Read Online Writing All Wrongs by Ellery Adams - Free Book Online Page A

here every summer when I was a kid,” Rawlings told Brett. “I saw a doe just like her when I was eleven or twelve.”
    Brett shook his head in bewilderment. “You couldn’t have. That’s just a legend. A campfire story.”
    “Well, this story’s over for tonight,” Peterson said. “You and I can sort out what to do with her, Mr. Collins.”
    “What about the hunter?” a woman cried. “Aren’t you going to track him down and arrest him?”
    “We’ll drive around the island to make sure no one with a crossbow is still out there,” Peterson replied. “If we find the guy, we’ll take him into custody. As for the rest of you, you don’t need to put yourselves in the hunter’s line of sight. Head straight to the lighthouse, and from there, go home.”
    After a brief hesitation, the shocked and angry nature lovers continued up the path toward the old lighthouse.
    Rawlings and Peterson exchanged business cards, and then the Bayside Book Writers followed the rest of the walkers.
    “Did you tell him about Jan?” Olivia asked Rawlings.
    Rawlings nodded. “He promised to check on her before leaving the island.”
    More than ready to leave the gnarled trees behind, Oliviaincreased her stride. “Jan was scared. She bolted after seeing that deer.” She slowed long enough to glance at Rawlings. “Are you familiar with the legend Brett Collins mentioned?”
    “No,” Rawlings said. “But I’d be very interested in hearing it. Maybe it’s in the collection of ghost stories at the rental house. I’ll look when we get back.”
    Olivia was relieved to see the lighthouse rising into the sky up ahead. “If we can’t find the legend in one of those books, I’ll ask George Allen in the morning. I have a feeling he knows all about this island. And its ghosts.”
    *   *   *
    Early the next morning, Olivia stopped by the island’s general store to buy pastries for the Allens. At quarter to seven, the roads were empty and the air was brisk and damp, but the sky was streaked with golden light, signaling the onset of a clear autumn day.
    At the Marina Market, Olivia was pleasantly surprised to find freshly baked muffins, bear claws, and butter croissants. After purchasing several of each, she drove to the Allens’ tiny cottage and knocked on the door.
    A curtain twitched in the room to the right of the door, and a few seconds later, Boyd was inviting her inside.
    “We’ve got a fire going.” He indicated the living room. “Pop gets chilled real easy.”
    With the curtains closed, it took a moment for Olivia’s eyes to adjust to the dimness. “I hope these will warm him up,” she said, proffering the bag of pastries.
    Boyd peered into the bag and smiled. “Bear claws are his favorite. He hasn’t had a breakfast treat for ages. Make yourself at home. I’ll put these on a plate and get us some coffee. How do you take yours?”
    “Just a splash of milk, thank you,” Olivia whispered, for George Allen appeared to be dozing in a tattered recliner near the woodstove.
    Olivia took the other chair near the stove and surveyed the room. It was a masculine space with navy walls, dark wood furniture, and shelves crowded with old books, magazines, and newspapers. There was little adornment other than framed photographs of George and a pretty woman Olivia assumed was George’s wife and Boyd’s mother. There were several of Boyd too. The child version of Boyd, whose expression was so carefree and filled with humor that Olivia barely recognized him as the man who’d invited her inside, posed in front of a Christmas tree, unwrapped a birthday gift, and played on the beach.
    As she continued to study the photographs, Olivia was drawn to a black-and-white image of George as a young man. He stood on a dune, arms folded across his chest. A tall lighthouse filled the sky behind him. Though George didn’t smile, his face was infused with pride.
    “They blew it up,” said a hoarse voice, and Olivia turned to find George