Beach House No. 9. Christie Ridgway

these. Are you settling in okay?”

      Jane gestured her inside and led her toward the small couch and adjacent easy chair that sat across from a small fireplace. “I should be bringing you treats. Thank you so much for giving me the oh-so-reasonable rental rate.”

      Shrugging, Skye perched on a cushion. “We’re doing each other a favor. Most vacationers have already secured their places for the season, not to mention the lousy economy that’s affecting bookings…plus, I like it when I know a little something about who’s living here. It makes the cove feel…safer.”

      Safer? “It’s like something out of a fairy tale,” Jane said. “The cove seems almost magical.”

      Skye slid the cookies onto the narrow coffee table in front of her. “It definitely felt that way when we were kids. We ran around like a tribe of lost boys and girls in Neverland.”

      “That’s right. You said you grew up with the Lowells.”

      “Every summer.” She hesitated. “That’s why when you said you wanted to keep an eye on Griff, it added another good reason to let you have No. 8.”

      Uh-oh. Did that mean Skye had a special interest in him herself? A romantic interest? Maybe she saw another woman as some kind of threat and wanted a catbird seat on what she imagined might take place between Jane and the man next door. “I, um, there’s nothing between…” She shut down thoughts of that kiss the night before. “My business here is just that—purely business.”

      Skye’s expression blanked, and then she laughed a little. “There’s nothing between me and Griffin either, if that’s what you’re thinking. His twin brother, Gage…”

      Twin brother? Good Lord, there were two of them? The other woman’s rising blush told her even more. “Oh, it’s him you’re involved with,” Jane said.

      “No.” Skye gave a violent shake of her head. “Not that either. Never that. It’s just that we…that Gage and I correspond. He’s a photojournalist on assignment in the Middle East, and he worries about his brother.”

      Maybe it was the voracious reader in her, but Jane thought there might be a story in the “not that either” that was going on between the brunette and Gage Lowell. Her curiosity was piqued. “Would you like a glass of iced tea while we chat?”

      “No, thanks.” Skye jumped to her feet. “I won’t take up much of your time. I just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

      Jane trailed the other woman to the front door. Skye paused there, the doorknob in her hand. Then she turned, her pretty face serious. “Don’t forget that in fairy tales…well, there’s almost always a wolf or a dragon waiting to capture the fair maiden.”

      A chill skittered down Jane’s spine as the property manager slipped out. She had to shake herself to get rid of the dark mood that tried settling over her. With a look toward the sunny vista out the windows, she headed back to her seat and the album waiting there.

      She’d just settled onto the chair when another knock sounded. This time, she heard a curious scrabble against the door as she pulled it open. Private, the black Lab, widened the space with his muscular shoulders. Curly-haired Ted, fingers wrapped around the dog’s kerchief, was yanked inside behind the eager canine.

      The dog swiped her fingers with a wet tongue before heading straight for the red plate of cookies on the table beside the couch. He sat, staring at them.

      “Sorry,” Ted said. “I’m on pet patrol, and he must have smelled those as we came by. He has a nose on him you wouldn’t believe.”

      The man looked at the treats with the same hopeful expression as the animal he was tending. Jane laughed. “I take it you both like oatmeal raisin?”

      “If it’s a baked good, I think we both like just about anything,” Ted confessed.

      Jane found a paper napkin, then removed the clear wrap from the plate. “Would you like some iced tea with that?” she asked.

      Ted fed the dog a cookie before helping himself to one. “I’m good, thanks,” he said, between bites.

      Jane watched him split a second treat with the dog. “Are the festivities at Party Central beginning early? I got the impression No. 9 didn’t start rocking and rolling until late afternoon.”

      Ted shook his head. Swallowed. “Ah, nope. Last night, Griffin declared the parties are over, over there.”

      “Oh.” She slid her hand along Private’s fur as the dog leaned against her legs. “I must have missed that announcement.”

      “It was after you left. He went on a tear and had everyone out in less than thirty minutes. Paid for a bunch of cabs to take home those people too drunk to drive themselves.”

      What, had kissing Jane put him out of a celebratory mood? “Does he ever have a good time at those parties he throws?”

      Ted shrugged. “Truth? Since he moved to the cove, I don’t think Griffin has had any good times at all.”

      But he’d changed up the circumstances, Jane mused. Without the diversion of booze and bikinis, maybe he was ready to settle down to work. Optimism made her hungry, she realized, and the cookies looked so good. She grabbed one and, as she felt the hard press of Private’s body, broke off a hefty piece for him.

      Ted watched the dog gobble it down. “We should probably keep the canine treat-sharing sorta secret, okay? Our furry buddy here eats that low-cal kibble, and Griffin’s always after me when I feed him scraps.”

      “Oops.” She made a face. “He won’t hear it from me.”

      “As a matter of fact,” Ted continued, “you won’t tell Griff we visited at all, will you? We’re under strict instructions to avoid No. 8, but Private isn’t so good with orders.”

      Jane sighed. So much for optimism. “I suppose that means I shouldn’t expect Griffin to start cooperating with me anytime soon.”

      The surfer shrugged, his expression sympathetic. “Well, he did close down Party Central.”

      Hope lightened her mood a little. “Does he look like he’s buckling down to work? You know, sitting at a table with a laptop or a pad and pen?”

      Ted ran his hand over his hair. “He’s in a chair. Like you said, at a table.”

      Ha! Jane felt herself smiling. “That’s good! That’s very good.”

      “But there’s no computer. And I haven’t seen a scrap of paper or a writing implement anywhere in the house.”

      Jane considered this. “Do you suppose he’s working it out in his head? Making mental plans, might you say?”

      “He’s got his iPod blasting so loud that I don’t believe he can hear himself think,” Ted replied. “And he’s playing cards. Hand after hand of solitaire.”

      Man and dog left soon after that, and their visit made Jane dispirited enough that she ate two more cookies—pessimism apparently made her hungry too—while staring morosely into the distance. First it was the warning of wolves and dragons, she thought as she munched. Next it was news of a recluse firmly ensconced in his cave. This did have the feel of a fairy tale.

      She took up the glass plate and set it beside Rex’s album on the dining table. Then the front door reverberated with yet another round of knocking, and she turned to trudge toward it. “What now?” she muttered, as she pulled it open. “A troll?”

      Griffin narrowed his eyes at her. “My mood is a lot uglier than that.”

      She stepped back to avoid the brush of his body as he barged inside. Though she realized she should welcome him onto her turf, there was a disturbing aura about him. He moved into the small living area, his wide shoulders and simmering temper making the room feel a lot smaller and a lot…hotter.

      A memory from