That night, the rest I sought, that I needed, eluded me. All the usual tricks I use to invite sleep failed me. Dinner, a brisk walk on the beach, a warm bath, and a cup of steaming chamomile tea tricked me into falling asleep quickly at first—but all too soon I was wide awake, sitting at my kitchen table three hours before my alarm was set to ring. All that was said yesterday and more that went unspoken replayed in my head. I felt as though I was looking for something that was already known to me. Governor’s Point, previously abandoned and forgotten, was the star of our island show now.
Buddy faithfully settled under my chair with his eyes sealed shut, his head rested on his two crossed paws.
“Come on sweetheart, if you have to be out of bed, you should at least be comfortable.” We moved together to the sofa. Buddy curled into his usual donut. I wrapped him in the cozy, chenille throw that rested on the back of the sofa and opened my laptop. “Buddy my boy, we are going to find out what large parcels line Beach Road and then we are going to find out who owns them.” At the sound of his name, Buddy gave a soft, encouraging thump of his tail while I opened the county’s property database.
As night faded, my vision for the day became brighter, almost as if the rising sun burned away the chaos and confusion of the past few days. With the sky painted in shades of blue and pink, today held promise. My notebook was filled with today’s agenda items and although it was early, I decided to get a start on the day.
After a quick stop at the General Store for a couple of carrot and raisin muffins, I arrived at Books & Brew. The store was also ready for a full day, thanks to Tripp’s hard work yesterday. Brewing a fresh carafe of English breakfast tea, I placed our baked goods on the back counter and waited for him to arrive. The quiet was interrupted by my cell phone chiming from the bottom of my tote bag.
“I bet you that’s Tripp, telling us he is on his way,” I told Buddy. Digging my phone out, I instead found Missy’s text waiting for me.
The lone word on the screen was: “Sorry.”
It took me a minute to decide how to answer her. The apology was appreciated, sure, but what was she sorry for: the way she acted, the things she said, all of it? Did I want to have this conversation by text? Would she be willing to put her thoughts in writing?
I’m not ready to do this with her, I thought. So, I responded simply, honestly: “I hope you feel better today.”
Missy did not answer, leaving me with my unanswered questions.
The day’s first agenda item was reaching Bob and Monica. Time to eat some pie that was never going to be on Miss Lucy’s menu: humble pie. Maybe my anxiety about what I had not told Bob and Monica was one thing that kept me up last night. I drafted this email in my head dozens of times. Now it was time to just write and send.
My phone rang shortly after hitting send and I felt a rush of anxiety seeing the name on the screen’s display.
“Good morning, Bob.”
“Is it?”
I cringed.
“Got your email, just now, and well, Carr, this is a small world and stories and requests travel fast. We are a strong network. Of course I know Monica, and it didn’t take too long for us to see that we were tripping over each other—that we shared a contact.”
“Bob, I don’t know what to say. Are you very upset? I can’t tell.”
“I was annoyed, yes, and so was Monica. More than that, I guess, we were not happy to be treated unprofessionally. We both responded to you, to try to offer our services and broker this deal for you. But not to worry, Carr. We have moved on from being annoyed with you to being disappointed that this was all a big waste of time. We get that you are new to this, so rather than ruin what can be a very long, strong relationship, we were going to talk to you. You beat us to it, Carr. In this business, everyone knows everyone. You would be much better served by being direct with us.”
He paused and it took me a moment to respond. “Bob, I am disappointed in myself, honestly. It didn’t feel right to keep this information from you both. Ultimately, I am a beginner, but I knew better and I apologize. This isn’t the first time this week I got off track. I didn’t mean to pit you both against each other, but I see now that I did and that’s wrong. I hope you and Monica can forgive me.”
“Already done, for me, anyway, and actually Monica is a lot nicer than me.” He laughed gently. “Give her a call, smooth it over, and we will call it a beginner’s mistake. Thank you for your note, I know you feel badly and I appreciate you coming clean, owning it. Let’s put it behind us.”
“You’re right, I’m just finding my way in this business. I thought that I was just putting out some regular inquiries about some rare books but—as we now know—I had no idea how rare that one book was.”
