Summer at Seaside Cove Read Online Free

“but that’s Paradise Lost all right.”
    A bit out of date? Surely it broke about seven hundred laws to advertise with photos taken in, oh, 1972.
    â€œI rented, and paid for, the house depicted on the website,” she said slowly and distinctly, “and that is what I expect to have.”
    â€œAnd it is.”
    â€œNo, it’s not. The condition of the house is completely unacceptable. There must be something else available.”
    â€œThere sure isn’t. Every other house on the island—as well as every other beach in the area—has been booked for months. I sure am sorry Paradise Lost isn’t all you wanted it to be, but there’s no need for anything fancy here—life on the island is real casual. Different from what you’re accustomed to, I reckon. Manhattan this is not.”
    Jamie doubted truer words had ever been spoken in the entire history of mankind. She could actually feel steam seeping from her ears. “You’re telling me there’s nothing else? Nothing? ”
    â€œNot a thing,” he said cheerfully, as if that was fabulous news. “And even if there was—which there isn’t—I can promise that you’d never find a last-minute, full-summer beach rental for the bargain price you’re paying for Paradise Lost. Most houses here rent for a single week for what you’re paying for the entire two months.”
    Jamie closed her eyes. No other accommodations on the island. Her Manhattan apartment sublet for the summer. Good Lord, if she didn’t have rotten luck, she’d have no luck at all. “So I’m stuck here.”
    She hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud until Jack replied, “Best place in the world to be stuck, if you ask me.”
    Clearly Jack had never traveled. Anywhere. She drew a long, slow breath. “While remaining in this house for the next two months is not an option, it appears I have little choice but to spend the night. Which means there are two problems that need to be remedied immediately . First, there’s no power.”
    â€œOh, that’s too bad. Paradise Lost has a new owner—Nick Trent bought the place only a few months ago. Could be he didn’t pay the electric bill. And you’ll need to take that up with him since Paradise Lost isn’t actually a Seaside Cove Rentals property. I just let Nick list it on our website as a personal favor.”
    Un. Freaking. Believable. That probably broke about seven hundred rental laws as well.
    â€œHow do I get in touch with this Nick Trent?”
    â€œShouldn’t be too hard as he lives right next door to Paradise Lost. Name of his place is Southern Comfort. Pretty fittin’ name.”
    â€œBecause we’re in the South?”
    â€œNo, because . . . Well, I don’t like to talk out of turn, but when you live in a community with only ninety full-time residents, there are no secrets to be had, so you’ll find out quick enough. Southern Comfort is fittin’ ’cause it’s a brand of whiskey and since Nick Trent took up residence on the island three months ago, he’s been known to disappear for days at a time. Word is he goes off on benders. Either that or he’s a hit man. Or a CIA agent. Ha, ha, ha. Just funnin’ with ya. Nice enough guy, friendly to everybody, but he don’t talk much about himself. One of those Men of Mystery types. Nobody’s seen him for the past couple days. Most likely drunk as a skunk.”
    Jamie closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. This day has to end. This day has to end . . .
    â€œIf you look out your kitchen window, you can see Southern Comfort. If his truck is in the carport, that means he’s home.”
    Jamie pressed her nose to the kitchen screen and looked across the weed-choked, untrimmed hedges that separated Paradise Lost from Southern Comfort. No truck, and not a single light glowed from any of the windows.