One minute, Oscar was easing into a long, deep, wholly unexpected and hot kiss…and the next, he was sitting in the pool alone. The water surged and splashed even more violently than before now that she’d sloshed out of it.

“Thanks again!” Teddy called as she shoved her feet into her shoes. She looked as if she’d just been awarded a million dollars: her eyes were bright, droplets of water sprayed from her hair, and her movements were quick and energetic. “You’re absolutely brilliant, Dr. London! I’m going to dedicate this book to you!”

And with that, she charged off into the bushes in the direction of the lighthouse.

What did I say?

Oscar stared after her, figuring he owed himself at least a good look at her rear end. Which, as it happened, was barely covered by the blue swimsuit. And it was, as he’d noted previously, quite a fine rear end.

He let out a long breath and slid under the water to his shoulders. That had been an unexpected but extremely pleasant moment, a fact that his long-neglected hormones were still reminding him. He wasn’t certain what he’d done or said to induce such a reaction from her, but he wasn’t complaining.

In fact, it took him a few minutes to put his scattered brains back together.

But now that the writer and her distracting conversation were gone, Oscar had the opportunity to get back to work uninterrupted. He heaved out of the pool and got his equipment, then, methodical as always, went to work.

Ninety minutes later, he returned to the cottage with new samples. The heat and humidity of midday had nearly dried his clothes, and he was hungry for lunch.

He wondered if Teddy had, by chance, made anything to eat. Maybe she’d left something for him to nibble on. It would be the polite thing to do.

After all, he was brilliant and had, apparently, somehow, helped her. He grinned to himself.

But when he got inside, the place was quiet and the kitchen empty of even a crumb. The lack of dirty dishes in the drainer indicated she hadn’t eaten and then run, either.

Oscar set his samples on the table and unslung his pack, then tiptoed to the connecting door and eased it open.

Teddy’s bedroom door was closed and silence hung over the cottage.

He waited a minute, but when he heard nothing else—including the agonized groans from yesterday—he decided it was best to retreat.

He was just about to walk back through the connecting door when he heard a thump, like someone smacking a fist onto a table.

He tensed, but then heard, “Brilliant! My God, I am brilliant!” from behind the bedroom door. After that, silence reigned once more.

Oscar scratched the back of his neck, chuckled to himself, then went to the kitchen for lunch. At least now he could work uninterrupted. He ate, and within forty minutes had another fresh, uncontaminated sample on his slides.

“It’s the same thing,” he muttered. They were there—those microscopic, spiky crystalline shapes that had no business being in the hot springs. They didn’t even resemble anything from nature. A niggle of excitement tickled his brain, and he looked again, admiring how beautiful the shapes were. Like spiky snowflakes, all shades of blue and gray.

It didn’t mean the hot springs had magical powers. That would be ridiculous.

But what if they did?

No way. He’d been hanging around that crazy writer for too long; she was starting to get into his scientific head.

Oscar tried another sample on another slide. And took a different sample from one of the three Cubitainers he’d filled up himself. He continued to find the same results.

He pulled out his laptop, connected it to the Wi-Fi hub he’d brought, and began sending off images of what he’d found to friends and colleagues. He did some more research, looked up a few unrelated things, and then checked his email. All the while, Oscar felt a strange sort of comfort knowing that Teddy was just beyond the curve-topped door, doing her own work…and not bothering him.

Then he picked up his computer tablet and began to read an e-book by a new-to-him author named T.J. Mack.

And the next thing he knew, he had to turn on a lamp—and he was hungry again. Oscar looked at the time on his computer. Eight thirty?

In the evening?

Where had the time gone?

And where was Teddy? He eyed the connecting door. He’d been engrossed in the book, but surely he would have heard her if she came out looking for food. Maybe she was sleeping by now.

Oscar considered, but he didn’t hesitate for long. He rose and again went to the connecting door. There was silence. This time, he walked all the way across the small vestibule to her bedroom door, and carefully opened it a crack. But he didn’t even need to look inside, for he heard the busy clicking of a keyboard. Damn, she typed fast.

“You bastard!” she cried. At first he thought she was talking to him, but then she added, “I’ve got you right where I want you.” Then she actually gave a maniacal chuckle, and the keyboard clacked faster.

Fighting a grin, he peered inside and saw that she was sitting at the desk, clattering away on the laptop. He wasn’t certain whether to bother her, but he did take a minute to admire the way her clipped-up hair exposed the back of her neck. All at once, he had the urge to plant a kiss…right there. At the base of her slender neck.

And then he remembered the handful of warm, soft, curvy woman who’d thrown herself at him earlier today. And the sweet-peach-scented one who’d curled up next to him on the lighthouse last night and gushed over his name and his sister’s.

He swallowed hard.

He had no business thinking about Teddy that way when he was in love with another woman.

And of course he was still in love with Marcie.

Oscar pulled back sharply from Teddy’s bedroom door. He’d just realized he’d spent the last eight hours engrossed in his work—and then Teddy Mack’s book—and he hadn’t thought of Marcie once all day.

He hadn’t even picked up his phone to check for a text from Dina, nor, when he’d been sending emails to his colleagues, had he considered skimming through Facebook to see…well, to see if anything had happened. After all, last night was the bachelorette party.

