“We have a possible location of where the fire started and a charred pin but nothing else.”
“Correct.” He dropped the pin in the Zip-loc bag and shoved it in his pocket. “I hate to say it, but I’m starting to lose hope we’ll ever figure out the reason behind the fire.”
Harlow touched her father’s arm. “I’m not ready to give up. What about the manager’s unit?”
“Right after it happened and…you left, I salvaged what I could of your mother’s belongings. They’re in a plastic bin in the attic.”
“Have you gone through them?”
“No.” Tears welled up in his eyes. He looked away. “I mean, I kind of sifted through the bin. To be honest, I can’t bring myself to look too closely.”
“I’m sorry, Dad.” Harlow started to say she would go through the contents but thought better of it. She wasn’t ready either. At least not yet. She slipped her arm through his. “Let’s go home.”
Back at the cottage, she made quick work of emptying her suitcase and placing it inside the closet. Mort sat near the door, watching her like a hawk. “I finished unpacking. How about you and I take a nice, long walk?”
The pup scampered to his feet and patiently waited for her to swap out her travel clothes for more appropriate islander attire.
She swung by the kitchen where she found her father seated at the bar, laptop open and staring intently at the screen. “Mort and I are going for a walk. Would you like to come with us?”
He peered at her over the rim of his reading glasses. “Thanks for the offer but I think I’ll pass. Are you going to stop by and say ‘hi’ to Aunt Birdie?”
“Speaking of Aunt Birdie, I noticed she moved out of the cottage.”
“Moved out and back into her RV, Happy Camper.”
Harlow grinned. “She didn’t waste any time.”
“Nope. She skedaddled the day you left for Pittsburgh. Birdie is already planning her next escape.”
“When?”
He waved dismissively. “You’ll have to ask her.”
Harlow turned to go.
David stopped her. “By the way, Morgan and Brett Easton will be here tomorrow to go over the progress.” He dug through the stack of papers sitting on the counter. “There it is.” He held up a copy ofEntertainment in the Thumb,a regional travel magazine. “Check out the cover photo.”
Harlow took it from him, studying the photo of her standing on the front porch of Locke Pointe Bed-and-Breakfast, along with Morgan Easton and manager Ronni Lansbury. She read the caption aloud.Locke Pointe Bed-and-Breakfast—a hangout for locals and stars alike.“I wonder if it’s helping with bookings.”
“I don’t know.”
“We should do the same when Wynn Harbor Inn reopens.”
“It couldn’t hurt. You’re welcome to hang around during the Easton’s visit and meeting. Brett’s son, Tristan, will be with them.”
Harlow blinked rapidly. “Brett Easton has a son?”
“One he didn’t know about until December, when the boy and his uncle showed up on Easton Estate’s doorstep,” David said. “He had no idea he had a son until his ex-wife’s death.”
“Wow.” Harlow whistled loudly. “Talk about a shocker. She didn’t live in the area?”
“His ex lived in Las Vegas. According to Brett, the boy is having a rough time. When Tristan found out his dad and aunt were coming here and there was a chance he might meet you, he got excited.”
Harlow pressed her hand to her chest. “How sweet. Of course, I would love to meet him. How old is he?”
“I believe Brett mentioned that he’s ten,” her father said. “Not only is he struggling with his mother’s death, but a few of the kids at school are not particularly warm and welcoming.”
“Because of who he is.” Harlow sucked in a breath. “Can you imagine being that young and not only losing your mom, but having to uproot your life and start all over? You mentioned an uncle.”
