The Cove Read Online Free Page B

BREAKFAST right across the street. Nothing fancy about that sign or title. He pulled his black travel bag out of the back seat and walked over to Thelma’s big white Victorian gingerbread house with its deep porch that encircled the entire house. He hoped he could get a room up in one of those circular towers.
    For an old house, it was in immaculate shape. The white of the clapboard gleamed, and the pale blue and yellow trim around the windows and on cornices seemed to be fresh. The wide wooden porch planks didn’t groanbeneath his weight. The boards were new, the railing solid oak and sturdy.
    He announced himself as James Quinlan to a smiling lady in her late fifties whom he found standing behind the antique walnut counter in the front hall. She was wearing an apron that had lots of flour on it. He explained he was looking for a room, preferably one in the tower. At the sound of an ancient cackle, he turned and saw a robust old lady rocking back and forth in an antique chair in the doorway of the huge living room. She was holding what appeared to be a diary in front of her nose with one hand, and in the other she held a fountain pen. Every few seconds she wet the tip of the fountain pen with her tongue, a habit that left her with a big black circle on the tip of her tongue.
    â€œMa’am,” he said, and nodded toward the old lady. “I sure hope that ink isn’t poisonous.”
    â€œIt wouldn’t kill her even if it was,” the lady behind the counter said. “She’s surely built up an immunity by now. Thelma’s been at that diary of hers with that black ink on her tongue ever since she and her husband first moved to The Cove back in the 1940’s.”
    The old lady cackled again, then called out, “I’m Thelma Nettro. You don’t have a wife, boy?”
    â€œThat’s a bold question, ma’am, even for an old lady.”
    Thelma ignored him. “So what are you doing in The Cove? You come here for the World’s Greatest Ice Cream?”
    â€œI saw that sign. I’ll be sure to try it later.”
    â€œHave the peach. Helen just made it up last week. It’s dandy. So if you aren’t here for ice cream, then why are you here?”
    Here goes, he thought. “I’m a private detective, ma’am. My client’s parents disappeared around this area some three and a half years ago. The cops never got anywhere. The son hired me to find out what happened to them.”
    â€œOld folk?”
    â€œYeah, they’d been driving all over the U.S. in a Winnebago. The Winnebago was found in a used car lot up in Spokane. Looked to be foul play, but nobody could ever find anything out.”
    â€œSo why are you here in The Cove? Nothing ever happens here, nothing at all. I remember telling my husband, Bobby—he died of pneumonia just after Eisenhower was reelected in 1956—that this little town had never known a heyday, but it just kept going anyhow. Do you know what happened then? Well, I’ll tell you. This banker from Portland bought up lots of coastal land and built vacation cottages. He built the two-laner off Highway 101 and ran it right to the ocean.” Thelma stopped, licked the end of her fountain pen, and sighed. “Then in the 1960’s, everything began to fall apart, everyone just upped and left, got bored with our town, I suppose. So, you see, it doesn’t make any sense for you to stay here.”
    â€œI’m using your town as a sort of central point. I’ll search out from here. Perhaps you remember these old folk coming through, ma’am—”
    â€œMy name’s Thelma, I told you that. There’s lots of ma’ams in this world, but just one me, and I’m Thelma Nettro. Doc Spiver pronounced me deader than a bat some years ago, but he was wrong. Oh, Lordy, you should have seen the look on Ralph Keaton’s face when he had me all ready to lay out in that funeral home of his. I