Page 18 of Beyond the Stroke

“Thanks, Viv.” I hesitate for a second, then shift gears. “Unrelated, but how are your detective skills?”

“I’m a publicist, not a spy,” she chides. “But I’m also a woman, so pretty damn good.”

“The mermaid’s name.”

“I’ll do some digging.”

“Thanks.”

I end the call with Vivi, then pocket my phone.

I rake a hand through my hair and roll out my shoulders.

That’s when I notice something on the window ledge of the library.

Stepping through the landscaping of woodchips and shrubs, I reach the window and discover it’s a painting.

At the same moment I reach for it, my phone buzzes in my pocket, this time reminding me of the appointment notification that Charlie had sent me yesterday.

With the painting in hand, I make my way down the block to Spruce, a medical spa and salon in Coral Cove.

Inside the waiting room I find Logan, Eli, and Charlie.

Logan nods to the painting I’m holding, taking it from my hand to examine it. He beams ear to ear. “You met a mermaid and you found a Covey? Fuck, man, you’re a god damn good luck charm.”

I ignore his comments about the mermaid. The guys already gave me shit about the woman leaving me high and dry this morning at practice.

“What’s a Covey?” I ask.

“A few months ago, these beach paintings started showing up randomly around town. Someone came up with the name Covey. It’s a mash up of Coral Cove and Banksy, the British anonymous street artist. There’s even a social media page for people to post when they find one.” He hands it back to me. “Where’d you get it?”

“Near the library.”

“Wait. Isn’t thatyourbeach house?” Charlie asks.

“Fuck. I didn’t even notice that before.” Logan moves in for a closer look. “It must be fate that you were the one to find it.”

Eli groans. “Logan’s into some woo woo shit lately. Auras and meditation. He dragged me to an aura cleansing workshop last week.”

Logan smirks at Eli. “You liked it.”

Eli lifts his chin toward Charlie. “This better not be another aura reading.”

“Trust me. This is nothing like that,” Charlie says, his cheeks turning a tinge of pink.

Just then, the receptionist greets us with forms to fill out and sign.

I scan the document.

“Why the hell is this form all about bleach?” I ask.

Eli drops the clipboard on the table and moves to stand. “Bro, I’m not bleaching my hair. We did that before Paris and I looked fucking terrible.”

“Nah, man, you looked cool,” Logan argues.

Eli shakes his head. “It washed me out and you know it.”

The receptionist gives a wave of dismissal. “You can disregard the bleach section, that isn’t part of your services today.”

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