The Crêpes of Wrath: A Pancake House Mystery (3 page)

I trailed behind Brett as he jogged across the last stretch of sand and climbed up onto the rocks. I waited down below, my heart beating so hard that I thought it might burst out of my chest.

Brett moved over the rocks with the ease of someone who’d climbed them hundreds of times over the years. When he reached the unmoving figure, he stopped and crouched down. I waited, my throat tight, nausea churning my stomach.

Seconds later, Brett turned away from the prone figure and worked his way over the rocks toward me. His grave expression spoke volumes.

“It’s Jimmy, isn’t it?” I said as he jumped down to the sand.

Brett answered with a grim nod.

I put a hand to my mouth. “Is he okay?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.

Brett’s blue eyes were somber when they met mine.

“I’m so sorry, Marley,” he said. “Jimmy’s dead.”

I sank down on the nearest rock, my legs too shaky to support me.

“Are you sure?” I asked, even though I knew in my heart that Cousin Jimmy was gone.

“I’m sure.”

Dazed, I shook my head, unable to comprehend how this could have happened. “What was he doing all the way out here? I don’t understand.”

Jimmy’s house was at the opposite end of the cove. Had he decided to go for a walk on the beach upon arriving home and then…what? Collapsed from weakness and exhaustion?

I raised my eyes to meet Brett’s. “Did he get washed up on the rocks by the tide? Did he drown?”

“I don’t think he drowned. He’s above the high water mark. I think maybe he got there from up above.”

My gaze zeroed in on the point. On this side of the landmark, a slope of boulders provided a way up and down for the agile and adventurous, but at its tip a sheer cliff dropped down twenty-five feet or so to the jagged rocks below.

I closed my eyes as another wave of nausea hit me, accompanied by a deep ache in my chest. Had he fallen off the cliff? Had he died instantly or had he suffered all alone until finally succumbing to his injuries? What was he doing up on the point in the first place?

Those questions circled around and around in my head.

I opened my eyes and stared out at the ocean. The tide was on its way out, gentle waves lapping at the wet sand. The surface of the water glittered with sunlight. Everything seemed so peaceful, so beautiful. Yet, steps away, the shadow of death lingered.

I shivered, suddenly chilled, only in part because of the proximity of Jimmy’s body. Although bright and dazzling, the March sunshine wasn’t quite warm enough to ward off the cool nip in the sea air, and goosebumps rose on my bare arms. It occurred to me that Jimmy must have been cold in his short-sleeved shirt, but then I remembered he could no longer feel anything, not the wind or the sun. I had to struggle to breathe through that thought, my throat constricting before relaxing again.

Rubbing my arms, I stood up, mentally preparing myself for what I was about to do. Even though I didn’t want to confront the reality set out on the black rocks, I climbed up onto the nearest boulder.

“Marley, are you sure you want go up there?” Brett asked with concern, reaching up to rest his hand on my wrist.

“I need to,” I said.

His hand fell away from mine and I stepped across to the next boulder. I stopped there, Jimmy’s body a few feet away from me but clearly visible. A wave of dizziness hit me and I had to rest my hand on a neighboring rock to keep myself from falling.

Jimmy was on his stomach, his face turned away from me. He was so still, so lifeless, that I didn’t need to check for a pulse to know Brett wasn’t mistaken. Not wanting to remember Cousin Jimmy that way, I decided I’d seen enough. But as I turned to make my way back down to the sand, tiny sparkles of light drew my attention.

Staying on the same rock, I leaned forward for a closer look at the back of Jimmy’s white T-shirt. The bottom of it was stained with blood but near his left shoulder, tiny flecks glinted silver and red in the sunlight.

Glitter?

I couldn’t make sense of that. I couldn’t make sense of much of anything at the moment.

Forcing my eyes away from Jimmy’s body, I made my way down to the sand and settled on the same rock as before.

Leigh came up behind me and rested a hand on my shoulder. “I asked Ivan to lock up when he leaves.”

I tried to thank her, but my throat burned too much to speak.

“I’m so sorry, Marley.” She had tears in her eyes.

I reached up and gave her hand a quick squeeze. Swallowing against the burning sensation in my throat, I forced a question out. “How did you find him?”

“I walked down to the beach while I was on the phone with Greg. I noticed someone lying on the rocks and took a closer look. As soon as I realized it was Jimmy…” She blinked against the tears welling in her eyes.

