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Martinstillhadn’t been kidnapped by a chainsaw-wielding motorcycle gang.
He was a little disappointed, but likely it was for the best.
As he stood by the kitchen table staring out the kitchen window at nothing, Martin ate a quick lunch. A slice of turkey slapped between two slices of bread. Not exciting, but his stomach stopped complaining.
With his hunger satisfied for the time being, he decided to finally investigate the contents of the rickety storage shed. Honestly, he’d rather go to the dentist or watch paint dry, but he hadn’t decided on any colors yet, inside or out, and didn’t need dental work, so neither of those were options.
Three full days in, and he was tired of unpacking boxes and not knowing where to put his stuff. The to-do list did not seem to be getting any shorter. The shed, however, made him wary. Who knew what kind of creepy crawlies made their homes in there? He was about to find out.
Armed with a heavy ceramic coffee cup and the key he hoped worked on the padlock, Martin hitched up his jeans and headed back outside. Setting his coffee down, he eyed the lock. It was rusty and grimy from the sea air. He tugged at it; the thing held firm.
“Okay, here goes nothing.”
Forcing the tiny gold-colored key into the rusty padlock, Martin sent a little prayer to the gods before twisting. Incredibly, the key turned and the lock popped. One sharp tug and the door opened with a howling screech.
“Sound effects, just what I needed.”
Picking up his mug, Martin took a deep breath and took one step inside.
The interior was his personal nightmare. As grim as he’d imagined. Worse than grim. Macabre. Monstrous. Thick dusty cobwebs hung in the corners, festooned with nasty crawly things—or the remains of nasty crawly things, which were just as bad. Stacks of cardboard boxes had sort of melted into each other, oozing into something almost unrecognizable.
There were definitely going to be spiders.
The drafty structure’s better days had probably been long before Martin was born. If he wanted to use it for storage, he’d have to drag out what had been abandoned inside and invest in some weatherproof crates. At the very least.
Taking a fortifying swig of coffee, he stepped farther inside, eyeing the contents of the shed with great suspicion. The dank darkness screamed,Here there be spiders.He was deep in problem-solving-mode—as in figuring out how to clean everything out without touching any of the boxes and wondering if lighting it on fire would be a legitimate solution—when he heard a light knock on the doorframe. Flinching, he lurched upward, the top of his head brushing against the shed’s low ceiling.
“Fucking hell,” he shrieked, brushing frantically at his head and praying no arachnids or their relatives had fallen into his hair. His heart pounding against his ribs, he turned to see who’d scared the crap out of him.
“Oh, uh, hi there. Sorry about that.”
An older woman waited in the doorway. Her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled back into a practical ponytail, and she was smiling at him.
Not a serial killer. Someone perfectly harmless.
Had Lizzy Harlow’s last thoughts been something like that? Had she’d thought she was safe wherever she was and with whoever she’d been with? And instead, the worst had happened. Pushing the dark thought aside, Martin faced his guest.
The visitor held a plate of what looked like cookies. This had to be Wanda Stone, Xavier’s mother. Martin spotted the resemblance between her and his real estate agent once his heart stopped trying to leap out of his chest and crawl away.
“No worries,” she greeted him cheerfully. “Sorry I scared you! I’m Wanda Stone. I stopped by to welcome you to Cooper Springs properly.”
“No worries. I was lost in thought.” He motioned over his shoulder to the stack of boxes and other, less-identifiable objects.
She nodded, smiling kindly. “Not regretting moving here already, I hope?”
“No, of course not,” Martin assured her. “I love it here. Cooper Springs felt like home the moment I got out of the car to look at the property.”
Wanda beamed even brighter, if possible, reminding Martin of Xavier’s smile when he’d signed the papers. “We’re all so glad you’re here, Martin—can I call you Martin? Or do you prefer Professor Purdy?” As she spoke, she held the plate—protected with plastic wrap—out to him.
Having just taken a sip of coffee, Martin barely managed avoiding spewing the liquid all over his shirt at her question. “Martin, please,” he rasped and coughed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before accepting the plate. “I left the professor stuff behind in Seattle.”
“Well, Martin, my son speaks quite highly of you. I made these chocolate chip cookies this morning. I hope you aren’t allergic to anything. Just in case, there aren’t any nuts in them. Maybe you won’t mind sharing a few with Nick? I do worry about that boy.” She stepped back, shooting an assessing glance around the shed. “If you’re looking for temporary storage, Rufus Ferguson has a couple trailers he rents to the drama club and things like that, he might have a spare. He’s easy enough to find at the pub, or here. I’ll just give you his number.”
After scribbling a phone number on the back of a business card for the Cooper Springs Thrift Shop, Wanda departed, leaving Martin a bit bemused, holding a plate of homemade cookies and wondering if he wanted to share them with Nick Waugh.
Abandoning the shed for the time being, Martin took the plate with him into his cabin and set it down on the coffee table. He could decide later whether Nick Waugh deserved cookies.
Martin hadn’t spoken to Nick since offering him a ride home on Saturday evening. He had watched him drive off that morning in a car that looked a lot like Xavier Stone’s. The big clue, of course, had been Xavier himself behind the wheel. Nick had returned only an hour ago, carrying some kind of box, and scurried up the hill to his house. At which point, Martin decided he didn’t need to be a nosy neighbor.
