Page 23 of First Street (Harbor View Cozy Fantasy #1)

Chapter Nineteen

Skye

I didn’t have a key, and for some reason, Ocean was taking forever to let me in. While I waited for her to come down, I scrolled through my phone. Two missed calls from unknown numbers and a string of texts, half of them work-related, the rest from friends checking in.

Then there was Rhys.

Schedule for the shoot has changed. When is your mother’s funeral?

No ‘ How are you? ’ No ‘ How’s Ocean holding up? ’ Just the usual. Him and the movie business first. Always.

And Ocean and me? A distant, distant second. If that.

I took a deep breath. I hated that I always got defensive. But to be fair, he’d given me enough reason for it.

No date yet. I’ll let you know.

I hit send.

His reply came fast.

Let me know today. I’ll try to make it.

Wow. Try . I shook my head and plugged in a thumbs-up emoji. What else was there to say?

And then, as if the universe needed to rub it in, another message pinged in. Not from him. This one from O’Connor Mortuary.

Can you please call us? This is urgent.

Urgent ? What could be urgent at a funeral home? Had someone stolen my mother’s body?

I didn’t let myself spiral. Not out loud, anyway. The door creaked open, and Ocean appeared in the doorway, looking strangely apologetic. I gave her a quick thanks, sat on the stoop, and tapped Call .

It took a minute before I was connected with Amy, the woman handling Clare’s arrangements. Her tone was gentle, warm, like someone accustomed to navigating fragile ground. We briefly exchanged some small talk, the kind where you both pretend things are normal. Then she got to the point.

“We don’t like to hold the remains of a loved one longer than two weeks,” she told me.

“Connecticut doesn’t set a strict deadline for burial or cremation, but most funeral homes try to move forward within that timeframe for practical reasons.

It’s really about space and preserving the body with dignity. ”

Two days ago, I’d convinced myself I had a little time.

But what was I really waiting for? If someone had pushed my mother—if her death wasn’t accidental—would holding on to her change anything?

It’s not like I could walk into the sheriff’s office and expect them to discover new evidence from Clare’s body at this point.

Besides, the truth was I really had nothing definite. Just the suspicions of a ghost and the word of a teenager looking for his weed.

“Would next week be okay?”

“Ah. Yes. Of course,” Amy replied, the surprise in her voice softening into something almost kind.

Then, I heard computer keys clacking. “Let me see. We have next Wednesday open. That would give us time to run a notice in the paper too. If you can get me the obituary by Monday morning, we’ll make sure it’s in… ”

Sunday night. Obituary due.

Wednesday. Funeral.

Somehow, those were the only words that seemed to matter now.

After ending the call, I texted Rhys the date. He replied with a thumbs up emoji. Of course he did.

Still riding the momentum of actually making decisions, I called Bernie. He picked up on the first ring.

“I’m not ready to part with anything right now,” I told him. “What do you think about me renting a storage unit? We could just pack up everything that doesn’t belong in the house and move it there for now.”

“You’re not thinking of opening the Salt Box for business anytime soon, are you?”

“No.”

“Then forget the storage unit.” He chuckled. “Your mother always swore up and down she’d never get one. She said that’s only for hoarders and amateurs.”

“I can barely breathe in this house, Bernie.”

“I get it. Listen, I’ll bring a couple of my guys over. We’ll rearrange the stuff in the barn and move everything in the house out there.”

“When?”

“When do you want me?”

“Today?”

“Okay. This afternoon it is.”

As I nodded, more to myself than anyone, a car rolled past slowly. Tinted windows. I couldn’t see the driver, but I had a feeling I was being watched. Maybe I was just on edge. Maybe not.

“While you’re here,” I added, “could you change the locks on the barn? Both doors. I don’t want people trespassing.”

“I can do that.”

“And will Mateo be one of your helpers?”

“Do you want me to bring him?”

“Yes.”

“He didn’t do it, Skye. I’m telling you. I’d stake my name on it. That kid wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“That’s not why I asked. I actually like having him here, working with you. If he used to be around Clare’s house, I want that to continue. If feels right.”

Also, I wasn’t feeling great about our talk with Mateo. We’d looked at him with full on suspicion. Judged him too quickly.

Arthur had vouched for him again this morning while we were locking up the barn. Said the kid was solid. Reliable. Kind.

That should count for something. It did to me.

And even though he admitted to smoking weed, I wouldn’t want that to cost him his job with Bernie. I mean, how many kids didn’t smoke weed these days?

I stood up, ready to go into the house, when my phone buzzed.

Karen White . Of course. The realtor’s name lit up my screen like a warning flare.

I let out a sharp breath through my nose.

Ever since I’d called her, she’d been fanning flames that didn’t shouldn’t have been lit in the first place.

According to Arthur, she’d started dropping hints and chatting up locals, making it sound like the house was already on the market.

And this morning? Elara Vance had taken that gossip as permission to break into the Salt Box.

I answered, cutting her off before she could launch into a new pitch. I’d spoken to her twice. That was enough to know she liked the sound of her own voice.

“Good morning, Karen. I assume you got my text about canceling tomorrow.”

“I did, but I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t tell you I’ve got a cash-offer buyer ready to move?—”

“Karen,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, “Please, just listen. My mother’s funeral is next Wednesday. I’m snowed under with the arrangements and the legal mess. And frankly, I don’t have space in my brain for this right now. Can we pick this up next week?”

“I completely understand,” she said, tone softening just enough to sound like sympathy before pivoting right back into pitch mode. “But this buyer is only in town for the weekend.”

“There’ll be other buyers,” I snapped.

“Of course,” she said smoothly. “But this one’s different.

He’s a Michelin-starred chef. He’s been scouting properties all over Harbor View and the surrounding towns.

Historic homes, character, charm. I’ve shown him a dozen places, and none of them clicked.

But Clare’s house? He’s driven past twice already.

Told me the house and the barn are exactly what he’s looking for.

Perfect setup for a destination restaurant. He called it a once-in-a-career find.”

I clenched my jaw. Great. Now my mother’s home was being packaged as the next culinary mecca.

“No. The house is packed with furniture.” It wasn’t Karen’s business that Bernie was coming by this afternoon to help me move things. “And I don’t have a timeline for when I’ll be ready to sell.”

“All good, no problem,” she said, breezing right past everything I’d just said.

“But how about this? I bring him by tomorrow. Just a walk-through. No pressure, no decisions. Fifteen minutes, tops. That way, I can give you a ballpark estimate, and he can see it for himself. If it’s not the right fit, he moves on.

But if it is? He’s ready to make an offer. Cash. What do you say?”

“I’m still not selling right away,” I said, my tone flat. “Cash or no cash.”

“We can make arrangements. Happens all the time,” she chirped. “He buys, you stay for thirty days, ninety if you prefer. Flexible closings, stress-free transitions. Trust me. I’ve got your best interest in mind. Buyers like him? They don’t come around twice.”

My head was pounding. I kept hoping that every decision I made would lighten the load, just a little. That if I could check one more thing off the list, maybe I could breathe.

“Fine. Fifteen minutes, tops.”

We set the time. I ended the call and stepped inside, only to find Ocean standing just inside the doorway, arms crossed, her expression one of betrayed disbelief.

“You heard?” I asked quietly.

“Mom, we just got here. How could you?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. She turned and ran upstairs, and seconds later, the sharp slam of her door vibrated through the house.

I stood there, the weight still pressing down. And Ocean wasn’t the only one I had to answer to. Somehow, I had to explain to Jo that tomorrow’s visit didn’t mean anything. That I was just trying to survive this moment. That I hadn’t decided. Not yet.