Call me tonight. It’s important.
The handwriting is feminine and unfamiliar.
I spread the rest of the papers across the desk. One is a hand-drawn map marked up in Nathan’s distinctive style. It isn’t the map Scott’s team showed me. This one is more detailed and handwritten, with some sections marked in red ink.
My brow furrows.
You were exploring deeper than we thought, weren’t you?
Among the papers is a sheet full of symbols, a chaotic scrawl, uniform and consistent. I tilt my head, squinting.
A startled breath escapes me. Nathan, you genius.
Ding stirs, lifting his head.
The code. A language we’d created as kids—a private shorthand for secrets. I recognize the first combination immediately. He’d used it so many times. It saysMaddie.
He wrote this to me.
It’ll take time to decipher the rest of the message, but one scribbled note, uncoded, an absentminded doodle, stands out like a warning.
I don’t trust him.
Chapter 4
Maddie
An earthy aroma of rosemary, garlic, and onions sizzling in olive oil wafts from the pan. Adjusting the flame until the crackling vegetables simmer, I wipe my hands on a striped dish towel and peer out the window at the gravel driveway. No one’s out there. We’re expecting the rest of our guests tonight and I offered to prepare the main dish, one of Nathan’s favorites. I’m a pretty good cook, but it’s been months since I’ve made a hot meal for myself. I hope I’m not rusty.
“Dinner smells delicious,” Ms. Connor says from the kitchen island. Expertly, she slices through a crusty loaf of bread, the knife thudding against the cutting board with each downward motion.
“Thanks. I just hope it’s edible.”
“Don’t be modest. You’ve been a blessing these past few days. I’m going to keep you.”
She directs me through another task—folding napkins. Helping with the inn chores has been comforting, and I’ve quickly picked up on the routines of the place. Between jobs,I’ve continued to go through Nathan’s things, but I put aside the coded words. I’ll need to dig through my old journals to find keys to decipher his coded messages. I cringe when I think of the multiple boxes of old junk I have in storage. It’s going to take a small project to get through all of them.
Ouch. A sharp sting pulls me from my thoughts. “Dang it.” I put the bottom of my palm to my mouth, trying to soothe my hand.
“Careful, honey.”
I walk over to the sink and run cold water over the red welt. Once the stream takes the edge off the pain, I return to the pan and stir the food. The crunch of tires on gravel pulls my attention away from the stove. Ding, snoozing near the front door, perks up and heads to the sounds. Low, animated voices carry through the open windows, followed by the heavy thuds of car doors closing and footfalls.
“They’re here,” Ms. Connor announces, wiping her hands on her apron as she bustles toward the front entrance. “Keep an eye on that pan, dear. You don’t want it to burn.”
Curiosity gets the better of me. I wander over and stand by the kitchen entryway. A group of men step onto the porch. They could all use a good shower, filthy after what appears to have been a long day’s work. One man stands out with his athletic build and rust-blond hair ruffled just enough to appear effortlessly styled. His rolled-up sleeves reveal muscular forearms and faint scars marking his skin—hints of a risk-taker’s life. There’s tension in his shoulders, a subtle weariness.
Wes Harrington.
His name was tossed around all week, and I’d seen him from a short distance at the marina. But up close, his presence is magnetic, like an exotic animal at the center of a zoo exhibit. He’s used to turning heads.
Ms. Connor ushers the group inside. Wes’s voice rises above the others, smooth and confident. “Ms. Connor, it’s a pleasure finally meeting you in person.” Instead of shaking her hand, he kisses it.
“About time you showed up,” she replies, pulling her hand away and wagging a finger at him. “Dinner will be done soon. You’ve still got some time to clean up.” She eyes his wrinkled shirt.
“Sorry, I’m late. We promise to be presentable and on time for dinner.” He pulls off the video camera which was hanging from a strap around his shoulder. “We’ve been stuck out on the boat for a couple of days but got some great footage of the island’s surrounding waters.” He shows Ms. Connor the screen. “Today, we filmed in Carter’s Drop.” He turns the camera off and puts the strap back over his shoulder. “We ran into Scott and his crew while we were there.”
She purses her lips. “You need to stop messing with Scott. Everyone’s talking. He’s been through enough and doesn’t need the drama.”