“This business really is a community of friends. We see each other at conferences. We compare notes. We chat. I won’t lie to you, sometimes we do compete for business, but mostly we all want to see each other succeed. We want people to keep reading and buying books.”
“I get it, Bob. Please let me treat you and Monica to dinner at the Inn when you’re in the area again. It is the very least I can do.”
“Now that’s an offer I know we won’t refuse. Thank you,” he said. “Not only did Monica and I burn up hours on this—but it turned out to be a dead end!”
“Tell me about that,” I said. “This mystery man didn’t have the book anymore?”
“No, now he is saying he has agreed to make a substantial donation of rare books, including that particular series, to the Library of Congress, but he didn’t share any other details. It’s like the book has just gone—poof. Gone just like that.” I heard him snap his fingers.
“What a roller coaster ride. This donation just happened?”
“Yeah. Recently—I think. I’m not exactly sure of the dates. I guess the good news is that your customer eventually will get what he wants, which is access.”
“But how long does that whole process take?”
“I wouldn’t imagine any time soon, that’s for sure, but who can tell? Maybe by next year they’ll be accessible.”
I was jotting notes to share with Paul.
Bob kept going. “But maybe all is not lost. I did find one other book on your customer’s list, one that was easy to find—and I put that in the mail to you. You’ll at least have something for your customer and hopefully it serves him well.”
“Thank you, Bob, that was very kind of you to do that for me. Let me know how much I owe you for that.”
Bob asked me about my family and remembered to ask about Tripp before we hung up. But the directness of his call left me grappling with my imposter syndrome once again. What was I doing, trying to help track down a killer, when my own business skills weren’t even up to the basics? That hit hard. I had slipped up, big time. This was definitely a low point. I thought back over that day I called Monica and Bob and realized that I should have told them more. I called Monica immediately and left her an apology on her voicemail.
Once Tripp arrived and we ate breakfast, our day was planned in no time. He agreed to watch the store while he worked on the website, and I was going to explore the parcels on Beach Road.
“I wonder if Barb has some time to spend cruising around with me,” I said as Tripp cleared up our breakfast plates and cups.
“I guess you can ask her yourself, she is knocking on the front door!” Tripp said.
“Hey, y’all!” Barb greeted us with a big smile and a few papers in her right hand. “I have here today’s blog post by Darcy Meadows from The Island Insider. Guess who is your newest fan?”
“Darcy, from the tourism group? Wow,” I said, opening one of her papers.
“Carr, she has a huge following,” Tripp said. “She posts a few times a week and she has put quite a few local places on the map, particularly over on the mainland. This could be really big for us—I mean, you. This could be really big for you.”
“Definitely could be big for us, Tripp—for all of us. This would not be happening without you both.” I read quickly. “This post is great. I mean, she understood what we are doing here, Tripp. People can see it and feel it!”
We took a few more minutes to digest this unexpected good news.
“Barb, you caught me right before I texted you,” I said. “Do you feel like doing a little exploring with me today? So much has happened since I last saw you. I have to bring you up to speed and I don’t even know where to begin, really.” We said goodbye to Tripp and Buddy and were soon on our way to Beach Road. Barb listened quietly as I relayed yesterday’s events.
I was nowhere near done recounting all of it when we arrived at the intersection of School Road and Beach Road.
Barb set our course, “Let’s go down to the beach and then work our way back up the road, looking at the parcels on the right side.”
I agreed. “Good idea. There are three lots I want to explore and I also found one on the left side of the road we probably should look at, just in case Theresa got mixed up. All four of these lots have different owners listed on the deeds. I would like to get a better sense of what a potential buyer saw. I want to see which ones might match Governor’s Point and be considered for a swap. Theresa said Scott would be a fool not to make the swap—so the property here would have to be at least as marketable or probably, better than Governor’s Point, right?”
“That makes sense,” Barb said, “but after seeing Governor’s Point—how are any of these lots as good or better than that?” Barb looked carefully at the land on both sides of this dirt road. “I am not seeing it!” She folded her arms across her chest.
