I go to the sleeping loft, hastily pull a variety of clothes from the dresser into a couple of duffel bags. Downstairs, I add things from the bathroom, plus a couple of nicer clothing items from the closet—I know I’m attending a wedding, and who knows what else Zoe has in store for me.
I scrawl out a quick note to my guest, propping it on the kitchen table. Then I head to my truck, trying not to think about how utterly wrong this all feels. God, I hope Zoe knows what she’s doing.
CHAPTER 7
GEORGE
The Uber depositsme at the end of a long dirt driveway, barely visible in the light of the half moon. Moonlake Village indeed. I assume I’llseethe lake before I wander into it, but it’s hard to say for sure. After six hours on a train and another in the back of a sweet but very chatty grandma’s car, I can’t bring myself to fret too much.
My luggage wheels do not appreciate the lack of pavement, and my loafers are very unhappy with the occasional patches of ice they find. I’m suddenly grateful I let Zoe talk me into packing the boots I have from the vacation Luca made me take to the Alps, but they aren’t going to help me right now. I manage to make it to the cabin in one piece. When I get within twenty feet of it, a light, which must be on a motion sensor, flicks on, momentarily blinding me.
My eyes adjust, and I make out a very quaint little cabin, complete with a front porch, along with a large detached garage off to the side. Evergreens surround the place. Snow blankets the scene. It’s cute. Very Vermont. I hope it’s as inviting inside as it is outside, but at this point, I’d take just about anything with running water and a bed.
Okay. I just need to find the key. Iasked Zoe to have Owen leave a key under the mat or in one of those fake rocks or whatever he had. In the rush to get myself packed and get my place ready, Irealize now, I forgot to ask her about it, but it has to be somewhere.
Except… it isn’t under the mat. And all the rocks look like actual rocks. I try a few just in case. Yup, rocks. Oh God, has Owen not left me a key?! No, no, no. This isn’t happening. It is ten o’clock at night in the middle of nowhere, and I’m going to have to break in. I could probably smash a window with one of the rocks, but I really don’t want to do that. Plus, what if there’s an alarm and it alerts someone? Has Owen even told anyone someone else was going to be staying here?
In desperation, I rattle the doorknob. Except it doesn’t rattle so much as turn. And open. Because the door isn’t locked. I freeze. No alarm that I can hear. No flashing lights or anything. I glance inside, discovering a light switch by the door, and flip it up. Huh. Just a homey, if compact, interior. Simple furnishings. Christmas tree in the corner.
Okay, then. Well, either I’ve been very lucky, or Owen’s idea of making sure I could get in is to… just leave the place open. I swing the door shut and go to bolt it, but all there is is a simple lock on the knob. Presumably, the sort of thing burglars could easily open. Not that they’d have to bother if people didn’t even lock their doors. I’m definitely not in Kansas anymore. Yeesh.
I wander through the small cabin, turning on lights and making sure there aren’t any hidden serial killers (or bears—does a closed but unlocked door keep bears out?). As I do, I pull out my phone and dial Zoe.
She picks up right away. “Hey, gorgeous, tell me all about the train. Did anyone offer to swap murders with you?”
“Don’t joke. I’m alone in a cabin in the woods, and while this isn’t my genre, I’m pretty sure I know what Stephen King would do with this scene. Did you know Owen didn’t lock his door?”
“Oh, yes, sorry, did I not tell you that?”
I wander out onto what appears to be an enclosed porch. It’s chillier than the rest of the house, but there is a wood-burning stove there. Through the enormous windows, I can faintly see the partially frozen lake reflecting the moonlight. Okay. That is pretty.
“No. I was seconds away from breaking window glass in case of emergency.”
She laughs. “Apparently, it’s a Vermont thing. I’m sure it’s fine.”
“Mmm,” I hum, non-committally.
“Give it achance, George.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” I say, poking my head into the bathroom. Small, but serviceable, and it features an actual claw-foot tub.
“In body if not in mind.”
I go back to the main room—an open-plan arrangement of entry hall/living room/kitchen—and sink onto the sofa.
“I’m sorry. I’m cranky after the long trip. I just need to go to—Zoe!” I sit up in alarm, it suddenly hitting me. “There’s no bed in this place!”
Good God, am I going to have to pull out a hide-a-bed every night?
“Yes, there is, George.”
I begin examining the sofa for a hidden mattress, but can’t find any.
“No, Ms. Wilde, there is not.” Am I going to have to sleep on the couch every night then? Are there even blankets anywhere? Pillows? Now she is laughing at me. Great. “Do you find this amusing?”
“Upstairs, George.”
“What?” But as I say it, I look around and discover a wrought iron spiral staircase I had somehow missed in the corner behind me. “Oh.”
