Page 1 of Always in Watch Hill
ONE
LYNNE
“Here we are.” The driverturned the sedan onto the long gravel driveway toward the cottage I’d rented online. The small rocks crunched under the tires as we moved closer to the listing. “What do you think? Is it what you expected?”
“Actually, it’s better. Wow.” I took in the building, located on the far end of what appeared to be a small farm: two front windows, an aluminum roof, a porch that ran the length of the front, and a large flowerpot next to the steps.This cottage looks like it could be on a postcard.“The listing didn’t do this place justice.”
“Glad to hear that.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he maneuvered the final feet to the parking space off to the side of the rental. “Sometimes it’s the other way around.”
“That’s true.”
I let out a long exhale, feeling some of the tension from my trip leave my shoulders and upper back. The flight from Chicago had been quick and easy, but it came at the end of a week full of more deadlines and hustle than usual. Still the stress of that was behind me now, and all I had in front of me was the open week and a few critical days in Watch Hill where I hoped I’d finish the final edits on my restaurant, hotel, and lifestyle guide.
“I’ve had that happen to me before,” I added. “Showed up at a place that wasn’t totally what the description said it would be.”
“Well, I’m glad this one ended happily.”
“Me too.” I picked up my canvas travel tote from the car floor and zipped it shut. “I’m feeling relaxed already.”
“People tend to say that about Watch Hill. And I suppose this area still counts since we’re on the outskirts. Go any farther east of here, and its mostly farmland. Anyway, have you ever been here before?”
“Nope.” I laughed to myself. “But I figured it seemed as good a place as any. Found the listing two weeks ago and booked it before I could change my mind.”
“It’s one of the nicer small towns in this area.”
“I could tell.” I thought about the small downtown we’d passed through on the way to the rental. Quaint and picturesque would have been good descriptors for the scene outside my window. “Reminded me of one of those towns you’d find in a Hallmark movie.”
He laughed. “I think that’s what the founders were going for. Has its own model of enchantment.”
The driver parked the car and helped me out, getting my luggage from the trunk before finishing up final payment on the app. He’d done a good job getting me from the airport to the house, and I left him a generous tip. Soon enough, I was the only person in the driveway, a pile of bags beside me, and the week of work ahead.
I trotted up the cottage steps and found a sheet of paper underneath a paperweight on the armrest of the light blue Adirondack chair to the right of the front door. The one sheet included instructions and reminders for my stay including house rules.No parties... coffee in the cabinet beneath the coffee maker... come and go as you please... here is a list of restaurants in Watch Hill... let the water in the shower run for thirty seconds to warm up... key located underneath the welcome mat...Simple instructions, just like what I often saw in places like this one. I tucked the paper into the front pocket of my large weekender bag, then pulled back the mat in front of the door, expecting to find the key.
But it wasn’t there.
“Huh,” I said aloud to no one in particular. “That’s strange.”
I hunted around the threshold for a few moments before deciding that Justin, the rental owner, must have forgotten to leave it when he prepared the cottage for my arrival. No matter, things like that happened sometimes too. An owner got distracted... it wasn’t a big deal, and if it wasn’t a chronic thing, I usually didn’t let it color my opinion of a hotel, B&B, or rental. I set off toward the main farmhouse, a craftsman with gingerbread trim that looked well-kept, with a white picket fence and a row of manicured rose bushes. When I arrived at the back door of the house, I knocked twice.
“Is anyone home?”
No one answered. I tried two more times. Still nothing.
That’s awfully strange...
Growing annoyed, I left the back door behind and rounded the house to the front porch. There had to be someone home; it had been a long time since I’d shown up at a rental with no innkeeper or owner on site. Plus, the list on the app had numerous five-star reviews, most of them talking about what a great host Justin was and how much attention to detail he paid to the little things on the property.Surely those weren’t fake. I usually have an eye for that kind of thing...
I’d just reached the porch steps to the front door when it flew open, stopping me cold. A man in a pair of ripped jeans and a faded Cornell sweatshirt stepped through the threshold. “Can I help you with something?”
“The key.” I held up a hand. “I’m staying at the cottage, and you didn’t leave one.”
“Of course, one minute please.” The man disappeared behind the door and reappeared a few seconds later with a small keyring hooked around his right index finger. “I’m sorry about that. Just a small oversight. And you must be Lynne Franks.”
“That’s me.” I took a tentative step closer to the porch but didn’t go up the first step. “And you’re Justin Walsh?”
He nodded, pulled the door shut, and walked down the stairs. “You’re here earlier than you said.”
“Yeah, I, um... I miscalculated the ride from the airport when I messaged you about my ETA. Google maps said it would be longer.”
