Return to Morro Harbor

FROM THE AUTHOR

"Return to Morro Harbor started out as a murder mystery set in a bookstore. The title was going to be Murder in a Rainbow Bookstore. After writing eighty pages, I hit a wall. I didn’t want to kill anyone, especially not the nice, retired schoolteacher who was my intended victim. For months, I didn’t know where to go with it; it sat in limbo. I talked numerous times with my Writing Academy mentor, Kimberly Cooper-Griffin, and eventually decided to turn it into a return to hometown romance, set in a California coastal town that is very much like the one I live in. Some places mentioned are real—I do kayak in the harbor, and there is a bookstore, art gallery, and a pub on Main Street. Truth be told, Morro Harbor is where I live, but the name has been tweaked to keep me out of trouble with the locals."

—Alicia Gael

Chapter One

Pulling off Highway 1, Devin Davis turned into the Harbor Beach parking lot and into a space facing the water. Lowering the windows, she turned off the engine and leaned her head back. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with salty ocean air. The familiar scent was calming after the four-hour drive. Exhaling slowly, she opened her eyes. The view was stunning. The fiery orange sun was just beginning to sink below the surface of the water, painting the sky in brilliant shades of lavender, orange, and pink.

A weight settled on her as she watched a handful of surfers out in the frigid water, hoping to catch one last ride before darkness overtook them. Her mind flashed to her best friend, Melissa, insisting on one last ride as the sun set ten years ago. She forced the memory back into its box where it belonged.

Returning to Morro Harbor was the last thing she wanted to do. There was nothing here for her except grief and guilt. She was sure only her grandparents would welcome her. In fact, being back would only stir up memories she was sure most people in Morro Harbor wanted to keep buried. Her father’s sudden death, however, left her little choice but to return. She was his only family, so arrangements fell to her.

Taking one last look at the incoming tide, she pulled out of the parking lot and back onto the highway. Taking the Main Street exit, she drove past Morro Harbor High School. The lights on the football field were just coming on. She almost let herself smile at the memory of the years she’d played soccer there, but she stopped herself. Pushing away the ghosts of the past, she took the next right and headed to Smith Mortuary, the only game in town.

Climbing back into her Jeep ninety minutes later, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Making the funeral arrangements had been harder than she’d imagined. She had hoped it would be a simple, emotionless transaction. It was anything but. The funeral home triggered memories of the day she and her father walked through the same door to make the arrangements for her mother. It was eerily quiet, and the sickly floral smell of irises and roses roiled her stomach. She was thankful she hadn’t eaten anything since she’d left the Bay Area.

When the single chime over the door sounded, the same reed-thin man in a black suit and tie appeared, just as he had twelve years ago. He had a head full of gray hair now, but the suit and tie looked exactly the same. Just like he had done years ago, Mr. Smith ushered her in to the “coffin room.” She quickly explained that her father wanted to be cremated and since she was spreading his ashes in the ocean, she didn’t need an expensive urn. The man had looked disappointed but nodded and showed her to the small display in the back corner. She chose the least ostentatious simple black box, signed countless pieces of paper, barely reading them, wrote a check and practically bolted for the door.

The porch light was on when she pulled into the driveway of her maternal grandparents’ sky-blue bungalow. Its manicured front lawn was her grandfather’s pride and joy. Since he’d retired five years ago from his dental practice, gardening had become Joe Conner’s passion.

Pulling her duffel from the back of the Jeep, the sweet fragrance of the gardenias reminded her of her mother. They had been her favorite. Closing the tailgate, she heard a tiny dog’s bark and the screech of the screen door. She turned to see Mikey, her grandparents’ four-year-old Yorkie racing at her. She suspected the tiny terror had been a German shepherd in a previous life. He feared nothing except a bath. She reached down and picked him up. He welcomed her with doggie kisses all over her face.

“Mikey,” she laughed, “I’m happy to see you too.” She set him on the ground as her grandmother, Betty Conner, hurried toward her.

“Devin!” The spry, gray-haired woman hugged her while Mikey ran around their feet, barking in excitement.

Devin returned the embrace. Relishing the aroma of warm cookies, she knew her grandmother was baking just for her. “Hi, Grandma.” She released the older woman. “The yard looks great.”

“It gives your grandfather something to do.”

