Two
Caution! Unassumed road. The faded wooden sign at the entrance to Fire Route 22 showed two skulls and crossbones. Hopefully that wasn’t an omen of things to come.
Charley made the left turn. The Jeep bounced over the gravel path, bumping over potholes hard enough to jar her teeth. The private road showed signs of wear after the harsh winter. Wide enough for a single car with deep ditches on either side. Deep enough to sink a tire in, and nowhere to swerve to.
“Almost there!” In the rearview mirror, she saw Cocoa sit up and look out the window.
The row of maple trees cast flickering shadows over the ground, playing tricks on her eyes as she followed the winding lane. A glimpse of the lake shot a thrill of excitement through her.
Only fifteen minutes from Main Street, it seemed like a different world here, cocooned and quiet.
Heat radiated off the windshield. The steering wheel was hot, her palms damp, slick. She had the A/C cranked up high, but it wasn’t doing much. She put the window down. The breeze tugged at her hair, bringing with it the scent of dry earth, white pines, and lake water.
A flash of movement, off to the right, and something leaped out from between the grey tree trunks onto the road in front of her. Something big.
She slammed her foot on the brake and braced for impact. Cocoa gave a surprised yip from the back.
The deer — a doe — froze an arm’s length from the car and looked at her. Direct eye contact. The gaze was eerie, almost human. The animal probably weighed eighty kilograms or more.
The moment stretched. Then broke.
The deer bolted, jumping the ditch, branches snapping. Heart racing, Charley watched the doe disappear into the thicket. A flash of white tail and it was gone.
Shaken, she glanced back at Cocoa. Still safely strapped in by her harness.
“That was close.” Too close. Ten years old and rusty, how would the Jeep handle hitting a deer?
The car crept forward. Charley kept her eyes peeled for more wild animals, adrenaline singing through her veins.
Boulders and a fence bordered the narrow road. Another sign, handmade, swung off a post. The engraved figures looked a lot like the gingerbread man and Toto from The Wizard of Oz, ‘20 KPH’ above their heads.
She drove past rental cottages, front yards covered in toys — a plastic tractor, a bicycle, Super Soaker Water Blasters lying like neon rifles in the grass — past a large green building that looked out of place, like some sort of hanger.
That building had caused a lot of speculation — and animosity — at first. Even more so when people found out that it was going to be a workshop. The noise would destroy cottage tranquility, or so they argued. Of course, the tune changed when neighbours realized the convenience of having someone nearby, willing to do cottage renovations at a decent price.
Oh, there it was.
Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of the cabin, nestled in behind the trees. Hit with that same knee-jerk sense of belonging that never changed, even though she’d only spent summers there growing up, and just a few weeks at a time. But all her best memories were here.
Built in the 1950s, the cabin was all one floor. A gabled roof, large windows, and red shutters with sailboat cut-outs. The cherry red colour of the eavestroughs and screen door accented the earth-toned siding. A stone patio wrapped around the house. Shrubs and flowers almost hid the wicker loveseat from view, tucked in an alcove beside French windows. Fieldstone slabs, edged with moss, led up to the front door. Grandma Reilly had kept the garden well-tended, but now it ran wild, with a vibrant mix of orange day lilies, peonies, and fragrant clusters of phlox. The picket fence still looked in good shape and would keep Cocoa in the yard, so long as she didn’t try to swim to the neighbours.
The only thing that would make this moment better was if Charley were already sitting on the patio, drinking a gin and tonic.
She pulled into the driveway and the door of the cottage flew open. Foolishly, she half expected to see Grandpa step out with open arms and a wide grin. She shook the thought off and smiled at the sight of her sister. Cocoa gave an excited woof.
“You’re here!” Meghan always crackled with energy, but today it seemed to be sparking off her. Even her short-cropped red hair seemed ready to burst into flames.
When had they last seen each other? Christmas, probably. It was the first time she had visited the cottage since Meghan moved in.
Charley got out of the car on stiff legs. “It’s so great to — oof!” Hit with a full-force hug, she squeezed back hard, breathing in the familiar scent of rose and magnolia. “See you.”
Meghan leaned back and narrowed her eyes. “Are your hands sticky?”
“They might be.” A car trip wasn’t complete without a bag of Hershey’s Kisses.
Meghan rolled her eyes. “What are you, five?”
Charley opened the back door and unsnapped Cocoa’s harness, letting the dog out to prance in happy circles around them. “Twenty-nine.” She gave Meghan a cheeky grin.
“Almost thirty,” Meghan countered, always quick to throw in a jab.
Charley groaned. “Argh, don’t remind me.”
Meghan laughed, a wicked chuckle. “Hey, I survived it. You will, too. Come on in. Alex is cooking, God help us.”
