{"product_id":"a-highend-finish-isbn-9780451469199","title":"A High-End Finish","description":"\u003cb\u003eTHE FIRST NOVEL IN THE \u003ci\u003eNEW YORK TIMES\u003c\/i\u003e BESTSELLING FIXER-UPPER MYSTERY SERIES!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eDon't miss the Hallmark Movies \u0026amp; Mystery Originals starring Jewel, based on the Fixer-Upper Mystery series!\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003eIn the seaside town of Lighthouse Cove in northern California, everyone knows the best man for the job is actually a woman—contractor Shannon Hammer. But while her home-renovation and repair business is booming, her love life needs work. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOn a blind date with real estate agent Jerry Saxton, Shannon has to whip out a pair of pliers to keep Jerry from getting too hands on. She's happy to put her rotten date behind her, but when Jerry’s found dead in a run-down Victorian home that she’s been hired to restore, the town’s attractive new police chief suspects that her threats may have laid the foundation for murder.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Determined to clear her name, Shannon conducts her own investigation—with the help of her four best friends, her eccentric father, a nosy neighbor or two, and a handsome crime writer who’s just moved to town. But as they get closer to prying out the murderer’s identity, Shannon is viciously attacked. Now she’ll have to nail down the truth—or end up in permanent foreclosure...\u003cb\u003ePraise for Kate Carlisle and the Fixer-Upper Mysteries\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Sleuth Shannon Hammer knows her way around a building site and a murder—I fell for this feisty, take-charge heroine, and readers will, too.”—Leslie Meier, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of the Lucy Stone Mysteries\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Clever wit and complex plotting...immensely satisfying.”—Jenn McKinlay, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of the Library Lover’s Mysteries\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Perfect escapist cozy fare.”—\u003ci\u003eLibrary Journal\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Another winner from one of the leaders in the genre!”—\u003ci\u003eRT Book Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Highly entertaining...quick, clever, and somewhat edgy....Shannon’s not a stereotype—she’s a person, and an interesting, intelligent, likable one at that, which makes it easy to become invested in her tale.”—Smitten by BooksA native Californian, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author \u003cb\u003eKate Carlisle\u003c\/b\u003e worked in television for many years before turning to writing.  Inspired by the northern seaside towns of her native California, where Victorian mansions grace the craggy cliffs and historic lighthouses warn fishermen and smugglers alike, Kate was drawn to create the Fixer-Upper Mysteries, featuring small-town girl Shannon Hammer, a building contractor specializing in home restoration. Kate also writes the \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling Bibliophile Mysteries featuring Brooklyn Wainwright.\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eShannon Hammer—\u003c\/b\u003econtractor in Lighthouse Cove, California\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eJack Hammer—\u003c\/b\u003eShannon’s father\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eUncle Pete Hammer—\u003c\/b\u003eShannon’s uncle, winemaker and owner of the Town Square Wine Bar\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eChloe Hammer—\u003c\/b\u003eShannon’s sister\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eJane Hennessey—\u003c\/b\u003eShannon’s best friend and owner of Hennessey House, the newest small hotel in town\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eLizzie and Hal Logan—\u003c\/b\u003eShannon’s friends and owners of Paper Moon book and paper store; their kids are Taz (11) and Marisa (13)\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eEmily Rose—\u003c\/b\u003eShannon’s friend and owner of the Scottish Rose Tea Shoppe\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eMarigold Starling—\u003c\/b\u003eShannon’s friend and owner, with her aunt Daisy, of Crafts and Quilts\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eEric Jensen—\u003c\/b\u003ethe chief of police\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eMac Sullivan—\u003c\/b\u003ea famous crime novelist\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eTommy Gallagher—\u003c\/b\u003epolice officer and Shannon’s high school boyfriend\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eWhitney Reid Gallagher—\u003c\/b\u003eTommy’s wife and Shannon’s worst enemy from high school\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eJennifer Bailey—\u003c\/b\u003eWhitney’s best friend\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003ePenelope “Penny” Wells—\u003c\/b\u003ethe new bank loan officer\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eWendell Jarvick—\u003c\/b\u003eShannon’s short-term tenant\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eJerry Saxton—\u003c\/b\u003ea real estate agent and Shannon’s blind date\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eJoyce and Stan Boyer—\u003c\/b\u003eShannon’s homeowner clients\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eLuisa Capello—\u003c\/b\u003ea high school friend\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eCindy—\u003c\/b\u003ehead waitress at the Cozy Cove Diner\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eRocky—\u003c\/b\u003ecook and owner of the Cozy Cove Diner\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eAugustus “Gus” Peratti—\u003c\/b\u003eShannon’s auto mechanic\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eWade Chambers—\u003c\/b\u003eShannon’s head foreman\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eCarla Harrison—\u003c\/b\u003eShannon’s second foreman (husband, Chase, and daughter, Keely)\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eTodd, Billy, Sean, Johnny, Douglas—\u003c\/b\u003eShannon’s crew\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eJesse Hennessey—\u003c\/b\u003eShannon’s next-door neighbor and Jane’s uncle\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eMrs. Coleen Higgins—\u003c\/b\u003ethe neighbor across the street\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter One\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You could’ve warned me that installing drywall would be hell on my manicure.