Peril on the Peninsula, Chapter 1
Sunlight sparkled through the trees like fireflies. Alex opened the car windows. Pine. It smelled like pine. And dirt. And water. It wasn’t the brine of the sea, but she could still smell Lake Michigan. Its vast expanse was like a homing beacon.
It was a late August afternoon. She’d followed the coast north from Chicago, taking her time to stop at each lighthouse she could find. Despite celebrating her 51st birthday just three months before, childlike wonder consumed her. It was no surprise, really; surviving breast cancer could do that for a person.
Alex tipped her head towards the window, the wind buffeting her short curls. Even that filled her with joy. In the past year, she’d left her condo only for medical treatments. She’d never been so lonely or isolated. Every time she saw her nurses, she’d begin a monologue that ran the entire four hours she sat in the chair. Those saints gracefully listened, replied when appropriate, and the following week would ask her about things she’d mentioned the week before. They made the worst time of her life, if not enjoyable, at least bearable.
The only people she saw besides her medical team were her best friend Emily, her now-ex boyfriend Ben, and the couriers who dropped groceries at her door. While she was grateful that she could order whatever she wanted and it would simply show up, the isolation made her stir-crazy. Alex gravitated towards solitude, but for someone who traveled for a living, being stationary was stifling.
But she’d finished her treatments. She’d faced the beast and was cancer free. To celebrate, she accepted an invitation to visit a small town in Wisconsin’s famous Door County. She was joining a select group of travel writers for a few days of exploration, research, and, if things were like they’d been before her diagnosis, outright pampering.
Alex was ready. Oh boy, was she ready.
As she neared her destination, occasionally she’d pass a sign planted next to the road. “Save our home. Say NO to Kaine’s Course!” it pleaded. Her old instincts raised their eyebrows. Could it be? She’d ask. She’d be on the peninsula for three days, and she would learn as much as possible about the place in that short time. Her heart sped up. “Do I even remember how to do this?”
She squeezed the steering wheel and took a deep, calming breath. “Yes, you do, Alex,” she muttered to herself. Then said it again, louder. She did this often. Pep talks were how she’d gotten through the last year, and she knew they’d get her through the next few days.
Boutiques soon replaced the groves of birches and cypress and the cottages that overlooked the lake. She turned into a circular driveway and saw the red top of a lighthouse beyond the roof of a two-story lodge. The entrance was an impressive dark timbered A-frame. Although it was summer, she pictured it covered in snow, with garlands of lights strung across its front.
Alex pulled into a spot to the right of the entrance and turned off the car. She steeled herself. Took another calming breath. Got out, slung her laptop bag over her shoulder, pulled her carry-on out of the trunk and walked towards the front doors. She gripped the handle of her suitcase. “Pull it together,” she said. “You can do this.” Inhaling deeply, she lifted her head, rolled her shoulders back, and entered the historic inn.
She paused in the entry, her eyes adjusting to the dim lighting after the bright afternoon sunshine. Straight ahead was a wide staircase with curving banisters of dark polished wood, carved from logs and worn smooth from decades of use. The reception desk lined the wall to the right, and Alex walked over.
A statuesque young woman looked up. When she smiled around a mouthful of braces, it was obvious she was a teenager. The older Alex got, the younger everyone else appeared. By the time I’m sixty, I’ll think she’s twelve, she thought.
“Welcome to The Mast,” the receptionist said. “Are you checking in?”
“Yes. My name’s Alex Paige,” she noted as she pulled out her driver’s license and a credit card. “I’m one of the writers who’s visiting this week.” She reached down to scratch the ears of a fluffy fat cat that had padded over to rub against her calf. The white Persian turned its head so Alex could get the exact spot behind the ear; its face was so flat it looked like he’d run headlong into a wall. She stood up and brushed white fur off her hands.
“Ah - you’re our first to arrive! And I see you’ve met Alvin.”
Alex raised an eyebrow and smiled. “As in Alvin’s Landing? Is he named for the town, or is the town named for him?”
The receptionist giggled. “He definitely likes to think the town is his, don’t you?” she said to the cat. “Alvin here was a stray that kind of took over the place, so Evelyn, the owner, named him after her great-great-grandfather. Hold on, I’ve got something for you.” She turned around and picked up one of several gift baskets arranged on the credenza. Alex could see an envelope with her name on it, a journal, a coffee mug, and a bag of chocolate-covered cherries, among other goodies nestled in the wicker.
“And the great-great-grandfather is who they named the town for,” Alex confirmed, looking at the teenager’s name tag. “Is that right, Lindsay?”