But it didn’t matter. So what if he’d been able to put Marcie out of his mind for a few hours? Nothing had changed.

Oscar looked back at Teddy, then closed the door. She’d found her heart’s desire today, whether the damned hot spring was sacred or special—or not.

Definitely not.

There was no such thing as magic—or ghosts.

One other thing he was grateful for: Teddy had been so engrossed in the idea of a magical wishing-well hot spring and her RBS idea that she hadn’t brought up the strangeness from last night.

Thank heaven for small favors.

The next morning, Oscar boiled water for tea because it made him think of his paternal grandmother, who always said, “There’s nothing can’t be helped by a soothing cuppa.”

He hadn’t slept well at all, because, well, hell—he’d been half expecting to hear that horrible, terrified nocturnal cry. After all, it had occurred both nights he’d been here—one of them while he was on the top of the lighthouse.

The fact that he hadn’t heard the awful scream should have been a relief. But instead, it made him want to know “why not?” on this third night—not to mention from where it had come the previous nights. And so he’d tossed and turned, waiting to be jolted from the slumber he couldn’t attain—and, once he’d finally fallen asleep, he realized he’d dozed later into the morning than he’d meant to.

Animals in heat, he reminded himself. Or maybe a peacock.

This new idea popped into his head as he stared out the kitchen window sipping from his mug.

He liked it.

It wasn’t unheard of for people to have peacock farms—and he knew the birds’ cries were bloodcurdling. That thought, along with the strong cup of Tetley (his grandmother’s favorite), did soothe him. He’d do a little checking to see whether there were any people who owned peacocks around here. Or maybe Wicks Hollow boasted a small zoo.

He washed out his teacup and noted that, once again, there was no evidence Teddy had been in the kitchen. Hmm. Had she really not eaten since erupting from the steaming pool yesterday?

It wasn’t any of his business.

But during his shower, he considered the situation. Let sleeping dogs—or busy writers—lie, he told himself as he scrubbed his hair with the floral shampoo that had been stocked in the bathroom. He should buy something else so he didn’t walk around smelling like a jasmine blossom. Not that anyone was going to get close enough to smell his hair anyway.

Except Teddy.

The thought, which popped into his mind with startling clarity—and was both visual and shockingly sensual—was terrifying and intriguing, and the distraction caused him to nick the corner of his jaw while shaving. Stanching the blood, which pooled and ran down into the shower drain like he’d murdered someone, Oscar managed to finish the rest of his shower without inflicting any other damage. But after vigorously brushing his teeth and dressing in cargo shorts and a soft blue cambric shirt, he found himself walking toward the connecting door to the lighthouse.

Let sleeping dogs lie, he told himself firmly. His hand reached for the knob anyway, and he turned it and walked through before he could stop himself. Everything was quiet and calm as he crossed the small vestibule.

He paused at Teddy’s door and heard the mad clicking of her typing. Well, she was still alive.

He knocked.

No answer. More click-clattering.

He knocked again, a little louder.

No answer. Incessant clicking, some clattering. A muttered curse.

He opened the door and peered in. “Teddy?”

No answer. A pause in the clicking, then a louder curse—followed by an emphatic thump when she slammed her hand onto the table and growled at the computer.

Oscar hesitated again, but damn, as far as he knew, she hadn’t been out of the room for more than twenty hours. Surely she needed to eat. Or…something. So he went in and said her name again, rather loudly and near her ear—which wasn’t covered by headphones this time.

She jolted and shrieked, spinning in her chair as she’d done the first time he startled her. “Oh my God, you scared the hell out of me. Again. Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Sorry. I thought you might be hungry. You haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

Teddy blinked as if trying to assimilate the meaning of his words. After a moment, she said, “I had a few granola bars and a couple of apples.”

Oscar looked at the discarded wrappings on the floor. And two brown cores. Some empty water bottles. “Oh. Good. Well, I won’t bother you, then.”

“Okay. Thanks.” She turned back to her computer and was clacking away before he even shut the door.

Well, hell.

Yesterday he’d been “brilliant” enough to warrant an enthusiastic hug and a sexy kiss…and now he was nothing more than a pesky gnat, buzzing around her head.

Oscar went back out to the dining/living room where all his equipment was spread out. He ignored it and went into the kitchen to scrounge for something to eat in the well-stocked refrigerator.

Apples and a couple granola bars? He shook his head and made an extra omelet. He had no idea if Teddy had any food issues, but unless she was vegan—and of course she wasn’t, because she’d had chicken the other night; and clearly greenery didn’t bother her, as she’d prepared the salad—the tomato and spinach dish should give her a little more boost than some honey-soaked oats.

When Oscar brought it into her makeshift office, he merely slid it onto the table next to her and left the room. The delicious smell would eventually penetrate her fog and she’d eat when she was ready.

At least, that was how it happened for him when he was in the throes of work.

Oscar busied himself cleaning up the kitchen and then took another look at his temporary lab. Maybe there was another place he could get a water sample, and compare it to the hot spring. The spiky, snowflake-like crystals could just be a unique microbe in the soil here. He hiked around the mainland area until he found a small creek that ran near the steaming pool. After carefully collecting four samples to test, he brought them back to the cottage. He had no idea why he was compelled to pick a small bouquet of wildflowers on the way, but he stuck them in the empty wine bottle from their first night and placed it on the kitchen table.