As soon as they stepped inside, screen door still banging shut behind them, the memory of the place hit her, catching at her heart. Cocoa took off, nails skidding over the hardwood floor. Charley winced. “Don’t get into trouble!”
“She’ll be fine.”
She let out a breath. “This place, Meghan —” It was both familiar and different. The past clung to those walls, as real as the faint, slightly smoky scent of stacked wood hanging in the air.
“I know.” Meghan did a little spin in the entrance, arms stretched wide. “Aren’t you glad you came?”
Cast iron hooks on the exposed wood wall. Most of the interior still unpainted, first-growth pine. Through a door on the left something sizzled and she caught the scent of roasting peppers.
Past the entrance, the space opened up. The living room was as bright and airy as she remembered, the sofa and armchair deep and cushioned. The glass in the woodstove fireplace blackened after years of use. The bleached spines of Grandpa’s private eye novels filled the bookshelves.
But there were little touches throughout that were all Meghan and starting to erase the past. New photographs. A red wool blanket tossed over a chair. The huge widescreen TV that screamed male sports addiction and probably belonged to Alex.
On the far wall, though, Charley’s own painting still hung in pride of place. Her portrait of Grandma Reilly, carefully framed. One of her first. Watercolour on paper and nothing like her work now. But it all started here. She’d spent hours over it. Perfecting it, although she hadn’t caught all of the mistakes. The colour changes weren’t gradual enough, the edges too harsh, but she’d captured that seize-the-moment enthusiasm in the curve of her grandmother’s smile.
Charley turned away from the painting, and those eyes, so like Meghan’s and full of expectations. “I remember the cottage being bigger.”
“The TV takes up a lot of space.” Meghan grinned and dropped her keys on the end table. “Just wait until you’ve had the full tour. You’ll see things haven’t changed that much. Like the Tardis, the cottage is —”
“Bigger on the inside.” She chimed in so that their voices echoed and dissolved into laughter.
“I still can’t believe you quit your job. What you’re doing is —”
“Insane?” Fear tightened in the pit of her stomach.
“I was going to say ‘brave.’”
“You do know that ‘brave’ means ready to endure danger or pain?”
As if on cue, a yelp and what sounded a lot like, “My eyes!” came from the kitchen.
Cocoa raced around the corner to stand beside Charley, cocking her head. Ready to defend, if she had to.
“That’s it!” Meghan yelled. “I’m coming in!” She shoved open the kitchen door, Cocoa right behind her.
Charley’s fingers itched to capture Meghan’s expression. Determination and amusement. Like a Valkyrie ready to conquer anything in her path, faithful hound at her heels. But she’d have to dig her sketchpad out of her suitcase first.
“Hey!” Alex exclaimed. “Cocoa, out, now. Not on the counter!”
“The kitchen is a mess!” Meghan said. “And what’s with your eyes?”
“Nothing.”
Charley grinned at the defensive tone. Of course, she could call Cocoa back. But this was so much more fun. And she could listen in.
She glanced at the photograph of her and Meghan on the end-table, faded to sepia now. A cottage snapshot. Aged six and ten, arms slung over each other’s shoulders. All bare feet, tangled hair, and wild, carefree laughter. Alex didn’t stand a chance.
“Let me see,” Meghan said. “Stop turning around. Stand still!”
“Why is Cocoa following me?”
“You smell spicy.”
“You’re both cornering me,” he complained.
Meghan never backed down. As editor of the Oakcrest Courier, it was an asset. At home, it was hard to handle. Any second now, he’d crack.
“Fine. Fine!” Charley could just picture Alex throwing his hands in the air. “I rubbed chili powder between my fingers and sprinkled it over the meat like the recipe said. Then I had to cut the onions.”
“Oh no.” A laugh quivered in Meghan’s voice.
“My eyes always water when I cut onions, ok?”
Charley winced in sympathy.
“I hope you don’t give up this quickly at work.” Meghan’s tone was triumphant. “You caved in an instant.”
“Knowing when to pick your battles is part of it, Megs. Go back out. I can handle it. And take Cocoa with you.”
Time to take charge. “Cocoa, come,” Charley called. It took a second, but then a nose nudged the door open and the dog trotted toward her. She rubbed her ears. “Good girl.”
“Alex, you can barely see what you’re stirring,” Meghan tried again. “Let me help you.”
“I don’t need any help. I can do it.” A loud curse followed.
Charley called through the door, “You sound just like Ramsay already!”
“Don’t encourage him,” Meghan warned.
“Where are you going with that?” His voice rose an octave. “Supper will be ready soon.”
“It’s for Charley! She’s starving.” Meghan returned from the kitchen with a bowl of chips in her hand. “Come on, I’ll help you unpack.” She popped a chip into her mouth and didn’t offer the bowl.
“You never did like sharing.”
“Nope.” Meghan grinned as she led the way through the living room, Cocoa following close behind.