“Exactly! Landed here during a storm and never left. The whole story’s on a USB drive in your basket.” Lindsay placed two plastic cards in a sleeve and set it on the counter. “Here’s your keys. You’ll be on the second floor at the end of the hall.” She leaned over and whispered, “You’ve got stairs to the beach next to your room; I think it’s the best spot in the place!” Lindsay winked, then straightened up and continued in her official voice. “Your itinerary’s in the basket as well, and the opening reception begins at six tonight in the Schooner Room.” Lindsay pointed up the stairs. “It’s right up there at the top. You can’t miss it.”
“Thank you. Will you be at the reception?”
“Oh no,” she said. “I just man the desk. I guess I should say I woman it,” she giggled again. What a delightful young lady, Alex thought. “But I’m sure I’ll see you lots over the next few days. Enjoy your stay.”
Before Alex turned around, a voice purred in her ear, “What’s a fine specimen like you doing in a place like this?” She’d recognize that voice anywhere.
“William!” Alex spun around and hugged the gorgeous man behind her.
“What are you doing here?” he said.
“Well, hello to you, too! I decided last minute - as in yesterday. I wasn’t sure how I’d feel.”
“I’ll forgive you for not telling me, then,” he said. “I am SO glad to see you. Would you look at that hair! It’s coming back thick. Very Cruella de Vil. Love it.” William grabbed Alex’s chin and turned her head left and right, like he was her grandmother making sure she looked healthy. Which, in a way, was exactly what he was doing. “It suits you.”
Alex patted her curls, short and black and streaked with gray. She knew it wouldn’t be long before she’d have a hard time taming them. That was just fine with her, since until two months ago she didn’t know if her hair would ever grow back.
“Thank you, thank you. I’m getting used to it.” The two grinned at each other like a couple of lovesick teenagers, although they were nothing of the sort. The first time Alex and William met had been four years before on a press trip on the Mississippi River. They hit it off immediately, mainly because they both had a crush on the same guy. William left Missouri with a phone number, and Alex had found a new friend.
“And look at you, Mister Oh-So-Rugged. Seems like campervan life still suits you.”
William preened. He somehow made preening look natural, like it was the only appropriate response to compliments. “Yes, yes it does, doesn’t it?” he said. “I tell you, though. I am ready for a few nights of de-luxe accommodations.”
“You and me both,” she said. Alex hoisted her gift basket. “Looks like they’ll be taking care of us this week. After this past year, I am ready.”
“I bet you are,” he said, and turned to check in with Lindsay, stooping to pet Alvin first. “Well, hello there, Mr. Fatty Flatty-Face! They didn’t tell me a feline’d greet us. This day keeps getting better.”
While Alex waited, she scoped out the lobby. A giant globe sat between shelves laden with leather-bound books and mariners’ navigational tools. She recognized a sextant, a few telescopes, and several compasses. Lithographs of schooners and aged photos of the inn’s early beginnings lined the walls. Leather couches and chairs studded with brass tacks sat in clusters designed for conversation. On the other side of the room, the gift shop displayed branded apparel, plus books on ship lore, how-to fishing and hunting guides, and marine-themed keepsakes. There were even a few ships-in-glass-bottles. The whole place felt like a throwback, what she imagined a seafarer’s library would be. It was warm and charming, and she felt instantly at home.
William had just thanked Lindsay when a petite woman with wavy red hair and a sprinkle of freckles across her cheeks stormed into the lobby. The woman stopped abruptly, spinning to face a skinny man in a button-down plaid shirt. Alex thought he looked like someone trying simultaneously to be preppy and rugged. Neither worked.
The redhead jabbed a delicate finger at the man. “You knew,” she seethed. Even from yards away, Alex could see the woman was seething. “You knew what he planned to do all along, didn’t you?”
The man reached out, but the woman brushed his hands away.
“Evelyn,” he said, “what did you think was going to happen? That he was going to plunk down all that money and not change a thing? This is an investment, hon. The inn needs to change.”
“No, it does not. It is just fine the way it is,” she said, each syllable clipped like her words were being transmitted by telegraph.
“Evelyn, Evelyn, c’mon. You know things can’t stay the same,” he whispered, putting his hands on her shoulders. This time, she let him. “You know this. I know you do.”
The woman slumped and nodded slightly with her eyes fixed on the floor. William moved next to Alex. “Don’t stare,” he whispered. Alex turned her head away, realizing she was going to have to get used to being around people again.
Evelyn must have caught the movement with her peripheral vision, because she looked over. She visibly shook herself off, pasted a smile on her face, and walked the few steps towards them with her hand outstretched. “Hello there,” she said. “You must be a couple of the writers here for the week.”
Alex shifted her gift basket on her hip so she could take the proffered hand. “Hi, I’m Alex, and this is William.”
“Oh, I’m sorry!” the woman laughed. “I should have seen you had your hands full. I’m Evelyn Dahl. My brother, Lars, and I own,” she paused; “owned this inn and we’re thrilled you’ll be staying with us.”