For dinner later, he made Teddy a tuna sandwich and added a handful of raw carrots, along with the bouquet-spiked wine bottle, to her tray. He smugly noticed the omelet plate was empty when he delivered them. She grunted, glanced at him with glassy eyes, and said, “Getting closer,” and went back to clicking. Without even a thank you.

That night, Oscar closed his window, stuffed in earplugs, and set up his laptop to play white noise all night in an effort to make sure he wouldn’t be able to hear the scream if it did occur. As a result, he slept fairly well, but his dreams were a wild mixture of Teddy Mack lecturing him about not getting his hair wet in the hot spring—what on earth was that about?—and then Teddy, Dina, and Marcie sitting in the hot spring, drinking cocktails with fancy pink umbrellas…while he dug a hole.

For what, the dream didn’t deign to tell him.

Probably his grave after he went crazy, cohabiting with a neurotic writer.

The next morning, he did find a soggy tea bag that indicated Teddy had somehow found her way to the kitchen, along with an ajar cabinet door and an empty box that had once held granola bars. He made peanut butter toast and drizzled it with honey, then filled a small dish with blueberries. Wordlessly, he delivered them to her, then settled down with his computer and lab and, after putting on his reading glasses, began to work.

Later that evening, he grilled some chicken (his cooking repertoire was very limited). He made a salad and brought a portion of both to Teddy, who actually managed to focus her eyes enough to thank him this time.

Oscar settled on the covered porch, in the same chair he’d used the first night he and Teddy ate together (the only night, as it happened), and worked his way through the salad and grilled chicken. He felt strangely alone—though that was something he usually preferred. That preference was one thing that had caused some tension between him and Marcie.

Her complaints had begun after they were engaged—that Oscar didn’t spend enough time with her; that he was always in the lab or had his nose buried in a journal or the computer. He didn’t think anything had changed since they got engaged, for he’d always been someone who preferred silence to chatter, and solitude to houses bursting at the seams with noise, people, and things.

But tonight, as he watched the sun edge closer to the distant horizon, Oscar almost wished that Teddy was sitting in the chair next to him, as she’d done three nights ago.

He twisted the top off his B-Cubed IPA (apparently it was from a local brewery) and was just lifting the bottle to drink when he heard the sound of a vehicle. Curious, he stepped off the porch and walked around to the small gravel parking area on the southeast side of the lighthouse.

It was a large capped pickup that seemed to be filled with tools—including several long pieces of some kind of metal. Iron, maybe.

A well-built man with dark auburn hair climbed out. He was about Oscar’s age, and was wearing battered shorts and a close-fitting t-shirt that appeared to have seen better days. He was holding a paper bag that seemed to carry something heavy.

“Hello,” Oscar said. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m Declan Zyler. Who are you?” the man replied, looking around with a frown.

His brows lifting at the unexpected and unnecessarily blunt response, Oscar replied coolly, “The name is Oscar London.” He sized up the man. More muscular than he was, but Oscar was surprisingly quick on his feet and a little taller. He could take him if he had to. Probably. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for Teddy Mack. Where is she?” Suspicion fairly rolled off the newcomer—as if he expected to learn that Oscar had stuffed a comatose Teddy into a closet somewhere. Or worse.

His spine stiffened a little. “She’s kind of busy. What do you want with her?”

“Look…” Declan’s jaw was a little tight, and then he relaxed a bit. “I’m her cousin. She’s supposed to be here, working on a project, but she didn’t mention anything about a—a roommate. So…” Now he gave Oscar a narrow-eyed look. “Where is she?”

“You’re her cousin. Ah. That makes sense. It’s just that Teddy’s been working on her book pretty much nonstop since yesterday”—when she grabbed me in the hot spring and kissed the hell out of me—“and I know she doesn’t want to be disturbed.” He shrugged, the last bit of tension easing away. “Sorry if I was a little abrupt, but, well—”

“Yeah. Same here.” Declan offered a hand, and Oscar shook it. “I guess I came on a bit strong too. Didn’t know what to think about— Well, I expected to find her alone, and—what are you doing here, anyway? She didn’t mention a—uh—whatever you are when I told her I’d be bringing over some books for her to sign.”

“You had it right with roommate. Just a roommate—accidentally, in fact. They double-booked us here, if you can believe it.” Oscar explained the situation more fully, then lifted his beer bottle. “I just opened this—can I grab one for you? It’s a nice view from the porch—great place to sit and have a brew.”

“Thanks. I’d like that.”

Moments later, they settled on the metal chairs. There was no lingering animosity or tension between Oscar and his visitor, each having understood the other’s position and appreciating it as well.

“This is pretty good stuff,” Oscar said, gesturing with his beer. “Made by a local guy?”

“Yeah. Baxter James is a buddy of mine. That means I get to sample all of his works in progress. Sometimes that’s a good thing…sometimes, not so much,” Declan added with a grin. “There was the time he was trying a maple-raspberry stout that just didn’t work out.”

Oscar curled his lip. “I can see that. I don’t know why some of these craft brewers feel it necessary to come up with such exotic flavors and combinations. Nothing wrong with a good, thick stout or a hoppy IPA. Maybe a hint of citrus—but even that’s not necessary. A good brew doesn’t need any bells and whistles if it’s made with quality ingredients.”

