Page 3 of When It Snows

I dial the police department instead.

“Smuggler’s Rest Police Department. How may I help you?”

“Hi. I’m wondering if the entire island has no power or is it just me?”

“Where are you?”

“I’m staying at the cabin outside of Pirate’s Perch.”

“Hermit Jeremy’s old place?”

“I guess.” I haven’t lived on Smuggler’s Hideaway for nearly two decades. I don’t remember who Hermit Jeremy is.

“We’ll send someone out.”

“You don’t need to send anyone. I just need to know if the entire island is without power and how long you expect it to last.”

“Someone’s on their way.” She rings off before I have the chance to protest that I don’t need a police officer.

Chapter 2

Weston – a police officer who’s always happy to come to the rescue of a pretty tourist

Weston

My radio squeaks. “Weston?”

“What do you have for me?”

Please, have something for me. Today has been boring as shit. Instead of spending the day laughing my ass off at people trying to win the Mermaid Treasure Hunt while drunk on moonshine, I’ve sat in my patrol car most of the day.

Because of the snow, the treasure hunt was cancelled and the inhabitants of Smuggler’s Hideaway are hiding themselves away. All the stores were already closed for the treasure hunt but now the bars and restaurants have closed down as well.

I’m bored and ready for something to happen. I’d settle for rescuing a cat out of a tree at this point. And I’m allergic to cats.

“A tourist is stuck at Hermit Jeremy’s old place without power.”

I grin. “Is it a female tourist?”

“The Chief is going to make you work ChristmasandNew Year’s if you get any more booty calls while on duty.”

“It’s not my fault the ladies love me.”

“I’m serious, Officer Milton.”

I chuckle. “I hear you. On my way now.”

The roads have been sanded but they’re still slippery, so I’m cautious as I drive toward Pirate’s Perch. I don’t know what possessed a tourist to book an isolated log cabin for the Christmas holidays but I’m glad of the distraction. If the distraction ends with us sweaty between the sheets, even better.

What is usually a quick ten-minute trip takes me more than half an hour. I frown when I park in the driveway of the cabin. No lights are coming from inside. Maybe this isn’t a booty call after all.

At least I’m not stuck sitting on some boring street corner watching the snow fall while twiddling my thumbs.

I pound on the door. “Police! Are you okay, ma’am?”

Something crashes to the floor before the door opens and I’m blinded by a flashlight. I hold my hand up in front of my eyes. “Can you dim the light, ma’am?”

“Oops. Sorry. I tried to walk over to the door without the flashlight but then I ran into the table. Something fell. I hope it didn’t break. I’m renting this place. I don’t want to lose my deposit.”

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