“Fruit and doughnuts were the best I could do for breakfast. They’re in that bag.” He sounded as grouchy as she felt. She wasn’t hungry, and she concentrated on the scenery.

They might have been in the wilds of the Yukon instead of a state that made Chevrolets, Sugar Pops, and soul music. From a bridge crossing the Au Sable River she saw rocky cliffs rising on one shore and dense woods stretching on the other. An osprey soared down over the water. Everything seemed wild and remote.

Occasionally they passed a farm, but this was clearly timber country. Maple and oak competed with pine, birch, and cedar. Here and there, golden straws of sunlight penetrated the canopy formed by the trees. It was wonderfully serene, and she tried to feel peaceful, but she was out of practice.

Kevin swore and jerked the wheel to avoid a squirrel. Getting closer to their destination definitely hadn’t improved his mood. She spotted a metal highway sign that indicated the turnoff for Wind Lake, but he flew past it. “That’s the town,” he grunted. “The campground is on the far side of the lake.”

They drove for another few miles before a decorative green-and-white sign with a Chippendale top edged in gilt came into sight.

W IND L AKE C OTTAGES

Bed & Breakfast

Established 1894

Kevin frowned. “That sign looks new. And nobody said anything to me about a bed-and-breakfast. She must have used the old house to take in guests.”

“Is that bad?”

“The place is musty and dark as sin. I can’t believe anybody would want to stay there.” He turned onto a gravel lane that wound through the trees for about half a mile before the campground emerged.

He stopped the car, and Molly caught her breath. She’d expected to see rough cabins decaying on their foundations. Instead, they’d driven into a storybook village.

A shady rectangular Common sat at the center, surrounded by small gingerbread cottages painted in colors that could have spilled from a box of bonbons: mint with tangerine and toffee, mocha touched with lemon and cranberry, peach with blueberry and brown sugar. Wooden lace dripped from tiny eaves, and fanciful spindles bordered front porches no larger than a trundle bed. At one end of the Common sat a charming gazebo.

A closer inspection showed that the flower beds in the Common were overgrown, and the loop of road that surrounded it needed fresh gravel. Everything bore an air of neglect, but it seemed recent rather than long-term. Most of the cottages were tightly shuttered, although a few had been opened up. An elderly couple emerged from one of them, and Molly spotted a man with a cane walking near the gazebo.

“These people shouldn’t be here! I had all the summer rentals canceled.”