A Spot at Starlight Beach (Spotted Cottage #3)

One

The first time Mackenzie cared about Shakespeare was in high school English when her rival, the class valedictorian, recited a verse from As You Like It :

All the world’s a stage,

And all the men and women merely players…

The delivery was horrendous, but with the first two lines, Mackenzie knew what the ancient poet was going on about. Life was a game – one she could win.

Just as her teacher had insisted, the themes were as timeless as human nature. Mackenzie wrote a paper likening Shakespeare’s disguised Rosalind to Robin William’s Mrs. Doubtfire, earning a perfect grade in the class.

It was so easy that she saw no need to read old Bill again – until a decade later when she burst into tears watching a video of Andrew Scott performing To be or not to be .

How had it taken her ten years to really hear Shakespeare? Yes, she’d heard the words as a schoolgirl, but they didn’t hit her square in the chest like this until she was twenty-seven, sitting on a bunk bed in her granny’s cottage, single, unemployed, and sucked into a cruel internet algorithm forcing her to watch an endless stream of videos into the wee morning hours.

That was what it took for her to listen. She needed a breakdown to let it in.

Granted, the breakdown came relatively quickly. She’d only officially been out of work for two weeks, but time had lost all meaning because there was so much pressure on her.

She was supposed to be finding her next career, or finding herself, whatever that meant. She was supposed to look like a delusional woman in a drug commercial, smiling at the sun, not like a ghostly shadow floating in front of a screen.

Was this what happened to people when they retired? They finally got freedom only to find their lives empty, only to discover work was never the problem?

Maybe Mackenzie had been the problem all along. Or maybe too much freedom wasn’t a good thing. Or, heaven forbid, maybe she was getting soft.

There was no way to be sure, but she needed answers. The next morning, she woke early, washed her hair, and got to the library as soon as it opened.

The first section that pulled her in was the self-help books. Only the most absurd titles caught her eye: Sparkle and Shine, How to Reclaim your Inner Diva, and worst of all, Seven Steps to Unleash Your Unique Unicorn.

None of these would do. She walked on, past the children stacking blocks, past the man hunched over the keyboard looking over his shoulder, until she found a brown, linen hardcover copy of As You Like It.

Next to a dinosaur statue, sitting in a chair shaped like an open hand, she read past the famous first lines.

All the world’s a stage,

And all the men and women merely players;

They have their exits and their entrances;

And one man in his time plays many parts,

His acts being seven ages.

Seven ages. How had she not caught that before? What age was she in? She read on:

At first the infant,

Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms;

She was past that. Probably.

And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel

And shining morning face, creeping like snail

Unwillingly to school.

Nope. Way past that.

And then the lover,

Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad

Made to his mistress’ eyebrow…

Her dalliance with her ex-boss fit there. It was the entire reason she had to hastily leave her job and flee to San Juan Island. That part of her life was definitely over. What came next?

Then a soldier,

Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard…

Soldier? Mackenzie didn’t feel like a soldier, and certainly not a bearded one. She had two chin hairs, yes, but she stayed on top of them.

Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,

Seeking the bubble reputation

Even in the cannon’s mouth…

Mackenzie slapped the book shut and stood, knocking the hand chair to the floor. She righted it, then returned the book to its spot, her face stinging red.

How had Shakespeare managed to call her out like that? Hadn’t he been dead for hundreds of years? Had he even been a real person?

She dodged the librarian’s eye and scooted out the door. It was as though Shakespeare himself had traveled through the centuries to tease her for chasing that woman through town last week when she hadn’t picked up her dog’s business.

But her mom wasn’t going to say anything about it, and the lady deserved to be publicly shamed! Mackenzie couldn’t help it if she was better with confrontation than most people!

And she would never stick her head “in the cannon’s mouth.” That wasn’t her style.

Unless, of course, the cannon came to her.

The next morning, Russell showed up at the tea shop with a bag of bagels from the mainland.

“Hey, Mackenzie,” he said. “Can we talk?”

The white paper bag crinkled as she peeked inside – cinnamon raisin, asiago, marble rye. There was a tub of cream cheese pushed to the side, a thin wooden knife sticking straight up.

Mackenzie hadn’t had a bagel since she’d gotten to the island. Maybe that was the source of her madness?

She pulled out the cinnamon raisin and split it in half, spreading the white fluff a finger thick. “What’s up, Russ?”

He sat across from her. “You know I had to fire my assistant.”

In fact, there were two tubs of cream cheese, one plain and one cinnamon-flavored. She’d grabbed the cinnamon, the heavy spice drifting up to her nostrils. What a delight.