“Agreed,” Declan replied, and they clinked bottles. “So Teddy’s working on her book, is she? Glad to hear it. She was pretty stressed about it last time I saw her. I was supposed to come over yesterday—no, two days ago—and I felt bad that my schedule got all effed up and I couldn’t make it. Just wanted to check on her, see if she needed anything, since she doesn’t have a car—and bring a couple books for her to sign. The bookstore has them in stock, and I guess people heard she was in town, and they bought them and wanted to get them signed. I told the bookstore owner I’d bring them over. Plus Baxter’s been making noises about coming over and sneaking a peek of what she’s writing—I guess he’s a big fan of her books.”

“Yeah, she’s been typing away like mad for the last two days. Hasn’t even come out to eat. I’ve been bringing her a tray whenever I eat—feel like a prison guard,” Oscar said with a wry smile. “But I couldn’t let her live on water, apples, and granola bars.”

“That’s real nice of you,” Declan said, nodding. “She sounded pretty miserable the last time I talked to her. I’m glad things are going well.”

“I don’t see much of her, so I don’t really know how it’s going. But at least she hasn’t been moaning over having writer’s block like she was doing the first couple of days we were here. The first time I heard her, I thought she was being attacked or tortured,” Oscar said with a laugh. “She’s an interesting person, your cousin.”

“I think so too.” Declan tilted his head, contemplating Oscar. “You know, Baxter is having a tasting of a couple of new beers tomorrow evening, if you’re interested. Seeing as you’re just hanging out here while Teddy’s working.”

A little surprised by the invite, but definitely intrigued, Oscar replied, “I never say no to a good beer. Where is it going to be? What time?”

“Well, now, I didn’t guarantee a good beer—there was that maple-raspberry stout I was telling you about.” Declan grinned. “But more often than not, Bax hits it out of the park. He’s trying out three new brews—it’ll be at the Lakeside Grille. Tomorrow evening at seven thirty.”

“I’ll be there. Thanks for letting me know.”

“Sure. Consider it an olive branch, so to speak. For us starting off on the wrong foot.”

“Not necessary, but thank you for the sentiment,” Oscar replied. “I probably would have reacted the same way if it had been my sister in the situation.”

Declan gave him an understanding nod. “Agreed. So how do you like staying here in the lighthouse? Have you been up there?” He tipped his head back and to the side a little, but the porch overhang blocked the view of all but the bottom third of the tower.

“As a matter of fact…” Oscar said. He hesitated over how much to say, but he figured Teddy would spill the beans if she were sitting here—the woman really couldn’t keep her mouth closed—and he didn’t want to make more of it than had happened. “We went up there the other night and got stuck out on the railing.”

“You what?” Declan, who’d been half tilted back on his chair, let the front legs thunk to the porch floor.

“Door blew shut and must’ve gotten stuck or something, because we couldn’t get it open. We were out on the walkway around the light. Would’ve been a miserable night if we hadn’t gotten back in.”

“I’ll say.”

“Teddy wanted to go up there and check it out—I guess someone jumped or fell”—or was pushed, he added silently, then cursed her for putting that in his head—“and she wanted to check it out for some reason.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t living here when that happened. It was three years ago or something. Guy who was the caretaker here was found on the ground with his head split open. Maybe he got locked out like you all did, and he tried to climb down or something.”

Oscar lifted his brows. “That’s interesting. Maybe that’s it. After all, if the guy lived here, he’d be used to walking around the top of the walkway. So, does anyone around here have a peacock farm or something like that?”

“A peacock farm?” Declan pulled the longneck bottle away from his mouth to give Oscar a look. “No. Why?”

“Heard an awful shrieking, sort of screaming sound a couple nights ago, and then again the next night. I don’t think it was an animal in heat, but maybe.” Oscar chose his words carefully.

“Hm. What sort of sound?”

“Well, if I had to describe it, I’d say it was like someone being tortured. Or terrified.” Oscar took a pull of his beer and stared out over the lake. “It sure is beautiful here. How long did you say you’ve been here?”

“Used to visit a couple of summers when I was a teen, but didn’t move back until a year ago August. Long story short, I found out I had a daughter I didn’t know about, and her parents—mother and stepfather—were moving away. She—Stephanie—didn’t want to move and change high schools, so she convinced me I could move back and do my work here. I’m not married and wasn’t involved with anyone, and I’m a blacksmith—do a lot of restoration work and also some custom jobs. She was right—lots of it I can do anywhere.” A smile settled over his face. “Best decision I ever made, Oscar, I gotta say.”

“You had a daughter you didn’t know about and she was a teenager and you willingly moved back to be a single dad to her?”

Declan gave a short laugh. “Yep. I’m not saying I didn’t have a few nights I woke up in a cold sweat wondering what the hell I was doing, but here I am. Couldn’t be happier—especially now that all the ugly stuff was put to rest and we all lived through it.”

“All right, you’ve got me hooked. How about another beer—and then you can tell me about this ugly stuff?” Oscar rose from his chair.

“That’s a deal.”

