Chapter 17
Dazzling sunlight woke me on the porch swing the next morning. Punkin lay beside me. Seb did not. After bolting up, spotting
a couple taking a leisurely morning walk along the shore, I rushed inside with the dog on my heels and found the cottage empty.
A note scribbled in the messiest lettering known to mankind was tucked under a pizza magnet on the fridge:
Off at noon today. Wags meeting at Benny’s this afternoon? Can swim and brainstorm about the cipher. Will pick you up. —S
P.S. Best porch nap I ever took
My stomach fluttered. Good Lord. I slept with Seb. It was only sleeping, but still. And it was nice. Really nice.
I checked the driveway but his car was gone. He’d used the shower—it was still wet, and a damp towel hung. Another note sat
atop my razor and toothbrush: Had to use these, sorry. He’d used my toothbrush? That felt wildly intimate. As I was looking over the rest of the bathroom, Punkin nudged my leg
with a cold, wet nose.
“Oh, I guess you’re hungry? Come on, sled dog, let’s find you some vittles . . .”
After filling up the husky’s bowl with an amount of kibble that I had to guess, I showered and dressed—cutoffs, T-shirt, black
one-piece swimsuit underneath—then I made toast. I considered texting Jazmine, but before I could, she texted me to confirm
that I was going to Benny’s this afternoon and promised to spill the beans then.
Eager to pass the time before our get-together, I busied myself with domestic chores and took the Corvair to the grocery store
for a few necessities. When I got back, I checked my email for the first time and nearly had a heart attack when I spotted
the subject line R. Lee and Associates.
I couldn’t click on it fast enough.
My eyes scanned a form letter that had been sent from a generic email box: “Thank you for contacting R. Lee and Associates.
If you’d like to make an in-office appointment to discuss commercial real estate with one of our brokers, please call us Monday
through Friday . . .”
Disappointment collected in my chest, followed quickly by anger. Did anyone even read my email, or was this sent by some kind
of automated AI assistant? Did I not identify myself as his former daughter? What kind of person sends a thoughtless, callous
response to a clearly personal message? My father, that’s who.
I let the disappointment burn through me for a minute, then I typed a brand-new message into the Contact form of his brokerage
website:
Dear Mr. Lee,
Please contact me about a legal matter as soon as possible.
Thank you,
Paige Malone
There. Short and simple. Maybe this one wouldn’t get a form reply.
But what if it does . . . ? I scrolled to the top of the webpage and stared at the telephone number listed for several anxious moments before tapping
it. When the number started ringing, I nearly hung up in a panic. But before I could even make a decision, fight or flight,
a recorded voice blared through my phone’s speaker:
“You’ve reached R. Lee and Associates. Sorry we missed your call, but if you leave your name and number at the tone, someone
will return your call just as soon as we’re back at our desk . . .”
Fuck! I was unprepared but tried to be professional. “Um, yes, hello. This is, uh, Paige Malone? I’m trying to get in touch with
Mr. Lee, and it’s sort of urgent? I’ve sent two messages on your site, but I don’t know if anyone’s read them. So if someone
could get back in touch with me at your earliest convenience, you can reach me at . . .”
After reciting my telephone number, I couldn’t end the call fast enough. My heart raced like I’d been running a marathon,
but hey: I’d done it! I’d initiated contact. Now I just had to wait for a reply. I’d give it a couple days, but that was my
limit. And I supposed if he wasn’t going to respond to messages and a voicemail, I’d be forced to drive there in person.
My gut twisted at the thought.
To put it all out of my mind and stop myself from worrying, I started cleaning up the living room. Halfway through, my eyes fell upon something in the middle of a bookshelf lined with old books.
Sunshine and Smuggling: An Early History of Haven Beach.
Several books were written about our town, some better than others. I remembered thumbing through this one when I was a kid
because it had a lot of historical photos of the town. It even had a section about the downtown area and early local businesses.
I pulled the book off the shelf, made a pitcher of lemonade, and leisurely browsed the pages while lounging on the sofa.
By the time I heard Seb’s Bronco pulling into the driveway, I was knee-deep in a passage about downtown Haven Beach and was
genuinely startled it was past noon. I rushed to grab sunglasses and my keys, and hopped to the door as I tugged on an old
pair of flip-flops. When I swung the door open, Seb stood outside in shorts and a marina T-shirt, poised to knock.
“Hi there,” he said, face open and curious. His energy was high, and he anxiously tapped his fingers on the side of his leg.
“Got my note about Benny’s?”
