Lover's Lane Read Free

full circle, taking in the view.
    Lazy rolling hills covered in spring green grass and wildflowers tapered down both sides of the canyon to hug the cove. A few homes were scattered here and there on the hillside.
    As he looked back toward town with its idyllic Plaza Park and avenue of historic storefronts, he shook his head. The place might look like Mayberry-by-the-Sea, but as long as real people inhabited it, Twilight Cove wasn’t as bucolic as it appeared to be. He’d been in the investigative business long enough to know that.
    The town still resembled the California dream of a hundred years ago—what so many other beach cities would look like if not for overdevelopment, smog, and too many rats in the maze.
    The salt air was tinged with the sea and time. Standing in the cool breeze off the ocean, Jake easily imagined a clipper ship racing under billowing sails, her hold filled with wares to sell to the Spanish dons, Indians, and padres living in the shadow of the missions.
    Steep steps and a narrow trail below the bluff led down to the beach. Limited parking and lack of accessibility to the cove kept the town from becoming overrun by seasonal tourists the way Monterey and Carmel were. Twilight Cove’s small strand was still pristine. Only the hardy and the surfers didn’t mind tackling the steps.
    If it hadn’t been for obligation and the driving need to see if a hunch would pay off, he would have lingered to inhale the fresh salt air and let the strong breeze whip through his hair and clear his mind. But he wasn’t here on vacation. He’d come on what just might prove to be a wild-goose chase, but he was more than willing to risk taking the time if it meant finally winding up a case that had been open far too long.
    He’d driven to Twilight Cove because he was a man of detail who hated loose ends, but most of all, he had come because of a personal obligation. He’d come to Twilight out of duty to a friend long gone, a friend as alive as ever in his memory.
    The Cove Gallery was exactly as it appeared in the photos he’d seen in the Budget Traveler magazine. Uncluttered and open, with glossy golden oak floors and white walls, the interior was the perfect backdrop for the artwork displayed on the walls and free-form sculptures on platforms scattered around the room.
    Jake had no sooner cleared the threshold when a slim young man sporting an artfully trimmed, pencil-thin beard along his jawline started across the room to greet him. He wore wire-framed glasses and was dressed entirely in black.
    Geoffrey Wilson introduced himself, extended his hand in greeting, his smile both wide and genuine.
    Jake shook hands. “My name’s Jake Montgomery.” He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a folded page carefully torn from a magazine, opened it. “I saw this article on your gallery in Budget Traveler .”
    The article stated that Geoff Wilson was twenty-nine years old, had moved west from Chicago three years ago after having grown tired of the brutal winters in the Windy City. The gallery had been open for a year and showcased local talent.
    “Wonderful! I’m glad you stopped by. Go ahead and have a look around,” Wilson invited.
    “Actually,” Jake pointed to the page that showed a photo of Wilson standing in front of a painting. “I’m interested in the piece on the wall behind you in this photograph. The sunset seascape with the transparent figures in the foreground.”
    “An excellent choice, but I sold that a month ago.”
    “Who’s the artist?”
    “A local. Carly Nolan. Cove Gallery handles her work exclusively. She’s one very talented lady.” He started moving toward the far corner of the room. “Carly brought in a new painting just last weekend. I’m sure you’ll find it equally stunning.”
    “So, she lives around here?”
    Wilson paused, as if assessing Jake’s character for a second. “She lives nearby, yes.”
    Jake followed him across the room, their even footsteps echoing in