Chapter 3
“Bad news?” Harlow echoed.
“Lighthouse Lane is pending.”
“Are you serious? It must’ve just happened. I checked yesterday and it was still listed for sale.”
“I’m sorry, Harlow. I know how much you love the place.” Clicking ensued on the other end. “I’m checking the website now. The property is marked pending but contingent.”
“I wonder what kind of contingencies it includes.”
“I would contact Allie, the listing agent,” Abby said. “I’m sure she’ll be able to give you better information.”
Harlow thanked her and ended the call.
“What’s going on?” Aunt Birdie asked.
“We might as well not bother looking at the place. It just went pending. The last time I checked the website, this property was still available.”
“These deals fall apart all the time. If you really want Lighthouse Lane, I wouldn’t be so quick to throw in the towel and give up.”
Harlow unlocked the door. “I suppose. We’re here. I might as well show you around.” Starting on the main level, she gave her aunt the “grand tour,” which didn’t take long.
The house wasn’t nearly as spacious as her Malibu mansion and suited Harlow perfectly. She was looking for cozy, warm, charming, not ostentatious, showy and cold.
Reaching the upper-level balcony, the women lingered, admiring the unobstructed view of wintry white Lake Huron.
“This right here is the selling point,” her aunt said. “How much is the listing price?”
Harlow rattled it off. “It might seem a little pricey, but the view.”
“Is what I would look forward to waking up to every day.”
They returned downstairs and exited through the door they’d come in. Harlow closed it behind them, checking to make sure it was locked before placing the key back inside the lockbox. “As soon as we get home, I’m calling the agent.”
“Who is it?”
Harlow clicked on the listing. “Alastasia Zehnder.”
“Allie. She’s been around for ages. I’m surprised you don’t remember her.” Aunt Birdie tapped the side of her forehead. “She’s smart as a whip and has probably sold more real estate on Mackinac Island than anyone else in the biz.”
During the ride back to Wynn Harbor Inn, Harlow struggled to look on the bright side.
Maybe Lighthouse Lane wasn’t the property for her, and it wasn’t meant to be.
The timing of the deal going pending struck her as an odd coincidence.
Perhaps someone had visited the island during the Christmas holiday, gone by the place, noticed the for sale sign and, like Harlow, fallen in love.
As soon as they made it back to the cottage, she dialed the agent’s number. It went directly to voicemail, so she left a message, explaining the reason for her call.
“You can always take me up on my idea to split Petoskey Point,” her aunt said.
“I appreciate your generous offer, but I really had my heart set on Lighthouse Lane.” Harlow placed her hand on her chin, glumly staring out the window. “I was so close.”
“And maybe you still are.” Birdie patted her shoulder. “Don’t give up yet. There’s still time for the deal to fall through.”
“You’re right. It’s not over until the ink dries on the closing papers.”
“That’s the spirit.” Her aunt left to head home, claiming she needed to finish tweaking Mort’s costume.
Harlow, thinking a walk would help lift her spirits, bundled back up, donning her ski jacket, the UGG Adirondack boots, perfect for cold snowy weather, her knit cap and fur-lined gloves.
Despite the arctic air, she took the long way around, stopping by to check on her father, who was hard at work making minor repairs to his fishing shanty.
Harlow filled him in on the pending sale, and he echoed his sister’s sentiments. “You’re no quitter. Deals fall through all the time. If the place is meant to be yours, it’ll happen.”
“I know, and I’m trying not to dwell on it, but this is such a bummer.”
“Chin up.”
“Always.”
“I think Mort is ready to head home.”
“Let’s go, buddy.” Harlow followed Mort along the path circling the perimeter of the Wynn Harbor Inn. She thought about her recent visit to Locke Pointe, where she met Morgan Easton. Despite her initial skepticism about the woman, she found a kindred spirit.
Morgan struck her as someone who knew what she wanted and had worked hard to continue her family’s legacy in a way that preserved the past and honored those she loved. Similar to Harlow, she’d suffered a great loss.
In many ways, their lives had taken similar paths. Both had lost their mothers. While Morgan gained a brother and grandmother, Harlow still had her aunt and father.
Initially unsure about downsizing Wynn Harbor Inn, after seeing Locke Pointe she could see the appeal of her father rebuilding on a smaller scale…not as small as Morgan’s bed-and-breakfast, but not as massive as the family’s resort had been. More of an “in between the two.”
The direction she and the pup took led them past her mother’s gravesite, to a second path intertwining with the main lodge.
Harlow slowed, stopping in front of the walkway. A demolition crew had arrived weeks earlier to start taking down what was left of the building, and the thought of watching the last remnants being hauled away made her heart hurt.
Before the demolition crew arrived, Jim Cook, the fire investigator Harlow and her father had hired, completed a thorough investigation of the lodge and surrounding structures.
Caleb Jackson, Harlow’s high school sweetheart, who was now the island’s fire chief and also a personal friend of the investigator, had been on hand for most of the process.
