“Busy. Ever been?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“You gotta go,” I said. “Worth it for the dim sum alone...”
I filled him in on my adventure, piling on unnecessary detail, letting the impatience build behind his smile.
“Terrific,” Beau said. “Listen, Clay, did you see my last email?”
I nodded. “I was going to reply, but I thought it’d be easier to talk face-to-face. And Regina wanted to see the property in person.”
Beau clucked his tongue. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we just accepted an offer from the other party.”
“Oh no. You’re kidding.”
He shook his head grimly. “Wish I was.”
“Shit. She’s gonna be so disappointed.”
“I feel bad about it, Clay. I didn’t hear from you, so—”
“No. I get it. You have to do what you have to do.”
Regina reappeared.
“Excuse me,” she said. “Lady issues.”
“The property’s sold,” I said.
“Oh no.” Her face was a tragedy mask. “Really?”
“Unfortunately,” Beau said.
“Ugh.”
“I wish you’d called first. I coulda saved you the trouble of driving all the way up.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “We’ll make the most of it while we’re here. Right, honey?”
“There’s really nothing we can do?” Regina asked.
Beau sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose. These people. He was an actor, too.
“Okay, look,” he said. “The draft contract went out last week. It’s under attorney review. My dad went up to Eureka to meet with him. They’re supposed to finalize and sign tomorrow morning. That gives us a window where we can still pull out without losing money. But a small one. Why don’t the three of us go over together right now? You can see it for yourself, see how you feel. Maybe you won’t like it, and we have nothing to discuss.”
“And if we do like it?” she said.
“I’ll call him and plead your case. But no guarantees. Fair?”
“More than fair,” I said.
“Thank you,” Regina said. “So much.”
“It’s up the way, mile and change,” Beau said. “We could hoof it, but I don’t want to get caught in a downpour.”
“We’ll take our car and follow you,” I said.
I started the Jeep. “Lady issues resolved?”
“Peachy,” Regina said.
“Find anything?”
“I only had a few minutes to poke around. But there’s an office. With a typewriter.”
The appeal of 185 Beachcomber was self-evident: The lot was situated behind a deep, high berm, with 270-degree views encompassing ocean, mountains, and forest. On a clear day it would be spectacular; as it was, the mist imparted an otherworldly quality, suspending us in midair.
“Mamma mia,” Regina said.
Beau said, “She’s a real gem.”
I wondered if he realized he was quoting his own copy.
“The elevation makes it feel private,” Beau said, “even though the water’s right there.”
He walked us around, well set in salesman mode. While the loggers’ dormitories were no longer standing — they’d been picked apart for salvage — the natural stone foundations remained.
“They’re much bigger than I pictured,” Regina said.
“Crew numbered about eighty men,” Beau said.
“More people than live here today,” I said.
“Way more. They worked in shifts, four days in the field and three at the pier.”
“No days off?” Regina asked.
“Sunday morning, for church.”
She gazed dewily up at the hills. “It’s a miracle they didn’t chop down the whole forest.”
“Nature always wins. It’s all protected land now, so you’ll never lose that view.”
“How’d they get the logs down?”
“Steam engine,” he said, tracing the path out of the mountains. “I showed Clay on our hike. Tracks used to run to the pier, and there was a lumber chute off the end. The cove’s too tight for ships to pull up directly. What they call a dog-hole port, ’cause only a dog could turn around in it...”
While I’d heard his patter, Regina hadn’t. Her oohs and aahs encouraged him to lay it on thick.
“The history is so fascinating,” she said.
“Couldn’t agree more, Regina,” Beau said.
We were threading through the pine grove, descending a gentle slope.
“Especially the way you tell it,” she said. “It really makes the place come alive.”
“I told your husband, it’s a passion of mine.”
“Clay said you’re writing a book.”
“Ah, gee. I don’t know I’d call it a book. Watch your step.”
“Thanks... I do a little writing, myself.”
“Is that right?”
“Mostly poetry.”
“Where do you get your inspiration?” Beau said.
“Everywhere,” she said. “The world is such a beautiful place. You just have to open yourself up and let it in.”
The slope ended at a stone overhang. Beneath was a space about ten feet wide and half as deep, forming a natural windbreak and shelter. Crushed mussel shells sparkled in the soil. Cookfire soot smudged the ceiling.
“Most of the year the Native Americans lived in the hills,” Beau said. “They came down for the summer to take advantage of the sea harvest.” He grinned. “The original beach house.”
Regina squinted at a rock face. “Is that... a painting?”
Two deer, rendered in fading red pigment; the testimony of an ancient mind.
“Oh my God,” she said.
“How’s that for inspiration?” Beau asked.
The wind was picking up as we traipsed over the damp grass. Stray droplets pricked my face. At five thirty p.m., the sun was fighting a desperate and losing battle, clouds blackened like the bottom of a scorched pot. A vein of light flared over the water, illuminating the ocean for miles and leaving the darkness heavier than before.
“So?” Beau said. “What do we think?”
I glanced at Regina. “Honey?”
She smiled shyly at Beau. “I think you should talk to your dad.”
Beau chuckled. “Thanks for making my life easy.”
“What do you want me to say? It’s incredible.”
“All righty. I’ll do my best. I’ll call you after I’ve spoken with him. You’re at the hotel?”
“For tonight, at least,” I said.
“If it doesn’t work out,” Beau said, “maybe tomorrow we can have a look at some of those other properties you saw last time.”
“How would you feel about that?” I asked Regina.
She gave a thumbs-down.
“The woman knows what she wants,” Beau said.
“Always,” I said.
“I’d love it if you could show me around a little,” Regina said, “like you did for Clay. Love to see what you’re working on, too.”
“Nothing would make me happier,” Beau said. “Careful, now. Slippery.”
He extended his arm gallantly to escort her down the berm. “I see you learned your lesson and rented a four-wheeler.”
“It didn’t help,” Regina said.
“ ’Scuse me for saying so, but someone got her cherry popped.”
“Big time.”
Chapter 37
It was drizzling as we arrived at the Clancy residence. Regina and I hurried onto the porch. Bowie began barking before I’d knocked.
Coming.
Leonie opened the door, one hand on the dog’s collar. She stared at me.
“Hi, Mrs. Clancy. This is my wife.”