The Island Club

Prologue

Balboa Island, tucked neatly inside California’s Newport Harbor, might just be the most charming little beach town you’ve ever seen.

With a perimeter of less than three miles and sandy shores lapped by waves with no breakers, the island’s front doors are flung open, letting the breeze flow through fairytale-like cottages painted in bright colors on streets named after gemstones.

Automobiles approach by crossing a four-hundred-foot bridge from the east or gliding on a ferryboat that plies the bay from the west. To look out from the man-made island at sailboats and canoes putting out from the shore and drifting lazily by is to float in a dream of repose, watching the world pass by—an invitation to join in or to escape.

On an evening stroll down Coral, Ruby, or Amethyst Avenue, you might hear the laughter of freshly bathed children or the clink of knives and forks as families sit down to dinner.

The last golden beams of sun make their final glowing performance, showing off sailboats moored in the bay in their most flattering light, and one might assume that life on this magical island is dreamy and perfect.

But don’t get too comfortable, because behind those white lace demi-curtains, things may not be quite as they seem.