Devin picked up her bag, and they walked to the front door. Just as she reached for the handle, it swung open, and a handsome gray-haired man stepped out and wrapped her in a hug.

“About time you got here. I was about to send out a search party.”

Wrapping her arms around her grandfather, she squeezed tightly. “Hi, Grandpa.” Letting go, she stepped back, and pointed at Mikey, now in her grandmother’s arms. “If you were going to send him, I don’t think he’d be much help finding anything other than where the treats are hidden.”

Her grandmother lifted the little dog to her face and kissed him on the nose. “Don’t you listen to her, Mikey.” She put the tiny tornado down and pulled open the screen door. “Come on in. You must be hungry.”

The smell of roasted chicken greeted her as she stepped across the threshold.

“Dinner’s ready,” her grandmother called over her shoulder as they entered the kitchen.

“Your grandfather made an apple pie for dessert. He’s become quite the baker.”

Beaming, her grandfather’s smile spread from ear to ear. He reached down and picked up Devin’s duffel. “I’ll take this upstairs for you.”

“You don’t need to do that, Grandpa,” Devin protested.

“I may be retired, but I’m in good enough shape to haul your gear upstairs.” He smiled. “You stay here and help your grandmother.”

Devin turned to her grandmother. “He’s just as stubborn as ever, isn’t he?”

Her grandmother smiled. “Some things never change,” she said as she moved the chicken from the oven onto a platter.

“How did it go at the mortuary?” Devin’s grandfather asked as he reentered the kitchen.

She hesitated before answering. “It was like déjà vu.” She took a bowl of mashed potatoes to the table. “The place hasn’t changed at all since Mom’s funeral. Even Mr. Smith looked the same, other than his hair’s gone gray.” She saw her grandparents looking at each other. They remembered their daughter’s funeral all too well.

“As for my father. He wanted to be cremated, and no funeral. So, all I had to do was sign papers and write them a check.” Her eyes were dry. She wasn’t going to shed a tear for the man who after her mother’s death, forgot he had a daughter and lost himself in a bottle of booze.

“He also wanted all his friends to gather at Flybridge Saloon for a round of drinks on him. I’ll go by there and set it up for Friday night.”

Her grandmother placed the chicken and green beans on the table. “I thought you hadn’t spoken to your father since you left.”

“I hadn’t. Frank called. He said my father told him years ago what he wanted.”

“I’m glad you and Frank stayed in contact. He’s a good man,” her grandfather said.

Devin pulled out a chair. “Even though he was my father’s best friend, he’s always been there for me.” Devin placed her napkin in her lap. “Despite my father.”

Her grandmother took a seat and handed Devin the mashed potatoes. “Are you going to stay?”

Devin shook her head. “Only as long as it takes me to clean out and sell the house,” she said, not looking up as she spooned potatoes onto her plate.

“You should at least see your friends while you’re here,” her grandmother said. “Maybe Keri?”

Devin closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them. “I don’t plan on being here long enough to reconnect with anyone.”

“Will you be going back to Haywood?” her grandfather asked.

Devin shook her head as she poured gravy on her potatoes. “I don’t know.” She speared a green bean.

Her grandmother looked at her grandfather, her brow furrowed. “What about your apartment?”

Devin didn’t look up, suddenly very focused on buttering a roll. “Cleaned it out two weeks ago and handed the keys back to the manager.” She picked up her water glass and took a drink. “I’ve been sleeping on a friend’s couch while I finished physical therapy.”

“How’s that coming along?” her grandmother asked.

“I’m done.” A shadow crossed her face. “I doubt my arm will ever be a hundred percent,” she replied, not looking up.

“I hope that woman is still in jail,” her grandfather mumbled.

Devin set her fork down and looked from her grandfather to her grandmother. “Can we not talk about this right now? I have enough to deal with without thinking about my lying, corrupt ex-girlfriend who almost got me killed.” She paused, inhaled and calmly let it out. “I may never be able to go back to work. I’m stuck in limbo until the doctor and psych clear me. If they ever do.” She leaned back in her chair, looking from one grandparent to the other. “I don’t know if I even want to go back.”

Silence hung in the air. Her grandfather stood. “I’ll get the pie.”

goodreads
Fiona S. - Another wonderful release from Alicia Gael. Light on the spice but with a dash of suspense, all mixed in with painful memories, crazy exes and a wonderful cast of side characters who help bring the story to life.