Chapter Three
THREE
Nicole
“I’m glad you’re here. I owe Stacy a lot for this.”
I owe Stacy too, Nicole thought as she followed the man through the glossy black door.
Mikko Helle had an accent that reminded her of a Swedish Eurovision star, though she knew from her research that he was from Finland, born in a small town on the southern coast. Online, she’d seen his hair in a variety of styles from a mullet to a buzz cut, but it was shaved on the sides now and ammonia blond, his natural shade of chestnut leeched away.
Both of his arms were wrapped in tattoos that included a skull in a hockey helmet and Mikko’s long-time number: 24.
At thirty years old, he was a retiree who looked like David Beckham, smelled like vanilla tobacco, and had officially made the Thousand Islands his summer home.
Up until Mikko, Stacy had never resisted giving a referral, but Nicole understood why she’d put up a fight. “I don’t know,” her friend had said. “A former professional athlete? He could be a womanizer or a weirdo.” Nicole had been willing to take that chance, even if Stacy wasn’t.
“Five bedrooms, four bathrooms, one with a steam shower. I’ll be getting a barrel sauna too, for the yard.
It was ordered in January, and still it’s not here.
” Mikko rolled his eyes and gave a snort—some people just can’t get it together, the look seemed to say—as he showed Nicole the powder room.
It wasn’t until they reached the kitchen that she was able to get a word in, but she needed to showcase her qualifications in order to seal the deal.
And qualified she was. Two years keeping house for a family across the border in Kingston, Ontario, until they sold in favor of a lake house in Muskoka, followed by four more at the hotel in Clayton.
After that, she’d gone into business for herself.
It had happened when Blair began high school, Alana just a year behind her.
Nicole had wanted more control over her hours as the girls entered their teenage years.
All she told Mikko, though, was that her services were of real value to summer folk.
“Good, good,” he’d said dismissively as she spoke, scrunching up his nose at a streak of grease on the counter. “Any friend of Stacy’s is a friend of mine.”
“Well, I appreciate that. Your home is beautiful, by the way. Looks like you’ve made a lot of changes, huh?”
Mikko said, “It was a big job, yes, but my contractor insisted the house has good bones.”
Even unfurnished, the home was a triumph of creamy white walls, marble tile, and glass.
In the hall, the wainscotting was sharp enough to cut skin.
A chimney, painted black, ran up the house’s center like a woman’s satin-clad spine.
The place reeked of joint compound and fresh paint, though, and the scope of the task that lay ahead was beginning to sink in.
Everywhere Nicole looked, vestiges of the reno remained.
The windows were marred with gummy squares where the manufacturer stickers had been scraped free, glue baked onto the glass by the sun.
Grout marks dirtied the tiles on the backsplash, and the white kitchen cabinet doors were grubby with gray finger smudges.
It didn’t need a spit shine; every inch of the residence would have to be scrubbed and polished, and cleaning this place by herself was a colossal job.
But now, here, was the study, with a wall of floor-to-ceiling built-ins painted a rich shade of cyan, a nod to the river outside Mikko’s door.
When he moved in, those cabinets would be full.
There would be a desk. A laptop. The thought dispatched a shiver of optimism. Nicole could do this. It would work.
“Can I ask why you decided on Cape Vincent?” Why here, she wanted to say, at the northernmost edge of the country? Why, when you could have gone anywhere?
“A teammate told me about this place,” he said. “I like to be by the water.”
“Well, you’re lucky to have found a property so fast. Waterfront inventory’s really limited.” It was the same line she’d used on countless potential homebuyers while dropping in on Stacy’s open houses, expectant faces blurred together in an indistinct mass.
Back in the formal living room at the front of the house, Mikko swung around to face the river.
Despite being removed from it by the road, the only one that ran the length of the peninsula to Tibbetts Point, the water view was unobstructed.
A boat passed by, sending up a spray so glittery and sun-splashed that Nicole could almost feel it stippling her legs.
In the distance, the wind turbines of Wolfe Island made lazy turns where they stood like stark white sentinels keeping watch over the islands.
While Mikko had his back turned, Nicole scanned the room, taking note of the other built-ins that would soon be used for storage.
Only then did she see the woman.
Frozen on the staircase. Stalled mid-step to watch through the doorway that separated the living room from the wide front hall.
She was lithe and well-dressed and she looked at Nicole as if she saw straight through her, like Nicole’s calculated duplicity was as plain as the insecure smile on her face.
Hadn’t Stacy said she thought Mikko was single?
The woman was barefoot, the ends of her black, chin-length hair damp.
Her tank top was fused to her body like a second skin, tucked into jean shorts with a frayed hem.
“Hey,” Mikko said when he saw her, “there you are. This is the cleaning lady I was telling you about. Nicole McIntyre.”
The surname gave Nicole a start. She’d forgotten it was how she’d been introduced to Mikko, having told Stacy that she worked under her maiden name. The woman, Mikko said, was Eva Ki, and she was his girlfriend. Her smile was weak as she studied Nicole, softer now from motherhood and middle age.
Was this woman going to live here for the summer too? The question gurgled in Nicole’s throat, but she forced it back down.
Mikko said, “I move in Friday. Did I tell you this?”
“Yes,” said Nicole, noting Mikko’s use of the word I.
“We’ve been staying at the hotel in Clayton. You know it? The big one on the water?”
There was only one big hotel on the water in Clayton, and Nicole had spent more hours cleaning it than she could count. She wondered if Mikko had heard a word she’d said.
“I’m ready to be done with all that,” he went on. “Ready to settle in. The movers are coming early. Does that leave you enough time?”
“Totally. I’ll be back first thing tomorrow, and I only need one day.”
“With your crew?” Eva asked quietly.
“Nope, it’s just me.” Infusing her voice with forced cheer, Nicole added, “I know it’s a big job, but when I’m done, you’ll think I brought in my own army.”
“Whatever it takes,” Mikko told her, but Eva’s uncertainty was impossible to miss.
The woman’s existence changed nothing for Nicole.
She’d already been hired. Sleek, silent Eva was not a threat.
Still, her presence in the house was unnerving.
It was the way she’d been watching Nicole from those stairs undetected, how she’d hurried to stand by Mikko’s side, as if giving Nicole a wide berth.
For reasons Nicole couldn’t discern, Eva didn’t seem to want her in the house.
The one place Nicole so badly needed to be.