by Cate Conte
“You’re kidding,” my mother said. “Is he?”
“Of course not! Jeez, Mom. You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I am on your side! But I had to ask.”
“Yeah, well, it’s a stupid question,” I grumbled. But how did I know that, really? JJ had been a stray living in the local cemetery when I found him sitting near my grandma’s grave after her funeral this past summer. He followed me home one day, and I’d known from that moment that we were meant for each other. He’d found me during a huge transition period in my life, and it was no accident. If this mystery lady was a regular visitor, maybe she had adopted a cat or brought a cat over with her for her vacation and he got lost.
But no matter where JJ had come from before we’d met, there was no doubt that the two of us had adopted each other that day. And this woman wasn’t going to convince me otherwise.
“Well, what happened?” my mother demanded.
“Grandpa threw her out.”
She disguised her laugh with a cough. “I don’t doubt it. So what are you going to do?”
“Hope she gets on the next ferry and leaves me alone,” I said with a sigh. “Lucas and I have a date tonight and I’m not even in the mood to go anymore.”
“Oh, honey. You shouldn’t worry,” my mother said. “Grandpa wouldn’t let anything happen to JJ.”
“I know. It was just unsettling.” I tried to shake it off and tucked the phone between my ear and my shoulder while I perused my collection of scarves. It wasn’t even Thanksgiving yet, but winter had hit Daybreak. Plus, there was the threat of this nor’easter coming our way over the next few days. Not necessarily snow, although there could be some of that, but high winds, rain, and overall nastiness. The type of weather that canceled ferries and left us stranded over here. These were the days when I wondered what had ever possessed me to leave California.
“I can imagine. What’s Val up to?”
I grinned. “She has her hands full with Ava-Rose Buxton, which I hear you’re responsible for?”
“Oy,” my mother said. “I thought I was doing her a favor. I guess it’s not going well?”
“I think Val’s having a blast,” I said honestly. “She looked happy today even when she was rolling her eyes about going to a meeting to discuss linens. Hey, by the way. Do you know who Jason Holt is?”
“Of course,” she said immediately. “He’s one of my favorite authors. I’ve been reading all his books. It’s so helpful to read well-written books while I’m writing my own. Why?”
Now I felt even guiltier for my cluelessness. “Well, he’s actually here. On the island. He’s been working here in the cafe lately.”
“What?” my mother screeched. “And you’re just getting around to telling me this? I need to come talk to him! Do you think he’ll give me some tips? I have to pick out an outfit!”
I bit back a giggle. My mother was one of a kind. “Honestly, I didn’t recognize him until Val told me,” I confessed. “And he’s been pretty wrapped up in whatever he’s working on. But he’s coming back tomorrow. He paid for the week. I’ll see if he seems open to fan conversations and I’ll call you. Okay?”
“I’m not just a fan,” she said indignantly. “I’m a fellow writer looking for a conversation about craft. I’m coming either way. You know I can work my charms on anyone. Oh, I’m so excited! I can’t believe Jason Holt is here! At my daughter’s cafe! I’m telling all my friends.”
I cringed, sorry I’d mentioned it at all. If Holt wanted a fan club, he would’ve made his presence known. The last thing I needed was a parade of people disrupting his work, prompting him to give me a bad review or something.
“Mom, don’t tell your friends. He seems really private. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? I have to get in the shower.”
“Fine. But I’m definitely coming,” she said. “Now don’t worry about JJ. Grandpa will take care of it. Promise?”
I promised and hung up. But it was easier said than done. I knew logically that this woman couldn’t get to JJ, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was still something to worry about. I just couldn’t put my finger on what.
Chapter 5
I felt a little better after I freshened up and changed. After making sure JJ was still safely ensconced in my closed bedroom, I headed back downstairs and poked my head into the dining room/cafe. Everything was sparkling clean, the blankets were fresh, and Lucas had incense burning and jazz music playing softly.
