Page 2 of Secrets Hidden In The Glass

Chapter Two

Carter Island, Massachusetts

September 2017

Callie held her head up to the brisk winds blowing off the Atlantic as the ferry brought her closer to the island. She breathed in the salty air, letting the gusty slaps of cold sting her cheeks while the boat cut through the waters the clouds had cast a dismal gray. At two thirty this morning she’d dreamt of sunshine and whale sightings on her travels north toward the Hyannis Port docks, but choppy seas and intermittent raindrops were better than spending one more minute in New York.

She shuddered as she thought of the city and glanced over her shoulder, constantly on guard against the sense of unease she hadn’t been able to shake for months—the need to run. Three weeks away in Europe promoting her latest work was supposed to have helped. When that didn’t go as planned, she’d been certain the four-week gallery tour she’d been contracted to attend would have fixed everything, but nothing seemed to shake the restless, edgy energy that kept her up most nights.

Facing forward again, she stared down at her white-knuckled grip on the bold blue railing and commanded herself to relax, even as her heartbeat began thrumming a frantic rhythm. She clutched the cool metal tighter and closed her eyes, bracing for anxiety’s cruel surges of adrenaline that often left her a pathetic, trembling mess. “Everything’s all right,” she reassured herself, then let her head hang as she heard the lack of conviction in her own voice, certain she was teetering on the perilous edge of a nervous breakdown. For surely that’s what this had to be. She was officially cracking—caving to the never-ending demands of her career and her sudden inability to create.

“Folks, take a moment and look straight ahead,” the boat’s captain boomed through the speakers, startling Callie out of her thoughts. “You’ll see Point West Lighthouse coming into view.”

Callie opened her eyes and blinked, staring at the bright beam of light far in the gloomy distance.

“Point West Lighthouse has been a beacon of hope, welcoming sailors home to Carter Island for nearly four hundred years,” the captain continued in his strong Massachusetts accent.

Callie wiped her cheeks, finding comfort in the idea as she studied the black-and-white stripes of the mighty island tower. What must it have been like to battle raging storms and contend with months of endless seas, then finally see the light? To have weathered the worst of it all and found hope waiting on the other side? She longed to have an answer—and perhaps someday she would. According to Captain Bob, the boat was due to dock in fifteen minutes and her vacation would officially begin. She needed quiet—a few weeks to pull herself together. Then maybe she could start to figure out when it was that her life had started falling apart.

Captain Bob spoke again as they approached the harbor, announcing that those with vehicles on board should head below deck. Callie wasted no time following two men and a family of four to their cars. She got in the SUV she’d rented on a whim and blew her hands warm, waiting to dock. Long moments passed before a man with an orange flag waved her off the boat and onto the island. Using the adorable hand-painted signposts as a guide, she drove toward Main Street and was instantly charmed by the small town of Sanderson—population 1,973, according to the much larger custom-made sign painted far more elegantly than the others she’d seen. Narrow tree-lined streets, brick sidewalks adorned with old-fashioned streetlamps, ancient brick and glass storefronts with bold-colored flowers spilling from window boxes. Her gaze wandered farther left toward the various clapboard and shingle-sided buildings situated closer to the beaches. How had she never heard of this place before she found the Carter Island brochure in the Boston hotel she’d stayed at weeks ago?

She braked for a stop sign and realized she was smiling as she studied the park on the next corner—a huge fountain and gorgeous flower gardens surrounded by a playground and glossy wooden benches. She sighed her delight when she spotted the old stone church farther ahead, then put on her blinker and took a right into Carter Island Realty and Rental’s parking lot. She got out, headed for the door, and frowned when she realized a manila envelope with her name on it had been taped to the glass. Pulling the envelope free, she opened the seal and gaped as she looked around, more than a little shocked that the real estate agent had left the key for her cottage where anyone could steal it. “I am definitely not in Manhattan anymore.”

She pulled out a piece of paper attached to her rental agreement and scanned the fairly simple directions that would take her a mile and a half out of town. Then she eagerly headed back to the SUV and along the coastal highway toward her new home for the next several weeks. Her gaze wandered over the long bike paths, sandy beaches, and dunes, then to the choppy water beyond as she exhaled a deep breath and felt her shoulders relaxing for the first time in far too long. She slowed as the odometer ticked off the approximate distance she was waiting for, and she made a left onto a well-maintained dirt road partially hidden among the thick forest. When she’d made her impromptu call to Carter Island Realty and Rentals late yesterday afternoon, she’d requested a property with some privacy. Clearly, Mini Sanderson had aimed to please.

Callie drove another couple hundred yards before she turned again and pulled up in front of a tiny shingle-sided cottage with a dark green door. Hints of the salty ocean and pine tree scents combined, blowing in through the small crack she’d left in her driver’s side window. “Oh.” She pressed her hand to her heart and blinked as tears blurred her vision. “This is perfect.”

Eager to be finished with her long journey, she grabbed her purse and key from the envelope, then hurried to the door and let herself inside the small living room. She stopped in her tracks when the blast of music took her by surprise.

“Well, shit.” A man’s voice carried from one of the rooms beyond.

Callie swallowed as she looked back at her vehicle, wondering if she was at the correct address, then glanced at the key in her hand that had turned in the lock. She had to be in the right place. “Hello?”

“Son of a bitch.”

She moved cautiously through the adorable space that was barely big enough for the couch, coffee table, and TV stand occupying the room, following the sounds of the band The Chainsmokers down a short hallway. She adjusted the key, securing the sharpest point between her index and middle finger to use as a weapon the way her brother had taught her years ago. “Hello?” she called again and paused in the equally adorable and tiny kitchen, lifting her eyebrow as her gaze trailed over a pair of fairly new Reeboks and ratty jeans to a gray sweatshirt-clad upper torso that disappeared beneath the sink counter.

“Jesus, what’s wrong with people?” the mystery man asked as he tossed something into a plastic bucket.

“Excuse me.” She gave his foot a gentle nudge with her sneaker and took a step back.

A tool fell with a small clatter, and within seconds the mysterious body from beneath the sink had an impressive face to go along with the rest of him. He sent her a slow, friendly grin. “Hey.”

She felt herself tense and held her breath, waiting for him to recognize her from her constant presence on the cover of tabloid magazines. When he didn’t seem to know who she was, she let her lips curve in return. “Hi.”

He stood, unfolding a well-built six-foot frame, and wiped his big hands on a dingy cloth on the counter top. “You must be the new tenant.”

She nodded, commanding herself to relax as she stared into his blue eyes.

“I’m Nate Carter, landlord extraordinaire.” He moved to shake her hand and winced as he pulled back. “Actually, we should probably skip that.”

She smiled again, finding herself surprisingly comfortable in his presence. “Callie Davis.”

“Callie Davis from the mainland. New York, right?”

She nodded again, catching subtle hints of New England in his voice as her eyes wandered over short, light brown hair with sun-warmed blond streaks scattered here and there, a long, straight nose, and firm lips. “Right.”

“Did you head over this morning?”