Summer at Seaside Cove Read Online Free Page A

Maybe Nick On-a-Bender/Hopefully-Not-a-Hit-Man/Maybe-a-CIA-Agent Trent had forgotten to pay the electric bill there as well.
    â€œIt doesn’t look like he’s home,” Jamie reported.
    â€œCould be he’s at the Shrimp Festival over at Breezes Beach. It’s a huge event around these parts—folks come from all over to attend. And it’s especially big this year because it’s the Centennial Shrimp Festival. In fact, I’ll be heading that way as soon as we get off the phone.
    â€œ ’Course the Shrimp Festival can’t hold a candle to Seaside Cove’s annual Clam Festival at the end of August,” he continued in that unhurried drawl that in spite of its leisurely pace somehow didn’t allow her to get a word in edgewise. “It is a sight to behold—a parade through town, arts and crafts, music at the pier, bonfires on the beach, and the best food you’ve ever tasted. My wife, Cecelia, makes a hot clam dip that could charm the scales off a fish. You have any good clam recipes, Miss Jamie?”
    â€œNot really. About the power—”
    â€œOh, right. Could be it got knocked out by the storm that blew through last night. Have you checked the circuit breakers?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œBless your heart. You should do that. Do you know what a breaker panel box looks like? My Cecelia wouldn’t know one if it jumped up and bit her in the butt. Bless her heart.”
    Hmmm . . . didn’t sound like having one’s heart blessed was necessarily a good thing. In fact, it pretty much sounded like it was interchangeable with “you’re a dipshit.” “Yes, I know what a panel box looks like. Where is it?”
    â€œIn the storage closet in the carport. The same key that unlocked the house opens the door.”
    â€œI’ll check it. The other immediate problem is the smell in the house.”
    â€œSmell? Now that’s just impossible. While Paradise Lost may be a bit run-down and worn, I can promise you it’s clean. The Happy Housekeeping service was there just a few days ago and they’re top notch.”
    â€œWell, the Happy Housekeepers must have missed something because the entire place stinks like fish.”
    Jack chuckled. “Well, you are at the beach, Miss Jamie. I reckon it smells like car exhaust in New York City, but not around here. Around here stuff smells fishy.”
    â€œFishy is one thing. Dead fishy is quite another.”
    â€œAw, it’s probably just a forgotten clam. Seagulls drop clams on the roofs all the time to crack them open. Or could be something one of the island cats dragged onto the carport.”
    â€œIsland cats?”
    â€œYes, ma’am. There’re several colonies of feral cats on the island. Real good at keepin’ down the mouse population.”
    â€œWho takes care of them? Who feeds them?”
    â€œThey take care of themselves, but they’re monitored by a group of colony caretakers. Dorothy Ernst—she lives right across the street from Paradise Lost in Beach Music—heads up the Cat Colony Committee—she can tell you all about it. They trap any new ferals to the area and bring them to Doc Weston on the mainland, who gives them their shots and spays and ear-tips ’em for identification purposes for free. Then they’re released back here at the beach. You’ll see them wandering around like they own the place. As for feedin’ them, well, just about everybody on the island leaves out food for them. Believe me, they never go hungry.
    â€œBut about the smell,” he continued, “you’ll need to take that up with Nick as well. Lucky for you, Milton’s General Store and Bait Shop on the corner sells air freshener. They’ve got one called Blueberry Muffin that’ll make the place smell like you’ve been baking all day. We use it in the rental homes all the time.”
    Yeah, lucky for me. ’Cause dead clam