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI looked down from my perch at the top of the ladder and saw my best friend, Jane Hennessey, scowling at her hands. They were smeared with sticky joint compound. She had flakes of drywall stuck to her shirt and there were flecks of blue paint highlighting her blond hair.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I did warn you, remember? I told you to wear gloves.” \u003ci\u003eAnd a hat,\u003c\/i\u003e I thought to myself, but didn’t bother to mention it aloud. I wondered, though, where in the world that blue paint in her hair had come from.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“The gloves you gave me are so big and awkward, it’s hard to work in them.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’m sorry, princess,” I said, hiding a smile. “Why don’t you go rest and I’ll finish up here?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe laughed. “And have you rubbing my nose in the fact that I’m hopeless at manual labor? No way.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I would never do that.” But I laughed, too, because of course I \u003ci\u003ewould\u003c\/i\u003e do that, and I’d expect her to do the same for me. We had known each other since kindergarten and had become best friends when we realized that the two of us were taller than all of the boys in our class. These days, I was still pretty tall at five foot eight, but Jane was two inches taller than me and as svelte as a supermodel.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDespite her delicate hands and my teasing, she had never been a stranger to hard work. This might have been her first experience with hanging drywall, but there was no way she would give up before the job was finished. This place was her home as well as her business, so I knew she wanted to be involved in every aspect of the renovation.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJane had inherited the old mansion—formerly a brothel—three years ago, after her grandmother died. The imposing structure was a glorious example of the Victorian Queen Anne style, with an elaborate round tower rising three stories at the front corner; steeply gabled rooftops; four balconies; bay windows; six fluted chimneys; and a wide-planked, spindled porch, which spanned the front and wrapped around one long side of the house.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut except for the common rooms on the ground floor and Jane’s grandmother’s suite on the second floor, the rest of the house had been dangerously moldy, musty, and drafty when we first started to work on it. During our first inspection, we’d found rodents living inside one wall, a nest of bees swarming in the attic, and termites infesting the wood on the western side of the house. The plaster in some rooms was cracked or simply gone. To put it mildly, the place was falling apart. Through much of the initial demolition work, we’d had to wear full-face respirators to protect ourselves from the mold, asbestos, and toxic dust, among other substances.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe rooms that hadn’t been devastated by the ravages of time had been ruined by something almost worse: bad taste.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJane’s grandfather had had a peculiar fondness for 1970s-era wood paneling and had used it to hide much of the richly detailed Victorian-era wallpaper throughout the house. The gorgeous mahogany bay windows in the dining room had been covered over with a high-gloss pale pink paint. And in the bedroom where we were currently working, the decorative redbrick chimney had been disguised with fake yellow plastic flagstone paneling. Plastic!\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNo wonder Jane’s grandmother had divorced the man.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLuckily for Jane, though, she had a best friend in the construction biz. Namely, me. I’m Shannon Hammer and I own Hammer Construction, a company that specializes in Victorian-home restoration and renovation right here in my hometown of Lighthouse Cove. I took over the company five years ago when my father, Jack, suffered a mild heart attack and decided to retire.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI had agreed to help Jane refurbish the mansion with the aim of turning it into Hennessey House, an elegant small hotel. It was the perfect solution for Jane, who had studied hotel management and had been running the Inn on Main Street for the past five years. I enlisted some of my guys to help us out, too, whenever their presence wasn’t demanded at one of my other job sites. After three long years, we were getting close to finishing all fourteen guest suites. The extensive repair and intricate repainting of the exterior of the house had been completed last week. The day after that, Jane had met with a landscaper to start taming the wildly overgrown gardens that circled the large house. When she wasn’t busy working on the property itself, she was tweaking Hennessey House’s new Web site.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIn two months, she would officially open for business and the place was already sold out. Everyone in Lighthouse Cove was excited for her.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Okay,” Jane said, rubbing her hands clean with a wet towel. “What’s next?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Once the mud you’re applying is dried and sanded,” I said, “we’ll be ready to paint this room.” I climbed down from the ladder and picked up the pole sander to smooth out a section of dried mud on the opposite wall. “And before you know it, we’ll be done.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Hallelujah.” There was true relief in Jane’s voice and I couldn’t blame her for it. When she’d insisted on helping me get this last room completed, I’d warned her that while installing and finishing drywall wasn’t terribly hard, it was frankly a big pain in the butt and seriously time-consuming. I admit I’d skimmed over the details about the damage it could do to one’s nails, but I figured that was a given.