The French doors were open and Lucas waited on the couch, combing Anastasia, one of our more easygoing residents, with his special cat comb. I had to smile. Just like I was always focused on my businesses, he was always focused on keeping the island’s cats and dogs well groomed and cared for. I was grateful—my residents certainly benefited from his dedication.
He looked up and smiled at me. “Ready?”
I nodded. He gave Anastasia one final run-through with the comb, then brought her into the cafe room and set her on top of one of the cat trees. She meowed her disapproval that her session had ended.
“Sorry, sweetie,” he said. “We’ll pick it up again tomorrow.”
He slipped his arm around my shoulder as we headed outside. “JJ all good?”
“He’s sleeping in my room,” I said. “He has no idea how much drama he caused.”
“That’s a good thing,” Lucas said, holding the door for me. “It would probably go straight to his head.” He waited until I’d walked out, then closed and locked it behind him, double-checking the lock. I kind of loved him for it, even though I wouldn’t think of saying that yet. We weren’t quite at that stage.
“I locked him in, just to be safe,” I said. “Do you think he’ll be mad?”
“Of course not. I’m sure he’ll sleep the whole time we’re gone.” Lucas opened the door of his Subaru Forester and waited until I’d climbed in, then closed it. He jumped in the driver’s seat, cranked the heat, and we pulled out of Grandpa’s driveway and headed toward town.
I gazed out the window, watching Daybreak Harbor drift slowly by. It was so different here in the off-season. Pitch black and mostly deserted at only seven thirty. In summer the sun wouldn’t have yet set. Die-hard ocean lovers would be catching the last waves of the day at our plethora of beaches. People would be clogging the streets, coming and going from the ferry, rushing around with ice-cream cones, dragging beach chairs behind them, desperate to get in every minute of sightseeing, beaching, and eating before they had to go back to their non-island lives. The energy was almost manic. Later, they’d boast to their friends about their glamorous summer on Daybreak.
But tonight—with winter creeping up on us, a storm looming, and the weather getting colder by the hour—the streets were desolate. The ferry only ran twice a day this time of year—once in the morning and once in the late afternoon—and most businesses were shuttered for the winter. At times, winter on the island could feel a little claustrophobic, especially if you thought too much about not being able to come and go as freely.
We passed Damian Shaw’s Lobstah Shack down the street from Grandpa’s. It was one of the summer-fare places that would remain open for limited hours. Since Damian’s place was a stand, he’d be doing takeout only, so it wasn’t a huge lift with a lot of overhead. Although he had invested in bright, blinking lights for his sign to attract people getting off the ferry. It wasn’t a bad idea, actually. There weren’t any fast-food places on our island, and people usually got off the ferry starving. They’d be attracted to his blinking lights like homing pigeons. And the food was surprisingly good for a midwesterner trying to be New England, so once he pulled them in, they’d likely return. Although running a takeout stand in the winter had to get really cold, in my opinion.
Damian had moved here last summer to fulfill his lifelong dream of living on the ocean and owning a restaurant. I wasn’t sure a lobster shack had been his primary dream, but he’d seized the opportunity when the local family who owned the shack moved off-island
. He didn’t want to do something else in the off-season, so he was trying to make it work. I wasn’t sure how long that would last, but I always rooted for the entrepreneurial underdog. In my unofficial job as his marketing liaison, I’d encouraged him to put some new, hot meals on the menu, so he’d been experimenting with his chowders, adding New York style as well as New England to his offerings, and he’d also been creating some new fish plates for the winter months. It wasn’t as easy as it sounded, as he was no doubt learning. As his business had done well during the summer, I hoped he’d made enough to keep him afloat. And he’d gained some fans in the locals, which was always important. I made a mental note to stop by soon.
But all thoughts of Damian fled from my mind when I saw two figures standing near the ferry parking lot under the streetlights, in deep conversation. One of them I’d know anywhere. The giant furry leopard-print coat made it a no-brainer. And the other wore a bright red parka that had seen better days. A parka that I’d seen only hours before.
