Page 10

CHAPTER 10

Before we left the inn for Hard Body, we decided to do some quick souvenir shopping. We didn’t have much time left in the mountains, and souvenirs were in order.

First we went to the spa gift shop, where we each purchased lavender-scented slippers. They were filled with rice so they could be microwaved and a glorious foot experience had—from the comforts of home. We also splurged on two overpriced spa robes with the inn’s logo on them.

Then we headed to the gift shop on the main level. It was fine—your typical collection of mugs, magnets, and branded fleece—but I’d been hoping for something with more substance, something that actually reflected the spirit of the mountains. So we made our way upstairs to the Loft, where small shops and studios featuring local artists and makers were tucked along a wide corridor with exposed beams and soft gallery lighting.

One shop in particular stood out, with a mix of handcrafted items and Asheville-themed clothing that felt a step above the usual tourist fare.

“Now we’re talking,” Maddie said.

She went one way, and I went the other. Then we met at the register, where one gentleman was ahead of us in line.

Maddie’s arms were filled with all kinds of things, mostly gifts for friends. I, on the other hand, was thinking of Cade when I chose a knife and a leather wallet, both handmade and top quality with intricate design work.

I was about to show her my finds when something caught my eye. I turned to get a better look at the man who’d just left the register and was leaving the shop … emptyhanded, wondering why he’d changed his mind about making a purchase.

No big deal, I supposed, but the way he carried himself, his general vibe … it reminded me of someone.

Was it the walk that seemed familiar?

The way he moved?

Who was he?

And why did it feel like I knew him?

I was so curious, part of me wanted to chase after him, think of an excuse to strike up a conversation.

My logical side retorted with, That would be a little much, Sloane. There’s, what, maybe a .02 percent chance you would know someone here at the inn?

I talked myself out of the chase and shook it off, knowing sometimes the skills that made me a good investigator also made me a real weirdo if I wasn’t careful.

I turned to say something to Maddie, but she’d vanished. A flicker of movement near the floor caught my eye—she was kneeling to pick something up.

She stood and held up a postcard, turning it toward me.

“Remember the Marshall House?” she asked.

“Sure do.” That was the place we’d stayed in Savannah, an old hotel in the Historic District. I took the card and examined it. “Someone must have dropped it. But it couldn’t have come from this place.”

“I agree. I think I’ll keep it.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, but I was no longer listening. My gaze had wandered back to the front entrance, and to my curiosity about the mysterious man.