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    The Secret of the Briefcase
    The Secret of the Briefcase
    The Secret of the Briefcase
    Ebook125 pages1 hour

    The Secret of the Briefcase

    By Ann Stratton

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    About this ebook

    Amanda Levinson and Sidar Nguyen are new in Little Port, and being the new people in a small town, it was inevitable they would meet: the lady in the lighthouse and the man from Oz. And then Amanda picks up the briefcase. Can she and Sidar forge a relationship that will help them survive the revelation of what the briefcase contains?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAnn Stratton
    Release dateOct 28, 2017
    ISBN9781386183914
    The Secret of the Briefcase
    Author

    Ann Stratton

    Ann Stratton started writing at age thirteen with the usual results. After a long stint in fan fiction, honing her skills, she hopes she has gotten better since then. She lives in Southeastern Arizona, trying to juggle all her varied interests. 

    Read more from Ann Stratton

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      Book preview

      The Secret of the Briefcase - Ann Stratton

      License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. It may not be resold or given away. If you would like to share this ebook, please purchase an additional copy for each person with whom you want to share it. If you're reading this ebook and did not purchase it, or if it was not purchased for your use only, please return to the ebook store and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

      * * *

      Disclaimer

      This is a work of fiction, a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance or similarity to any actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

      * * *

      Credits

      Cover painting courtesy of Meyer Stratton

      Editing, formatting, and cover design by Ann Stratton

      * * *

      The Secret of the Briefcase

      1-Amanda Levinson woke up with the sun as she always did. At this time of year, she could beat the alarm clock and didn’t turn it on when she went to bed. By the color of the light coming through her window, it would be a fine cloudless day. The steady sound of the waves against the rocks at the base of the lighthouse was a comforting and familiar noise. The morning wind would probably let off about lunchtime and be calm for a couple of hours before turning and becoming the evening wind.

      One more luxurious stretch to enjoy the ozone and salt wind smell of her freshly washed sheets and she got up to perform her morning routine. Her bed was just a mattress on a frame in the corner of the empty cavern of the lighthouse’s first floor, but someday she would replace it with that hand carved bedstead she’d seen in the second hand shop and she contrasted the warm old wood in her memory against the rough stone walls.

      The kitchen was just an old stone sink, a mini fridge, a microwave, and a propane burner under the window that faced out into the bay. Just about adequate for what she needed, but someday, she would have quartz counters with a work island, stainless steel appliances, and a cozy dining nook. She dressed while her breakfast cooked on the burner, dreaming about the generous closet with racks and shelves that would hold every stitch of clothing she owned and then some.

      Someday... Today she had work to do. She had to get the old roof ripped off so she could check the rafters and decking for soundness and then start getting the new roof on before the rainy season got started. It was really a two man job, but after sinking pretty nearly her entire life’s savings into this old lighthouse, hiring a contractor, or even extra help, was out of the question.

      A real do it yourself project, she said to herself with a half laugh, washed her few dishes and went on out to the shed to collect her ladder and tools. She wasn’t really looking forward to wrestling those heavy sheets of plywood by herself, pulleys and ropes or not, but there was no one else to do it and no money to hire them anyway.

      Others had offered to help her for free, but she knew all too well the real price she would have to pay for that privilege. She’d paid that price in her past life, and determined to never pay it again.

      Amanda jammed the scoop shovel under a patch of rotting shingles and levered hard to pry them loose. What would all those people from back home think of her now, wearing a sweat greasy straw hat over sweat drenched ragged tank top and cut off shorts, her feet shod in steel toed work boots, wielding shovel and pry bar with the skill of practice? Would they even recognize her at all?

