Page 185 of Secrets Along the Shore

I turned from the window, heart squeezing tight.

The ache of rejection was old and familiar. I’d felt it at school often enough—other kids signing behind my back, rolling their eyes when I passed them by or when I was invited to the lodge again and again, while others weren’t.

I didn’t know why Scanlon had chosen me. I didn’t ask. I just said yes. Because here, I had the lake and the girls. And they welcomed me.

Until they didn’t any longer.

I turned toward the closet, opening it. Inside were a few empty hangers and a mothball-scented box. I found nothing but a stack of faded towels and an old lake map folded in quarters. There was nothing here for me anymore.

I headed downstairs, grabbed my keys, and stepped out to the SUV. It was time to go into town to find a real estate agent. Maybe someone who remembered more than Mr. Monroe did.

Maybe someone who remembered the name of the girl in the pink nightgown—the girl who drowned that Fourth of July.

The roadinto town was narrower than I remembered. It twisted between groves of pine and dips of land where the morning dew still clung low to the earth, slicking the roads. Fifteen years had gone by since I’d driven through this way, but everything looked smaller now. Less magical. The village had always been a blur from the back seat of Scanlon’s sedan—just a place we passed through on the way to the lake. We never stopped. The lodge was always the only destination.

Until now.

The SUV hummed as I rolled past the weathered welcome sign that read:

Welcome to Flathead Village. Est. 1893. The Heart of Flathead.

Charming sign, but the village wasn’t much. A single main street with squat buildings lined up like teeth in a crooked smile—hardware store, diner, market, bait shop, antique store. At the far end of the block sat a white two-story building with green trim and a hanging wooden sign that readScanlon Realty.

Stunned, I pulled in and stared at the sign, wondering at the connection to Headmaster Scanlon. The parking lot was empty except for an old red Jeep. Maybe the employee would share the information to help make the connection.

Inside, the office was clean if a little outdated. Framed pictures of lakefront cabins and smiling couples decorated the walls, a few crooked from time and gravity. A scent of brewed coffee and lemon polish hung in the air.

A man appeared from the back, maybe a few years older than me. Mid-thirties. Broad shoulders, clean-cut. He wore a checkered shirt rolled at the sleeves and a pair of dark jeans. His name tag saidEvan.

“Morning,” he said with a polite nod. “Can I help you?”

I gave a quick wave and signed slowly, knowing some people here might not be used to it. “Do you sign?”

He looked embarrassed. “A little. Took some in college. I remember enough not to embarrass myself…I think.”

I smiled faintly and switched to speaking. “Then I’ll save you from fumbling. I’m Scarlett McBride. I’m looking to sell a property I just inherited. I thought I’d stop in. Surprised to see the name Scanlon onthe sign. Any relation to Aaron Scanlon? The headmaster from the Deaf school?”

“Oh,” he said, stepping forward and offering his hand. “Nice to meet you. Would you like some coffee? I just brewed a fresh pot.” He moved to the coffee station, turning his head enough for me to see him say, “Not by blood.”

I shook my head to stop him from pouring me a cup. “No, thank you. I’d rather get straight to business, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” he said, gesturing to the desk. “Have a seat.”

I didn’t. “It’s the old lodge. On the north shore. Scanlon’s lodge.”

He froze.

Something in his face shifted. His posture straightened, the polite mask still in place, but something behind his eyes flickered—caution, maybe. Did he recognize me? I didn’t remember him if our paths crossed.

“You ownthatplace?” he asked, taking his seat as though he couldn’t stand any longer.

I nodded. “Inherited this week.”

He squinted up at me. “You…family?”

“Not exactly. I was a student at the Deaf school growing up. Spent some summers here. Headmaster Scanlon left the lodge to me in the will. Big surprise to everyone.”

Evan puffed his cheeks and exhaled as he folded his hands on the desktop. “I’m sure.” He was quiet for a moment, then scratched the back of his neck. “Huh. I hadn’t heard that he passed.” He glanced at a closed door to his left. “Maybe that’s why she hasn’t been in this week.”