by Sonia Parin
With everything securely locked, she drew in an easy breath and smiled. By the next morning, all would be forgotten. This was nothing but first night jitters alone in a house she hadn’t lived in for a while.
Everyone knew everyone on this island. If the population increased by even one, news spread like wildfire. At least she had a tale to tell when Mira returned.
Her shoulders eased down and she laughed under her breath. Mira would probably toss the tale around and then dismiss it as too clichéd to include in one of her stories.
She made her way toward the stairs and sprinted up the steps even as a sixth sense told her to stop and look around.
She didn’t.
If she had, she would have seen a shadow appear at the window again.
Chapter Three
As predicted, the next morning Eve had forgotten all about the previous night’s close encounter with shadows, unfamiliar noises and imaginary cats.
She decided the best thing to do would be to settle into some sort of routine. Relaxation being at the top of the list. After unpacking, she toured the house, taking note of any changes or additions.
Her aunt kept a tidy house free of clutter but she enjoyed collecting furniture and was forever having chairs reupholstered.
Bookcases lined every available wall space with every book shelved by author and genre. The thrillers and mysteries with all their sub-genres were lined up along the hallway entrance and spilled onto the front living room. Then came the contemporary romances, followed by historical, and her aunt’s particular weakness, fantasy. Vampires, shape shifters, demons... She couldn’t get enough of them. Those were shelved in the family room next to the kitchen—Eve’s favorite room.
There were a couple of comfortable high backed chairs upholstered in cheerful shades of blue and orange and a couch by the fireplace, a preferred reading area during the winter months.
An assortment of antique desks were spread around the house with pens and pads ready for flashes of inspiration. The kitchen was small and practical. Cooking had never been a strong point with Mira Lloyd so Eve had expected to find the refrigerator empty but to her surprise, it appeared to be well stocked with basic staples. Bread. Milk. Eggs. The remains of an apple pie and some fruit.
She frowned.
Odd but not entirely unexpected.
Whenever Mira went on one of her trips, she arranged for someone to drop in and check her mail and keep the place dust free. Being of a generous nature, she encouraged them to help themselves to drink and food. Eve tried to remember if Mira had mentioned hiring anyone in particular. Her travel timetable varied so much she could never rely on the one person to be available.
Despite her eagerness to sink into relaxing mode, Eve decided to trek out into town again and get some more supplies. Enough to then justify staying away and out of sight for a few days. While she’d given up the restaurant business, she hadn’t given up eating.
In the clear light of day, the house looked magnificent with a fresh coat of sky blue paint and the usual beach house paraphernalia, including an old fashioned lifesaver with thick rope curled around it, scattered on the veranda creating a picture perfect postcard of a home by the sea.
As she drove off, she made a conscious effort to appreciate the pretty scenery. Houses were spread right throughout the island. Some were modest, others large and a few, quite luxurious. All were well cared for and maintained either by their owners or by gardeners. Walking trails crisscrossed the entire island, making it a walkers’ paradise.
A few minutes into her drive, she spotted Patrick McKenzie out on a sauntering walk. She slowed down and waved to him. He didn’t seem to recognize her. He stood with his hand shielding his eyes. Belatedly, he waved to her. Eve suspected it had been a token wave. Patrick had once revealed he devoted his walking time exclusively to thinking and could collide with someone he was intimately familiar with and not recognize them.
In town, she hurried along to the grocery store only to remind herself to slow down. She’d already seen several people stop and look at her, as if wondering if they too should be hurrying... or running for their lives.
Relax and blend in.
She ran the words through her mind and focused on setting a leisurely pace, casual enough to let her do some window browsing. Drawn by a familiar sight, she stopped. Mira’s fame was celebrated on the island and Tinkerbelle’s Bookshop reserved the entire front row for her, displaying a selection of her Elizabeth Lloyd historical romance novels.
Eve bit the edge of her lip. Her aunt had always known she wanted to be a writer, penning her first story at sixteen. Eve couldn’t help feeling a little envious. The thought of having to recreate herself at thirty-two, to find the energy and get up and go enthusiasm, made her stomach tighten with apprehension.
Soon, she’d be on a deadline.
She’d sold her restaurant for a small profit, enough to fund some thinking time, but not enough to give up working altogether. Like it or not, her clock was ticking.
She pushed out a breath. Some people went through several career changes throughout their lives without breaking into a sweat. She only needed to do some digging and find out if she had any viable skills she could use that didn’t involve cooking...
About to turn away her eyes landed on a sign hanging on the front door of the bookstore.
For sale.
All inquiries welcomed.
She nearly tripped as a part of her took a step away and another part pulled her toward the bookshop.
Caving into temptation and the lure of the unknown, she went inside and spent some time browsing and getting a feel for the place.
For a small business, it carried a full range of stock covering all possible tastes, and going by the conversation she overheard, the shop owner was only too happy to place special orders. At least she assumed she was the owner.
