When It Snows (Smuggler’s Hideaway #2.5)

Chapter 1

Scarlett – a woman who has no intention of staying in Smuggler’s Hideaway any longer than necessary

Scarlett

I clench my teeth as I cross the bridge from the mainland to the island of Smuggler’s Hideaway. I don’t want to be here. I want to be back home in my cute little apartment curled up underneath a blanket drinking a mug of hot chocolate while binging a Japanese series on Netflix.

My phone rings and the dash displays Hazel calling.

I hit connect. “Hello.”

“Hey, sis! Are you nearly home?”

Smuggler’s Hideaway is not home anymore. To be honest, it never felt like home to me. I don’t surf, moonshine makes me gag, and I refuse to buy into the whole mermaid legend. Mermaids aren’t real. End of discussion.

“I’m on the island.”

“Yes! You’re in time for the Mermaid Treasure Hunt.”

The Mermaid Treasure Hunt is part of the holiday celebrations on Smuggler’s Hideaway. Participants are given a treasure map with clues of where gifts are hidden around the island. Whoever manages to find the most gifts wins.

But there’s a catch. There always is on Smuggler’s Hideaway.

Every time you find a gift, you have to drink a shot of moonshine. And moonshine on the island is unlike moonshine in the rest of the country. It doesn’t come in flavors, and it burns your throat. Which is why the treasure hunt is conducted on bikes.

I groan. “I’m not participating in the treasure hunt.”

“Why not?” She pouts. “It’s tradition, Scarlett.”

Lucky for me, I have a good excuse.

“It’s snowing pretty hard. I don’t think running around the island searching for gifts is safe.”

“It’s not snowing too bad.”

“Have you looked outside? There must be a foot of snow on the ground, and it keeps coming down.”

“Oh shit. You’re right. Be safe driving. Can’t wait to see you!”

She hangs up before I have a chance to remind her I’m not staying at home with the family. Five kids and two bedrooms is not a fun holiday experience for anyone. I rented a cabin outside of Pirate’s Perch instead.

There are three towns on the island – Pirate’s Perch, Rogue’s Landing, and Smuggler’s Rest. Although referring to Pirate’s Perch and Rogue’s landing as ‘towns’ is pushing it. They’re more reminiscent of cute little hamlets. All of the island’s amenities – police, fire department, post office, etc. – are in Smuggler’s Rest.

The cabin I rented is as secluded as it can get on a small island during the holiday season when tourists flood the place. I can’t wait to curl up in front of the fireplace.

“Turn left toward Pirate’s Perch.”

“There are literally three main roads on Smuggler’s Rest, Hilda. I think I can figure it out.”

Hilda is the name I gave my GPS. She sounds how I imagine a Hilda would sound. I don’t actually know any Hildas.

I follow the curve to the left and the rear tires skid for a few moments before finding traction.

Shit. The roads are getting slippery. I better pay closer attention to where I’m going and stop woolgathering about why I don’t want to be on Smuggler’s Hideaway.

The gentle snowfall increases until fat snowflakes are hindering my vision. I switch on the wipers and defrost as high as possible and slow my speed to a crawl.

“This is ridiculous,” I mutter to myself as I drive at a snail’s pace. “It hardly ever snows in Smuggler’s Hideaway. But the one year I decide to come home for Christmas, it snows. It’s official. I don’t belong on this island.”

I’m actually glad for the GPS’s directions as I continue since all I can see outside of the window is a wall of snow.

“You have arrived at your destination.”

I pull into the driveway and switch off the engine. Phew. I’m glad I’m here.

Beyond the falling snow, I can just make out a cabin. I gather my phone, overnight bag, and the bag of groceries I brought from home.

I open the car door and the cold hits me. “Brrr,” I shiver.

I hurry toward the door but I slip on the ice. I wheel my arms around and end up dropping my phone in the snow, but I manage to not fall on my ass. Half a point for me.

I kneel down to search for my phone and nearly fall over again from the weight of my bags. Maybe I shouldn’t have tried to carry everything into the cabin in one go.

In my defense, it’s cold and I’m not used to it. I live in Florida and haven’t seen snow in years.

I feel something metallic and grasp it. “Yes!”

I clutch my phone to my chest. I can’t live without my phone. It sounds cliché, but in my case, it’s true. I work for myself and without a means to communicate with my clients, I don’t earn any income.

I creep the rest of the way from the driveway to the cabin. I exhale a breath in relief when I arrive at the door without any further incident. I type the code the rental agency emailed me into the keypad and the door clicks open.

I can feel the warmth of the heat when I step inside and kick off my boots. Thank goodness the rental agency switched on the heat as I requested.

I flick on the light and scan the room. It’s absolutely adorable. The floors are wide wooden planks as are the walls. But there are throw rugs to soften the look. There’s also a large fireplace against the closest wall. The sofa in front of it appears comfy enough to sleep on.

I continue to the kitchen. It’s open to the living room but the area is divided by a large island with seating for four. To the side is a small breakfast nook. I bet the view out of the window is glorious when it’s not snowing.

I set my bags down to unpack my groceries. Once the food is put away, I go in search of the bedroom and bathroom.

“Wow,” I mumble when I open the door to the bedroom to discover the largest bed I’ve ever seen. All of my sisters and brothers could fit on it. And we’re five people.

The bathroom is connected to the bedroom and features a clawfoot bathtub as well as double sinks and an oversized shower.

I could live in this cabin forever. It’s cute and the perfect size for one person.

I drop my bag on the bed and make my way back to the kitchen. I deserve a hot chocolate after my drive.

The lights flicker. I hold my breath until the flickering ends.

“No biggie, Scarlett. Lights flicker.”

I open the cupboard for a mug and the lights flicker again. But this time the lights go out and don’t come back on.

It’s pitch black inside since there’s no light coming from the outside. I can barely see one foot in front of me. I reach out my hand to touch the counter.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.”

What do I do? If the lights aren’t working, the heat won’t work either. I would build a fire to keep warm, but I can barely see. Knowing my luck, I’ll set the house on fire if I try to get the fireplace going.

Hold on. Hold on. Don’t panic, Scarlett. Maybe the power outage is local. Maybe there’s a problem with this cabin. Maybe there’s a generator. Maybe I blew a fuse.

But where’s the fuse box? Or the generator? Good questions. I dig in my pocket for my phone and dial the rental agency.

“You have reached Buccaneer Rental Agency. We’re closed for the holidays. We’re happy to answer your enquiries when we return to work on December 26 th .”

“You have got to be kidding me,” I mutter as I disconnect the call. They should have an emergency number for customers in trouble. Typical island behavior. Nothing’s an emergency and everything can wait.

There’s only one thing to do. And it’s not call my family. They’d rush over here to help and I’d never get rid of them. I’m not ready to be criticized for every decision I’ve ever made in my life.

I dial the police department instead.

“Smuggler’s Rest Police Department. How may I help you?”

“Hi. I’m wondering if the entire island has no power or is it just me?”

“Where are you?”

“I’m staying at the cabin outside of Pirate’s Perch.”

“Hermit Jeremy’s old place?”

“I guess.” I haven’t lived on Smuggler’s Hideaway for nearly two decades. I don’t remember who Hermit Jeremy is.

“We’ll send someone out.”

“You don’t need to send anyone. I just need to know if the entire island is without power and how long you expect it to last.”

“Someone’s on their way.” She rings off before I have the chance to protest that I don’t need a police officer.