“Well, here we go!” I said as I made a U-turn in the parking lot at the beach. It became clear, relatively quickly, that this task was going to be more challenging in person than on paper. I had the site comparisons jotted down, but as we drove up to the first selection, it was anyone’s best guess where the property lines were. Without that, it was hard to make a comparison to Governor’s Point.
“So, this might be a waste of time, or worse—one of my dumber ideas,” I said sadly. “Seems I might be striking out everywhere today.”
“Nonsense, come on, pull over here,” Barb said, pointing to a flat area next to Beach Road. On some other roadway, it might have served as a breakdown lane. Here, it was a sparsely grassy patch where you could see sand peeking through. “Time to get some steps in!” Barb said as she hopped out of the cart and climbed the small embankment that lined the lot.
There was no clearing, no already-made path. This did not stop Barb. She forged forward, gently patting the tree trunks she passed. I followed dutifully, looking for something that would stand out, something that would convince Scott to trade the land in which he had already invested. We reached a clearing shaded by tall pine trees. Their fallen needles created a brown carpet that covered our shoes.
“Well, it looks like the county GIS maps were right,” Barb said. “There is no water here, no pond, no lake. It’s relatively flat, to the point that not much grading would be needed. I know I’m not the best judge because I’m biased, but this is no Governor’s Point.”
I had to agree. It was a nice piece of land, and although we certainly hadn’t seen it all, it was no Governor’s Point. There was no magic, no mystery, no seclusion. Once houses were built here, it would be just another neighborhood. You certainly would not drive down a bumpy road in the middle of the woods to happen upon this parcel. Are any of these lots on Beach Road going to be a Governor’s Point?
“How could Theresa think this potential trade was a smart deal?” I asked.
“Maybe it’s because she doesn’t care about all those things that make Governor’s Point special,” Barb said. “It’s possible she saw property near the beach and, in her mind, that equals a good deal to her. She probably thought they could spin this as ‘almost beachfront’ or some other marketing mumbo-jumbo and that would justify high-priced sales.”
Barb continued. “This doesn’t feel like it, though. This doesn’t feel like a good trade for Governor’s Point.” In agreement, we followed the same self-made path back to the cart.
“Onward!” Barb declared before I could talk her out of continuing. I smiled. She knew me well. Everyone should have a Barb in their life. She knew my confidence was low and that I was still reeling from my own disappointment in myself.
I complied and drove a few hundred feet down the road.
“I think this is it, or close to it,” I said as we came to a stop. From the road, this parcel appeared flatter. “It looks like this area over there could be a cut-through to whatever is behind this, you know, like what people did on the side of our lot. People used that strip of land between our lot and our neighbors, rather than just drive all around the resort to get to the Inn. Looks like the same thing is going on there.”
“Want to drive up there or just walk?” Barb asked. We agreed to walk and followed this small path directly into a clearing you couldn’t see from the road. This area, hidden by the trees and brush, was flat and gave us a complete 360-degree view.
“Of course, it would depend on the soil composition around here, but this looks like a great place to build,” Barb said softly. As island residents, we were both aware of the dreaded, nerve-wracking soil test mandated in this area, the results of which determined the required height of the pylons on which your house sat. The sandier the soil, the more reinforcements you needed, which meant higher building expenses.
We were standing next to each other, so our eyes came to rest on the same thing at the same time, off to the right of this clearing. We turned to each other.
“That looks out of place, here, right?” Barb asked me. She was pointing to the flattened pampas grasses, trampled brush, and broken branches. It was an area about fifteen feet wide and definitely had been disturbed recently. The hairs on my arms were standing up.
Barb pointed to a large brown circle on the ground next to the flattest patch. “Oh Carr, do you think this is blood?”
I was stunned. “It certainly looks like it, but maybe it’s from an animal.”
As we got closer, we instinctively kept our hands at our sides, trying not to disturb anything.
“Barb, I don’t think it belongs to an animal. Look over there, over where the land dips down. What’s that white thing, right there?”
I ran forward and she followed. We dug the tips of our feet into the ground at the edge of the clearing as it abruptly sloped down. Our eyes found an off-white, standard golf cart resting on its passenger side. The very tip of its roof reached above the top of the clearing.
“Oh my God,” I said.
And Barb said simply, “Carl.”