When he came back, Declan was just slipping his phone into a pocket. “I let Leslie and Steph know I won’t be back for a while.” He took the longneck. “Leslie—she’s the other part of why this was the best decision I ever made, in spite of—or maybe because of—all the crazy stuff that went on last fall.”

Oscar took his chair and said nothing. He could see Declan was gearing up to tell the story.

“So I move here to Wicks Hollow and get called over to look at Shenstone House—that big mansion, just on the south side of town, on a big hill overlooking the town. You know the one.”

“No, actually, I haven’t been into town yet,” Oscar said.

“Well, that’s unfortunate, because it’s really a nice place, even when overrun by tourists. And we’ll have to get you downtown to Trib’s—or if you prefer a hole-in-the-wall burger joint, over to The Roost, where they’ve got about twenty beers on tap—sometime soon. Anyway, I get called over to Shenstone House where this woman’s working on turning it into a bed and breakfast.

“First thing I realize is she’s hotter than an iron-bending fire…second thing is, she’s smart. She’s—Leslie—is the former CEO of a tech company that went public, and she made some money and got out of the business world. So I go over there, and I don’t know what a ball-busting exec from Philly is going to do here in tiny Wicks Hollow, but I’m looking at the job, and she hires me to fix the iron railing for the staircase in the main vestibule of that mansion. And I’m thinking, it wouldn’t be too bad hanging around this hot, smart woman every day for a while.” He grinned, his eyes narrowing as if he were remembering something pleasant. “Anyway, long story short, we somehow disturb a ghost when we’re tearing up the railing base.”

Oscar blinked. “A ghost.”

Declan glanced at him. “Yep. Honest-to-God specter. Saw her myself. Heard her, too.”

“Right.”

Declan shrugged. “I learned—after the fact—that Wicks Hollow is ripe with supernatural stuff like that. There was a haunting in an antiques shop up on the north side of town just a few months back, and last summer, one of the Tuesday Ladies died and was haunting her house. She had reason to because she was murdered in her own bed.”

Now Oscar realized Declan was messing with him. “All right. Got it. Lots of ghosts and goblins around here.” He gave a short chuckle. “So you said something about almost not living through some craziness.”

“Right. Turns out there was a big secret in Shenstone House that someone wanted to make sure didn’t get out during the renovations. So they started breaking in and messing with Leslie. She was almost murdered herself one night when everything hit the fan. That’s when I realized—well,” Declan said, his eyes going soft again, “I’m not leaving Wicks Hollow as long as she’s here. We’re going to be getting married someday soon.”

Oscar felt a little twinge of envy. “Congratulations. But can we go back to your daughter and the whole single-dad-parenting-a-teen thing? How’s that working out?”

“Steph’s great. Her mother raised her well, and though we’ve had some testy moments—like when she wanted Mickey Mouse wallpaper in the john, for crying out loud; how the hell would I ever have the guys over to watch football with that going on?—she’s absolutely the best thing that ever happened to me. Even edges out Leslie a little—but not much.”

“Lucky you.” Oscar realized he’d ignored his second beer, and now lifted the bottle to drink. “Well, Teddy thinks we saw a ghost here at the lighthouse—so if you tell her about Leslie’s experience—or did you already?—she’s going to think there really is one.”

“You saw a ghost?”

Oscar shook his head. “It wasn’t a ghost. It was some sort of greenish alga or moss that glows in the moonlight. But it was caught up near the top of the lighthouse, and she’s convinced it’s a ghost.”

“So you don’t believe in ghosts,” Declan said.

“Of course not,” Oscar replied, and pointed his longneck at Declan. “And I can tell when a guy’s yanking my chain.”

But the blacksmith gave a smug smile that didn’t do a thing to dispel Oscar’s twinge of nerves.

When it was almost time to leave for the beer tasting the next evening, Oscar closed his laptop and took a quick shower. The truth was that he was glad to have something specific to do, for he’d not seen anything of his housemate all day again, except the back of her head when he dropped off a plate with a grilled cheese on it for lunch. Her hair had been a wild mass, half in a bun and half hanging to her shoulders, as if Teddy had been pulling at it, or running her hands through it, forgetting she’d pinned it up.

Yet, feeling a little guilty about leaving her alone—even though there was no reason he should; he wasn’t responsible for her at all, and she probably wouldn’t even notice he was gone—he left her a note in the kitchen explaining his plans for the evening and that he’d bring her back a sandwich or something from the Lakeside Grille. Otherwise she’d probably starve.

As he navigated his way to the Lakeside Grille in his Jeep, he once again mulled over the conversation he’d had with Teddy’s cousin last night.

Ghosts in Wicks Hollow. An infestation of them, if Declan Zyler was to be believed. Riiight.

That was probably just what they told tourists—after all, a reputation like that would certainly draw people to the village. Declan’s significant other owned a B&B; it made sense he’d help to promote the town’s party line, bring in more tourists and curiosity seekers.

Well, Oscar wasn’t going to be fooled or punked. But he was definitely looking forward to a meal he didn’t prepare himself, and the possibility of a good beer or two (he wasn’t counting on all three being winners).

The Lakeside Grille was on the northwest side of Wicks Lake. It was a couple miles from the little town and tucked away from the county road—which was why it was mainly a hangout for the locals, and, he’d been told, was usually overlooked by the tourists because they couldn’t find it. But since Declan had given him directions—there was no sign for the restaurant except for a large piece of sealed driftwood leaning against a tree, with LG painted on it—Oscar had no trouble finding it.

