Chapters (75)
- Cover
- Back Cover Text
- Praise
- Booklist
- About the Author
- Dedication
- Quote
- Prologue
- Part One
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- Part Two
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- Part Three
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- Part Four
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- Part Five
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- Part Six
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- Part Seven
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- Part Eight
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- Part Nine
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- Part Ten
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- Part Eleven
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- Part Twelve
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- Part Thirteen
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- EPILOGUE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- AUTHOR NOTE
- Reader’s Guide
- Questions for Discussion
- The Heirloom Garden
- Abby
But the biggest focal point of the cottage was a hole in the wall with a frame around it. Visitors always wondered at first if my family was simply lazy housekeepers or terrible renovators who took pride in our mistakes until they got close enough to read the little plaque under the frame:
BULLET HOLE FROM AL CAPONE
AFTER DRUNKEN SHOOTOUT
Rumor had it Cozy Cottage had once been Al Capone’s hideaway, a place where he ran liquor during Prohibition in collaboration with Detroit’s Purple Gang. The noisy cottage—far away from Chicago and Detroit and difficult for police or other mobsters to sneak up on—was supposedly beloved by Capone.
I never knew if this was true or just another of my grampa’s tall tales.
Creak!
Evan ran down the stairs dressed in his swimsuit, a towel draped around his neck like Superman’s cape, screaming, “Wheeee!”
My mom followed, yelling, “Wait for me, camper!”
“Rule number ten!” I could hear Evan yell as he raced toward the lake, his voice echoing into the cottage. “Go jump in the lake!”
My mother slowed for just a second when she saw my face. “What’s the first rule, Adie Lou?”
“Leave your troubles at the door,” I said.
She nodded, winked and quickened her pace.
I smiled and the door slammed behind my mom.
July 2018
The slamming of a door jars me back to the present.
“The appraiser is finished,” Nate calls into the cottage. “Inspection is complete, too.”
I am standing in the living room of Cozy Cottage staring at Darryl, his eyes fixed on mine like I’m a traitor.
Nate strides past me, saying, “Boat guy just stopped by and thinks he might have a buyer for the Adie Lou, too. It’s a good day.”
Good day? I think.
He spins in the living room, follows my eyes and says, “That moose always unnerved me. Say your goodbyes. I’ll leave you alone for a few minutes.”
I can’t move, or speak.
“Adeleine,” he says, using the same, sly tone I suspect he used to make his grad student, Fuschia—I mean what kind of name is that? It’s even a terrible color!—fall under his spell.
A car honks.
“She’s not very patient, is she?” I ask. “You haven’t trained her very well.”
“Adeleine,” he repeats. “Fuschia’s doing us a favor.”
“Us?” I ask, my eyes wide.
Against my better judgment, and even though the inspection was today, I agreed to let Nate come to the cottage to pick up some of his belongings as well as his beloved vintage Porsche convertible that my dad let him store in the garage. I guess I just wanted to rip the Band-Aid off in one fell swoop. I didn’t expect Lolita to tag along.
I peek out the window.
“What time does prom start?” I ask.