Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Abi
The wind picked up, throwing my mushroom brown, wavy/unruly hair in my face and smacking against my glasses—I was wearing my tortoise shell frames today.
As Algoma squatted on the shore of Lake Michigan, wind swept off the lake and buffeted the town today. It was a pleasant sensation given the hot summer air, but my shoulder length hair was going to be a tangled bird’s nest by the time this was over.
I grunted as I waded across the pebbled beach, making my way around families and couples who’d set up in chairs and/or beach towels for the day.
(I’d naively attempted the walk without shoes for about five seconds before discovering the summer sun heated up the pebbles to a scorching temperature, and reclaimed my shoes from my car.)
It was late on Saturday afternoon, my first official day off, although technically I’d only had one day on the job as I had arrived Thursday night.
I’d spent yesterday familiarizing myself with the contractors and the mansion’s paperwork, and this morning getting settled into the carriage house.
Now, however, I was exploring Algoma as part of my promise with myself to live and experience life instead of existing purely to work.
When I passed a mother kneeling on a beach towel and scrubbing her child’s face with suntan lotion I made a mental note to add suntan lotion to my list of necessities to buy—I had the complexion of a cave fish. Too much sun and I was going to transform into a lobster.
“Abigail?”
I swung around and put on a smile when I mentally matched the cheerful voice with Shannon—a pleasant woman a few years older than me who was one of the two cleaners that cleaned Kinge’s mansion.
“Hello, Shannon. I believe I told you when we met to call me Abi.”
“Sorry, Abi! I see you were serious about wanting to get out and explore Algoma.” Shannon tugged on the belt of her white pool cover up as she strode up to me—barefoot. (She must have feet as tough as leather.)
“Yes. I already visited the Chamber of Commerce and Visitor Center. The volunteer there was very helpful.” I used the glossy Algoma Guidebook the volunteer had given me to point up the hill that overlooked the beach, where the visitor center was located.
“I’m glad to hear that! What are you seeing today?”
“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I only decided that I’d start out by walking the beach.”
“In that case you should check out the Pierhead Lighthouse.” Shannon pointed to the bright red lighthouse that jutted out into the lake just past the beach. “You definitely need to eat at Caffè Tlazo, but it’s closed already.”
“I’ll put a vote in for the North Water Bakery others are fishermen coming to fish Lake Michigan or families on an outing. There’s lots of events on weekends, so the town can draw quite the crowd.”
“It can get overwhelming for us introverts,” Jonas, who was so socially gifted he had likely never met a stranger in his life, declared.
Christopher adjusted his umbrella. “Sure.”
Shannon waved Jonas off. “Either way, just make sure you keep your wits about you. Algoma is a very safe city, but you can’t be too careful.”
“Yeah,” Jonas emphatically nodded. “Long time residents are friendly for sure, but you can never know for sure what kind of folk are visiting. Why, just last week, Michelle Wagner—she’s lived here all her life—got hurt.
She was attacked from behind so she didn’t see who did it.
Initially the doctor was worried it was perhaps a rabid raccoon since she was all scratched up, but she tested negative for rabies and has quite the bump on her head, so the going theory is it was young kids who did it on a dare. ”
“Not that you have anything to be scared over.” Shannon quickly cut off Jonas. “Michelle getting hurt was definitely a one-off thing. Just… be safety conscious.”
“Got it,” I said.
Mom had insisted on packing three cans of pepper spray in my car—just in case Mr. Kinge turned out to be a creep. Perhaps I’d have to start carrying one of the cans in my backpack when I went exploring?
“What about mermaids?” I asked. “Lake Michigan is known for mermaid activity. Do you get much of it here?” I asked.
“Nah, they don’t like this side of the Door Peninsula,” Jonas said. “You see them more on the other side, where it’s more protected.”
“We don’t have many supernaturals up here,” Shannon explained.
“Just a few wolf Packs and Seelie and Unseelie fae Courts. It’s worth making a day trip to go see the mermaids, though,” Shannon continued.
“But if you try to talk to them, be prepared to hear about invasive fish species and water pollution.”
“My word, this is wretchedly hot!”
Shannon and Jonas curiously peered past me, so I looked with them.
An older woman—older than my mom with stark white hair half covered by a giant floppy sunhat and huge aviator sunglasses—picked her way across the pebbled beach.
She was barefoot, but instead of withstanding the scorching hot pebble treatment, she opened a bottle of water and proceeded to wet the pebbles in front of her, cooling them enough for her to stand on without getting third degree burns.
As soon as she emptied the bottle she tossed it into a Coach tote bag hung over her left shoulder, then pulled a new bottle from a bulging Louis Vuitton canvas bag.
She was dressed in all white beach wear, but guessing by her bags, the glittering necklace she wore was probably real diamonds.
“Ah, Ms. Dupont!” Jonas jogged past me to approach the older woman.
Shannon leaned close to me, making her the first person to invade my personal space since the last time I’d come home to see my family for Christmas.
“That’s Josephine Dupont—she’s retired and we’re pretty sure fabulously wealthy given that she’s spending the summer touring the Door County area, but she’s a real hoot. Come on!”
