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Chapter One
Geese honked overhead, frost crisp on the grass. This was an October morning that should have felt perfectly ordinary in New Hampshire. Comforting, even. But a prickle sat between my shoulder blades, the kind that whispered something in Fox Hollow was shifting. I guess I’d thought my peaceful routine would last forever.
I’d slipped into a rhythm during my few months at the Laughing Loon, my rambling, slightly creaky house on Moonshadow Lake. Early mornings meant a walk with Tango, my border collie mix, then getting Laney, my 15-year-old, off to school. Except for today, a Monday, when she got to sleep in. A comfortable pattern. Predictable. Exactly what I thought I wanted.
But lately, my past had begun knocking on the door in the form of Elliot Granger. My stalker from Massachusetts.
Tango snapped to attention from his bed in the kitchen at the sound of tires crunching over gravel. His ears pricked, his whole body alive with anticipation. Right on schedule, Carla Perry, my best friend since forever, pulled into the driveway armed with coffee, fresh scones from the Classic Brew, and a homemade dog treat balanced on top of the pastry bag.
She didn’t bother knocking. Petite and polished as always, Carla breezed into the kitchen like she’d never once worn a wrinkle. After slipping her bounty onto the table, she whipped off her scarf, patterned today with tiny orange pumpkins, a reminder that, ready or not, Halloween was creeping closer.
“Good morning, Mil. Is that syrup in your hair, or are you experimenting with breakfast-themed beauty routines?”
I ran a hand through my unruly auburn curls. “It’s not syrup. It’s just my usual wild and opinionated hair doing its thing.”
Carla eyed my jeans, her gaze lingering on the rip near the knee. Of course, she’d notice. She treated clothing like sacred scripture. This morning, she wore crisp and perfectly pressed jeans and a white button-down shirt. Me? I dressed for comfort. Comfort was a fashion statement, right?
“And the denim distressing is a bold choice,” she said, twitching her lips when she noticed. “Were you attacked by wild squirrels or just embracing your inner teenage rebel?”
“They’re vintage. And comfy,” I replied, not the least bit defensive as she handed me one of the coffees. At forty-five and divorced, I was finally free to do as I pleased, at least in theory.
She laughed. “And ventilated. Very chic. Can’t keep them on the Foxy Boutique racks for the preteens.”
After following my lead and moving to Fox Hollow, Carla found her ideal job, working at the boutique downtown. She slid into her usual seat as Tango delicately took his treat then returned to my side.
She eyed me as she sipped her coffee, then cut to the chase. “So. Elliot Granger. What’s the plan to get him out of your life?”
And there it was, the past I’d left behind by moving to New Hampshire. A shiver ran down my spine just hearing his name. My stalker. My nightmare. Tango stiffened, a low whine slipping out as his head pressed into my lap. Even he could sense my dread.
“If I knew that,” I muttered. “I might actually sleep at night. For now, I’m pretending he’ll get bored and leave.”
“You don’t believe that, Mil.”
I sighed. “Of course I don’t.”
Before I moved to Fox Hollow, I’d found a book by Emily Dickinson in a Little Free Library. Those books are always free giveaways, and at the time, I had no idea of the book’s value or who had left it there. Then Elliot Granger showed up, claiming I stole his book. He went so far as to involve the police. My lawyer and the police both confirmed that because it had been abandoned in a Little Free Library, it was legally mine. But Elliot followed me here to Fox Hollow and he wasn’t giving up his plan to get the book back.
“Honestly, Carla? I’m starting to think my only option is to sell the book.”
The back door opened without warning. Brody Drake, my next-door neighbor and Fox Hollow’s famous artist, stepped inside.
Tall, broad-shouldered, with paint smudges that clung to his hands no matter how often he washed them, Brody brought a quiet steadiness into the room. But when his eyes met mine, the calm gave way to something deeper, an intensity that made my breath catch.
“Hope I’m not interrupting,” he said with that crooked smile that could make me forget my skepticism about romance.
“Only if you’re bringing bad news,” I said.
That crooked smile widened as he slid into the chair beside me. “Depends how you define bad. I just saw Elliot Granger in town. Loud, smug, and trying to convince anyone who’ll listen that he’s here on a noble mission. I overheard him telling Paige Kinsey he’s reclaiming stolen property. I guess he figured a librarian would be sympathetic. Paige looked…unconvinced.”
My chest tightened. So, Elliot wasn’t just lingering around in the background. He was recruiting allies. About a week ago, I’d heard he was in town telling anyone who’d listen about the rare Emily Dickinson book he continued to claim belonged to him.
Hazel, my aloof black cat, perched on her windowsill throne and let out a low growl as if to echo my frustration.
