0425276597 by Kathleen Bridge

Author:Kathleen Bridge [Bridge, Kathleen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2016-04-05T15:25:26+00:00

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Hither Hills was a Montauk neighborhood with rolling hills and an ocean view seen from almost every vantage point. South of Old Montauk Highway was a gated beach only the residents of Hither Hills were privy to. There were no structures allowed south of the highway. Like many parcels of land in the area, the local government made preserving Montauk’s natural beauty their number one priority.

I followed Old Montauk Highway, glancing to my left at the top of each hill for a peek at the Atlantic. The ocean didn’t just sparkle under the afternoon sun, it glowed. The waves were still huge, but I wouldn’t chance learning to surf them. However, the sun helped wash away the memory of yesterday’s storm. I slowed the Jeep to read the street signs on my right. In my side-view mirror, I noticed a white van advancing behind me. The van was going so fast, its front tires did bunny hops at the bottom of each hill.

I stepped on the gas.

The van did the same.

Before I had time to think, I took a sharp turn into the closest driveway. The back end of the Jeep fishtailed 180 degrees. After a few gulps of air, I followed the circular drive until I was facing the highway.

I stopped to look both ways. The van had made a U-turn and was hurtling back in my direction. It slowed as it passed. The sun reflected off the windshield, blocking the man’s face. All I could make out was a neon orange baseball cap and a meaty forearm. I caught a glimpse of the last three digits of the license plate—123. Easy enough to remember. The bad news was, I knew by their color they weren’t New York plates.

After I sat for a few minutes, composing myself, I continued on to Rebecca Crandle’s cottage. The logical reason someone was stalking me had to do with Little Grey. I wasn’t about to scare that easily. But I would be on my guard.

The key to Rebecca Crandle’s cottage was stowed inside a fake rock near the back door. It took me about six rocks until I found the right one because I was in such a frenzy to get inside. Hither Hills was desolate in the off-season. Cottage owners sometimes returned for holiday weekends but that was about it.

I stepped inside and couldn’t believe the difference a little paint could make. As soon as I got the job, I sent over my go-to guys, a local father-and-son team, Duke and Duke Junior, to paint the interior. Now I realized if I broke down the walls, they’d have to come back, costing me more money. Tara’s smug face flashed in front of me, and I immediately went to the walls I wanted to remove, tapping to make sure there weren’t any support beams. At least something went right. A sledgehammer and Duke and Duke Junior and I’d be all set. I laid out my design plans on the floor. The

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