Page 2 of Hook, Line and Mystery

“Thanks, Lori. Really.” Gratitude colored Abby’s tone more than she expected, seeping into the cold corners of her writer’s soul.

“Anytime. Call me when you get there, okay?”

Abby nodded, although Lori couldn’t see her. “Will do.”

“Talk soon.”

A click signaled the end of their conversation, but the seed had been planted, taking root in the fertile ground of her imagination.

A soft glow bathed Abby’s apartment. She hunched over her laptop once more—not to write, but to explore the allure of Badger’s Drift. Her fingertips flew across the keys, summoning images of rocky shorelines and mist-shrouded buildings. It was while she was scrolling through the local news that a headline snagged her attention: “Mysterious Decline in Lobster Population Baffles Badger’s Drift.”

Curiosity piqued, Abby clicked through various links, her eyes scanning the text. She imagined the furrowed brows of fishermen as they pulled up empty traps, the murmurings of a community grasping for answers. The mystery wrapped around her thoughts, coaxing them away from the frustrations of misspent love and unfinished stories.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” she muttered, leaning closer to the screen.

The article painted a picture of the town’s struggle, yet between the lines, she saw the outline of a new story plot, the potential interweaving of romance amidst the whispers of the unknown. The idea struck her heart, and she smiled.

“Badger’s Drift,” she whispered, tasting the name on her tongue.

No longer just a destination, but a canvas awaiting her words. Anticipation pulled within her, a foreign sensation that excited, entreated, and also scared her just a bit.Scared? That was silly. What possible danger could lurk in such a quaint little seaside village?As if the tide had come in at last, it felt as if something had shifted, and her barren beach was about to become awash with new creativity.

She blinked, the room’s silence wrapping around her like a promise. The blank page didn’t seem quite so daunting anymore.

“Okay, Abby,” she spoke to the empty room, her voice a soft command in the quiet, “let’s weave some magic and mystery into this romance.”

With a newfound fervor, she began to type. Each keystroke was a pledge, each sentence a step closer to the tale that Badger’s Drift had unknowingly bestowed upon her. She could almost hear the seagulls’ cries, the waves lapping against the hulls of boats, and the hushed conversations that played out beneath the glow of the lighthouse beam.

“Love lost at sea,” she said aloud, the words a budding premise in her mind. “And hearts entangled within a town’s secrets.”

The story began to take shape—two souls drawn to one another by the mystery of the vanishing lobsters—a local fisherman, rugged and steadfast, with eyes like the stormy Atlantic, and a woman, perhaps an outsider, armed with inquisitiveness and a camera, seeking stories among the weathered docks and salt-worn shingles.

“Could it be pollution? Overfishing? Poachers? Or something more sinister?” The questions spun before her, a cascade of potential plots and twists.

She leaned back in her chair, twirling it around as she did so. Her eyes lost focus but took in the shadows that played on the far wall. A story with depth, brimming with the ebbs and flows of human emotion, set against the backdrop of a community fighting for its lifeblood—the precious bounty of the sea.

“Or maybe,” she said, a sly grin shaping her lips, “a secret love affair, tangled up in nets and old ship logs.” Thinking of the possibilities, she wondered if she hadn’t stumbled on the beginnings of a new series. There had to be lots of romance novels just waiting to be written about those who made their living from the sea.

A laugh bubbled up from her throat, a sound that seemed foreign in the solitude of her loft. It was the laughter of release, of walls crumbling and new horizons emerging. Her heart tingled with the sensation of barriers falling away, opening to the promise of tomorrow.

“Get ready, Badger’s Drift,” she declared, a playful threat to the silence. “You’re about to have your secrets told.”

CHAPTER2

KIT

Badger’s Drift, Maine

Christopher “Kit” Johnson leaned against the weathered rail of the cliffside, his gaze locked on the Lighthouse Bed & Breakfast sitting up on the bluff on the outskirts of Badger’s Drift. The tall, white column of the lighthouse gleamed under the touch of the late afternoon sun, a stark contrast to the waves that crashed against the rocks below.

The lighthouse stood as though it were the guardian of time itself. For years, its once dominant beacon had guided those who fished these waters safely into the harbor from the windswept sea. Twenty years ago, it had been decommissioned, but due to persistent complaints from the fishing fleet and others within the community, plans had been made and completed, recommissioning the lighthouse.

The State agreed to pick up the cost of operating the light itself and DeeDee Hicks, the owner of the property who’d turned it into a bed and breakfast, would pick up all other costs. The lighting of the powerful beacon had been celebrated by the whole town and had made Kit smile. The restoration of the light felt important as if, like the fishing boats it guided safely through the darkness, it had come home again.

Kit tucked an errant strand of his light brown hair up under his knit cap. He was wearing jeans tucked into rubber fishermen’s boots, paired with a simple sweatshirt emblazoned with a marine conservation logo. Everything he was wearing spoke of his pragmatic nature. His strong jaw and handsome features, bronzed by countless hours at sea and along the rugged coastline showed an expression which was a mix of contemplation and concern.

A taxi stopping at the B&B caught his interest. He wondered if another author had come to try and capture whatever it was that had made Jessica Murdoch’s last book a bestseller. DeeDee had capitalized on Jessica’s success by lowering the price for any author wanting to emulate Jessica’s success. It was a smart move. For years the Lighthouse B&B had attracted well-heeled tourists, but a relative newcomer with ties to one of the founding families had purchased the enormous estate at the other end of town and spent a small fortune turning it into a luxury resort.

The woman getting out of the taxi further piqued his interest. It was as if her mere presence pulled at him like the moon to the tide. He watched as she moved with a kind of grace that seemed out of place against the craggy backdrop. Her tawny hair was a dark gold, streaked with paler shades of blonde. Picked up by the wind, it swirled all around, catching the sun’s rays in its disarray. She wore a chunky sweater that was at least two sizes too big, and leggings tucked into riding boots. There was something comfortable and practical about the outfit that pleased him.

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