The Inn Beyond the Shore (The Lake Inn #4)

Chapter 1

The sun had moved higher by the time Lauren got her nerves under control. She stepped out onto the porch, the business card still between her fingers, and dialed Rachel’s number. The phone had only rang once before Rachel picked up.

“Please tell me this isn’t a structural emergency,” Rachel said. Her voice was alert, the clipped efficiency of someone already thinking about their to-do list.

Lauren braced her back against the porch railing, watched the reflection of the lake ripple in the window glass. “It’s not a leak. It’s a…person. A developer just dropped by. Says he represents Meridian Coastal Properties. Name’s Garrett Hale.”

There was a sound—maybe the click of a laptop, maybe a note scribbled on paper. “Never heard of him,” Rachel said, “but Meridian sounds like something conjured up by a marketing focus group. You want me to look into it?”

“If you have a minute,” Lauren said. “He left an offer. Double what I paid, cash.”

That got a short whistle out of Rachel. “They really want it, huh?”

Lauren didn’t answer. She watched a gull pick its way across the patchy grass, then took a slow breath, the wind off the lake already biting.

Rachel said, “Give me an hour. Or less.”

Her phone went dead before Lauren could thank her.

She turned, surprised to find Evan standing in the doorway, a second mug of coffee in his hand. “That guy creeped you out,” he said, no question in his tone.

Lauren nodded, then shrugged. “It just feels wrong. Like the second I get my feet under me, someone’s there, waiting to pull the rug out.”

Evan considered this, then handed her the coffee. He gestured for her to walk with him back inside.

They made their way through the ground floor, checking off rooms and hallways with the practiced steps of two people who’d done this together more times than they’d admit.

The conversation, at first, was technical—whether the new tile samples clashed with the wainscoting in the dining room, if the window glazing would be enough to keep out the lake wind—but it always drifted back to the stranger in the suit.

“You notice the way he looked at the place?” Evan asked as they paused by the old butler’s pantry.

Lauren nodded. “Not like a home. Like a puzzle.”

“Like he already knew what was inside,” Evan said.

The silence between them was not awkward. If anything, it was companionable, a kind of shared suspicion. They walked the rest of the main floor in near-silence, Lauren running her fingers along the cool, sanded banister, Evan stopping once to test a creaky step with his heel.

When Lauren’s phone vibrated, she jumped. Rachel’s name flashed on the screen.

Stepping out onto the porch, she took the call. “Hey.”

Rachel’s voice was brisk, caffeinated. “So. Meridian Coastal Properties is a shell for a larger parent group out of Milwaukee. Not news. But here’s the kicker: they’ve made purchase offers on your place three separate times.

The earliest one dates back to 2013, when the last owner was there.

Every offer got turned down by the previous owner. ”

Lauren felt her heartbeat in her hands, the business card creasing at the edge where she squeezed it.

“I found references in the county records and a mention in the Gazette’s real estate notices from two years ago,” Rachel went on. “But nothing about why they want it so bad. You think your ghost stories are worth that kind of money?”

Lauren exhaled, the wind pulling at the strands of hair near her ears. “I have no idea. But Hale knew his way around the building. I’d bet on it.”

There was a pause. In the background, Lauren could hear the soft electronic chime of Rachel’s oven. “Lauren,” Rachel said, lowering her voice. “That’s not a developer who stumbled across a listing. That’s someone who’s been waiting.”

Lauren let her gaze follow the bluff down to the harbor, where the marina’s masts caught the sun and sent it skittering in white shards across the water. “If they wanted it that badly, then why didn’t he show up at the auction?”

“You ever hear of plausible deniability?” Rachel said, a little dry. “Some people don’t want their name on the paperwork until it’s time to sign. Maybe they were waiting to see who’d blink first.”

Lauren rolled the business card between her thumb and palm. “He asked about weird construction. Sealed rooms, secret compartments.”

A beat, then: “Don’t you dare go looking for any. Not alone.”

Lauren almost laughed. “I’ll keep my amateur sleuthing above ground.”

“Call me if he shows up again,” Rachel said, her voice softer now. “I’ll run the financials, see if there’s anything off. And don’t take any offers…not until we know the game.”

Lauren agreed, though she suspected she wouldn’t need to be told.

After the call, she found Evan at the back of the kitchen, reorganizing tools into the battered plastic caddy he carried from job to job. She relayed what Rachel had found.

“Persistent,” Evan said. “I respect the hustle, but it’s weird. I worked a job like this up north, years back. Company offered the family a fortune, then vanished when they started digging in the crawlspace.”

Lauren felt a cold prickle at the base of her neck. “Did they ever find out why?”

Evan shook his head, eyes narrowed. “Owner changed his mind, went under contract with someone else. But it spooked him enough to take the first cash offer he got.”

They walked out onto the front porch together, the sunlight now high in the sky over the lake.

For a minute, Lauren said nothing. Then she fished the business card out of her pocket and flipped it over, as if a clue might be hidden on the reverse.

There was nothing—just the logo, raised and matte, and a tiny QR code in the lower corner.

She looked up, her focus on the curve of the drive where the charcoal sedan had been parked. “It’s like a game of chicken. He’s just waiting for me to panic.”

“Are you going to?” Evan asked, his tone careful.

Lauren thought about it, then shook her head. “Not yet.”

She reached down to pick up something white on the porch floorboards—a scrap of folded paper, barely bigger than a dollar bill, no envelope, no stamp. It hadn’t been there before; she was sure of it. She turned it over in her hands, then unfolded it.

The writing was block-printed, careful and straight, in blue ink.

Stop digging before history repeats itself.

The letters seemed to throb against the paper, as if the message was meant to vibrate its way into her bones.

She read it twice, thumb pressing flat against her mother’s locket through her shirt.

She held the note out to Evan. He read it, jaw tightening, and handed it back.

They stood together at the porch railing, looking out over the lake, the wind sharper now, and let the words settle around them.

Below, the faint sound of laughter carried up from the marina. The rest of Willow Point Shore went on as always, oblivious to the secrets the bluff still held.

Lauren gripped the note, the locket, the business card. She was not afraid. But she was, suddenly, very awake.