Page 1 of If All Else Sails
Chapter1
A Quaint Little Murder Cottage
Josie
I am standing outside of what could best be described as a quaint little murder cottage, wondering if, instead of going on vacation with my brother, I’m about to die.
Jacob’s cheerful recorded voice comes over the phone I’m pressing to my ear. Again. This time, I do what I almost never do because I’m not a heathen. Or a boomer.
I leave a voicemail.
“Jacob, hi. It’s Josie—the sister you seem to be pranking right now. Why am I here? Whereishere? I double-checked the address, but this cannot be the site of any kind of vacation. I did not pack to defend myself against a serial killer. Where are you? Call me back. You’ve got my number. Use it. Preferably now.”
I immediately follow up with a text, which readsCALL ME NOWin all caps with no punctuation. My brother will know the lack of a period or a neat row of exclamation points means either I’ve been kidnapped or I’m really and truly angry.
The message doesn’t show a read receipt. It just sits there. Delivered.
Concern fissures through me. Maybe Jacob was in a wreck. Maybe he fell asleep at the wheel and drove right off one of the bridges on the way here. Maybe he’s dead somewhere and my last message to him was full of snark and anger.
Or...maybe my mind sometime jumps too quickly to the worst possible scenario.
A less morbid and much more likely explanation is that Jacob got caught up working. Like always. He could have gotten a last-minute meeting with a big client. Or a potential client. An up-and-coming college football star poised for NFL greatness. Or a basketball player having a great year with endorsement offers coming in hot. He could have left the office late and gotten stuck in DC commuter traffic.
Or maybe he met a woman. Difficult, considering it’s not quite noon, but I’ve found that, with Jacob’s charm, anything is possible.
I know what my best friend would say. Toni would tell me I shouldn’t have driven two hours to an unfamiliar address just because my brother held out promises of a fun trip together.
Never leave the house without your underwear or your boundaries, I can practically hear her saying.
But when it comes to my brother, I understand the concept of boundaries; I just can’t seem to apply them.
I scan his text from yesterday, searching for any clues I might have missed.
The Super Summer Sibling Extravaganza is upon us! Pack a bag for warm weather and maybe swimming. Comfy clothes. Maybe one or two nice things, but this will be casual. Address in the next text. Don’t look it up on Google Street View! TOMORROW AT 4 PM.
Yes—that’s all the information he gave me.
And yes, after packing this morning, I adjusted the GPS to take me on the most scenic route from Fredericksburg to Kilmarnock, a small town on what’s known as the Northern Neck. I even resisted the urge to look at the Google Street View, a decision I now regret. Because I definitely would have asked questions.
What if...he isn’t coming?
“You’re being ridiculous. He’ll be here,” I say out loud, like voicing it into the world will make my brother appear. He doesn’t.
That doesn’t mean hewon’t. But my worry expands, braiding with the excitement and nervousness of being in a new situation. While packing, I shoved down my anxious thoughts, stuffing them away like I stuffed half my closet into my suitcases—just in case.
Adventures are fun!I told myself while carefully rolling my shirts and lining them up in neat rows at the bottom of my roller bag.So are surprises! You are a woman who lives for excitement!
I didn’t come close to convincing myself. But I packed. I came.
And now, as I stand on a driveway made of crushed oyster shells, baking in this sweltering oven of a June day, I wish I were back in my comfy but cramped apartment, working my way through my summer reading list. This year I’ve decided itwill be composed entirely of books written by women—from the Brontës and Jane Austen to Toni Morrison and Madeleine L’Engle, whose young adult books I’ve always loved.
But no—I chose to leave the cocoon of home to find out what’s behind Door Number Three. Which is apparently the sad little cottage in front of me, desperately in need of an extreme home makeover. Or a bulldozer. The siding, which may have been cream once upon a time, is now the color of a load of whites thrown in the washer too many times. Most of the wood trim is rotten. I’m no roof expert, but this one looks like it’s one heavy rain away from collapsing.
If I squint, it’s almost cute. More like ithadbeen cute and is now disappointed by its owner’s lack of upkeep. The front looks like a face—the windows its sad eyes above the half circle of frowning glass inlaid in the door.
The property, however, is gorgeous, with a swath of lush green grass fringed by pines on either side. The real star of the show is the glittering water behind the house, complete with a dock and a sailboat, which looks to be in much better shape than the house.
Parked near a structure that’s somewhere between a standalone garage and a metal shed is an old Bronco. Definitely not Jacob’s. He prefers his cars new and sleek and shiny. Lots of dollar signs and detailing involved. This SUV looks as though it’s been restored, but that’s not Jacob’s thing either. I briefly wonder if the car’s owner is inside the house watching me, but I see no sign of movement. The place has the abandoned vibe going on.