      Amanda snorted and maneuvered the pile of shingles to the edge of the roof and into the dumpster below. Not likely. She shoved another load of shingles off the roof and stood up to stretch her back and wipe the sweat off her face, catching her breath. The bay was bright today, twinkling under the sun. Boats large and small dotted that sparkling expanse, strange and familiar at once. Strange, because it was a complete difference from what she had grown up with; familiar because she had been looking at that world spanning view for several months now, but still full of surprise. It represented new beginnings to her, fresh and clean.

      The broad sweep of the horizon led her eyes back to the town’s docks and behind them the town itself. A village, actually, a pretty little town full of houses of austere formal architecture, not yet given to the tourists, still devoted to and supported by the fishing it had been founded for, still occupied by the old families. They didn’t exactly welcome her with open arms, this foreigner from down south somewhere they had no interest in, but were cautiously curious and pleased that she had bought the old lighthouse to renovate. The Coast Guard had newer, more up to date beacons scattered up and down the coast, but the lighthouse had been here since the town was founded.

      Behind the town, the forest lay across the hills, black, dark, dense, untouched since... well, since the loggers and shipbuilders had gone elsewhere. It lurked there like a dark green blotch, sullen and resentful.

      Despite being an entirely different forest than the swamp woods she had grown up in, it reminded Amanda too much of old pain and she turned away from it and attacked the shingles again.

      2-Sidar Nguyen waited for the rest of the passengers to file past him, bumping and shoving impatiently. Finally the last one went by and he extracted himself and his duffle out of his seat to stagger on blood deprived legs down the aisle and out the door.

      Outside, in the bus parking lot, he moved out of the way of the passengers getting their luggage from the driver and stretched, inventorying his surroundings. The bus depot was an old building converted to the purpose, with an asphalt lot just about big enough for the bus to turn around in, and a glass door leading to the waiting room. Pretty much the same as every other small town bus station he’d been through and wouldn’t be the last either. His butt was numb from the travelling.

      He hefted his duffle bag over his shoulder and joined the line of people going into the waiting room. It was quite small, having a few benches and chairs, an old TV on the wall turned to some talk show, a ticket counter, vending machines, and bathrooms, pretty much the same as every other small town bus station along the way. The clerk—female, white, fifty-ish, hair black, eyes brown—reacted to his appearance with a hastily concealed look of astonishment and he damped down the old flash of annoyance. You’d think in a country that prided itself in cultural diversity–loudly and at great length—would be used to crossbreeds like himself, but apparently not. When he opened his mouth, the astonishment went to fascination and there was nothing he could do about it. Linguistic acrobatics were not his strong suit.

      Excuse me, he said, and there the astonishment went across the woman’s face, can you tell me where Oi can find a hostel?

      The clerk blinked. Uh, we don’t have a hostel, but there’s a hotel over on Main and Lucy Freeman runs a B&B off on Maple. Where are you from?

      A place you’ve never heard of. Thank you, he said instead and turned away. Over by a bank of pay phones, a thin phone book hung on a cable and he pulled paper and pencil from his duffle to take notes. The clerk was right; there was no hostel, no YMCA or other public housing, just one hotel and one bed and breakfast. He could sleep in the park, he supposed, but that was a short rough trip to jail whether it rained or not and he didn’t care to do that. There was a campground not too far away and he could stay there, but he had very little money and that had to pay for food.

      But this was where his journey had led him. Sidar could only hope that he could provide for himself. Maybe the local diner could use a dishwasher, or one of the fishing boats he could see on the water could use an extra hand.

      A strong body meant a strong mind and walking would help him limber up from the long bus ride. It was a pretty little town, still honest and real, barely touched by tourism, and he admired the clapboard houses with their fancy trim as he walked along. The only flaw he saw in this jewel was the looming black forest rising up the hills behind town, like a wall to keep the town down on the shore. A city boy himself, he found the forest strange and forbidding and he kept one eye on it as he figured out the way down to the docks. The ocean was as unfamiliar as the forest, flat and sparkling as far as the eye could see, presenting another wall to the town. He wondered how anyone could live this way, trapped between forest and ocean and sky

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