Homecoming

Maybe it had been insanity that caused me to sell my condo, pack my belongings, and buy a huge old house I had never even seen. Maybe it had been my unwillingness to face the grief I would not deal with and could not escape that caused me to move to a town I knew nothing about and had never even visited. Or maybe, just maybe, when I’d seen the ad for the rundown old house perched on a bluff overlooking the sea, I hadn’t been running at all. Maybe, I tried desperately to convince myself I’d simply seen the opportunity to do something fun. Creative. Different.

No, I admitted as I gingerly placed a foot on the first of three rotted steps leading to the decayed front porch. It hadn’t been insanity, an unwillingness to deal, or a longing for fun, that caused me to give up my life in California to move to a tiny town in Coastal Maine where no one knew who I was or what I had been through. What it had been, I decided, was preservation.

I sighed in relief when I made it to the front door without falling through the rotted wood. I opened the door and then stepped into the entry. The floor was damaged and would need to be replaced, and the wallpaper was peeling and would need to be stripped, but the rooms were totally empty. And empty rooms, I knew, even those in disrepair were preferable to rooms filled with well-meaning friends who were unable to deal with your grief and wanted to help but felt helpless to do so. While my move to the small town of Holiday Bay might not have been well thought out, the challenge to gently nudge the old girl back to her former glory had come at the perfect time. The house, I decided, would occupy my energy and my mind. Rehabilitating it would give me focus, and provide a safe harbor from which I could fight my demons and finally begin to heal.

The entrance to the home was large and airy and opened up to twin staircases spiraling toward the second story. I’d been told that the home had three stories of living space, ten bedrooms, eight baths, and a large living area consisting of several rooms, including a parlor and a library. I was also promised that the estate included a separate guest house which could be used as a mother-in-law unit. Apparently, the English gentleman who built the house back in 1895, had grand plans to marry his one true love and fill those ten bedrooms with chubby-cheeked children, but his dream, like mine, had never come to fruition, so like me, he’d moved away.

Taking a deep breath, I continued on toward the back door which led out onto a huge deck that actually appeared to be in good repair. β€œWow,” I said, as I took in the view. It was simply amazing. The dark gray of the winter bay in the distance was bordered by a lush green forest that was currently covered with a layer of snow, producing an absolutely stunning contrast. The entire shoreline looked to be uninhabited with the exception of a single dwelling in the distance that was perched on the edge of the sea. A feeling of peace rose from my battered soul as the serenity of the landscape wrapped itself around me like a warm hug.

Here, I decided, as I took in a deep breath of fresh sea air was where I’d build my nest. It would be from this perfect spot, in this little house, that I’d read, dream, refurbish, and heal. I knew the journey toward making the main house habitable would be a long one. I knew the road toward healing would be even longer. But for the first time since I’d packed my SUV and merged onto Hwy 80, heading east, I actually believed that both might be possible.


Giveaway: Leave a comment below for your chance to win copy of The Inn at Holiday Bay, either Kindle (open to everyone) or print (U.S. residents only), winner’s choice. The giveaway will end November 27, 2018. Good luck everyone!


You can read more about Abby in The Inn at Holiday Bay, the first book in the NEW β€œBoxes in the Basement” mystery series.

After suffering a personal tragedy Abby Sullivan buys a huge old seaside mansion she has never even seen, packs up her life in San Francisco, and moves to Holiday Bay Maine, where she is adopted, quite against her will, by a huge Maine Coon Cat named Rufus, a drifter with her own tragic past named Georgia, and a giant dog with an inferiority complex named Ramos. What Abby thought she needed was alone time to heal. What she ended up with was, an inn she never knew she wanted, a cat she couldn’t seem to convince to leave, and a new family she’d never be able to live without.

In book 1 of this series, a local girl has been murdered and the small seaside community is up in arms. When Abby finds boxes in the basement of her new home, which seem to provide a clue as to who might have killed the girl, Abby plants herself firmly in the middle of what has turned out to be a complicated investigation. Although Abby isn’t a cop, or even a private detective, she isn’t unfamiliar with the investigative process. As a New York Times Bestselling mystery writer she knows how to conduct research. As the widow of a homicide detective, she knows the questions to ask.

Join Abby, Georgia, Rufus, and Ramos, as they help Officer Colt Wilder track down a killer before kills the next victim in what looks to be a annual spree.

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About the author
USA Today bestselling author, Kathi Daley, lives in beautiful Lake Tahoe with her children, grandchildren, dogs, and husband Ken. When she isn’t writing, she likes spend time on the water or hiking the miles of desolate trails surrounding her home. She has authored more than ninety-five books in ten series. Find out more about her books at www.kathidaley.com and stay up to date with her The Daley Weekly newsletter.

Connect with Kathi on Facebook, Kathi Daley Books Facebook Group Page, Twitter at @kathidaley, Amazon Author Page, and BookBub.

All comments are welcomed.