Yep.
This was it.
This was the car my grandfather had procured for me so I could get around Door County since they didn’t have any cabs. Not that I’d have the money for cabs anyway. I could almost hear him laughing all the way from the safety of his iron throne back in New York when I’d climbed in and started the engine. A puff of grey smoke surrounded me when it chugged back to life. To perk up my dormant driving skills, I spent the better part of an hour maneuvering the over-sized rust-bucket around the parking lot before I punched in the Baileys Harbor address on my GPS and started my travels to the small peninsula in Wisconsin called Door County.
Now I’d just passed my turn, and it meant being in this stinky metal box even longer. I looked down at Poppy who was curled up on the cashmere sweater I’d used to make a bed for her since I didn’t want her sitting on the stained orange upholstery. Sensing my eyes on her, she blinked and looked up at me, then yawned and dropped her head with a snort. At least I had my little girl with me on this journey.
“Turn left,” my phone said, and I looked up to see the road on my left disappearing behind me.
“Damn it!” I shouted again and slapped the wheel of my car. The road curved right, and I followed it along while my GPS started redirecting me again.
As I descended the winding hill, a view of the water opened up in front of me. The drive up here had been admittedly pretty with the novelty of all the trees and grass, but the scene in front of me stole the breath from my lungs. The late morning sun sparkled on the lake and a small boat cut through it with a water-skier flying behind them. As I followed the road more, I saw a beautiful sand beach stretched out along the waterfront and a stand-up paddle boarder drifting out into the endless blue water. Children ran down the beach and sunbathers peppered the sand. Maybe Grandpa didn’t want me to suffer as much as I thought. Baileys Harbor was downright picturesque.
“Wow, Poppy. It’s pretty here.”
She inhaled a deep breath and returned to her soft snores, unaware of the beautiful scenery surrounding us. Continuing the drive, I entered a town that looked more like a Hallmark card than what I expected a small town in Wisconsin to look like. In fact, I felt more like I was on Cape Cod than puttering around the Midwest. I passed a quaint gas station on my right where several pickup trucks sat at the pumps, and I caught another glimpse of the water as I drove by. I passed a beautiful church on my left, and a scattering of small restaurants and shops lined the streets of this beautiful little waterfront town. As I drove past a motel called the Beachfront Inn, I slowed down when I noticed an odd building across the street. It looked like it belonged in the Old West, and I furrowed my brow when I noticed the cutout of what looked like a big blue cartoon bull hanging over the doorway.
“Turn left,” my phone said, and this time I grabbed the wheel and careened up the road, refusing to miss my turn.
The quick maneuver sent Poppy and my cashmere sweater sliding across the seat and she woke up, racing over to my lap to settle in again. “Sorry, Poppy.” I stroked the smooth, short hair on her head while she curled back up again. A couple more almost missed turns, and a couple more quick maneuvers of this car that should have been in a junk yard a decade ago, and I saw the destination on my map up ahead. Knowing I was close now, I slowed down while I crossed over a small causeway situated between two stunning little lakes. My eyes darted back and forth between them and I tried not to get distracted by the beauty and swerve, taking out a few of the fisherman dotting the sides, each casting into the calm water while I drove between them all.
“Turn left,” my phone said after we got off the causeway. Since I was driving slower now, I made the turn with ease, then I continued following the GPS for the last few turns around these back roads until it said, “Your destination is on the left.” I stopped in front of the long, gravel driveway that disappeared into the woods and double checked the address on the old wooden mailbox that tipped like the Leaning Tower of Pisa, which I’d seen several times in my travels.
“This is it, Poppy. Home for now.”
My car chugged when I pressed on the gas again and turned down the driveway. Grandpa wanted me to figure things out on my own, but since I had nothing in this world that truly belonged to me, he’d agreed to let me keep my phone, provide me with a car, and get me a place to stay. Apparently, our family owned property in this vacation town in Door County, Wisconsin called Baileys Harbor. None of them had been here in decades but he said we had a summer cabin on Kangaroo Lake I could stay in.