“Lucas.” I pointed, noticing my hand shook. “That’s the woman. And she’s talking to Leopard Man.”
Lucas did a double take—not at Leopard Man, but the woman. She was the anomaly, not him. Everyone who lived on the island, even our newbies, had gotten familiar with our resident Quirky Character. He’d been around since I was a kid and had fascinated me even back then, mostly because of his tail. I could never resist a good tail.
Leopard Man was so-named for his consistent head-to-toe leopard-print garb, including a giant furry (fake, of course) coat during the winter. On good days, usually in the summer, his outfit included a tail. As a kid, I thought he was the coolest, although my straight-arrow father had often been a little worried at my fascination with a man who many thought of as mentally unstable. As an adult, I still thought he was pretty cool. Grandpa did, too, though I’d only recently found out they were friends. Leopard Man spoke mainly in Shakespeare, loved cats, and was a sage of sorts, always imparting some bit of wisdom at just the right moment. On any given day he could be spotted on Bicycle Street, our main drag, hanging out people watching, maybe working in his sketchbook, striking up conversations with anyone who would listen. The tourists loved him—I think some of them thought he was part of some street show, or at the very least a marketing ploy to pique their interest.
Our local population, while they were used to him, were of two camps—one group thought that he was homeless and mentally ill, and the other set believed all of it was an act and he was really a genius hiding out behind this wacky disguise. I didn’t believe the mentally ill part for a second. The genius part I could get behind, given his apparent memorization of every play and sonnet Shakespeare had ever written. The homeless part, I had no idea. But it seemed no one knew where he lived. I wasn’t sure if Grandpa knew more about Leopard Man than he let on, although I wouldn’t be surprised. Grandpa knew pretty much everything. I couldn’t imagine that, as the former police chief and a veteran of the force for most of his life, he hadn’t made it his business to know at least a few more details about Leopard Man than the rest of us.
I was concerned now, though. What was our pal doing talking to that woman?
Lucas slowed the truck, frowning. “That’s weird. Do you think they know each other?” he asked. “Or maybe she’s asking about getting off the island?”
“Maybe. I hope so.” I slid low in the seat. “Don’t go too slow. I don’t want her to notice us.”
Lucas obliged and hit the gas again. When they were mere dots in the rearview mirror, he reached over and squeezed my hand. “Don’t worry. She’s probably waiting for the next ferry. Which means she might have to wait until the morning, but then she’ll be gone.”
“I hope so,” I muttered. At this point, I’d gladly buy her a ticket myself. But still, it bothered me. I didn’t like her in the vicinity, and I didn’t like her talking to my friend.
What was she up to? It couldn’t be anything good.
Chapter 6
I tried my best to put the crazy cat lady out of my mind and enjoy our dinner. Island Thai had not only the best drunken noodles I’d probably ever had but really good cocktails, too. I loved the restaurant in general, but I loved it even more when we weren’t fighting the crowds for a table. Lucas and I were seated right away, and there was only one other party, an older couple who were focused on their curry and hardly spoke to each other.
The atmosphere was on point, the company was exactly what I wanted, and the food was even better than last time I’d been here. Still, my appetite wasn’t up to par, and I was too jumpy to even indulge in a real drink. I pushed a lot of my noodles around on my plate while I tried to keep my focus on Lucas and our conversation.
“I hope that woman gets off the island before I have to leave Friday,” he said.
He was going to Boston for a grooming convention this weekend. He’d been excited about it for a while—the promise of new tools and techniques to bring back to his shop excited him. Plus, his band, the Scurvy Elephants, had a gig at a small club while they were there.
“It’ll be fine,” I said. “But this storm is coming. I hope that doesn’t mess anything up.”
He grimaced. “I know. I don’t like to think about not being able to get back.”
“Do you think they’d cancel the convention?” I asked. I kind of hoped they would.
“I doubt it,” he said. “Not if it’s just rain.”
