I pulled the rental car down a narrow road surrounded by thick pine trees, the pavement covered in dirt and rarely traveled. The house I rented was on the outskirts of Briarport, and the map had shown little surrounding the place. I read each and every one of the reviews, and most said the same thing.

Clean space, great views, and private.

Privacy was my main concern.

If I was going to be working on an active cold case, I needed a space quiet enough to concentrate and secluded enough so I wouldn’t be bothered by outside distractions.

The road went on for a few miles before it turned into a long, curved bend and the pavement slowly shifted to solely dirt. The trees became sparse, and I could see the single building on a hill at the end of the road.

The light grey house with a white porch was surrounded by a bright, colorful garden, the flowers all in full bloom for summer. The closer I approached, I could see the ocean just beyond the hill the house was perched on. I knew from the listing the back side of the house was solely a rocky cliff with the water as a neighbor.

I parked the car in the single spot driveway close to the house. My suitcase and other belongings were in the backseat, and as I pulled them out, I could hear the crash of waves.

I couldn’t help myself and left the items at the start of the front walkway, abandoning them to venture into the backyard. A short, white fence lined the edge where the plush grass turned to rigid stone.

The breeze from the ocean below brushed against my skin the closer I moved. I inhaled deeply, taking in the salty smell and letting it remind me of the pacific coast I grew up near. With my eyes closed, I could almost picture home while I leaned against the fence.

“Hey, neighbor,” a deep voice called.

I startled and let go of the fence, pulling myself away from the edge.

The three miles exact I’d calculated between myself and the nearest house by road was apparently not enough.

An older gentleman walked up a path I hadn’t noticed before at the edge of the yard. It trailed down the cliff edge, and from what I could see from where I stood, led off into the town below.

I had a great vantage point over town, where I could see all the houses and shops but still keep my distance. Or so I thought.

“You must be Nelson,” I said, noting the man looked exactly like his profile picture on the house rental listing, even wearing the same newsboy hat.

“I sure am,” he said with a cheery smile. “Welcome to Briarport.”

He added the last part like he was a salesman straight out of a commercial, baiting tourists to town, and his pronunciation seemed to drop the final ‘r’.