Since none of the locals would know me, and he was confident none of them read the tabloids around New York chronicling my lavish lifestyle, it would be the perfect place to try living amongst the other half. With the summer season in full swing, he was also confident I could find a job without too much trouble since the tourists were here in droves and apparently finding summer help was hard. Without a single job on my resume, I needed desperate employers willing to give me a chance.
The driveway wound through thick trees that stretched higher than my neck could crane. When I took the last turn, I slammed on the brakes, gravel grinding beneath my tires as dust plumed around me.
“This can’t be right,” I whispered while I stared at the dilapidated cabin sitting at the end of the turnaround.
No. This must be the wrong address. I checked my GPS again. The little dot had me sitting at the destination and my heart hammered when I looked up and saw the matching numbers hanging above the doorway. The six at the end had fallen and dangled over the doorframe resembling a nine, but that was definitely the address he’d given me.
“No. No, no, no, no, NO!” I shouted, banging my fists on the steering wheel. When Grandpa said we had a “cabin” in Door County, I thought he meant something akin to our cabin in Cape Cod. A few thousand square feet, renovated, and more Martha Stewart beach chic than a cabin I may have seen in a horror movie. The dark wood constructing the small box shaped house was faded and cracked. A ripped screen door sat askew on its hinges, and years of leaves and branches fallen in storms littered the yard and the small porch on the front.
Unable to believe this is where Grandpa would want his one and only granddaughter living, I picked up my phone and pressed his number.
“Hello, darling. Did you find the car and make it to Door County all right?”
I could hear the amusement in his voice, and it answered my question. Of course he knew the state of the car I currently sat in. He’d done this to me.
“Hi, Grandpa. I found it. Thank you for getting me a car,” I said, trying to keep from shrieking about my mortification that I was driving around looking like that serial killer I’d have avoided. No. I needed to show him I was capable of living without the means and money I’d never been without. “I am here safe and sound. I think.”
“You think? What do you mean?” Concern clouded his voice.
“I’m just double checking the address of the cabin I’m staying at. I think I’m here but it’s... well, seen better days. I’m not sure if this is the right place and I don’t want to break into someone’s house by accident.” I covered my true feelings which were prompting me to scream out a question like how in the hell he expected me to set foot in that place, let alone live there. Staying at a four-star hotel was a stretch for me, and this place looked like a comfy-cozy cabin for the Unabomber.
He rattled off the address, and I gulped when it confirmed the cabin in front of me.
“Yep. This is it.”
“I was only there fishing a few times with your father decades ago, but I’m sure it will suffice. It was much nicer than the shack I grew up in. Is there a problem?” That amusement returned to his voice, verifying he was well-aware of its state. It seemed in this new life he wanted me looking and living like a serial killer.
Refusing to let him in on my internal horror, I inhaled a stilling breath. “No, it’s great. This will work fine I’m sure. I just wanted to make sure I was at the right place.”
“Good luck, sweetheart. I’m proud of you.”
Proud. That wasn’t something anyone had been of me since before my parents died and I went down the rabbit hole into the life that had landed me here. Hearing that word refilled my resolve to make this work and prove to him I could be a better person, one capable of continuing his legacy. “Thank you, Grandpa. I miss you already.”
“I miss you, too.”
We hung up, and I looked down at Poppy who stood on my lap, her bug-eyes scanning out the window into the woods... the first time she’d ever been in woods.
“Looks like we’re home, Poppy.” I turned off the car engine and it sounded like a gun went off when it backfired. My scream rivaled the sound of the boom still echoing through the quiet woods.
After calming down from my start, I joined Poppy in scanning the surroundings, searching for bears or anything that might gobble us up for lunch. The car door creaked when I pushed it open, then I hooked up Poppy’s leash. I didn’t dare let her off it for fear she might run straight into the jaws of one of the many predators I pictured lurking in the trees. She hopped out and shook her body, then pressed her flat nose to the ground and searched for the perfect spot to potty after our long drive. While she examined the ground, I examined the surroundings. The quiet was startling, and without so much as a breeze, the only sounds I heard were Poppy’s feet crunching in the old leaves.