“We’ll just have to keep our fingers crossed that all goes well,” I said, forcing some false cheer into my voice. But I didn’t like to think about him not being able to get back, either. I’d come to depend on Lucas—I wasn’t sure how it had happened, but there it was. And I was still trying to figure out if that was okay.
“I picked up some plumbing jobs for the winter,” he said now, trying to change the subject. Even though the rent for his apartment was a third of what he paid during the summer, he still had to pay the rent on his storefront. So the plumbing was a means to an end. I knew he didn’t love it.
Like Lobstah Shack Damian, Lucas was new to the island, and experiencing for the first time how much business dropped off when the vacationers climbed aboard the ferry for the last time. While there were plenty of furry residents, there weren’t enough to keep him busy every day. Plumbing was his family business, although he’d told me many times that while he was capable, he didn’t have a lot of interest in the work. I wondered offhand how long he’d want to stay on the island if he had to do plumbing in the winter months to keep himself afloat, and that thought depressed me, too. What if he decided this life wasn’t for him and left? I mean, I wasn’t sure how long I’d stay, either, but I was definitely here for the foreseeable future. The thought of the winter months—or any months—without Lucas nearby made me feel even worse. The rest of my appetite vanished. I guess I’d gotten more into him than I’d planned.
Finally, he put his fork down. “You’re really worried about this woman.” It was a statement, not a question, and there was no judgment in his tone.
I sighed and dropped my fork, taking a sip of my Thai iced tea. It was true, so I wasn’t lying when I left out my worries about his future plans. “I am. I don’t know why, but she got really under my skin. I love my cat.” I blinked back the tears that had suddenly, mortifyingly, filled my eyes. “I don’t know what I’d do without him. Do you think she’ll try to take him away from me?”
Part of me knew I was being a little alarmist about this—I highly doubted she’d drag me into court and fight me for custody, or that a judge would entertain it even if she tried—but I had a very good imagination. And I often let my fears turn into full-blown nightmares before anything ever happened.
“Of course she got under your skin,” Lucas said, squeezing my hand. “She came into your house—not even just your place of work—and made a claim on your family member. That would disturb anyone. But you don’t have to worry about being without JJ. I’ll toss her in the ocean myself if she tries anything.” He win
ked at me.
I squeezed back, holding on tightly. He got it. I’d never really been with a guy who got it. Who got me, to be more specific, and the sometimes crazy way I viewed the world. I’d spent a lot of my time with narcissistic musicians who weren’t fit for—or interested in—real relationships. Since Lucas was a musician, too, I’d been leery at first, but even Ethan and Becky had agreed he seemed to be a Good Musician—definitely a rarity. And to quote the credit card commercial, his understanding of my attachment to JJ was priceless.
He watched me for another minute. “Want to take your food to go?” he asked.
“Yeah.” I managed a smile. “At least it will leave me room for popcorn.”
“You’re sure you still want to go to the movie?” he asked when we were back in his SUV. “I totally understand if you don’t, Mads.”
“Absolutely,” I said. “We are seeing the movie. It’s about a superhero, after all. Maybe it will give me some ideas.”
He grinned. “You don’t need any ideas. You’re already a superhero.”
I felt the red creep up my neck to my cheeks as he put the truck in gear and rolled out of the parking lot. We were only about five minutes from the movie theater. In the summer it would take us twenty, at least.
Our island was only about sixty square miles total. Daybreak Harbor was the largest town of the five that made up the island. It also had the main ferry stop, so it made sense that it was the most congested. Most summer days, it wasn’t worth it to try to drive anywhere on the island. It could take an hour to get to the next town. So bikes, roller skates, scooters, even Segways were major forms of transportation. But in the winter, well, you could actually drive. And cover the whole island in about an hour.
Lucas turned down a side street near the water, the one that led to the marina at the yacht club. I knew he was thinking it would be easiest to do a loop around this way, given all the one-way streets in the area, to get back to the heart of town. But he slowed when we saw flashing lights ahead.
