Page 1

Chapter 1

Harlow sat quietly, her hands in her lap while her father wheeled her back to Wynn Harbor Inn’s family cottage. A melancholy sense of loss settled in, an ache from missing her mother after visiting Ginger’s gravesite, a visit which had been long overdue.

But there was something else. An inkling of unfinished business. The cause of the fire that had taken her mother’s life had never been determined. She knew there were whispers amongst the islanders who believed David Wynn had been behind it.

For several years, Harlow suspected the same. But since her accident and return to Mackinac Island, she no longer believed her father had set the fire. To say her parents’ marriage had been strained was putting it mildly. In fact, at the time of her death, they were no longer living under the same roof.

Harlow’s father was living in the Victorian cottage, the family home. Meanwhile, Ginger had moved into the manager’s unit inside the main structure of Wynn Harbor Inn.

It was a cozy space, having everything needed for day-to-day living, but on a smaller scale. Clerestory windows brought in natural light yet weren’t functional, meaning they didn’t open. According to the fire department, the fiery inferno had started somewhere near the apartment and quickly swept through several of the main floor hotel rooms.

All the inn’s guests had escaped…everyone except for Harlow’s mother, who had been trapped in her unit.

Harlow would never forget that fateful night. The alarms. The sirens. The smoke. The heat. Frantically searching the crowd for signs of her mother. Her father had done the same.

Horrifying moments turned into hours. Standing helplessly by as the flames licked their way up the walls. Harlow stood as close as the firefighters would allow her to, praying, pleading with God for a miracle.

After the fire died down, the fire chief sought them out. He found Harlow and her father, both numb and in shock. He hadn’t said a word…hadn’t needed to. Shoulders slumped, and head down, his expression was one of defeat. He confirmed what Harlow’s father had already told her. Ginger had perished in the fire. “I’m sorry.”

Harlow remembered stumbling back, desperate to get away from the scene, unable, unwilling to face the fact her mother was gone. She ran away from the inn, down the sidewalk, blindly running until she reached Ginger’s beloved rose garden. She fell to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably as tears streamed down her cheeks.

David found his daughter there, face down on the ground. Just like he had a few minutes ago, he had picked her up and carried her home. Harlow remembered sitting on the porch. Just sitting. Barely breathing. In less than twenty-four hours, her entire world had collapsed.

The days following the fire passed by in a numbing haze. Ginger’s body was eventually found in the kitchenette of her unit. The funeral. Her burial in the small plot on the property.

Harlow’s heartbreak and pain slowly morphed into anger and bitterness, all directed at her father. It was his fault. If Harlow’s parents had been living at the cottage and under the same roof, Ginger would still be alive. He knew those windowswouldn’t open. And then when the insurance company refused to pay after the reason for the fire was undetermined, combined with the report mentioning the possibility of an accelerant being used, Harlow’s heart hardened.

Not long after, she left Mackinac Island and rented a small studio apartment on the outskirts of LA. She refused her father’s calls, threw away every note, every letter, every card he sent her. Unopened. Right in the trash.

The strained relationship continued for years until Harlow’s car accident. Without hesitation, her father, along with her best friend Eryn Marquette, had boarded a plane and flown to California. Renting a car, they drove straight to Malibu Memorial Hospital.

Of course, her husband Robert had been around but only when David Wynn and Eryn weren’t there, mostly to assess the extent of his wife’s injuries and remind her she needed to hurry up and get back on her feet before she started filming in Vancouver.

When it became clear Robert had no intention of caring for his wife, Harlow realized that, although she could easily afford twenty-four-hour care, the paparazzi would be camped out in front of her house with her trapped inside. Healing would be nearly impossible under their round-the-clock watchful eye.

Eryn and her father convinced her that returning home to Mackinac Island to recover was the only option. Every day, she thanked God she was away from prying eyes. Away from a husband who showed little concern for his wife’s health.

Even Vic, her bodyguard and friend, had left Harlow in her time of need.

“…through the fields of highlands to the Irish Sea,

Farewell to my new friends,

To all we mean to be…”

The tantalizing aroma of bacon frying wafted through the cottage’s screen door. Aunt Birdie’s off-key singing grew louder.

David eased Harlow’s wheelchair over the threshold. “What’s all the racket?”

“What racket?”

Harlow grinned at the sight of her aunt, clad in hot pink yoga pants and a Bob Seger T-shirt. Flip-flops and thick wool socks completed her ensemble.

“There you are.” Birdie’s face softened when she spotted her niece. “Your dad and I were starting to worry about you.”

“I didn’t go far.” Harlow explained she’d gone to visit her mother’s grave.

“I stopped by to say hello to Ginger last night, after I finished setting up my RV. Your dad’s kept her final resting place so peaceful and tranquil.”