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMany homeowners I’d worked with thought that hanging drywall was a simple matter of screwing some four-by-eight sheets of the hard wallboard to some studs and voilà! You had a wall. If only that were true, but no. You had to measure and cut the drywall to fit the walls and ceiling. This wasn’t easy, for at least three reasons.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFirst, because you had to cut the boards evenly, so that involved clamps and rulers and math.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSecond, because drywall boards were heavy and awkward for a person to maneuver around a room.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd third, because drywall had to be cut twice. I could explain why, but it still might not make sense.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd then you needed to figure out exactly how far apart the wood studs were and make marks on the drywall sheets accordingly. This way, you’d be sure you were screwing the sheets into the wood and not into semi-empty air. This involved more math and measuring. With newer homes, the wall studs were typically sixteen inches apart, but with old Victorians like this one, you just never knew.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI could go on and on about the joys of hanging drywall. No wonder I lived alone.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut here was the really fun part: once the drywall sheets were screwed to the studs, you had to cover up the seams, or joints, with joint compound. Joint compound was a muddy concoction known more simply as—wait for it—mud. You spread the mud along the seams and over the screw holes and then sanded it down to make the wall smooth and flat enough to paint.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOnce you had a layer of still-wet mud over the seam, you ran a strip of special tape over it. Then you covered that tape with another thin layer of mud and left it to dry, sometimes overnight. The next day you would apply another, wider layer of mud, smooth it out, and let it dry. After one more layer of mud was applied and dried, the sanding began.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFor someone unfamiliar with the process, it probably seemed like a great, big waste of time. But, trust me, if you missed a step or cut corners, you could screw up the wall and be forced to start over.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt was enough to make a grown contractor cry.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI preferred to do things right the first time. And, luckily, during those long, waiting-for-the-mud-to-dry periods, there was plenty of other work to do.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“This is going to look great,” Jane said, stepping back and taking in the room.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI almost laughed as I glanced around. We were staring at four walls covered in plain old drywall with wide white swaths of dried mud running every which way. A paint-spattered tarp lay over the old hardwood floor. Our tattered work shirts were equally spattered. My heavy tool chest, miscellaneous pieces of equipment and power tools, several buckets, and a stepladder were gathered together in one corner. It looked like a typical unfinished construction site to me, but I knew what she meant. I said, “It’ll be beautiful once the walls are painted and the ceiling is spackled and the moldings are added and the floor is finished.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAn hour and a half later, Jane and I were covered in fine white dust from all the sanding we’d done, but we were finished for the day. After removing our masks and goggles and shaking the worst of the dust off outside, we washed up in Jane’s laundry room sink.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Oh, shoot, it’s getting late,” Jane said, drying her hands on an old dish towel. “I almost forgot you had a date tonight.” She glanced at me. “I hope you plan on showering when you get home. You look like a raccoon.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Thanks. And please don’t call it a date.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Oh, come on. You’ll have a good time.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI gave her a look. “Really?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe chuckled. “No, probably not. But at least you’ll be able to enjoy a good meal. And Lizzie will be off your back for another few months.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Promise?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Well, no.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI frowned. “I don’t know why she’s picking on me when you’re the one who dreams of having a great romance.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Because I’ve already been her guinea pig once this year,” Jane said dryly. “I threatened to put spiders in her shoes if she ever tried to set me up again.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOur friend Lizzie was blissfully married, with a darling husband and two great kids. Lately it had become an obsession of hers to arrange blind dates in the hopes of getting her friends married off and happy, whether they wanted to be happy or not. Of course I wanted to be happy, meet a nice guy, and settle down, but the very idea of going on a blind date to accomplish that goal made me shudder with dread.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLizzie’s persistence had worn me down, though, and I had finally relented. Tonight I would meet Jerry Saxton for dinner at one of my favorite seafood restaurants on Lighthouse Pier. Dinner—that’s all it was. I refused to call it a blind date (even though that’s exactly what it was). I’d never met Jerry, but Lizzie had insisted he was a great guy, nice-looking, and successful, with a good sense of humor.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs I dried my hands, I mentally shrugged off most of my concerns because, as Jane said, at least I would enjoy a good dinner and maybe even have a few laughs.