The expert had taken samples and tons of photos of the ruins with plans to piece together the exact timeline of what had taken place that fateful night.
Because of the time lapse and extent of the damage, he warned the Wynns it would be weeks, maybe even months before he completed his preliminary findings. Cook also cautioned them that it might be a bust, depending on several factors. In other words, there might never be a “smoking gun.”
Back at the cottage, Harlow turned the Christmas tree’s lights on. She found a local station with holiday music and trekked into the kitchen. It was time to get down to the business of baking cookies for the Mackies’ annual cookie exchange.
Harlow, having gone all out decorating the cottage, invited her friends for an evening get-together. At the top of her cookie list were her mother’s frosted sugar cookies, a recipe passed down for generations. She dug out the cookie cutters Ginger Wynn had used for as long as Harlow could remember.
She measured and mixed the ingredients. With a little tweaking, Harlow was finally satisfied with the consistency and set the bowl of dough in the fridge to firm up.
While the dough cooled, Harlow lined the counter with decorations—red, white and green sprinkles, cinnamon dots, silver buttons, colored sugar, all the goodies needed to create her special treats.
Mort trotted into the kitchen and flopped down in the middle of the floor to supervise. Working her way from counter to cabinet, Harlow stepped over him once, twice, three times.
Finally, she stopped what she was doing and placed her hands on her hips. “Are you waiting for me to trip over you?” Using her foot, she gently nudged him off to the side. “Much better.”
Mort rolled onto his back, all four paws up in the air as he wiggled back and forth. He sneezed loudly, staring at her through the clumps of fur covering his eyes.
“I need to remind Dad to get you to the groomer. Pretty soon you won’t be able to see where you’re going.” Harlow fed him a handful of treats and returned to the task at hand.
Roll, cut and bake, over and over she repeated the process until the kitchen counter was covered in reindeer, mischievous elves, jolly old St. Nicks, wreaths, candy canes and Christmas trees.
Thump. The front door slammed. Seconds later, her father appeared. “Something smells good.”
“Christmas cookies.” Harlow held up an unfrosted wreath. “I’m almost to the frosting phase.”
“Are you using your mom’s recipe?”
“Absolutely. Hers are the best,” Harlow said. “They’re for the Mackies’ cookie exchange, but I’ll have plenty left over for you, me and Aunt Birdie.”
David dropped his gloves and keys on the counter. “Have you heard back from the real estate agent?”
“Allie Zehnder?” Harlow flipped her phone over and glanced at the screen. “Not yet.”
“Allie, you said?”
“Yeah. Aunt Birdie told me she’s been selling real estate on Mackinac Island for a long time.”
“Ages. I’m sure she’ll get back with you as soon as she can.” David fluffed Mort’s ears. “Are you awake?”
“It’s hard to tell his fur is getting so long. Maybe it’s time for a trip to the groomers.”
“Next week,” David said. “I’m heading out to the garage to clean the fish I got when I checked the fishing shanty, unless you need my help.”
Mort’s head shot up at the word “fish.” He scrambled to his feet and ran to the door.
“That dog,” David laughed.
“Loves fishing. I appreciate the offer but I’m good.”
After her father and Mort left, Harlow mixed up bowls of colored frosting…
red, green, blue and white. Ginger, not only an excellent cook but a fabulous baker, had taught her daughter her secret frosting techniques.
Using all the tricks she remembered, she frosted and decorated, taking special care to create works of art.
Two hours in, she had almost finished the last cookie when her phone chimed. Up to her elbows in frosting, Harlow glanced at the screen. It was Allie Zehnder calling her back.
She hurriedly washed her hands and plucked the phone off the counter. “Hello?”
“Is this Harlow?” A cheerful voice echoed.
“Yes. Is this Allie?”
“It is. I got your message about Lighthouse Lane.”
“I’ve had my eye on the property for a while now, but had to hold off until I was able to make an offer. As luck would have it, I found out it’s pending and wondered if you thought it would be worth it for me to put in a backup offer.”
“Oh, absolutely. Are you working with an agent?”
“Nope.”
“I can stop by this afternoon and help you put an offer together.”
“That would be great. I mean, I don’t want to waste your time,” Harlow said.
“You won’t be wasting my time. It’s my job. Between you and me, I heard a rumor you were interested.”
“So someone decided to swoop in and beat me to it?”
“I…well, it’s an interesting set of circumstances.” Allie told her she would fill her in when she got there. “Are you at the Wynn Harbor Inn?”
“I am.” Harlow told her how to find her father’s cottage.
While they were talking, Aunt Birdie appeared, quietly listening to Harlow’s end of the conversation. She waited until her niece hung up. “Allie is coming by?”
“Yeah. She’s going to help me put in a backup offer. Allie said the other offer was an interesting set of circumstances…her exact words.”
“You don’t say,” Birdie murmured. “I wonder what she means.”
“I’m not sure, but I would love to find out.”