Love In Catalina Cove. Brenda Jackson

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      “You there, Sheriff?”

      Trudy’s voice intruded through the car’s intercom. “Yes, I’m here.”

      “I put that Miller file on your desk.”

      “Thanks, and I’m on my way back to the office.”

      “Okay.”

      He started the ignition in the patrol car, and as he pulled onto the highway he couldn’t help wondering if his path would be crossing with Ms. Vashti Alcindor’s again.

      * * *

      A FEELING SHE hadn’t anticipated washed over Vashti when she entered the city limits of Catalina Cove. It wasn’t the resentment she’d expected but a sudden sense of coming home. Of belonging. How was that possible when she’d left here fourteen years ago without looking back, thinking this town would never be her home again? She could only assume because there was a time she thought she had belonged. After all, she’d been born here, in that house on Higgins Lane. It had been the only home she knew...except for those months her parents had sent her away to Arkansas to have her baby. She had felt all alone then, housed with other girls in the same predicament and whose families were determined to take control of their lives.

      She had refused to let her parents take control of hers. She’d made plans. She would keep her baby, quit school, attend classes at night for her GED. In her mind, that was better than nothing, and her aunt had said she would watch the baby at night while she was at school.

      Returning to Catalina Cove without her baby had been hard. Get over it because things happen for a reason. Consider losing the baby a blessing. It would have ruined your life. Her mother’s words had cut to the core. There had been no compassion and no regret with either of her parents.

      Vashti had finished her last year of school and had been accepted to NYU to start during the summer semester instead of waiting for the fall. She had caught a plane to New York a week after high school graduation. Other than Aunt Shelby and Bryce there hadn’t been anyone left in the cove that she truly cared about...at least not anymore.

      Well, there had been K-Gee but he’d left town two years before she had, the night he’d graduated from high school in fact. And besides Bryce’s parents, there had been Ms. Gertie. Gertrude Landers was a midwife who’d probably delivered every baby that had been born in the cove over the past fifty years. Ms. Gertie had always been a loving soul and one of the kindest people Vashti knew while growing up in Catalina Cove. She’d always had a kind word to say about everybody and had been one of her aunt’s dearest friends. And like her aunt, she’d stuck by her when Vashti had gotten pregnant. To this day Vashti thought of Ms. Gertie as the grandmother she never had.

      It had been Vashti’s desire for Ms. Gertie to deliver her baby since she’d taken care of her during the first months of her pregnancy instead of the doctor in town. But when Vashti began showing, her parents decided to send her away to have her baby. Those months had been the loneliest of her life.

      Bringing her thoughts back to the present, Vashti drove through the historic part of the city and was reminded how the town got its origin. It was required history in the Catalina Cove school system.

      Vashti knew that the parcel of land the cove sat on had been a gift to the notorious pirate Jean LaFitte, from the newly formed United States of America for his role in helping the thirteen colonies fight for their independence from the British during the American Revolution. There were some who actually believed he wasn’t buried at sea in the Gulf of Honduras like history claimed but was buried somewhere in the waters surrounding Catalina Cove.

      For years because of LaFitte, the cove had been a shipping town. It still was, which was evident by the number of fishing vessels she could see lining the piers as she drove through the shipping district. The Moulden River was full of trout, whiting, shrimp and oysters. Tourists would come from miles around to sample the town’s seafood, especially the oysters. The cove’s lighthouse-turned-restaurant was the place to dine and you had to make reservations weeks in advance to get a table.

      She came to a stop at a red light at the intersection of Adrienne and Sophie, the streets reputedly named for two of LaFitte’s mistresses. The entire downtown area was a close replicate of New Orleans’s French Quarter, a deliberate move on LaFitte’s part. The cove was where the pirate would return to when he and his team of smugglers needed some down time with their women. And if the naming of the streets was to be believed, he’d had several of them, she thought, making a turn on Margaux Lane.

      Her thoughts shifted from Jean LaFitte to the man who had pulled her over earlier. That was something that had definitely changed in the cove. It appeared police officers were no longer middle-aged, potbellied men who looked like they’d eaten one blueberry muffin too many. The man who’d given her a ticket was so fit one would suspect he spent a lot of his time at the gym. He was definitely pleasing on the eyes. She hadn’t felt this much interest in a man since finding out what a scumbag Scott was. It was then she’d sworn off men. Nothing had changed, although she had gotten a jolt between the thighs, a sort of reminder of what she hadn’t had in over two years now. At some point she and Scott had begun engaging in what she called courtesy sex and then months later she’d decided not to bother at all. It hadn’t been worth the effort. It hadn’t seemed to bother him any, and now she knew why. His boss’s wife had been his sidepiece.

      Reaching Adele Street meant she was entering the historical residential district. Stately older homes, most of them of the French Creole style, lined the streets with pristine manicured lawns. She’d always liked this style of house and recalled that a number of the same style were scattered around New Orleans. That was another deliberate duplication the pirate had taken from there.

      It was a known fact that New Orleans had the largest French Creole population in the country. Catalina Cove was next. What a lot of people failed to realize was that being a Creole had nothing to do with your race. It didn’t matter what your skin color was. It had everything to do with your cultural heritage. Her father, a Creole born in Catalina Cove, had met her mother at Grambling University. They had returned here to live after they got married. As a child, Vashti remembered her paternal grandparents, and how her grandmother had told her about the rich Creole history and culture. To this day Vashti was proud of her Creole heritage.

      She came to a stop in front of one of the stately looking houses. Bryce had purchased her house three years ago and this would be Vashti’s first visit. Her best friend had visited her many times in New York and Bryce had also joined her in New Orleans whenever Vashti happened to go there on business.

      Vashti sat there a minute after turning off the ignition. It was a nice home, and she thought the two-story structure was perfect for her best friend. The previous owners had approached Bryce about being their Realtor and she’d ended up buying it herself.

      The minute she got out the car, the front door opened and a smiling Bryce stepped out in the sunlight. Vashti felt her smile grow wide in return.

      “Where did you get that thing?” Bryce asked, coming down the steps to meet her and giving more than an admiring glance to the Corvette convertible.

      “A rental. It was ordered for an NFL player who had to cancel his trip at the last minute so I thought I’d take it.”

      Bryce gave her a hug and she gave her one back. “Glad you got here in one piece.”

      “Me, too, but not without a little bit of drama,” she said, opening the passenger door to retrieve her carry-on.

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