“If your lobby is any indication, we’re going to love it here,” William said.
Evelyn looked at the man with whom she’d been arguing, who was now standing next to her, with what seemed like vindication. He ignored the pointed glare and reached out his hand.
“Hi, I’m Nicholas Langley, but my friends call me Nick,” he said, shaking their hands with the vigorous attention of a used car salesman. Or a politician. “I’m Village President.” Of course you are, Alex thought. “More importantly, I’m engaged to this lovely woman and I can tell you she runs a tight ship,” he said while draping his arm around the redhead. “Ba dum bum.”
Evelyn’s smile thinned. She bent down to pick up Alvin, using the movement to step gracefully away from her fiancé. “Lindsay, it looks like these are our first to arrive. I’m going to head to the marina, but I’ve got my radio; will you let me know when the rest of our writers check in?”
Lindsay nodded, and Evelyn turned back to Alex and William. “I’m sure Lindsay mentioned the itinerary’s in your basket. My card’s in there, too, so if you need anything during your stay, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”
She set Alvin on the back of a couch, turned around, and headed to the opposite corner of the room, walking under a driftwood sign carved with “This way to The Rowdy Cormorant” and disappeared downstairs. The cat jumped down and padded after her, and Alex’s eyes followed, noticing the marina through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Nick watched Evelyn, then he turned back and quickly shook Alex’s and William’s hands, although not quite as aggressively this time. “It was nice meeting you both. I’ll be at the reception this evening, and I look forward to talking with you more.” He slicked back his hair with his right hand and, to their surprise, turned and walked out the front door.
“Huh,” William said. “I thought for sure he’d follow her.”
“You and me both.” They began walking towards the elevators. “Seems like this trip may be a little more interesting than normal.”
“Oh, Alex, every trip with you is interesting.”
William was Alex’s travel writing buddy, and she especially looked forward to any press trip when she knew he’d be there. Knowing he’d be on this trip had influenced her decision to attend. That, and because if she didn’t get out of the house soon, she’d pull out her very short hair and she didn’t want to have to grow it all over again.
William specialized in outdoorsy adventures and wrote for the biggest national and airline publications. He traveled the country in his campervan, Bessie, named after his spunky grandmother. She’d been a rebel soul who hated being confined to one place. After she died, he quit his corporate job, bought a campervan, christened her for the woman who’d always inspired him, and never looked back. The life, as Alex said, suited him, and he had the freedom to indulge his passion for nature. His devotion to the great outdoors came through in beautiful, lyrical prose that made the reader feel like she was waking up to the same bubble-gum colored sunrise he did.
Small towns were Alex’s area of expertise. She believed that every place, and every person, had a story, and she wanted to tell all of them. People opened up to her; it was a gift that meant her pieces always had that something extra. She’d begun her career as an investigative journalist and was making a name for herself when she realized she couldn’t do it anymore. Uncovering corruption was worthy and necessary, and she knew that, but she was too much of an empath. It was destroying her soul.
After one last story that ended up in a conviction, but with no justice, she quit. She’d had a dream as a young girl to travel the country and tell its stories and decided that’s exactly what she was going to do. It had been five years, and although she occasionally freelanced, she published most of her work on her own site. Alex had a fierce independent streak and wanted editorial control. Writing for herself had the added benefit of paying much better, and much more consistently.
Until last year.
“You really do look great,” William said.
Alex smiled and thanked him. They got off the elevator on the second floor. “We’ve got a couple of hours before the reception,” she said. “I’m going to tour the grounds. Want to join me?”
“I’d love to, but I’ve got to file a story,” he looked at his watch, “within the next forty-five minutes. I’ll text you when I’m done.” He bussed her cheek and opened the door to his room.
“Sounds good. Have fun writing!” She walked to the end of the corridor and entered a spacious suite with a plush, king-sized bed, a couch and coffee table, a desk, and a wet bar, where she set down the basket. What grabbed her attention, though, were the picture windows and the glass door that led to a balcony. She stepped out and looked over the marina and its rows of mostly empty docks; the sail boats, speedboats, fishing boats, and yachts must be out for the day. Lake Michigan danced, the light reflecting on the ripples like fireworks. A tear slid down her cheek.
“I’m here,” she thought. “I’m back.”
This was going to be harder than she realized. More than once in the last year she thought she’d never be a travel writer again. The interminable treatments, the nausea, the parade of side effects that continued to pop up even now, two months after her last radiation - would she ever be truly done?
She decided it didn’t matter if she was or wasn’t, if she ever felt healthy, or strong, or like her old self. She knew she would never feel like her old self again.
And that was okay. Because, really, how could she?
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