Eve looked at her name tag. Abby.
She looked cheerful and relaxed. Serving a customer and having a lovely chat, she was all smiles. It would be a lovely change to work in an environment where she could smile instead of shout out orders as one was bound to do in a busy commercial kitchen, Eve thought.
“Can I help you with something?”
Eve turned toward the sales assistant who stood nearby. Business had to be good if the store could pay for staff.
“This looks like a lovely place to work in. Are you here fulltime?” She knew it was an odd question to ask, but curiosity got the better of her.
The young girl, Samantha, smiled and nodded. “I’m hoping the new owner will keep me on. There aren’t that many opportunities in town and I had to wait a year for this job to become available and that only came about because the previous salesgirl got married and moved to the mainland.” Samantha held her gaze for a moment. “Are you looking to buy a business on the island?”
Without trying too hard, Eve drew a mental picture of herself owning a bookstore and living on the island and decided she liked it.
“It’s just become a pipe dream. I’d probably have to kill someone for the money.” She didn’t think the tidy profit she’d made from the sale of her restaurant would be enough to sink into another business. She imagined buying a bookstore would require a huge outlay as well as a final decision on what she wanted to do, right along with a dose of serious commitment. Would she be happy settling down here for the long haul? At least she’d be living close to Mira.
“Well, if you happen to find a pot of gold, get in touch with Abby,” the salesgirl said and handed her a business card.
Before she could fill her head with dreams that would only depress her, Eve thanked her and left. However, for a brief moment, she’d bought into the idea of settling down here. The thought made her smile again so she didn’t entirely dismiss it. Even fanciful dreams deserved to have their moment in the sun. No harm done. Especially if they made her smile and she hadn’t had reason to do much of that lately.
She stood outside a moment gazing at the For Sa
le sign and tried to embellish her dream.
Maybe that was the push she needed. If she spent some time on it, she’d have a clear idea of something she wanted. And if she focused on it often enough, she’d somehow... someway... figure out how to get it.
“You’re looking very pleased with yourself.”
She looked up and saw Henry Parkmore scowling at her. He’d kept his voice low enough so that only she had heard him. Despite having retired many years before from his prestigious job in finance, he continued to wear suits, although he’d swapped his Brooks Brothers for English Tweet to satisfy his anglophile preferences, as Mira had often remarked.
His thick eyebrows slammed down so hard a wedge formed between his eyes.
Had he just remembered her theft of his roses? He’d made her pay for her crimes. For the duration of her stay with her aunt that long ago summer, Eve had had to drag around endless bags of manure for Henry Parkmore’s roses and pull out every single weed before it had even sprouted.
“What have you done with my Mira?”
Eve’s mouth gaped open.
His tone had never sounded so menacing.
She tried to fish around for a response but came up empty.
A woman strode past them and his demeanor changed in the blink of an eye, his manner softening as he dipped his head and greeted the local.
“Henry.”
Just as Eve took a step back a younger version of Henry Parkmore without the fierce scowl came up to him and tugged his arm.
“Is everything all right?” the man asked.
“Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t it be?” Henry Parkmore’s gruff tone returned. He pulled his arm away and strode off in a huff.
The man turned to Eve. “I’m sorry... I hope he didn’t say anything to upset you.”
“No, no.” What could she say? Henry Parkmore had been rambling and still looking for his pound of flesh because she’d stolen his roses? “Shouldn’t you go after him?” she asked even as she watched the elderly man stop to talk to a passerby.
Her eyes widened. He was doing it again. Pointing his finger her way, and this time it looked like an accusatory jab.
“He hasn’t been himself lately,” the man said. “Not many people know this. My uncle had a stroke earlier in the year.” He shrugged.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Her gaze skated over the man. Dressed in jeans and a light sweater she’d swear was cashmere, he had the sort of preppy look some men never seemed to grow out of that reminded her of Alex. “I never knew he had a nephew.”
“I’m Richard Parkmore. I haven’t seen you around. Are you new?”
“Sort of. My aunt lives on the island. I’m Eve Lloyd.” When they shook hands, she tried not to notice the firmness of his grip, but that only left her wide open to focus on his dazzling blue eyes and easy smile.
Her divorce had drained her of any interest in men. However, Eve had never thought of herself as a diehard cynic. She imagined she’d eventually cultivate a more mature outlook and then be ready to move on. It never hurt to look, she thought, and went right ahead and enjoyed what she was seeing.
“I’m visiting too. Although I’m thinking of settling down in the area... to be close to Henry. Apart from my mother, he’s the only other relative I have.”
Eve’s practical mind took over. “And what about work?”
“I’m on vacation.”
From what, he didn’t say.
“This is going to sound strange, but I get the feeling I know you from somewhere. I live in New York, on the Upper West side and—”
“I owned a restaurant on Columbus.” She looked over his shoulder. “Henry’s on the move again. Maybe you should go after him.”
