In the back of the little house, with a gorgeous view of the harbor, was the living room, whose natural-colored floors and white walls (painted by me) looked fresh and bright, even in the evening. Although the furnishings currently consisted of nothing more than two folding chairs and a dust mop, I could picture how it would be once I brought in my white couch and coffee table, with a big blue rag rug against the golden floor.
The kitchen was small, but cozy, also with wood floors and white walls, with a card table I'd gotten at the second-hand store in the corner. I'd outfitted the kitchen with odds and ends from my kitchen in Boston, including a toaster oven I'd been meaning to throw away for years, a coffeemaker that had been state-of-the-art in the late 1990s, and stacks of white and blue plates from Goodwill. I plopped down my overnight bag, released Winston from his leash, and grabbed a loaf of bread I'd put in the freezer the last time I was here, tucking two slices into the toaster oven and fishing in the small fridge for cheese. A bottle of cheap but not entirely undrinkable Prosecco sat in the fridge door; I'd bought it in anticipation of this night.
I slapped a slice of cheddar cheese on each piece of bread, then hit "toast" and retrieved a jam jar from the cabinet. While Winston watched, I popped the cork on the Prosecco and filled the jar. Then, jam jar in hand, I walked into the living room and surveyed the view from the kitchen window, which overlooked the harbor.
The sandbar connecting Snug Harbor to Snug Island had been almost swallowed up by the tide, and two late seagulls picked through the broken shells at the water's edge. Two sea kayakers were heading out from the island, paddling toward Snug Harbor, probably anxious to get back before total darkness fell. The sky was rose and peach and deep, deep, blue, and the first two stars twinkled in the cobalt swath of sky.
I looked down to where Winston stood behind me, looking up at me expectantly, head cocked to one side. "To new beginnings," I said, slipping my companion a piece of cheese before raising my jar in a toast, then sipping the fizzy Prosecco. "We made it."
As I spoke, I noticed a furtive figure slipping out of the trees and creeping up the path to the house. Then it paused, and I could see the pale oval of a face looking up at the lit window. As if whoever it was had changed their mind, he or she hustled back into the trees, melting into the shadows. Beside me, standing at the glass door, Winston's hackles rose, and he growled.
Goose bumps rose on my arms for the second time that night—this time, not in a good way. "It's okay," I reassured the little dog, hoping to reassure myself at the same time. "Whoever it is is gone."
As I spoke, the smell of burning toast filled the air. "Drat," I said, and I hurried back to the kitchen, where the edges of the toast had blackened.
I pulled it out of the toaster and onto a plate, burning myself in the process, and cut off the edges with a butter knife, then sat down at the table with my sad-looking toasted cheese sandwich and a jam jar of Prosecco, still wondering who had headed up the path and changed tack at the last minute.
Whoever it was was gone, I told myself as I bit into my sandwich. And I had other things to worry about.
Like unpacking the truck.
And preparing to have all of Snug Harbor descend on my fledgling bookstore in less than 24 hours.
It was almost midnight by the time I curled up with Winston snuggled into the crook of my arm. I hoped it was my last night sleeping on an air mattress, but with my crisp blue and white percale sheets, fluffy blanket, and soft pillows, it wasn't exactly a hardship. Besides, it was lovely being able to see the stars out my window; and to open the window and hear the lap of the water against the shore and the breeze in the maple tree next to the house, instead of Boston traffic in the distance.
I read one of Lee Strauss' charming Ginger Gold books until my eyes started to droop. Then I reached to turn off the lamp I'd set up next to the head of the mattress and burrowed into the covers, lulled to sleep by Winston's steady breathing and the soothing sound of the ocean.
Until a crashing sound from downstairs woke me up.
2
Winston and I jerked awake simultaneously, both sitting up in a near panic. Winston stood at attention, issuing short yippy, anxious barks. I shushed him, listening; sure enough, there was another clunk, from somewhere below me.
My thoughts sprang to the skulking figure I'd seen behind the shop earlier. Had someone broken in?
The moon had risen as I slept, illuminating the room enough so that I didn't need to turn on a light. I grabbed my bathrobe from the hook next to the door and wrapped it around me, tiptoeing toward the bedroom door. Winston watched from the mattress, no longer barking but whining anxiously. Evidently, he wasn't quite brave enough to join me.
I grabbed the dust mop, edged over to the door to the stairs, and took a deep breath. Then I unlocked the door, yanked it open, and turned on the light. "Is someone down there? I'm armed," I announced, stretching the truth just a tad.
There was a shuffling sound from downstairs, then footsteps. I caught a glimpse of movement; a moment