“How are the eyes?”
“He’ll live. As a cop, you’d think he’d do better under pressure.”
“You can be intimidating.”
“True.” She lifted her chin, a battle glint in her eyes. Confident of victory. It could make even the strong cower, though Charley doubted she knew it.
Two steps away from entering the next room, Meghan paused. “Ready?”
Heart somersaulting, she braced for change. “Lead the way.”
The door swung open and she blinked against the sudden blaze of light. Yellow sheets on the bed. Sun pouring in through French doors. White Adirondack chairs on the stone patio outside. And beyond that, the lake glittered, still and clear. An orange kayak moved along the shore, gliding on the steady stroke of the woman’s paddle. The ripples, the reflection, so tempting to paint. A seagull swooped toward the water, skimming low over the weathered wooden dock.
Here, everything was perfect and always had been. And she finally felt like she could breathe again. “Can I steal your identity and live here instead?”
“The cottage is half yours anyway.”
On paper. They had both inherited the cottage, but Meghan got the opportunity to make a life here. Doing a real job, as mom would say. One that paid. “There’s one minor detail. I have to earn a living.”
“You’re too short to pass for me,” Meghan said. “You’d never get away with it.”
“The journalists would notice?”
“They’re a perceptive bunch.”
“It’s a good thing, I’m a city girl at heart.” But, oh, it felt like home. When she unpacked her things, she could pretend she was here to stay.
Charley crossed the rug, thinner now, and opened the cupboard doors. And froze. The shelves were full. Linens, board games, winter coats. “Where am I supposed to put my stuff?”
Meghan came to stand beside her and looked at the shelves. “Leave it in your suitcase?”
“You couldn’t clear out a bit of space for me?”
“There are fresh sheets.” She didn’t even look guilty.
“But no space.” She tugged one of the board games off the shelf. The corners were worn, the cardboard softer than when they pulled it out on rainy evenings years ago. Clue, The Classic Detective Game. She wiped a hand over the box, felt the dry coat of dust. “No one took the time to clear any of this out?”
“I figured you might want to sort through it, while you’re here,” Meghan said. “Most of it’s yours, anyway.”
“And it’s so much easier to close the door on the mess.”
“That too,” she admitted, without any shame whatsoever.
And she’d been worried about facing change? The room was frozen in time. “I’ve got my work cut out, then.”
Even the chest of drawers was full. The nightstand crowded with tattered Agatha Christies, and a few paperback thrillers. The soft-focus photograph of a femme fatale on the cover of one caught her eye. She tugged it free with a waft of musty air and turned it over in her hands.
The Demise of Lady Red. Silver letters, done in a typical pulp fiction typeface with crisp, knife-cut edges. The design moody and striking, but the ex-library copy had seen better days. Rather than cram the book back in the stack, she dropped it on the top of the nightstand. Maybe she’d re-read it.
Meghan snatched the book up. “Can I borrow this?”
That sounded familiar. “It’s been in the cottage this whole time, but now you —” She paused. She’d have to clear some shelves out anyway, find a safe space for her art supplies. She sighed. “Sure. Just don’t forget —”
“To return it. I know,” Meghan said, already skimming the back cover.
Charley sat on the bed cross-legged. So much for unpacking. She’d tackle the storage problem later.
Cocoa rested her chin on the mattress and gazed up at her.
“Not on the bed, you know that.” She’d try to hold out longer this time, before she caved and let her up. Cocoa heaved a full-body sigh. Charley avoided making eye contact. “Why is Alex cooking? And what is he making?”
Meghan put the book down on the dresser. “Fajitas,” she said with a Mexican accent. She snatched another mouthful of chips. Chewed and swallowed. “I told him, since he’s living here now, he should pitch in more.”
“Ah.”
“I meant replace a lightbulb or vacuum, maybe clean the bathroom. He bought pans.”
Alex moved in two months ago. A twinge of guilt hit her at the thought. She’d all but invited herself. “Are you sure you don’t mind that I’m here? You’re still getting used to each other. I don’t want to get in the way.”
“You’re right,” Meghan nodded. “You should leave. Don’t bother unpacking.”
She whipped a pillow at her.
Meghan caught it in one hand with a laugh. She dropped onto the bed beside her and rolled over onto her stomach. “Let’s see. You don’t take up a lot of room and you’re not messy, so it should be easy for us to pretend you’re not here. Fine. You can stay.”
“Oh, good.” She rolled her eyes. God, she’d missed this. Chatting in person was so much better than over the phone. “I had an interesting conversation in the Coffee Nook today.”
“Caffeinating on the way, very wise.” Meghan propped her chin on her hand.
“Actually, I got sidetracked by the books.”
She chuckled. “What else is new? Which local did you meet?”
“A guy.”