I pointed to my swimsuit strap and gave him a thumbs-up. “Ready when you are.”
“All right, then—” He started to turn around but his brow furrowed. “What’s going on with you?”
“Got a little disappointing news. I emailed my father’s real estate brokerage to try to schedule a time to meet with him and
got a form email that basically told me to call the office if I needed an appointment.”
“Did you say who you were?”
I nodded. “Yep, identified myself as his former daughter. I don’t think anyone read it.”
“Ugh, sorry, Paige. I told you I’d help you track him down, and I meant it.”
“Appreciate that. I sent a second message, so I’ll wait for a response again, but yeah. Might take you up on that offer. Might
need some moral support.”
“Absolutely. Count on me.”
“Thanks. Really mean that.”
“Of course.” He studied me again. “But there’s something else, isn’t there?”
“Is there?”
“Why do you look like a chipmunk with a secret? What’s that you got there?”
“Oh, you mean this . . . ?” I dramatically held up the local history book I’d been reading, barely able to contain my excitement.
“I’ve just been reading up on a little place called Three Corners.”
He squinted. “What?”
“Downtown used to be called Three Corners in the late nineteenth century. It was ‘downtown’ by the time Wyrd Jack was in operation,
but locals still called it ‘the Corners’ for decades.”
Seb’s eyes widened. “Well, shit. I didn’t know that.”
“Me either, but it’s a good direction for brainstorming about the locket clue, don’t you think?” Was I talking too fast? Out
of nowhere, I suddenly felt self-conscious about our porch-swing conversation last night. Why had I asked him to stay here?
Ugh. Now it felt like an invisible wall had been erected between us while I waited for his final answer. “Punkin inside or out?
Or are you taking her to Benny’s? I fed her this morning, by the way.”
He frowned at his dog. “Punkin, you conned her into feeding you a second breakfast? Guess I can’t let you pass up a chance to swim in the river, so you’re coming with us. Everyone told me huskies hate water, but not this one, buddy.”
“I’m sorry! She begged me,” I argued, worried I might have made her sick, but Seb didn’t seem concerned.
“She’ll be bloated and gassy. Serves her right.” He directed her out to the Bronco, where she jumped in the back seat, after
which the three of us promptly left for Benny’s.
For once, I was more than happy to listen to Seb’s gentle travel writer talk about hiking in Sweden during our drive across
town. Seb and I briefly discussed what I’d found in the book, but I didn’t really have any more to share. The sun was warm,
and the lake looked stunning, clear and blue. Hard to concentrate when the day was so pleasant. And then there was Seb himself,
who gave me glances that I could practically feel on my skin.
But that was all he gave me.
He didn’t bring up the kiss, my offer for him to stay at the cottage, or the fact that we’d slept in each other’s arms the
night before.
To be fair, I suppose he’d mentioned it in that note he left on the fridge. But I guess . . . that was that? I certainly wasn’t
going to bring it up and come off as needy. So I just pretended everything was normal and tried to ignore the mild anxiety
that was lurking in the pit of my stomach.
When we got to Benny’s, Jaz’s Volkswagen was sitting in the driveway, and dark electropop thumped from the backyard. Punkin
took off, and we followed her around the side of the house to the double-decker dock at the riverbank, where Benny and Lulu
were opening boxes of food delivery atop a long outdoor dining table on the lower deck.
“The crew is all here,” Lulu announced jubilantly, wearing a yellow SpongeBob SquarePants swimsuit that made me do a double take. “Hope you’re hungry. I ordered from three different places.”
“Sup,” Benny said, leaning down to scratch Punkin behind the ear. Questioning eyes flicked from Seb’s face to mine. “Everything
okay?”
“Yup,” Seb confirmed, inhaling warm steam from the food as he hiked a leg over the long bench on the far side of the table.
“Are those containers from Pete’s Vegan?”
Pete’s Vegan was everyone’s favorite restaurant in town, meat eaters and tree huggers alike. I’m not sure what they put in
their food—jokes abounded—but everything on their menu was a home run.
“Did you get those potato wedges with that coconut sauce?” Seb asked. “I could inhale all of this, I’m so hungry . . .”
I was, too. And it was nice to be out here on a day like this. I’d forgotten how sweet Benny’s double-decker dock was, strung
with lights and boasting a wicked stereo system and an outdoor kitchen that was far nicer than the one inside the cottage.
A stone trail led from the dock to the back patio of the house, where I spotted Jazmine in her red bikini top and shorts,
backing out of French doors while juggling two additional bags of food with one good arm. I jogged over to her, causing her