“You can do this,” I mumbled to myself, starting toward the shack with Poppy in tow. After she’d finished her business, I scooped her up in my arms and held her tight while stepping onto the wooden porch step. It bent beneath my modest weight and I cringed as I took the next one. The same bow in the wood swayed beneath my feet and I hurried onto the small porch, hoping I didn’t fall through. One cautious step after another, I made my way through the leaves to the door. Cringing while I reached out and touched the dirty handle, I pulled open the crooked screen door and then stuck my key in the lock. When I tried to turn it, nothing happened and I realized the door was already unlocked.
Worried that meant someone was already here, I carefully pressed the door open, calling into the dark cabin. “Hello?”
The moment I did it, I cursed at myself. I’d watched enough horror movies to know shouting ‘hello’ into the empty room only alerted the killer to your location and was swiftly followed by your own gruesome death scene. But when I started backing away, shielding Poppy from the upcoming attack, I looked back at my brown rusted car and realized that in this movie I was the serial killer. Or at least I felt that way.
“You’ll be safe in Door County,” I heard my grandfather’s words in my head while I stood in the doorway. “There’s no crime. No one locks their doors, and I feel confident it’s the safest place in the world for you to be while you go out on your own.”
He’d promised me there were no serial killers in Door County, and he’d also said no one locks the doors, so with his words driving me on, I stepped inside. The smell of must permeated my nostrils, and I waved away the dust that flew up when I stepped onto the old rug. Plaid curtains matching my brown and orange car hung from the windows and coordinated with the couch and single chair sitting in the center of the living room. A small dining table with two chairs sat beneath an inch of dust and the kitchen comprised an old stove, a green refrigerator and a sink covered with rust stains.
“Oh, God,” I breathed, struggling to keep from racing back outside. Impossible. It was impossible to imagine staying in this room for one more minute, let alone an entire summer, or however long Grandpa insisted on leaving me fending for myself before I earned my way back into his good graces. Digging as deep as I could into my resolve, I remembered if I gave in and left, I would just be confirming my grandpa’s suspicions. In his eyes, I was a spoiled socialite, undeserving of the family legacy. Since he’d grown up with meager means, he wanted me to experience his struggles.
I can do this.
Poppy sniffed the air and her already wrinkled face puckered even more when she sneezed out the dust still clouding around us as we moved toward the only two doors in the small room. Pushing one open I found a small bathroom with a toilet, shower stall, and sink in the same avocado color as the refrigerator. Gold sparkles embedded in the tiles on the floor caused me to cringe. Whoever decorated this cabin must have been blind or had a very dark sense of humor, I thought while I moved to the other door.
It was cracked open, and I peered inside to find a single bed pressed up against the lone window. The rough wooden logs constructing the frame looked right at home with the orange and brown plaid comforter draped over the mattress I assumed was about as comfortable as the back seat of the car. At the rate things were going, I wondered if sleeping in the car wouldn’t be a better idea.
A thick layer of dust coated every available surface, and suddenly I missed Eleanor more than I expected. Even though she would want to see me suffer, she would faint if she saw the state of this place. Her feather duster would be wiggling a mile a minute while she whisked away the grime and dirt years of neglect had left in its wake. I imagined sitting at the salon getting my nails done and returning to find the cabin transformed into a clean, beautiful little getaway with new furniture, bedding, and even a new kitchen with granite counters and stainless-steel appliances. Okay, maybe I’d need more time than just a manicure to see all the changes I envisioned, but I knew she could work miracles in a short time.
