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen the mustachioed, grandfatherly Greek for a while now. She usually ran into him at the bakery or Cassie’s Coastal Café. She made a mental note to check on him soon.
The wind was picking up, and the worst of Hannah’s angst had eased into a dull sense of defeat, with a dash of impending doom. Might as well head back to the office and start making phone calls.
With Mom upstairs and Fred and Almah out covering stories, Hannah felt the weight of her solitude. Her footsteps echoed in the empty newsroom as she once again paced the aisle between the desks. “C’mon, Muse, hit me.”
A shadow moved at the edge of her vision. She whipped her head around to stare at what had been her father’s desk.
Nothing there but piles of mail and an empty chair. The caffeine must be making her jittery.
Ironic how bitter anger swirled with fond memories. Dad had such a nose for news. If he were here, he’d know what to do.
“But you’re gone, aren’t ya?” She glared at the vacant space. “Serves you right.”
Immediately, guilt sliced her between the ribs. She had every right to hate him after he abandoned them for a shiny new job at the PortlandOregonianand the younger woman he’d knocked up while still married to Mom. But a heart attack had felled him before his little boy even reached kindergarten.
One destroyed home, two widows, four broken hearts.
Weird how, for long stretches of time, she wouldn’t give that painful chapter of her life much thought, and then something would bring it all boiling up again like a foul-tasting, bitter burp. Why now? Must be the phase of the moon, or perhaps an extra-strong tide tugging at her psyche.
With a sigh, she sat and opened their database of digitized back issues. While the files loaded, she poked the space alien bobblehead atop her monitor to make him dance. Cute little bugger.
She clicked back in time—five years ago, six, seven… then smacked her desk and let out a whoop.
Shortly after her parents’ divorce, Mom did a two-page spread on the twenty-fifth anniversary of Souvenir Planet. That story led to a feature on Seattle TV news and an influx of visitors. She checked the date—sure enough, that was in early March twenty-five years ago, which meant the shop’s fiftieth anniversary was coming up.
Perfect! She could spin this into a big, juicy human-interest story—Gus’s origins, his contribution to Trappers Cove, his antique arcade games, his fascination with aliens, which she suspected was mostly a marketing gimmick, but who cared? It was cute and endearing, and readers would eat it up with a spoon.
If she could pry enough information out of Gus, she’d have weeks’ worth of material. And the old guy loved to talk. Ooh! How about a detailed digital exclusive to lure new subscribers?
Her whole body tingled with renewed energy as her fingers flew over the keyboard. Her prayers had been answered. She was going to by-God save theBeacon.
Chapter Three
Feelingmorerelaxedthanhe had in ages, Xander cruised through Trappers Cove on his way to Souvenir Planet. Despite the passage of over twenty years since his last childhood summer, Main Street had barely changed. So many happy memories: the arcade where he’d gleefully bested Uncle Gus and Aunt Marty in Skee-ball; Gelateria Paradiso, home of the world’s best chocolate-hazelnut ice cream; Cassie’s Coastal Café, where he ate blueberry pancakes with whipped cream smiles…
Idling at the main drag’s only traffic light, he laughed out loud at the corny cartoon sign of Spee-Dee Go-karts. Would it be too weird for an almost middle-aged man to take a ride? Maybe Gus would race him again for old times’ sake.
While his inner child rejoiced, his adult sensibilities cringed a little at the tackiness of it all. Mismatched buildings, a crooked streetlamp, faded paint, and kitschy shop names like Auntie Annabelle’s Antiques Attic, Ali Baba’s Kebabs, Mermaid’s Grotto Gifts, and Madame Zora’s Psychic Emporium. He bet her patchouli incense still made visitors sneeze.
If he were in charge, he’d give the whole shopping area a facelift, starting with Gus’s place—yikes! Of all the beachy-kitschy shops, Souvenir Planet took the tacky cake. He pulled into the almost-empty lot and stared up at the gaudy façade, now even more crowded with grinning plywood aliens, shooting stars, a couple of lopsided planets, and a 3-D UFO made out of God knows what. Above the entrance, a new sign, hand lettered in neon green, shouted,Visit the Cosmic Vortex.
Was that some kind of kiddie ride? One of those optical illusion rooms with a tilted floor? Gotta hand it to Gus. The guy was creative, always throwing ideas at the wall to see what stuck.
Guilt poked Xander hard as he pulled on his rain jacket. He hadn’t visited Gus’s place since Aunt Marty passed, and that was…five years ago. To hear Gus tell it during his infrequent visits to Seattle, the shop was still humming along. Must be tough, running the business without his wife’s help. They’d been so close, literally finishing each other’s sentences and giggling over the goofy shit they stocked on their shelves.
If he could find a woman to laugh with the way Gus laughed with Marty, he’d be a happy man. But right now, he didn’t have much to offer a partner, other than a night or two of fun. Better to forget about dating and focus on the task at hand—whatever that turned out to be. With Uncle Gus, you never knew.
He crossed the pitted parking lot, sidestepping around puddles. Weird, he couldn’t recall ever seeing it this empty. Even in the dead season between school vacations, there was always someone poking through the shelves of seashells, snow globes, T-shirts, and other touristy crap.
A few cars sat outside Sweet Dreams Bakery, which shared the big parking lot. Was Miss Ella still around? His mouth watered at the memory of her giant peanut butter cookies—the perfect balance of sweet and salty, soft and crunchy.
As he walked past, a tall red-haired man stepped onto the bakery’s covered porch, his arm crooked to steady an elderly woman as she descended the three stairs. Could that be the old baker herself? No, too short to be Ella. The man helped the old gal into her car, then glanced Xander’s way and tilted his head as if trying to place him.
Holy shit.“Gary? Is that you?”
The guy laughed. “Nobody’s called me Gary in years. Not since Granny Ella passed.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “This is my place now. Are you that skinny kid who worked at Gus’s shop? His nephew, right?”
