My rental car is white, and since several white cars are parked along the curb, I have to click my key fob to figure out which one is mine. It gives a helpful blink of its lights, guiding me quite a few spaces to the right.
After tossing my bag into the passenger seat, I sit down behind the wheel. Why do I feel like I'm on display for everyone in town to see, even though no one is looking at me?
I suppose that just like my fictional heroine Natasha, I'm being hunted. Even though I've flown down to the middle of nowhere to be safe, that's no guarantee that my Highly Invested Reader couldn't follow me.
And if he's clever enough, he might not have personally hurled that brick through my window. Instead, he could have hired some lowlife to do it.
Which means he could reside anywhere on earth.
Wishing my mind hadn't gone down that path, I back the car into the street, then drive toward the small mom-and-pop grocery store I noticed on my way into Cedar Gap. This time, I take the precaution of pulling my hair into a ponytail and donning oversized sunglasses so I won't be recognized.
Feeling uninspired as far as meal ideas, I pick up a loaf of Italian bread, some eggs, and milk. I make my way toward the freezer aisle, hoping Micah's cabin has a microwave.
A man with a nametag reading Barry McGinnis, Owner appears at the end of the aisle. He catches my eye and gives me a wide smile.
"Are you Miss Dubois?" he asks.
I'm at a loss for words. "Why do you ask?" I finally manage.
He comes closer, so I take a healthy step back. "I'm Barry—my wife and I own this store. Micah Brennan contacted me to let me know you'd be coming. I assured him we could set up online grocery delivery for you, so you wouldn't have to come into the store each time."
With a relieved exhale, I offer him a small smile. "I'm Alexandra Dubois, yes. And that would be so helpful."
"Great—sounds like a plan. On your way out, you can drop by our office. It's just past the checkout, through the door on the left. My wife Hope will set that up for you."
He gives me a friendly nod and moseys off. I grab several frozen entrees, toss a few more items in my cart, then make my way toward the checkout. Once I've gathered up my bags, I head toward the office door and give it a knock.
A freckled redhead opens it right away, giving me a model-gorgeous smile that crinkles the corners of her brown eyes. She's probably in her late forties, but she strikes me as the young-at-heart type that never seems to age.
"You must be Alexandra. I'm Hope McGinnis, and I'm so pleased to meet you. Any friend of Micah's is a friend of ours." She ushers me toward a seat next to her desk. Opening her laptop, she says, "I'll just need a few details to get you all set up to order groceries through our online app." As she taps in my information, she gives me a conspiratorial look. "I recently picked up one of your books from our library. I couldn't put it down."
I appreciate that she doesn't pin me with an expectant stare or ask probing questions about my writing process, because I don't even feel like being Alexandra Dubois today.
"That's nice," I say. I still haven't figured out a natural-sounding response for readers who gush over my books.
She angles her head toward me. I get the fleeting impression that she can see straight through my awkwardness and into my scattered—and fearful—thoughts.
Her gaze softens. "Micah mentioned that you're interested in keeping your whereabouts private while you're here. Rest assured, either my husband or I will personally deliver your groceries. No one else will know who you are or where you're staying."
"Thanks."
She falls silent as she types something in. Is she waiting for me to explain my need for anonymity?
"There's no need to share why," she says, as if reading my mind. "I'm silent as the grave when it comes to my friends' secrets, and I hope you'll come to see us as friends while you're staying in Cedar Gap." She picks up a paper from a small stack on the desk and hands it to me. "This has all your login information and instructions as to how to place your online orders. We deliver after seven, every night except Sundays."
Barry walks into the office. "You get everything squared away?"
Hope nods, then turns to me. "Do you know how to get to the cabin? It's a little tricky to see that turn-off."
"Micah's assistant gave me thorough directions," I say. "I think I can find it."
Barry looks thoughtful. "It's a unique place. Huge as all get-out."
I'd guessed it was big enough for a small group of writers, given that Micah had told me they'd done author retreats there, but Barry was making it sound like a mansion. Incredulity must show on my face, because Hope quickly chimes in.
"It really is gorgeous—more like a resort, really. It has five bedrooms and baths, and all kinds of amenities."
I should've guessed that a New York City editor wouldn't have settled for a mere shack, but Micah had given me no indication his place was so rigged out. "What kinds of amenities?"
Barry clears his throat. "Well, there's a movie theater room, from what I understand, and an enclosed gazebo. I think there's a pool table as well, and some whirlpool-type tubs."
"There's a sauna, too," Hope adds quietly.
Barry cuts a sharp glance toward his wife. He opens his mouth as if to say something, then seems to think better of it.
"Be careful up there all alone." Hope's dark eyes meet and hold mine. "I might as well tell you, since you'll hear it anyway if you stay any length of time. A woman died in the cabin, a year after it was built."
SIX
Iblink rapidly, trying to assimilate this information. The accident Micah mentioned was actually a woman's death?
Hope rushes to explain.
"The house was set up to be a vacation rental. Everything was going well, and guests seemed to like it. Occasionally, a writer's group would come in to brainstorm. Micah had us stock the house with groceries beforehand, since the writers didn't get into town much." She shakes her head. "Unfortunately, with this particular guest, the latching mechanism on the sauna locked up, and she wound up suffocating. The police found that she'd cranked the heat up way too high, plus she'd been drinking beforehand, so those things, coupled with the door malfunction, led to her death. It was one of those senseless accidents. She was only twenty-seven."
"Micah was devastated," Barry says. "He told me he'd never rent the place out again. It's a waste, if you ask me, that huge place sitting vacant. He comes in maybe a couple of times a year, sometimes with friends or family, but he's leaving a lot of income on the table for something that couldn't have been helped, and I told him that."
It sounds like Micah is pretty close with Barry and Hope, which puts me at ease around them. Plus, Barry's affectionately rubbing Hope's shoulders as he speaks, which tells me that their marriage is solid, too. Renard never would've done something like that for me, even if I'd asked for a massage to ease the tension of a particularly grueling writing day. He would've told me to hire someone, since I could afford it.