But this is exactly what they expected of me, to call for help and go live my luxurious life while someone else took care of my problems. There would be no housekeeper rushing in to sweep the dust out from my path, no cook whipping up my favorite carb-free recipes in the kitchen, and no maintenance man putting the screen door back on straight. It was me. Just me. This was on my shoulders now and I lifted my chin, preparing myself for the work it would take to make this place habitable.
“Don’t touch anything, Poppy,” I said, holding her tighter and refusing to let her precious paws touch the filth surrounding us.
Movement by my foot drew my eyes and a long, slender shape slithered past me and the bedroom door. Grandpa could have heard my scream back in New York as I shrieked and bolted over it back out the front door. “Snake!” I screamed while I kicked open the screen door and it slammed open against the wall. With the slithering creature following behind me, I held Poppy tight while I bolted across the porch. When I took the first step it cracked beneath my weight and my foot slammed through the wood, down to the dirt.
“Poppy!” I screamed as she tumbled out of my arms and landed in a pile of leaves. Struggling to free my leg from the wooden stair trap, I watched her get up and shake herself off, unscathed by the fall.
Assured of Poppy’s safety, my efforts turned back to my imprisoned leg, and I pulled at the wood, desperate to free myself. When I saw the snake sliding toward me, another scream ripped out of my throat. This one was loud enough that my friends who went to Paris for the weekend likely heard it.
“Oh, my GOD!” I shrieked as it loomed closer. My leg throbbed from the pain, but I pulled harder, desperate to get free and away from the grey and black creature moving across the porch. This is it. It wasn’t a serial killer in the house that would be the end of me. It was a snake. A venomous, dangerous, vicious reptile! And I waited for it to wrap around my neck and squeeze the life out of me.
As I accepted my gruesome fate, Poppy yipped at it and bounced around me. But her bark changed tone, and she aimed it to the other side of me. Whipping my head around to see what could possibly be worse than a snake, another scream ripped out of my lungs when a large man covered in green and black shaggy camo hovered above me. Nope. It was going to be a serial killer that ended me, I thought while my scream continued shaking the world around us.
With speed to rival the snake, he reached out and snatched it by the neck. A quick toss and the long creature flew through the air and landed twenty feet away, pausing for a moment before slithering into the trees. My scream petered off as I ran out of
oxygen and I looked up into the man’s painted face. When my eyes locked with his, I saw iridescent blue irises peering out from behind the black paint surrounding them. Other than his eyes, camouflage or paint covered every inch of him.
Panic ripped through me from his scary getup and yet I couldn’t help but wonder what he looked like beneath all that paint. Those eyes bore through me and I struggled to refill my lungs, the screams having depleted me of every last breath.
“Are you going to kill me?” I asked, freezing while his eyes perused me and landed on my trapped leg.
Without a word he leaned down and grabbed the jagged edge of the broken stair and pulled. It gave way easily to his brute strength, and the pressure around my leg released. He tossed the rotten board off in the same direction he’d sent the snake. When I turned back from watching it thump to the ground, his rigid back was already striding away. Poppy hopped into my arms and covered my face with kisses. Dodging her tongue and trying to see, I watched him disappear into the woods, a bow in one hand and a backpack in the other. It was incredible how quickly he disappeared into the brush, his scary shaggy suit helping him blend in in mere moments.
“We’re alive,” I breathed, and crumpled into a boneless pile. It seemed neither a snake nor the man resembling a sasquatch would be the end of me. At least not today.
CHAPTER THREE
Jake
“What the hell is she doing here?” I grumbled while I pushed through the woods, away from the cabin with the hysterical woman scared of a harmless pine snake. That place had been abandoned my whole life and now suddenly this woman appears? When I had heard her scream, I’d thought I’d find an injured fox or at least one mating. They sounded a hell of a lot like a screaming woman. After seeing an actual screaming woman, I’d felt about as shocked as she probably had when her snake friend had tried to shake her hand in welcome. Unlike her, at least my shock didn’t end in me screeching so loud there likely wasn’t a creature left in these woods.
The Other Half (Door Peninsula Passions Book 1) Page 3