The place looked like a big box with a long porch on the front of it. It had a high-peaked roof of dark green corrugated metal and was sided with dark brown shingles. There were large windows on the lakeside for obvious reasons, and two huge barrel planters bursting with colorful flowers flanked the front door. Although the parking lot was full, he didn’t see anyone standing around waiting for a table.

As soon as Oscar walked in, Declan saw him and called him over. He was sitting at a round table in the middle of a collection of more round tables, all in the same old-fashioned Colonial style Oscar remembered from his grandparents’ house in Boston. Scarred maple tops, slender and ornate legs, wavy chair backs, and a large pedestal that balanced each tabletop. All of the tables were filled, crowded with people laughing, talking, and eating.

There were two other men with Declan, and the fourth chair was empty. He gestured to it, and Oscar took his seat after shaking his host’s hand. Already his mouth was watering—whatever the Rubenesque woman was carrying out from the kitchen smelled amazing. But before he could comment, Declan made introductions.

“This is Oscar London. He’s staying up at Stony Cape Lighthouse with my cousin Teddy. This is Joe Longbow, chief of police—we just call him Joe Cap,” Declan said, nodding to a man in his mid-fifties. He had short, grizzled hair that might once have been jet black but was now salt and pepper. Oscar supposed his nickname either came from his title—Captain—or the Tigers ballcap he wore. “Joe’s got the night off; that’s why he’s here to sample as well.

“And this is Baxter James,” Declan went on, using his thumb to point at a slender, handsome black man about their age. “Bax, I’m thinking you owe Oscar at least a couple of beers on the house.”

“Good to meet you,” said the brewer, offering his hand for a shake. “I hear you’ve been keeping T.J. Mack fed and watered while she finishes her next book—and you’ve got my eternal gratitude for that. I’ve been waiting for it ever since Titan Mist came out last year.”

“It’s my pleasure,” replied Oscar, feeling surprisingly comfortable, surrounded as he was by strangers. “And when it comes down to it, now that she’s got the book going, Teddy’s pretty easy to see to. I just slip a plate through the slit under the door, and when she’s done, she pushes it back out. No knives allowed, though—I don’t want her getting any ideas about escape before the book’s done.”

Baxter looked at Oscar for a second as if unsure whether to believe him, then they all laughed. “Well, I’ll be honest—I wouldn’t mind a sneak peek or some sort of hint as to what’s coming next for Sargent Blue. Can you tell me anything?” As he spoke, he put a trio of juice-sized glasses down in front of Oscar, then filled one with a nut-brown beer from the pitcher next to him. “Consider this a bribe: I call this my Steel-Edge Porter. It’s got a bite to it, but a smooth finish. Let me know what you think.”

“There’s a trapdoor,” Oscar said, lifting the beer to examine it. Not cloudy, very clean, a good dark brown color. It smelled fresh and sharp. “I was helping her figure out how to get Sargent Blue out of his latest situation,” he added modestly, and Baxter’s eyes went wide. “And she jumped on my idea of a trapdoor.” And then she jumped on me.

“Why the hell didn’t I get double-booked with T.J. Mack at the keeper’s cottage?” Baxter grumbled. “Lucky dog.”

As Oscar sipped from the beer, he realized he was damned pleased he’d been stuck with Teddy at the cottage—and not because she was a famous writer. Not because she was a writer at all.

And he was also very glad it wasn’t the handsome, toned Baxter James who’d been the one having plot discussions about RBSs in the pool with Teddy. No, Oscar was just fine hanging out with the sweet-smelling, talk-your-ear-off, ping-pong conversationalist and bouncy personality who gave pretty sexy kisses when someone gave her a good idea.

He couldn’t wait to give her another one.

Baxter was pouring a second beer for Oscar to taste when the curvy waitress came up to the table.

“Hi there, handsome. I’m Mirabella—but just call me Bella. Welcome to the Lakeside. My husband Reggie and I own the place.” Bella looked to be just on this side of fifty, but she was a well-preserved woman with a huge bust and matching curvy hips and ass, displayed by the tight dress she wore. It was pale pink with dark pink flowers splashed all over it, and a round white collar and cuffs at the end of elbow-length sleeves. The apron she wore over it was bright green. Her white-blond hair had a light purple streak in it that coiled around into a puffy style that would have fit right in on the set of Grease.

Oscar felt like he needed to blink, and if he did, the wild splash of colors would be burned on the inside of his eyelids. Instead he just smiled and said, “What do you recommend on the menu?”

“Everything, honey,” she said, her startling red lips curving in a smile. “But tonight, special, we’ve got fresh lake trout Reggie’s dusted up with some flour and Cajun spices, and deep fried. Fresh right from Wicks Lake out there. You can get co’slaw with it or green beans just as fresh from the backside of the restaurant. My Reggie’s also known for his Monte Cristo sandwiches, and he turns a pretty good venison burger—with or without cheese. Best served with a slice of raw onion like this.” She used her fingers to demonstrate a measure of no less than an inch thick.