I gave her hand another squeeze and then closed my eyes and focused on the scent of the salty air, the sound of the waves breaking against a sandbar, trying to seek some comfort from the beach I’d loved for as long as I could remember. But my thoughts didn’t stop spinning and the ache in my chest didn’t wane.

Cousin Jimmy was dead.

Stubborn, fun-loving Jimmy was gone forever.

A burning sensation in my eyes joined the one in my throat. A tear escaped from my left eye and trickled down my cheek. I wiped it away with the back of my hand.

Brett sat down next to me and Leigh found a nearby rock to settle on. We stayed quiet, waiting. Again, I focused on the scent of the salty sea breeze, on breathing in and out. A seagull landed on a nearby log and happy, indistinct voices carried across the cove to us from three children who ran across the wet sand toward the receding water line.

The world went on without a pause, as if nothing had changed. But my world had changed. My already small family had lost another member, and I wondered, not for the first time, if I were destined to lose everyone I loved.

After several minutes had passed, Brett stood up and touched a hand to my shoulder. “They’re here.”

I followed his line of sight. Two paramedics and two men from the sheriff’s office stood at the top of the rocks. They’d driven into the public picnic area on the point and were now working their way down the rocks on foot. Brett pointed in Jimmy’s direction and stood watching as they closed in on the spot.

Unable to bear watching as they examined Jimmy’s body, I left the others behind and walked down toward the water. I picked my way across a strip of pebbly rocks and onto a wet sandbar. My sneakers left shallow depressions in the sand and a clam spat at me when I stepped near its clam hole. When I reached the water’s edge, I stopped and stared out at the horizon.

The San Juan Islands were visible to the north and to the east, Mount Baker. Puffy white clouds had gathered around the mountain, but above me the sky was clear and blue, the morning’s fog long gone. The beauty of the world around me was such a sharp contrast to the turmoil within my head and heart.

Drawing in a deep breath, I turned away from the ocean and slowly followed my footprints back toward the dry sand.

Brett met me there, a small crease between his eyebrows. “Why don’t you and Leigh go back to the restaurant? My uncle Ray is the sheriff. I’ll tell him where you’ve gone. He’ll want to talk to you, but that doesn’t have to happen here.”

“All right,” I said, finding my voice.

I glanced up at the rocks. One of the men from the sheriff’s office, the younger of the two, remained perched over Jimmy’s body. The other had climbed back up to the grassy area above the rocks along with the paramedics. My eyes flicked back to Jimmy’s body, but then I forced them away.

They came to rest on an emerald-green feather dancing about on the breeze. It drifted down toward me and I reached out and caught it.

Green was Jimmy’s favorite color.

Swallowing back an ever-growing lump in my throat, I tucked the feather into the pocket of my jeans.

Leigh hooked her arm through mine and together we walked slowly back along the beach toward the pancake house. When we stepped inside, Leigh locked the door behind us and made sure that the
CLOSED
sign was showing in the window. I stood a few feet from the doorway, staring ahead of me without seeing much of anything.

Jimmy, gone forever.

I couldn’t seem to process that.

I blinked and finally took in the sight before me.

One entire wall of the pancake house was made of stone and featured a giant fireplace with a log mantel. Together with the dark exposed beams running overhead, the white ceiling, and the dark flooring, it gave The Flip Side a rustic yet warm and welcoming atmosphere.

The first time I’d stepped inside, although nervous about taking care of the place in Jimmy’s absence, I’d immediately felt comfortable. Maybe it was the cozy decor or the friendly people, or possibly a combination of the two. I didn’t know for sure, but something about the pancake house had put me at ease.

But now Jimmy, the heart of The Flip Side, was gone.

What would happen to the restaurant? To Leigh and Ivan?

My mind stalled, as if too numb to cope with such questions.

“I can make you a cup of tea, if you’d like,” Leigh offered.

“Actually, I think I’d rather go to Jimmy’s house,” I said.

As much as I loved the pancake house, the news of Jimmy’s death would travel quickly through Wildwood Cove and I didn’t like the thought of curious townsfolk showing up to peer in through the windows or knock at the door, hoping for more details about the tragedy.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Leigh asked.

“Thanks, but I’ll be all right. Will you let the others know where I’ve gone?”

“Of course.”

I tried my best to smile but only managed a slight trembling of my lips. “Thanks, Leigh.”