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut on the four-block drive home, I thought back to another one of Jane’s comments earlier that day. She had wondered aloud why a man with all those so-called wonderful qualities needed to be set up on a blind date. It was a good question. Maybe he was wondering the same thing about me. I sighed as I pulled into my driveway, knowing it wouldn’t do any good to dwell on those questions right now. In less than two hours, I would discover exactly why Jerry Saxton had agreed to go out with me.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e•   •   •\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI greeted and fed my dog, Robbie—named for Rob Roy, because Robbie is an adorable, smart West Highland terrier—and my cat, Tiger. My father had given me Tiger as a kitten a few years ago, picking her out of a litter because the color of her fur was so similar to my hair color. I named her Tiger because of her dark orange stripes and because she was oh so fierce.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI managed to shower and dry my impossibly thick, curly hair in record time. Getting dressed took a few extra minutes because I was undecided about what to wear. Nice pants and a jacket? A dress and high heels? Jeans and a sweater? The weather was mild for October on the Northern California coast, but the wind was always unpredictable, especially by the water. A chilly breeze could kick up in a matter of seconds.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI thought of the wide, worn wooden slats of the pier and shoved my high heels back into the closet. I could just see myself getting a heel stuck and wobbling like a goose in front of the whole town.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Boots, no heels,” I muttered. I slipped on my best black pants and a pretty teal blouse that brought out the green in my eyes. My short black leather jacket completed the outfit, along with earrings and a pair of black ankle boots. If Jerry was shorter than five foot ten, he would thank me for eschewing the high heels.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe easiest way to get to the pier three blocks away from my house was to walk. As I passed my next-door neighbor Jesse’s house, he came scooting out the door and down his front walkway to greet me. Jesse Hennessey was a good old guy, a former Navy man now in his seventies. I’d known him practically since I was born because he was not only my neighbor, but also Jane’s great-uncle. I always made time to chat with him.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’ve got five dollars on you, kiddo,” he said, his voice raspy from years of drinking, smoking, and brawling.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI frowned for a second, but then it clicked and made perfect sense. “Are you telling me there’s a betting pool going on? Over me?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Sure is,” he said, and cackled. “It’s not every night that young Shannon Hammer goes out on a blind date. Everyone in town wants in on this action.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was. And a little creeped out, too. There wasn’t much I could do about it now, though. We walked together toward Main Street. “I’m going to regret asking, but what’s the bet?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe snickered. “Either you go home with the guy or you wind up kicking him in the, uh, you know, the family jewels. It’s even odds, I might add.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“That’s . . . horrible.” I had to press my lips together to keep from laughing. Jesse was known for his salty language. I was pretty sure it was just for shock value, especially when it came to me and Jane.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI tried for a serious look. “I’m going to have a perfectly nice time tonight, Jesse, so I wouldn’t bet money on either of those outcomes. They’re beyond long shots.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“But that’s why there’s so much cash riding on this.” He rubbed his hands gleefully.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You’re all crazy—you know that?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Yeah, I know. But what the hell? If nobody wins, the money’ll just roll over into the next big pot.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI was almost afraid to ask the next question. “So, which way did you bet?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I figure you’ll kick him in the nards.” He grinned. “Don’t disappoint me.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI laughed. Couldn’t help it. I knew he meant it as a compliment, but, honestly, here I was, heading for the first blind date I’d ever been on and I was the subject of a betting pool down at the pub. This was life in my small town, and the pub was the epicenter of it all. That’s where the betting always started.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAnd now that we were speaking of bets, I was willing to \u003ci\u003ebet\u003c\/i\u003e that my father and uncle were right in the middle of the action. Which was just \u003ci\u003ewrong\u003c\/i\u003e of them in so many ways. And right in a few others, I had to admit.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe reached Main Street and I gave Jesse a tight smile. “Wish me luck.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You don’t need luck, kiddo. You look beautiful.” He gave me two thumbs-up and strolled back to his house while I walked briskly down Main Street and past the town square until the street dead-ended at Lighthouse Pier.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e•   •   •\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“That was fun,” I said, as Jerry and I walked down the stairs from the pier to the boardwalk for a stroll. “But you didn’t have to pay for dinner.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“It was my pleasure,” he said. “I had fun, too.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe walked along without talking for a full minute, taking in the charming shops and cafés and the colorful hodgepodge of humanity. I was surprised that I felt so comfortable. Jerry had been a gentleman all through dinner: easy to talk to, a good listener, friendly, and interesting. He asked me questions about my life, laughed at my stories, and entertained me with funny ones of his own, too.