The Cove

front door of Thelma's Bed and Breakfast.

    The day was beautiful, warm, just a slight nip in the air, the salty tang swept in from the ocean soft as a bird's wing on her face.

    Sally breathed in deeply. Sherry Vorhees was standing in front of the World's Greatest Ice Cream Shop. Sally waved, and Sherry waved back. Helen Keaton, whose grandmother had invented the ice cream recipe, came out of the shop behind her, looked over at Sally, and waved herself. Such nice women. Surely they couldn't know anything about the murders or those missing people.

    "Our flavor this week is banana walnut cream," Helen called out. "Do come and try it with your Mr. Quinlan. My granny didn't exactly make it, but I like to try new flavors. Ralph loves the banana walnut, says it's so good it's got to be real bad for you."

    Sally remembered that Ralph Keaton was the undertaker. She saw old Hunker Dawson, the World War II veteran, who always wore his two medals across the pocket of his flannel shirts. He hiked up his baggy pants and yelled, "You're famous, Sally Brainerd. We didn't find out until after you'd left that you were crazy. But now you're not even crazy, are you? I think the news media were pissed about you not being crazy. They like crazy and evil better than innocence and victims."

    "Yeah," Purn Davies called out, "the media all wanted you to be crazier than a loon and out offing folk. They sure didn't want to report that you weren't crazy. Then, though, they got your daddy."

    "I'm glad they finally did," Sally called.

    "Don't you worry none about your daddy, Sally," Gus Eisner yelled. "His face has been shown more times than the president's. They'll get him."

    "Yeah," Hunker Dawson yelled. "Once the media get their hooks in him all right and proper, they'll forget everything else. They always do. It's always the grossest story of the day for them."

    "I sure hope so," she yelled back.

    "My wife, Arlene, was wavering on her rocker," Hunker shouted matter-of-factly, tugging on his old suspenders. "Wavering for years before she passed over."

    Purn Davies yelled, "Hunker means she was a mite off in her upper works."

    "These things happen," she said, but probably not loud enough for them to hear her.

    The four old men had suspended their card game and were all looking at Sally. Even when she turned away, she knew they were watching her as she walked down that beautiful wooden sidewalk, the railing all fresh white paint, toward Amabel's cottage. She saw Velma Eisner, Gus's wife, and waved to her. Velma didn't see her, just kept walking, her head down, headed for Purn Davies's general store.

    Amabel's cottage looked fresh as spring, with newly planted beds of purple iris, white peonies, yellow crocus, and orange poppies, all perfectly arranged and tended. She looked around and saw flower boxes and small gardens filled with fresh flowers. Lots and lots of orange poppies and yellow daffodils. What a beautiful town. All the citizens took pride in how their houses looked, how their gardens looked. Every short sidewalk was well swept.

    She wondered if The Cove now had a sister Victorian city in England.

    She thought about what James had said about all those missing people. She knew the direction of his thoughts, but she wouldn't accept it.

    She just couldn't. It was outrageous. She stepped onto Amabel's small porch and knocked on the door.

    No answer.

    She knocked again and called out.

    Her aunt wasn't home. Well, she'd doubtless be back soon.

    Sally knew where she wanted to go, had to go.

    She stood in the center of the cemetery. It was laid out like a wheel, with the very oldest graves in the very cen-

    ter. It was as well tended as the town. The grass v/as freshly mowed, giving off that wonderful grass scent. She laid her hand lightly on top of a marble headstone that read:

    ELIJAH BATTERY

    BEST BARTENDER IN OREGON

    DIED JULY 2, 1897

    81 RIPE YEARS

    The lettering grooves had been carefully dug out and smoothed again. She looked at other headstones, some incredibly ornate, others that had begun as wooden crosses and had obviously been replaced many times. Those that hadn't weathered well had been replaced.

    Was nothing in this town overlooked? Was everything to be perfect, including every headstone?

    She walked out from the center of the cemetery. Naturally, the headstones became newer. She finished with the 1920's, the 1930's, the 1940's, all the way into the 1980's. The planners of the cemetery had been very