After a quick stop in the back office to grab my tote bag and switch my apron for my favorite blue hoodie, I set off along the promenade in the opposite direction from Myler’s Point, not looking back. Numbness had seeped into my mind, but I couldn’t say the same for the rest of me. The ache deep in my chest remained and tears burned in my eyes. The light wind had an edge to it, and I shivered as it played with my hair and cut through my jeans and hoodie.

When I reached the edge of town, the promenade curved away from the shoreline and came to an end at the nearest road. I continued on in the same direction, leaving the pavement for the sand, the ocean on my left and a grove of Douglas fir trees on my right. As I walked by, a chipmunk darted up a tree trunk, pausing to chatter at me once it was safely off the ground. Overhead, birds chirped and twittered, the sounds familiar and comforting.

Beyond the grove of trees, Jimmy’s house came into view, situated only a stone’s throw from the beach. The sight of it brought me a sense of relief, of sanctuary. I’d always loved Cousin Jimmy’s house. The rambling blue-and-white Victorian had such a quaint and whimsical character, with gingerbread trim, covered porches at the front and back, and a two-story tower situated in one front corner. As a child, I’d spent hours reading on one of the cozy window seats or sifting through dusty treasures in the attic, and the spectacular ocean views never got old.

Memories of summers long past spent with Cousin Jimmy and his late wife, Grace, rushed to the forefront of my mind, vivid and almost overwhelming. I blinked back tears and climbed over a log to approach the house. When I spotted Jimmy’s orange tabby cat, Flapjack, sitting in one of the back windows, my tears spilled out onto my cheeks.

Never again would Jimmy come home to his cat, to his house. Never again would his laughter or irrepressible spirit fill the Victorian.

My tears were about to get the best of me when something moved over by Jimmy’s detached workshop, catching my eye. I stopped and took a closer look. A man was loitering by the workshop, his back to me. I wiped away my tears and struck off in his direction.

“Excuse me,” I called out as I drew closer to him.

He turned in my direction and ambled up to meet me, his hands in the pockets of jeans that needed a good cycle through a washing machine. I guessed him to be in his early twenties. His messy brown hair flopped over his forehead and he regarded me with hooded brown eyes.

“Can I help you with something?” I asked.

He shrugged lazily. “Nah.”

“This is private property.”

“Chill out. I’m not doing any harm.”

I so wasn’t in the mood to deal with a rude trespasser. “Please leave,” I said in a terse voice.

He didn’t move. “You know the owner or something?”

“Yes. I’m related to him. Who are you?”

“Daryl.” He didn’t offer any further information.

I didn’t like the way he stared at me. His eyes were so blank that they were far more chilling than the March sea breeze.

“Do you have a reason for being here, Daryl?” My annoyance was about to bubble over, overshadowing the spike of fear that had troubled me seconds earlier.

He shrugged again. “Just taking a shortcut back to the road.”

That didn’t explain why he was hanging around the workshop rather than following the driveway out to Wildwood Road.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d leave.”

He seemed unmoved by my words. “ ’Kay, sure. Whatever.”

Without a flicker of any emotion on his face, he sauntered off toward the road. I stood and waited, watching until he’d left the property. Only once I was sure he was gone did I turn around and head back to the house.

As I crossed over the sparse grass, I noted the presence of Jimmy’s green truck parked next to my little blue hatchback. It hadn’t moved in the two weeks since I’d arrived. So how had Jimmy managed to get all the way to the opposite end of the cove?

Before I could consider that question any further, I spotted Brett heading up the beach toward me. I paused, waiting for him to approach.

“Are you okay?” he asked when he met me at the steps leading up to the back porch.

“Yes,” I said, although I didn’t know if that was true. The shock of finding Jimmy dead hadn’t yet worn off, and Daryl had only made things worse by creeping me out with his staring. “Do you know a guy named Daryl? Not quite six feet tall, a little on the skinny side, brown hair?”

“Sounds like Daryl Willis. Why?”

I climbed the stairs to the porch. “I found him hanging around Jimmy’s workshop. It was a bit weird.” I sank into a porch chair.

Brett sat in the chair next to me. “Did he say what he was doing?”

“He said he was taking a shortcut to the road, but I’m not sure I believe him.”

“Did he give you any trouble?”

“Not really. But I hope he doesn’t come back.”

“If he causes any problems, let me know and I’ll have a word with him. Or with Michael.”

“Michael?”

“Michael Downes. Do you know him?”

“I met him this morning at The Flip Side,” I said.

“Daryl and his girlfriend, Tina, rent a room from him. Daryl seems to view Michael as an older brother of sorts.”