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe was a successful real estate agent who brokered deals up and down the north coast. His home was in Pentland, two towns north of Lighthouse Cove, which explained why we had never met until that night. He was obviously successful in business and I could see why. He was charming and smooth and very good-looking, tall and muscular with a sly smile and twinkling blue eyes. His attention was on me throughout the meal, and I appreciated that I didn’t once catch him looking over my shoulder to see if someone more appealing had entered the room.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe shared a good, crisp sauvignon blanc along with the deep-fried popcorn shrimp appetizer. I ordered fish and he had lobster.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe’d been seated next to the wall of windows and the view of the sunset was spectacular. Because the sky was still light and the weather remained mild, we decided to take a walk after dinner.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAfter strolling a few blocks along the boardwalk, Jerry stopped and pointed across the sandy expanse to the waves crashing down by the shore. “How do you feel about walking in the sand?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I feel good about it.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Let’s go.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eLaughing, we stepped onto the sand and headed down to the shoreline. When we reached the edge of the wet sand, we stopped to gaze out at the water.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I love this time of evening,” I said, staring west toward the Sandpiper Islands, seven miles off the coast. “The islands are still silhouetted by the last rays of the sunset. It’s nice, isn’t it?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Yeah.” Jerry shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’ve been told that a clipper ship sank out there somewhere a few hundred years ago.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“That’s right,” I said. “Plenty of divers have gone down to investigate.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe nodded. “I’ve sold houses to some of those would-be treasure hunters so I’m all for keeping the legend alive.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“It’s more than a legend,” I said. “It’s all true. Every few years, a gold doubloon will wash up on shore and everyone goes crazy. There’s a shop on Main Street with one of them in the window. They’ll happily sell it to you for a few hundred thousand dollars.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’ll pass,” he said, chuckling.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe watched the last streams of coral-and-pink clouds fade in the evening sky before heading back toward the boardwalk and the pier.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I still can’t believe you’ve spent your entire life here,” Jerry said. “Didn’t you ever get the urge to move?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I went away to college,” I said, “and a few years later, I moved to San Francisco. I was only there for about a year, and then my dad had a heart attack so I returned to take over the family business. I’m glad I had the chance to live in the city, but I’m happier back here.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I can’t believe you’re happier here. I love San Francisco.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“This is home,” I said. “I missed the beach and the trees and my friends. My work. The town square has everything. I love it all.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHalfway back to the boardwalk, Jerry stopped and turned to check the darkening horizon. “I confess I’m still not used to living in such a small town.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’ve frankly never thought of Lighthouse Cove as small,” I said, following his gaze. “Pentland’s a little bigger, isn’t it?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Yeah, but believe me, it’s small.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I guess if I’d lived in a big city most of my life and then moved here, it would take some getting used to. But I know this place and I enjoy it. Even when the gossip is all about me.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe leaned closer and I could feel his breath on my cheek. “Why, Shannon, have you been stirring up gossip?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Nothing too outrageous.” I laughed lightly and took a small step backward.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Outrageous, huh? Tell me all about it.” He moved in again and I inched back. “I want to hear all about Shannon’s outrageousness.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“It’s time to head back to the boardwalk,” I said, ignoring his request. “It’s getting pretty dark out here.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I like the dark.” He raised his eyebrows. “You’re not scared, are you?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“No,” I said, trying for a laugh, though I had to admit that Jerry was getting a little too close too fast. “I just think it’s time to call it a night.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“But we’re just getting started.” He drew me close and kissed me. It should’ve been a romantic move, but it didn’t do anything for me. I wasn’t getting any kind of an affectionate \u003ci\u003eHey, I like you\u003c\/i\u003e feeling from him, so the whole move felt kind of cheesy. Besides, the walk in the sand had reminded every one of my muscles that I’d worked a long day.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Sorry, but it’s getting late,” I said lightly, pulling away. “I’ve had a great time, but this walk made me realize how tired I am, so I’m going to say good night. Thanks again for a nice evening.” I started toward the boardwalk, but the sand made it slow going.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Wait. No way.” He grabbed my arm and turned me around to face him. My purse went flying. “What are you trying to pull?