She looked up. “So it was your assistant stealing money after all?”

He nodded. “The police confirmed it today.”

Mackenzie had only met the assistant once. She was supposed to manage all the details related to the rehabilitation and relocation of Lottie the whale.

Problems arose almost as soon as she’d started working there. It was easy to blame it on growing pains, and the assistant even went on the news to decry someone stealing from the poor animal’s fund.

Mackenzie chewed through a big bite of bagel. “That stinks.”

“Yeah. It’s bad.” He leaned closer. “At least a hundred thousand stolen from our fundraising account, plus I found out she never paid a bunch of invoices for supplies.”

A hunk of bagel caught in her throat. She coughed, rushing to take a sip of water. “Can you get it back?”

“I think so.” A smile spread across his face. “If you’ll help me.”

She set down her water. “Oh, no. No, no, no. I’m not getting involved in that mess. No thank you.”

“Hear me out.”

Her eyes watered. The bagel hunk would forever be embedded in her throat.

She blinked at him.

He went on. “I’m leaving to shoot Fangs of Waterloo tomorrow , and I need someone here I can trust.”

Mackenzie snorted on her water. Fangs of Waterloo. It would never not be funny to her that Russell’s fans voted to have him star in a historical vampire romance. Merciless. Hilarious. He was only doing it to raise money for Lottie, which made it even funnier. “Then hire someone trustworthy.”

He smiled, tilting his head down at her. “I’m trying to, but she’s eating all of my bagels and refusing to listen to what I’m saying.”

Mackenzie laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. “Guilty as charged.”

“You would just need to watch over things. Be a point of contact. Act as my eyes on the ground. It won’t be for long. The movie shoots for eleven weeks and, after that, I’ll be back. I’ll hire someone new.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You won’t be back in time for the Blackfish Ball?”

“No, but it’s mostly planned, and—”

“I’m not an event planner, Russell. And I know nothing about building a retirement sea pen for a killer whale.”

“Margie will take care of the details for the ball, and you don’t need to know anything else. Just pay invoices, keep up on timelines, make sure the contractors show up. Don’t steal from Lottie.” He sighed. “ Please , Mackenzie? I’ll pay you well, and it’ll be the easiest job you’ve ever had.”

Mackenzie eyed him. She was in need of a job, but this? This sounded like a nightmare. “That’s too bad, because I don’t like easy jobs. I like a challenge.”

“By all means, challenge yourself! Take charge of the fundraising. Make the Blackfish Ball an event to remember. I’m betting you could replace all the money that was stolen.”

“Or double it.”

She paused. Was that her soldier era speaking, or was that just her?

“That’s the spirit.” He grinned and sat back.

She dusted her hands off with a napkin. “There has to be someone else you can go to. I’m a saleswoman, Russell. I wouldn’t know where to start with this.”

He frowned. “I leave in less than twelve hours. I don’t trust anyone else.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t trust me.” She leaned forward, eyes wide. “Do you know I spent three hours yesterday researching hotels in London? I’ve never been to London. I’ll probably never get to go, or get to see the Globe Theatre.”

“Sounds like you need to focus on something productive.”

Mackenzie scowled. “Yeah, but not this.”

“I’ll find someone else to take over when I get back. But right now, Lottie needs help. I’ll be running around Brussels dressed as a vampire, and I don’t have anyone to keep things running smoothly here. Lottie might not make it to her sea pen without you. She needs you, Mackenzie.”

She pursed her lips. The image of Lottie floating aimlessly in that little tank flashed through her mind. The poor thing didn’t even have videos to watch. Just a blank wall to stare at under the hot sun.

Actors . They knew how to twist the knife. “Fine. I’ll do it. But for Lottie, and no one else.”

“Hey!” he shouted, clapping his hands together. “I knew you’d come to your senses!”

Russell left for Belgium that evening, taking Sheila with him. Eliza was busy canoodling with her new boyfriend Joey, Granny was already snoring, and Mackenzie was left to sit in her bunk, sorting through the documents the old assistant had left behind.

Shakespeare had no idea what he was talking about. She wasn’t a soldier trying to prove herself. She was a woman making a boring spreadsheet about overdue invoices. A woman resisting the urge to look at her cheating ex-boyfriend’s Instagram. A woman who let herself look just once after she finished scouring the Excel sheet.

She wasn’t a soldier. This wasn’t a battle. It would all be fine, she told herself as she fell asleep.

And it was fine. For the first twelve hours.