“I like a burger with my beer,” Oscar said. “And while I’ve had ostrich and bison, I’ve never tried venison, so I’ll give that a shot.”

“I’ll get that going for you,” she replied, then swished off to grab an order that had just been shoved through from the kitchen.

“So what else can you tell us about the new book?” Baxter asked. “Anything?”

“Not really. Now that Teddy’s got going, she doesn’t come out of her room much. I hear her typing and swearing sometimes, and once she was congratulating herself on something—I don’t know.” Oscar spread his hands and smiled as he sampled the second beer. “Oh. That’s interesting.” He managed to swallow the pungent taste as he put the glass down rather quickly.

He and Declan exchanged pained glances, and Baxter explained, “I was trying for a cherry shandy, since, you know, Michigan’s known for cherries. Not working for you, then?”

“Uh…I like the porter better,” Oscar said, and Declan laughed.

“He’s politer than I am, Bax. Forget the shandy. Let’s try the third one. Did you say it was a wheat beer?”

All in all, Oscar had an enjoyable evening, trading stories—everyone wanted to know what a microbiologist was doing in Wicks Hollow for the summer. He told them about his sampling and testing of the hot spring, leaving out the details about his escape from Marcie’s wedding.

“Well, there are some legends about that hot spring,” Joe Cap drawled. “About it being somethin’ special.”

Before Oscar could pursue that topic, Bella arrived with an efficient swish and began to slide a plate in front of each of them.

She pointed out the small piece of Cajun-spiced trout she’d added to Oscar’s plate. “Just wanted you to have a taste. When’s the last time you had fish right out of the lake and onto your plate in less than two hours?”

Though he lived on the East Coast, Oscar couldn’t say whether he’d ever had seafood that fresh. “It smells delicious, and I can’t wait to try it. And speaking of fishing and fishermen,” he said, looking at Joe as Bella darted off, “I saw a boat out on Lake Michigan the other night. Just before the sun went down—seemed too late for fishing, and it wasn’t going fast enough to be a sunset cruise. In fact, it was going very slowly until it came to a stop right out there. Then the guy on it dropped something over the side into the water. Looked like a big bundle. Any idea what that might’ve been?”

The police chief took his time finishing the trio of ketchup-laden fries he’d just stuck in his mouth before responding. “Well,” he said in that easy, drawling voice that sounded as if it might catch up to the end of his thoughts by next week, “that’s a good question, there, Oscar. You said they were dropping something over the side, there? On the big lake? Sure as hell hope it wasn’t trash.”

Oscar hoped so too. “It was a bundle about this big.” He showed them, estimating about three feet square. “Seems like if you’re going to throw trash over, you’d throw something bigger—it wasn’t the size of a trash bag. It definitely wasn’t a fishing net.”

“Did it look heavy? Could you tell? How far out was it?” Declan asked, digging into his own lake trout dinner. “Can’t see that far from the porch over there.”

“I was on top of the lighthouse and had a pair of binoculars,” Oscar said. “Maybe it was about a quarter or a half-mile away. Two guys tossed the bundle over—it didn’t seem like they were struggling with it, so I’d say it wasn’t very heavy.”

Joe narrowed his eyes. “I’m not sure what that could be, but I’ll do some checking around. Did you see a name or markings on the boat? What kind was it?”

“Say a forty-footer. I don’t know much about boats…looked like a decent speedboat. I didn’t see any markings, but it was white with blue and green swooshes on it near the back—the, uh, stern, I guess it is.” Oscar bit into the venison burger and immediately fell in love. Bella was right—the thick slice of onion added just the perfect flavor to the brioche bun and the mountain of mustard he’d added to the sandwich. “The thing is, it looked like a package—sort of tied up or taped up or something.”

Joe’s expression became serious, and Oscar got the impression that despite his easy manner of speaking, the man was sharp as any city cop or detective. “All right, then. Thank you for the information. I’ll check with the sheriff and the Coast Guard and see if they know anything. When was this? Date and time. And specific location.” He pulled out a small pad of paper with a pen.

Oscar told him, ending, “That was the night Teddy and I got locked up on top of the lighthouse.”

“You what?” Baxter asked, his face lighting up with humor. “That would have been a great story—besides being a craft brewer, I do freelance journalism for some of the local papers and a couple magazines.”

“I’m not sure T.J. Mack would want her readership to know she accidentally got locked outside the top of a lighthouse and couldn’t figure out how to get down,” Declan said with a laugh. “Considering that she writes about a Jason Bourne kind of guy who’s always getting out of sticky situations.”

“But that’s what would make it a great human-interest piece,” Baxter said earnestly. “I really want to do a story on her anyway.” He looked at Oscar. “Maybe you could ask her.” He turned to Declan. “Or you could.”

“I’m not willing to risk asking her anything till she finishes the book,” Oscar told him. “It’s just too dangerous. But when she’s done…assuming I get the right sort of bribe…” He lifted his empty glass.

They laughed, and Baxter ordered another round of the porter and the wheat beer. Everyone was very grateful when he left the shandy off the list.

As had become his habit, Oscar wore earplugs and played white noise on his laptop that night. And thanks to the beer and a good meal, he slept like a baby.

The next morning, the kitchen showed some signs of life. The to-go container he’d brought back was empty except for an unused packet of ketchup, and he found a plate in the dish drainer and the toaster out of whack from its position against the backsplash on the counter.