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI leaned away from him. “I’m not pulling anything.” I got a look at his face and saw the furrowed brow, the bared teeth. Someone had flipped a switch and Jerry had gone from good guy to big jerk. “We had a fun evening. It was nice to meet you, and now I’m going home.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“That’s not how it works.” His expression darkened and he grabbed my arms.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI felt the first inkling of fear and tugged my arms away. “Good night, Jerry.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I don’t think so,” he said.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI tried to run, but the sand was like a trap and I was no match for his longer, stronger legs. He caught me and hauled me against him, my back to his front.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDisgusted, I pointed up at the pier where people were still dining and strolling and staring out at the ocean. “Look, there are a bunch of people who can see what you’re doing, so just leave me alone. I’ll walk away and we can forget this ever happened.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I say we give ’em something to talk about.” He whirled me around and jerked me into his arms. There was nothing tender about the move and it was alarming to see how quickly he pinned me against him. I was strong from years of construction work, but I was no match for his innate male strength.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“This is ridiculous,” I said. “Let me go.” I pushed on his chest, struggling for some space. But his arms wouldn’t give an inch and I couldn’t maneuver myself away from him.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Yeah, that’s more like it,” Jerry murmured as he pressed himself against me.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“No, it’s not,” I insisted, wishing I had something heavy to smack him with. This would teach me to go on a blind date without a set of tools. All I had in my purse was the pair of needle-nose pliers I’d used to fix my sunglasses earlier. Not exactly the best bludgeoning tool to discourage an aggressive jackass.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe nuzzled my neck and made a moaning sound, oblivious to my struggles.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Stop it!” I shouted to get his attention as I arched away from him.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut he wasn’t about to stop. Instead he reached up and tried to grope me, but I managed to twist and wriggle out of his way. He tried again and I elbowed his hand away.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Don’t be such a prude,” he snapped.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’m not. I’m just not interested.” The irony was that I would’ve gladly kissed him a few minutes ago, but now I was disgusted by him. And just a little bit scared, although the watchful crowd on the pier was a good sign that nothing too awful could happen. I hoped.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShifting quickly, he yanked my jacket off my shoulders and moved in to try to kiss me again. Now my arms were pinned so I couldn’t shove him away. I had to contort my head and neck in every direction to avoid his mouth. My head butted against his and it must have shocked him, because he let down his guard for a second.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“What the hell’s your problem?” he sputtered, rubbing his forehead where I’d struck him.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I told you to stop.” I used the moment of distraction to shrug my jacket off completely.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe grabbed my arms again and shook me hard. “I paid for dinner, babe. I expect you to show some gratitude.” He tugged me close again.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’ll give you the money back!” Up on the pier I could see people pointing and staring at us so I yelled out, “Help!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe laughed. “Like they can hear us over the waves.” With a grin, he slid his fingers around the neck of my blouse, and I slapped his hands away. We struggled. I tried shoving him again, but he didn’t budge.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Come on, babe, stop playing games.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’m not playing games.” In that split second while he was moving in close again, I did what my construction guys had always instructed me to do in a situation like this. I slammed my knee up into his crotch.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eUnfortunately, he was too close and too damn tall, so I only managed to clunk my knee into his.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Oww! What the hell?” He reached down to rub his knee and it gave me another chance to strike. This time I kicked his shin as hard as I could and was happy I’d decided to wear boots.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Damn it!” He pushed me away.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’ll aim higher next time!” I said. I didn’t add that I would need a stepladder to do any proper damage to the big lug. His height had been a good quality at the beginning of the evening. Not so much now.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI kept my focus on him as I cautiously bent to pick up my purse. He wasn’t ready to call it quits, though, and I watched him plant both feet in the sand to balance himself, waiting for his moment to attack.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI knew I couldn’t run around him, so I would just have to fight it out here and hope that someone on the pier would help. Jerry took two creeping steps toward me and I swung my purse at his head. He caught it and laughed, tossing it onto the sand.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe thought he had me now\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Berkley","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46303214108901,"sku":"NP9780451469199","price":9.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780451469199.jpg?v=1767720521","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/a-highend-finish-isbn-9780451469199","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}