The morning started slow on the Port Townsend waterfront. I grabbed coffee and sat outside watching fog lift off the bay in soft layers. The town carried a quiet tension, like everyone felt a shift coming but nobody wanted to say it out loud.
Unwelcome News
Before long, Mara walked up with Rusty trotting behind her, tail wagging hard enough to move the air. She said the suits were back—meeting with someone at the city offices this time. The tired look from last week was gone. She seemed sharper now, steadier, like someone preparing for a fight rather than bracing for a blow.
I told her I’d ask around. She didn’t ask what that meant, and I didn’t offer details.
An Old Connection
After she left, I stopped at the payphone in the boatyard. No reason to use a cell for this call. The number was handwritten on an old matchbook I’d kept longer than I should admit.
Two rings, then a voice I hadn’t heard in years:
“Still using this number,” she said—same tone as always, sharp and amused.
“Didn’t want to lose it,” I told her.
“You disappeared,” she said, not angry—just stating a fact. Then: “What do you need, BG?”
“A marina getting squeezed,” I said. “Something called Port Townsend Waterfront Redevelopment. Looks clean up front, but it stinks underneath.”
“Stand by,” she said, fingers hitting keys in the background. “Give me a few hours.”
We didn’t say goodbye. We never did.
Waiting for Answers
Back at the marina, I helped Eddie sort paperwork while he complained about sudden city inspections and surprise “safety reviews.” Carla brought coffee. Old man Raines showed up with a newspaper and too many opinions. Nobody asked why I kept checking the time. Nobody knew someone else was already digging.
The Call Back
Near dusk, the payphone rang again—caller ID blocked.
“That redevelopment group isn’t what it claims,” she said. “It’s a shell. Behind it is a land acquisition network tied to private equity money from California. They’re targeting marina properties up and down the coast. Port Townsend’s just another pin in the map.”
“Appreciate it,” I said.
“You always did pick good fights,” she answered. Then: “You still play?”
“Not much,” I said.
“You should.”
Click.
Lines Forming
I watched the sun drop behind the hills, and for the first time in a while, I missed music. Picked a few quiet chords on a borrowed guitar—more memory than skill.
Tomorrow I’ll tell Mara what’s really happening. The town’s going to need to decide how much its shoreline is worth.
Sand rating: 7/10 — steady for now, but the tide’s building.
– BG
Travel light. Swing hard.
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