Read Online Shadows on the Sand by Gayle Roper - Free Book Online Page A

taller of the two, “so we decided to eat it here.” They slipped into a booth. In another minute all the street group were inside, seated and scanning menus, even the young mom with the two little kids.
    As soon as they placed their orders, they began texting, though I couldn’t imagine what they were talking about.
I ordered quiche
or
I’m having grilled cheese with ham and tomatoes
? Nothing else newsworthy was happening unless you counted someone dropping a tray of silver in the kitchen with a horrendous crash. Today’s dishwasher?
    Which reminded me, if Jase wasn’t going to be here, I had to do something about tomorrow. And where was he?
Lord, let him be okay, okay?
    Whenever one booth or table emptied, another group of tweeters appeared. Aside from the little bleeps and chimes that denoted new messages, the place was eerily quiet. The upside was that they were too preoccupied to notice the slow service.
    “Since he couldn’t get over the bridge and out of town, he’s speeding south into Avalon on Ocean Drive,” one texter announced just in case the others had missed that information.
    Ocean Drive was a highway that linked the run of barrier islands that edged South Jersey, protecting the mainland from the ravages of the ocean’s temper. I sometimes wondered what would happen to the highway and all the islands if the predictions of global warming came to pass. The highest point in Seaside was less than ten feet above sea level, and it wouldn’t take much to devastate the town. In a storm several years ago, the ocean and bay met in Harvey Cedars, an island community several miles north of Seaside. Would such a thing happen permanently up and down the coast someday?
    “It’s a good thing it’s off-season and there aren’t many people and cars around,” Cilla said when I refilled her sweet iced tea. “I can’t imagine the confusion and danger if the place was crawling with summer people.”
    I had to agree. The thought of that huge vehicle speeding through streets swarming with vacationers was enough to give me the shudders.
    The café door opened, and Mary Prudence, Lindsay’s and my fairy godmother, walked in, making her way through the three parties waiting for tables.
    “What are you doing here?” I asked. “Not that I’m not always glad to see you, but what’s up?”
    “I read on Twitter that things were slightly nuts here. I thought I’d better come in and help you out.”
    “You’re on Twitter?”
    “Sure. Isn’t everyone? I follow SweetCilla. She’s been reporting everything ever since you screamed.”
    Uh-huh.
    “And I follow Mary P,” Cilla said.
    “And I follow both,” called a slick-looking guy whose suntan was fading toward winter wan.
    A flurry of “me too’s” and “so do I’s” sounded.
    I looked at Cilla with her gray hair and Mary P with her carefully tinted hair. How weird that they knew more about technology than I, who was at least thirty years younger than Mary P and closer to forty for Cilla.
    “So what can I do to help you out?” Mary P slipped her smartphone into its holder clipped to her belt.
    A stray piece of information finally connected. “Carrie’s Café is being mentioned on Twitter by name?”
    Mary P nodded. “Facebook too. You couldn’t pay for publicity like this.”
    Wow. Maybe there was something to social networking after all.
    She wrapped an apron around her ample middle. “You want me to do counter or tables?”
    I smiled at her. It was like old times, only then she was the boss and I the employee being told my wait station.
    “I’ll take the counter and the register,” I said. “You and Andi take the tables and booths.”
    With a nod, Mary P went to talk with Andi about division of labor.
    “They got him,” Lindsay yelled to the customers.
    “Yeah,” called a guy with black glasses and a terrible haircut. “The Wildwood PD was waiting for him at the south end of town.”
    “He smashed up a cop car when he tried to run a