Deep Waters

All the men she knew in Seattle were into espressos and lattes. Here in Whispering Waters Cove, they tended to favor plain coffee. Or at least they had until Bea Hatfield, owner of the cafe a few doors down on the pier, had installed the town's first espresso ma chine three months ago. "Yes. Thanks. I'd appreciate a cup."
    "Please come back here and join me." The deep voice echoed in the cavelike surroundings.
    Feeling uncomfortably like a small, very reckless fly, Charity made her way through the cluttered shop.
    Elias seemed to be alone. She glanced around to be certain, but there definitely were no customers to dis turb the tomb-silent atmosphere. She frowned. This was just the way things had been when Hayden Stone had run Charms & Virtues.
    The curiosity shop had been closed since Hayden's death two months ago. Hayden had been away in Se attle when he had collapsed from a heart attack. A quiet funeral had been arranged by some unknown associate in the city. It bad all been over before Charity or any of the other shopkeepers on the Landing had even learned of their odd landlord's demise.
    There was no question but that Hayden would be missed by the Crazy Otis Landing crowd. He had been a little strange, but he had also been a sympathetic landlord.
    No one had ever gotten to know him well. Hayden had lived in his own world, detached and remote from those around him, but he had never been rude or unfriendly. Everyone had accepted him as a harm less eccentric.
    His death had precipitated a potential financial catastrophe for the shopkeepers of the pier, however. The threat had roused Charity's executive instincts, which had lain dormant for months. Like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon, she had shaken out her wings and allowed them to dry in the sun. She was deter mined to head off disaster before it overtook her new found friends.
    Her plans required that the shop owners form a united front. That meant that the new proprietor of Charms & Virtues had to be convinced to get with the program.
    She went forward determinedly between the aisles formed by the sagging, disorganized counters. What little summer sunlight managed to filter into the room through the high, narrow windows was dimmed by the years of grime on the glass.
    Charity wrinkled her nose at the sight of the heavy shroud of dust that covered the assortment of bizarre goods heaped on the display tables. She was dismayed to see that the new proprietor had made no effort to tidy the premises. The goods were still stacked willy-nilly on the counters. There was no organized pattern to the displays.
    Odd little carvings were piled high in one corner. A jumble of brass bells and whistles overflowed a nearby packing crate. Small, colorfully dressed dolls with ex otic faces painted with startlingly grim expressions tumbled from a box. Plastic masks leered down from the walls. Below was a counter laden with invisible-ink pens, little magic smoke-producing tubes, and puzzles composed of interlocking metal rings.
    And so it went throughout the shop. Oddities and imports from far-off lands filled the shelves of Charms & Virtues. Handwoven straw baskets from the Philippines sat next to a hoard of mechanical toy in sects manufactured in Hong Kong. Miniature plastic dinosaurs made in Southeast Asia occupied shelf space with rubber worms produced in Mexico. Cheap brace lets, music boxes, imitation military medals, and artificial flowers littered the countertops. Most of it looked as if it had been sitting in the same spot for years.
    The wares sold in the dusty import shop could be described in a single word so far as Charity was concerned. And that word was junk. The new owner would have to apply some energy and enthusiasm if he wanted to revive his newly purchased small business. She made a mental note to present him a feather duster as a welcome gift. Perhaps he would take the hint.
    Charity had never figured out just how Hayden Stone had managed to make a living from Charms & Virtues, or the pier rents, for that matter. He had lived a life of stark simplicity, but even eccentrics had to pay real estate taxes and buy food. She had finally concluded that he'd had a private income from some other source.
    "I don't have any milk or sugar," Elias said.
    "That's all right," Charity said hastily. "I don't take anything in my tea."
    "Neither do I. Good tea should be as clear as a pool of pure water."
    The comment brought back memories. "Hayden Stone used to say the same