CHAPTER 1
The day, sunny and bright, held the first threat of summer humidity. The air had a weight to it this afternoon, a salt-tinged presence that clung to everything it touched. Scarlett Evans plucked at her damp t-shirt and ignored the feel of her hair going frizzy. This was home—and a good one.
Standing on the porch of her two-bedroom cottage clad in weathered cypress siding, she wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead with the back of her aching hand. She stretched her fingers as she gazed out over marsh grasses that swayed like a slow-motion sea.
Home.
And neither weather nor aches would dim her latest triumph: two mismatched light fixtures she’d salvaged from a cluttered flea market last weekend in Beaufort. She had spent the better part of the morning scrubbing away decades of grime and oxidation. One fixture was a heavy, wrought iron lantern that would look right at home on a carriage house. The other was slightly more delicate, a copper piece with seeded glass that caught the afternoon sun.
She was sure her neighbors would consider the pairing a mistake. They’d chalk it up to one more poor design choice.
Scarlett didn’t care. She loved the character of each fixture. The whimsy that created more of a story than the weak contractor grade fixtures currently flanking her front door. Scarlett had long since given up on a perfect, symmetrical life. She was more interested in making the disparate, haphazard pieces blend into a beautifully flawed finished product.
“Mommy! Look! I set the border for the fairy garden! It’s a fort now!”
Scarlett looked over, her heart doing a familiar, happy skip. Her six-year-old, Cora, was crouched in the dirt on the other side of the front steps. Intensely focused, her daughter had meticulously lined up colorful seashells from a craft-store bag around the base of a hibiscus bush that would bloom in vibrant pinks come summer. Next to the hibiscus, and now protected by the seashell fence, was Cora’s prized project.
Last season, mother and daughter had pored over inspiration pictures until finally Cora settled on a plan. She’d chosen a tiny house, built a walking path with sticks and sand, then added moss and small blooming plants to make it a fit place for fairies. Though Scarlett hadn’t been sure the fascination would hold, Cora proved her wrong. This season her daughter was adding a birdbath and building a swing set for her invisible garden friends.
“It’s a beautiful fort, Bug,” Scarlett said, leaning against the porch railing. “Excellent work.” The fierce, overprotective love she felt for Cora was often accompanied by a low murmur of anxiety—a reminder that the peace she’d built here in Brookwell Island was predicated on a very specific kind of silence.
“When you’re done, you’ll have to wash those hands a few times.”
Cora popped to her feet and grabbed Scarlett’s hand. “You too.”
“That’s right.” She smiled at her daughter. “We’ll both need to stop soon so we can get ready for book club.” The Beach Readers Silent Book Club was meeting an hour earlier than usual because Cora would be joining them. Her normal sitter was home with the flu.
“How soon?”
“Half an hour,” she decided.
“Okay,” Cora agreed reluctantly. She had Scarlett’s stubborn, slightly pointed chin and pert nose. Her baby-fine, golden blond hair that refused to stay in a ponytail had come from her father along with her unique eyes. They were a startling, piercing green—the color of sea glass held up to the light. Exactly like the man who existed only in the locked, rusted-shut drawers of Scarlett’s memory.
“I don’t want to stop either,” she admitted. “But a girl’s gotta read.” She tapped her daughter’s upturned nose, earning a bright giggle before returning to the lanterns. If Scarlett could finish up the cleaning today, she could install them tomorrow. Another step in making their cottage a wonderful home.
After cleaning up their projects and themselves, and making sure Cora had time to eat a peanut butter sandwich with apple slices, Scarlett parked her car in front of the Palmetto Perk. “Books up!” She twisted around to tap her book, another true crime selection, to Cora’s Magic Tree House chapter book.
“Let’s read!” Cora cried, unbuckling from her booster seat and scrambling out of the car. Racing ahead, she pulled open the door of the coffee shop, quickly forgetting her mother altogether.
Inside, the smell of roasted beans, cinnamon, and the faint, ever-present scent from the nearby ocean was usually a welcome calm. This evening something niggled at Scarlett even thoughher book club pals were the only customers. “Are we the last arrivals? Should I flip the lock?”
“You are,” Willow said at the counter. “But I’ve got it.” She lifted her phone and a few seconds later the deadbolt slid into place. “Levi’s newest security enhancement.”
Scarlett chuckled. Willow’s fiancé was a perpetual early-adapter of all things new and interesting. “How nice for you.”
“We saved the throne for Cora.”
Her daughter waved from a plush velvet armchair near the back window. “C’mon, mom!”
“I told her I had to hearyousay it was okay for a hot chocolate with extra whipped cream.”
“Thanks, Willow.” She appreciated the good friends who supported her in all things. Even when her little girl had to crash book club. “Make it two, please.”
“You got it.”
Scarlett waited at the counter while Willow prepared the hot chocolate. Grace, Camille, Hazel, Trina, and Charity were already settled, listening with rapt attention as Cora filled in everyone about her fairy garden. Hazel and Charity had come prepared, not just with the right questions, but also some more photo inspiration.
Holly scooted out of her seat to join Scarlett and Willow. “Hey! The first Brookwell Music Festival promos are going out this week,” Holly said. “They’re expanding the local talent stage this year and I thought about a certain school administrator who plays a mean acoustic guitar and has a voice like honey. You’re signing up, right?”
