Waterford Point

By the time the ferry reached the dock, Rachel Hudson was a little queasy.

She didn't travel well on water. Although the trip across the bay hadn't taken more than fifteen minutes, her stomach wasn't exactly rock solid these days, and she thought for a moment she might lose the salad she'd had for lunch.

Thank God for dry land.

Rachel had never been to Waterford Point before. Had never been to Penobscot Bay or farther north than Connecticut, for that matter. But the photos she'd seen on the internet had convinced her that this was where she needed to go. That Waterford Point was exactly the place she should be right now.

Her means of escape.

Her bastion of refuge.

An isolated fishing village-cum-tourist destination on an island off the coast of Maine, it was a place where she could forget about the chaos that had swirled around her in California and finally decide what to do with her life now that Dan was officially out of the picture.

As the ferry gate opened, she moved with the handful of homeward-bound commuters and rolled her suitcase onto the dock, looking out toward the village.

It was quite a bit larger than she had anticipated and she wasn't sure she wanted to spend her next few weeks here getting around on foot.

As the others moved toward their cars in the parking lot, Rachel turned to the dockworker who was manning the gate. He was an elderly man with a weathered, sunbaked face, and she had no doubt that he'd spent many years on a fishing boat.

"Is there a place around here I can rent a car?"

"Yes, ma'am." He pointed toward a cluster of wooden shacks to the right of the dock. "They're on the far side of that last building, just around the corner. You can't miss 'em. And they'll be glad to see you, too."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"Not too many visitors around here lately, what with all the commotion."

"Commot