Candlelit Calamity

A menacing winter storm is forming in the Atlantic Ocean and Frostfall Island is in its path. Anna St. James and her quirky boarding house family are hoping for the best but preparing for the worst. There are candles and flashlights and firewood if the power goes out. As much as Anna dreads a bad storm, she’s looking forward to a few cozy days locked inside with her favorite people and most especially her favorite guy, Nathaniel Maddon.

The storm brings ice and wind and utter chaos, but the Moon River boarders are hunkered down and safe. Unfortunately, that’s not the case for everyone on the island. Four women arrived for an ill-timed weekend reunion at one of the island’s top rentals. When one of the women is murdered, Anna is called to sort things out. The storm has cut the island off from outside help, and now there’s a killer on the loose.

A gust of wind chilled my face. I closed my eyes until it settled back down to a breeze. Huck pushed his nose against my leg. He felt it, too. The dog was more intuitive than most when it came to the weather on Frostfall Island, our home for nearly ten years.

My gloved hand patted the top of his head. "Yep, Huck, I agree." The island was constantly being tickled, ruffled and even, on occasion, pummeled by the coastal winds, but the unexpected burst of energy carried with it the promise of a storm. How severe it would be was hard to predict, but my own intuition told me we were about to get a dose of winter that we wouldn't soon forget.

It was still early as Huck and I hiked along Chicory Trail. On these long, shadowy mornings I didn't bother with my watercolors unless there was something noteworthy in the landscape to capture. But a brittle January, made even less enjoyable by relentless glacial temperatures, had stripped the trees and shrubs of any signs of life. My normally lush, colorful, wonderful home looked like it was part of an apocalyptic movie set. I was thankful for the always stalwart evergreens, the white pines and the blue spruce trees that dotted the island and lined the path up to Calico Peak. They were a reminder that the earth was still alive and energetic and waiting for its return to glory beneath the bristly and naked trees and shrubs.

The sun had barely winked in the eastern sky. It promised to be a clear morning and, possibly, day, but standing at the tip of the trail, where the island ended in steep cliffs and a long stretch of sand known as Thousand Steps Beach, I could see a band of dark clouds that looked anything but friendly. It was too early to tell if the clouds were heading toward the island. Sometimes a storm at sea missed us entirely on its way to drop icy rain on the mainland. Occasionally, only the tail end slipped over us, giving us a nice, cold soaking and nothing more. And then there were those unlucky times when a ferocious storm plowed directly over us. On the mainland there were cities, buildings, storm drains and emergency services in place to help people weather a bad storm. On Frostfall, we were very much on our own. The residents of Frostfall loved the independence island living gave us, but in times of great calamities, like a brutal winter storm, that same independence could be daunting.

Huck's nose shot toward Olive Everheart's cottage and, most particularly, at her tray of peanuts. She left them out for the squirrels and birds in winter when the plants were no longer providing sufficient food. A squirrel sat hunched forward with a peanut in his paws. His tail was pulled up over his back, acting as a big fluffy shield from the cold. My dear friend Olive, an artist and longtime Frostfall resident, lived with her very vocal, musical parrot. She rarely left her cottage, so I visited her often with food and supplies.

I patted Huck on the head. "We need to get back to start breakfast, buddy."

The dog was reluctant to pull his attention away from the squirrel, but he followed and eventually trotted ahead of me. For many years, Huck and I hiked the same path, and we always stopped at the last wide curve on the trail to stare out at the ocean. It was the last place Huck and I stood to watch my late husband, Michael, motor out to sea on his fishing boat. One day he sailed off, and we never saw him again. It was terribly hard on me for years, and some recent events had caused me more grief. Not the same sadness and heartbreak I'd felt after his disappearance, but a new layer of grief mixed with confusion and even a few horrifying thoughts. Michael had been a seasoned fisherman. His boat, Wild Rose, was found months later, but Michael was gone and everyone assumed he'd fallen overboard. He was always stubborn about going out alone. He could never find the right help, and he was happier fishing on his own. After the boat was found, I never wanted to see it again, so I sold it at auction. The new owner recently came to the island to see me and to return a photo he was sure I'd been missing. Only the photo had nothing to do with me. A woman's arms were holding not one, but two babies, twins, and on the back was a handwritten note—"Mikey, we need to talk." I'd never heard anyone call my husband Mikey. The photo was brutally perplexing. My mother had visited (an event in itself) and brought along photo albums. Tucked between the pages and pages of my sister Cora's two high-priced, lavish weddings were a few photos of Michael's and my simple ceremony. I noticed a strange woman in one of the reception photos. I had no idea who she was, and our guest list was small enough that it was easy to conclude she had not been invited. A little research into Michael's past, namely his high school yearbook, helped me put a name to the photo. Her name was Denise Fengarten. Michael dated her in high school. The few times we talked about our dating pasts, he mentioned that Denise was too clingy, and he broke it off. The yearbook provided me with another important and equally breath-stealing detail. Denise had handwritten in Michael's yearbook, calling him Mikey, and the handwriting matched the writing on the photo. I had no idea why Michael was keeping a photo of Denise's twins in his wheelhouse, but none of the explanations I came up with were good. The whole thing had left me feeling as if I'd fallen in love with and married a complete stranger.