He futzed around in his lab and, just for the hell of it, went on a long hike to take samples from other freshwater sources in the area. Not a bad idea to compare them with the hot springs—and Lake Michigan itself. It felt good to get out and walk around, and it was hot enough that he doused himself in a small creek.

He read a book, perused a few scientific journals that had begun to stack up, and did some drafting of a new paper he wanted to submit by the fall. And tried not to think about the spiky snowflake microbes as being anything but simply unique—definitely not supernatural. He was glad, in retrospect, that he hadn’t asked Joe Cap anything further about the hot-spring legends.

He’d brought Teddy a sandwich for lunch, and then shared his spaghetti (made from jarred sauce that was probably part of her food stores, but he didn’t think she’d care) later that night. He studiously avoided Facebook and barely skimmed his emails. If there was any news about Marcie, he didn’t want to see it.

Counting today, only four days till D-Day. Or, rather, W-Day. Wedding Day.

Once it was over, he’d be able to move on.

He even managed to stream a James Bond flick via his Wi-Fi hub later that evening.

And so it went for that day and the next. He didn’t mind the solitude, but he couldn’t help but wonder if Teddy was going to be locked in her room for the entire month of July. He didn’t exactly miss her, but there were times when he could have used some conversation.

Not that anything was keeping him from driving into town or even up to Grand Rapids if he wanted human interaction…

At about four o’clock on the ninth day he’d been at Stony Cape, he was settled on the cottage’s porch, watching the gulls screech over Lake Michigan—a habit he’d settled into. There was something so relaxing, sitting there watching the waves, the birds, and the boats. It got so he’d begun to recognize a few—and that one white, green, and blue forty-footer that had appeared twice since the initial sighting.

But the boat didn’t stop, nor did anyone dump anything over the side, except that first time he’d seen it. He tried and failed to read the numbers on the side of the boat—just so he could tell Joe Cap—but without field glasses, he couldn’t read them. He did become captivated by a beautiful boat with a bright red sail that cruised over the water with the grace of a skater.

Oscar was nursing another B-Cubed (he was becoming a loyal fan) and contemplating life—and whether he wanted to go into Wicks Hollow again, just for a change of pace—when he heard a loud shriek.

Bolting to his feet, Oscar slammed into the cottage and ran to Teddy’s room. He flung open the door to find her dancing around, whooping and shrieking.

Either she’d been bitten by something or she’d finished her book. He was guessing the latter.

Teddy saw him and, with another whoop, flung her soft, curvy self into his arms. She smacked a kiss on his cheek, then pulled her face back and announced, “I’m finished! I’m finished, I’m finished, I’m fin-iiiish-ed!”

He was laughing by now, and he found he didn’t want to let her go, even though she was still wriggling excitedly in his arms. All warm and soft, though smelling just a bit stale.

“Congratulations, T.J. Mack. I’m sure the world will be delighted to read your sixth book.”

Still in his arms, she looked up at him with surprise, pulling back. “So you know who I am.”

“I’m a scientist. I know how to do research. I also occasionally read. Especially thrillers that are well researched.”

Teddy hadn’t stopped wriggling, so he let her go. “Thank you so much for everything—for the food, for letting me alone to work, and, most of all, for the trapdoor idea.”

“So that worked, did it?” Oscar thought it would be fun to tell his dad—who was a big T.J. Mack fan—that he’d helped the author out of her writer’s block and had given her the ending of what was surely going to be her latest blockbuster.

“Well, not really. I didn’t end up using a trapdoor at all. But you got me to thinking, and that’s how I ended up with a remote-controlled trolley car that helps Sargent Blue save the day.”

“Oh.” And here he thought he was brilliant. “But at least you got your heart’s desire.”

“I certainly did.” By now, her giddiness had eased into mere delight. “So we have to go out and celebrate!”

“Go out?” Oscar was already easing back from both the idea and Teddy, though he wasn’t certain why. Hadn’t he had a great time the other night? But then, that had been about free beer. And just a bunch of guys.

“Of course! That’s what I always do when I type, ‘The End.’” She was still beaming, which revealed three tiny dimples at the corner of her mouth that had previously been hidden—presumably by stress. “You’ll come with me, won’t you? My treat, as a thank you for feeding me for the last—what’s it been, a week?”

“Six days. Seven if you count today.”

She stilled, her eyes wide. “I wrote over fifty thousand words in six days? Wow.” She looked down at her hands, then back up at him. “I definitely deserve a drink. Or two. Can you be ready to leave in forty minutes? I want to try Trib’s, and it’s hard to get a table much after five.”

Though five o’clock seemed early for dinner, Oscar decided not to argue. “All right. I’ll drive.”

She gave him a grin, a trio of dimples dancing with enthusiasm. “Duh. Why do you think I insisted on you going? How else would I get there?”

He gaped, then realized she was teasing him. Fighting his own smile, he shook his head. “But you’re buying, remember. And believe me, I’m going to make it worth all the private chef work and the chauffeuring I’ve taken on over the last few days.”

He could still hear her laughing as he closed the door.

Well, tonight should be entertaining, if nothing else. And he was going to get a good meal out of it.

Couldn’t argue with that.