“Um... Yes. Great to meet you. I’ll... see you around.”
He actually waited for a response so she gave what she hoped was a noncommittal nod.
Eve turned to leave only to encounter Abby, the owner of Tinkerbelle’s Bookshop standing a step behind her.
“Henry’s getting worse. For a moment there, I thought he was pointing at me.” Smiling, she introduced herself. “Hi, I’m Abby Larkin. I noticed you earlier in my store.”
“I’m embarrassed to admit it was my first visit,” Eve said, “My aunt owns a lot of books, which makes buying them unnecessary. Not exactly music to your ears.” Eve smiled. “I’m Eve Lloyd.”
“Any relation to Mira?”
“She’s my aunt.”
“And she’s my biggest customer as well as drawcard. Interested in buying?” She gestured with her hand. “Don’t mind me. Forget I said that. I’m desperate enough to approach anyone passing by with a hard sale.”
“You might not want to spread that around. Looking desperate could bring down the price. I recently sold my business and pretended to only want to sell to the right buyer.”
“You’re right but I can’t help thinking this place is too quiet. We need something to put us on the map.” Abby tilted her head. “I don’t suppose you have time for a coffee? I could do with some sound advice.”
Chapter Four
Eve felt she’d found a friend in Abby—her easy going manner something new to her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d sat down with a woman close to her age and had a carefree conversation. Pity Abby wanted to leave the island. She’d never been married and had decided to seek greener pastures before her time ran out and she ended up on the shelf.
“You lived in Manhattan, right there in the hub of all social activity,” Abby had nearly screamed out. “And now you’re here... in Rock-Maine Island because...”
“Great place to think,” Eve had said.
“If that’s what you’re after, you’ll get plenty of it here. And I don’t need to tell you why that is, but just in case, I’ll remind you. There’s a population of just over a thousand and everyone is either married, about to be married or simply too old.”
“Fine by me,” Eve had said. “The less distraction, the better.”
While she’d enjoyed the company, once again, her time alone had been delayed.
Despite her eagerness to get on with the task of relaxing, when she reached the beach house, she set her groceries down on the front veranda and went around the side of the house to see how close the bushes and trees were to the windows.
While Mira cared about the inside of her home, she never bothered much about the garden, letting it grow wild before calling in a gardener to prune back the bushes and tree branches.
She trudged along the side path. It all looked tidy enough. Kicking off the sand on her shoes, she looked down at the ground.
And that’s when she saw the footprints.
Several of them and two different sizes.
Her own and another set...
Much larger. Twice her size.
And all directly under the living room window.
The path running along the side of the house led straight to the beach. While it wasn’t a public thoroughfare, maybe someone had come up this way to cut through to the main road.
A couple of times she’d been caught out on a walking trek, which had turned out to be beyond her abilities and she’d had to double back cutting through one of the neighboring paths.
Frowning, she strode over to the end of the house and looked out to the shore. The alternative, for anyone walking along the beach, was to clamber over the breakwater that ran the length of Mira’s property and continue on to the other side.
Then she remembered the previous night and the shadow she thought she’d seen. Had it been a local wondering if someone had broken into her aunt’s house?
People in the area took their neighborhood watch seriously.
Then again, a local would have announced themselves and checked to make sure she had a right to be in the house.
She didn’t want to think she was overreacting.
She let the idea settle and collecting her groceries carried them inside, but as she closed the front door, she heard the back door slam shut.
“Grab something,” she told herself through gritted teeth and snatched a rolling pin.
She wrenched the back door open and raced out, no thought given to her safety as she rounded the corner and kept going until she reached the front veranda, her breath coming in short, choppy bursts.
Just then she heard the back door slam shut again.
Eve turned, her eyebrows drawing together.
Moments later, she was back inside.
She stood there watching as the back door creaked open again and slammed. Eve rolled her eyes. She’d left the security latch unlocked so instead of locking up automatically, the door remained open.
The slightest breeze would disturb it.
She lowered her shoulders and drew in a deep, calming breath.
Enough, she thought. No more thinking of shadows and strange noises.
“Hello. Mira?”
The sound of a voice calling out gave her a new understanding of the meaning of nearly jumping out of her skin.
With her heart thumping madly against her chest, she held on to the rolling pin, swung around and strode with purpose coming to a sudden halt by the fireplace. A young woman stood opposite her, her hands hitched on her hips.
“What the heck happened here?”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” Eve said.
An entire bookcase sat empty, all the books strewn across the sitting room floor.
Someone had been in the house.
“Who are you?” it finally occurred to ask.
“I could ask the same question.”
Eve gave the young woman a raised eyebrow look and tried to take in her appearance just in case she needed to describe her to the police. In her mid twenties, she had short-cropped hair the color of an expensive sable fur coat, large chocolate brown eyes, a pert nose and a smug smile that spoke of attitude.
“I’m Jill Saunders. I do occasional work for Mira.” She returned the raised eyebrow.