Carla narrowed her eyes. “He’s still going on about that book? Now the whole town knows about it. That can’t be good.”
“He’s not exactly subtle,” Brody added, crossing his arms.
The three of us fell silent. Outside, we heard the call of the loon—long, low, and mournful. Probably a young bird, loving this beautiful spot, just as much as I did.
“I still have the book hidden in the floorboards,” I said finally. “Remember how Tango found that old diary tucked there right after I moved in? Same spot. Sometimes I swear I hear the wood groan when I walk over it, like the secret wants out. I’ve thought about selling it just to be rid of all this, but I have no idea how to start.”
“There’s a rare book dealer in town, Arthur Marsh,” Brody offered. “He owns Whispering Pages. Place is mostly used books, including first editions and oddities, too. He might be a good place to start.”
“Or we can ask Ivy and Nadine when we meet at the library for our pre-cooking club meeting,” Carla said. “They’ll definitely have opinions. You just might not like what they have to say.” She laughed. “I bet they’re already rearranging chairs and accusing someone of murder. Fictional, for now. Though with our luck, someone might end up dead by dessert.”
She wasn’t wrong. Ivy and Nadine, partners in crime solving when younger, or so they claimed, still had a flair for the dramatic. With their colorful scarves, quick tongues, and an endless supply of conspiracy theories, the retired duo treated every gathering like an undercover mission.
Brody nodded. “The Serving Up Trouble Cooking Club. Fitting, considering the week you’re having, Milly.” His voice softened. “We shouldn’t joke, though. You really thought you’d left Elliot Granger behind, didn’t you?” He gave me a gentle pat. “Don’t worry. We’ll help you figure this out.”
I had thought I’d left Elliot behind. Or at least tried to. But he had a way of rewriting history to suit himself, and the more I ignored him, the more determined he seemed to insert himself into my world. I took another sip of coffee and stared out at the lake. Trouble was definitely brewing.
Again.
Laney popped into the kitchen, ponytail swinging, smile bright.
“Good morning, Junebug. “Sleep well?” My heart always sang when my daughter strolled in. The light of my life.
“Aren’t you already supposed to be in school?” Carla asked.
“Nothing for the first two periods. I get to be a slug on Mondays.” She grabbed a scone and leaned against the counter. “So?” She glanced between us with raised eyebrows. “What’s going on here? You’ve all got your serious faces on. Spill it, or I’m telling Dad you’re up to no good again.”
“Seriously? You’d use your father like that? Despicable,” I said, narrowing my eyes.
Laney grinned, knowing exactly how to push my buttons. Being divorced but civil for her sake gave her the perfect wedge to use whenever she wanted. Not that I thought she’d actually tell Harry. But still. Since she’d chosen to live with me, Harry began showing up more often. I wanted him to be in her life, just not in mine. And with him staying in Fox Hollow after I settled into the lake house, he was never far away. The last thing I needed was Laney to hint I was in trouble.
A horn tooted outside.
“Oh!” Laney said, straightening. Dad’s here.” She grabbed her backpack, stuffed the rest of the scone in her mouth, and gave me a quick kiss. “Expecting a full report when I get home,” she whispered before darting out the door. A second honk followed.
Harry’s impatience annoyed both of us.
Brody chuckled. “She’s got you wrapped around her finger.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And not you? You with your painting lessons and helping her set up a booth at the farmer’s market last summer to sell her drawings? Please. You cater to her more than anyone.”
“Hey,” he said, sipping his coffee. “I’m not her parent. I’m her mentor. I’m allowed to spoil her.” He leaned back, grinning. “Besides, she made nearly five hundred bucks last summer, didn’t she? Not bad for a fifteen-year-old. People are starting to recognize the name Laney Rosebush. Girl’s got a future.”
My heart swelled with pride, even if Brody was laying it on thick. Laney did have talent. Maybe she’d become a professional artist one day. Maybe she’d keep it as a creative outlet. Either way, she had drive and a healthy curiosity.
Which meant she’d absolutely be back tonight demanding every last detail of my Elliot Granger problem.
And I’d better be ready.
Carla stood and brushed crumbs from her lap. “Let’s go before Ivy and Nadine start something we’ll have to clean up.”
Brody chuckled as he grabbed his jacket. “I hate to even imagine.”
They headed out the door, chatting about cooking club, snacks, and the latest town gossip, which unfortunately, was mostly about my rare book.
I lingered for a moment, staring down at the floorboards beneath my feet. The secret space. The book still hidden there like a ticking time bomb.
Tango nudged my leg gently, as if to say, You coming or what?
I grabbed my coat and whispered, “Let’s just hope today’s mystery stays between the pages.”
But deep down, I suspected it wouldn’t.
End of Excerpt