“Oh, really?” She scooped the last crumbs from the bowl.
“Good sense of humour, decent taste in books.”
Meghan turned her full attention on her. “You’re telling me that you’ve already met a cute guy on your first day in Oakcrest? Your first few hours, actually.”
“Did I say he was cute?”
“You didn’t have to. It’s written all over your face.”
Warmth rushed to her cheeks. Going the mature route, she stuck her tongue out at Meghan.
She didn’t even blink. “You know how long it took me to find Alex? Who is he?”
“I only caught his first name —” She broke off as Alex appeared in the doorway.
He had a streak of something indefinable along his right cheek, splatters of liquid across his clothes, and a wooden spoon clenched in a death grip. Sauce dripped off the handle in a sticky line down his arm. His eyes looked bloodshot. “It’s done. I hope you’re hungry.”
The kitchen was a mess. Mysterious liquids had splashed here and there, pieces of onion were scattered across the checkerboard linoleum flooring. Used cooking utensils filled the sink. A pair of kitchen shears rested open beside the wooden knife block.
“Hey Alex, this looks a lot like a crime scene,” Charley teased. She slid into one of the wooden chairs at the table, the uneven legs wobbling before balancing.
The table had been pushed up against the bay window. Each seat had a view of the lake. A warm breeze drifted through the screen, carrying the sound of waves lapping against the dock and bullfrogs croaking. The paper napkins, pinned beneath the old Jadeite salt and pepper shakers, fluttered at the corners.
The herb pots on the sill were empty. On the pantry door, the chalkboard was wiped clean, just a smudge of white streaking the centre.
A bittersweet ache settled between Charley’s ribs. She’d missed so many summers. And for what?
“This looks nice,” Meghan said, eyes focused on the table. “Smells good.”
“Just wait until you try it.” Alex spooned generous portions from the cast iron pan into preheated wraps. With a flourish, he set the plates in front of them.
“Well?” He sat and leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I want to watch your reaction when you take the first bite.”
Most of the time, Alex mastered the guy-next-door impression. He played down the crooked nose with a clean-shaven face. Wore Henley shirts and blue jeans. Managing to almost pull off the illusion and blend with the crowd. Until he aimed that laser beam stare.
There was a pause. Charley picked up her wrap. Meghan reached for the sour cream.
She raised her eyebrows. “Wimp.”
Meghan pushed the cream aside. “All right.”
Silently, Charley counted down. One, two, three. Then took a huge bite.
And choked, mouth on fire. She swallowed and reached for her water glass. Her lips burned.
Meghan wasn’t doing much better. Her face had flushed the same shade as her hair.
The flavours were great but, God, the heat. “’S good,” she managed. It felt like she’d seared her taste buds off.
“Mmm,” Meghan hummed between sips of water.
“You’re both terrible liars.” Alex planted his hands on the table and stared them down, like suspects in an interrogation room. “What is it? Too spicy?”
She exchanged a glance with Meghan. “You could say that,” she admitted.
“Just a little.”
“It can’t be that bad,” he said.
“Why don’t you try it?” Meghan asked sweetly and waited.
He bit into his wrap and didn’t hold back. “Holy hell!” He coughed, eyes wide. Meghan handed him his water. He chugged it, perspiration beading on his forehead.
“Did you not taste it while you were cooking?” Meghan asked.
“I did, but early on.” He looked at his plate. “What do we do now?”
“Sour cream,” Charley said.
“More lime juice?” Meghan suggested.
“Both.” Already on her feet, she reached for the bowl of lime wedges on the counter. A red bowl. Of course. She held up the Fiestaware dish. “You have a problem.”
Alex caught on before Meghan did and nodded. “You do.”
“What do you mean?”
She gestured at the evidence. “Red teapot. Red dishes. And don’t think I missed the red throw blanket in the living room.”
Meghan shrugged. “In some cultures, red is the colour of luck.”
“Touché.” She placed the bowl on the table, within easy reach. “I could use some luck right now.”
Meghan spooned sour cream onto her plate. “I’ve been telling everyone.”
“That I need luck?”
Alex snorted.
Meghan rolled her eyes. “About the gallery. It’s haunted, you know.”
Charley laughed as she squeezed more lime juice over the vegetables. Then she realized. No one else was laughing. She put the lime wedge down. “What, seriously?”
“Afraid so.” Alex stretched across the table for the sour cream.
“Haunted, as in creepy sounds or full-on ghost in a white sheet?”
Meghan grinned. “Guess you’ll find out soon enough.”
Great. “And you didn’t think to tell me this before I signed the lease?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t want to deter you. Besides, who believes in ghosts?”
Charley knew there were more things on heaven and earth than people had dreamt of. “You’re talking to the wrong person here.”
“Just don’t go looking for them and you’ll be fine.”
Reassuring last words.