It was a refreshing change from the quiet seclusion of the rental house, which was starting to feel like a prison. Sure, the house was lovely and in a beautiful spot, surrounded by trees and water. But for the last twenty-four hours—especially the last four—she’d felt so damn isolated. Driving toward the town’s harbor, Susan kept a lookout for Allen’s black BMW. So far, she’d had two false alarms, but had yet to spot the real thing. She routinely glanced in the rearview mirror at Mattie, who seemed mesmerized by all the scenery. “Look it, look it, look it!” he said, pointing out the window at a twenty-foot weathered-bronze sea lion statue in a park, which also had benches, a garden, and a little playground. The town center was full of quaint shops and restaurants. At one intersection, Susan looked longingly at a rambling, white-trimmed, grey cedar-shake building with a turret and a front porch. It was surrounded by a small garden of pansies, and the sign in front, an old-fashioned shingle type, which read: THE SMUGGLERS’ COVE INN The Captain’s Table Restaurant Pool – In-Room Movies – Jacuzzi Suites Available Susan decided that if Allen didn’t reappear by 4:30, she’d pack their things, leave another note for him, then come back and check into a room here at The Smugglers’ Cove Inn.