Shannon seemed to trust that I’d follow behind but Christopher would not, as she grabbed the handyman by his wrist and towed him along, leaving me to trail in their wake.
“Ms. Dupont, you remember Christopher and me? This is our friend, Abigail, she’s new to Algoma,” Shannon said.
“Yes, dear, I remember you, and hello, child,” Ms. Dupont said, fluttering her hand at me. “I am Ms. Josephine Dupont—that’s French, you know. Such a lovely country. You may call me Ms. Dupont.”
“How are you, Ms. Dupont?” Jonas asked.
“Fashionable as always, even though the heat is less than desirable,” Ms. Dupont said.
“You could walk on the edge of the water,” Jonas suggested. “That would cool you off quick.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, child. Lake Michigan water is unfiltered. Who knows what kind of diseases and microbes sully it.” Ms. Dupont sniffed. “That’s why I’m forced to use mere bottled water—the low mineral content kind. Hard water makes my skin chafe.”
“You could wear shoes,” I pointed out.
“No, no, no.” Ms. Dupont waved her hand with the grandiose of a noble lady. “That would defeat the point of being on the beach in the first place. I must directly touch ground—to restore my inner electrical and magnetic systems.”
I blinked—the best I could do when I wanted to ask Ms. Dupont if being rich allowed her to prioritize things like mineral content in water or if that was just her.
Christopher, shielded by his umbrella, nodded somberly. “I understand, Ms. Dupont. We must have skinship with the earth to make us whole.”
I shifted my gaze to the handyman, now burning to ask if earth skinship was so great, why was he wearing shoes and enough clothing to be comfortable on a nippy autumn afternoon?
“Before you arrived we were talking to Abigail about things to do and see in Algoma. You’ve been seeing the sights, Ms. Dupont. Any suggestions?” Jonas asked.
“Yes,” Ms. Dupont said. “Always carry low mineral content bottled water with you, be aware the locals will hunt you down to insist you try what they call a fish boil, and the von Stiehl Winery taste testing is a delightful but highly alcoholic experience.”
“Oooh, that reminds me, you need to have a fish boil while you’re here!” Shannon said. “Or at the very least a fish fry—it’s a Wisconsin thing.”
“Got it. I’ll add that to the list.” I tugged my cellphone out of my pocket to add it to my growing list in my notes app.
“If you’ll excuse me, I shall continue my stroll.” A haughty nod—and a new bottle of water—and Ms. Dupont was off, slowly making her way down the beach.
“Are most tourists like Ms. Dupont?” I asked.
Shannon tapped her lower lip as she thought. “The cruise tourists are. The fishing tourists not usually.”
“I see.”
Jonas rubbed his hands together and beamed at me with the joy of an extrovert adopting an introvert. “So, how about that fish boil?”
“Owning a home is a never-ending time sink,” I muttered as I paged through all the lists of suggested house maintenance projects.
I’d been on the job for five full business days, and I’d finished reading through the lists and pages of notes the previous house manager couple had left, but I’d wanted to cross reference it with suggestions from the internet, which had led me down an endless hole of appliance maintenance and house projects.
Based on my findings and the previous schedules, the sidewalks in the gardens were due to be power-washed, I needed to schedule the air conditioner to get checked, and match the paint color used on the trim so Christopher could do yearly touch ups.
There was a lot more than that, but I finally had my starter list, which filled me with a sense of accomplishment.
Satisfied with the day’s work, I leaned back in my velvet chair and glanced outside, surprised to see it was dark with only the house’s exterior lighting illuminating the grounds.
I fumbled with my cellphone to check the time. “9:47 pm? Darn it—I meant to stop at seven!”
This was by no means a late night going on my previous office work, but Kinge had given me the side eye when he found me in my office two days before at 6 pm, not to mention I’d taken this job just so I’d stop working so much.
It’s fine. Now that I’m prepared and have a better idea of what I need to do, I can stop researching. I won’t need to stay late.
I stretched as I got up, turned off the stained glass Tiffany lamp positioned on my desk, and slipped out of my office as quietly as I could.
I made my way to the kitchen—it was the closest exit as it had a back door, but since Kinge hadn’t found me yet maybe he’d already retired for the night?
The kitchen lights were still on as I padded in, freezing in surprise when I found Kinge sitting at the island counter, holding what looked like a juice pack.
When Kinge caught sight of me he swore under his breath and slammed the juice pack down on the counter. “Miss Marshall, what are you doing here? Did you finish work hours ago?”
For a second I thought the juice pack must have been filled with wine, but a second glance at Kinge and I realized he didn’t have dark brown eyes tonight, but rather deep red eyes—something closer to the red of a merlot wine.
Additionally, as he spoke I saw a flash of his teeth, with his fang teeth being especially prominent.
“Are you a vampire?” I asked, my eyes dropping to his questionable juice pack again.
“No,” Kinge said, his voice cold with fury. “I’m not.”
“Wait, that’s blood,” I realized as I studied the crimson liquid in the clear pouch. “Crap. You are a vampire,” I managed to get out, before my eyes rolled back and I fainted.