“I hate to admit how naïve I was when it came to the business end of things when I first started.” Ian dipped his cloth napkin into his water glass and handed it across the table to me as if it was the most natural thing to do. “I signed some contracts that were beyond foolish. After a costly learning experience, I got wise, took business courses online, and learned everything I could and made sure contracts benefitted me after that. When I learned I inherited Willow Lake Lodge, I wanted to know all I could about the place, and your name popped up as my closest neighbor. Since my land nearly surrounds all of yours, I decided to find out what I could about you, mostly to avoid any potential problems.”
I stared at him, not sure what to say, as I silently thanked Amy ten times over for forcing the scarf on me and adjusted it to cover the spot I had scrubbed wet.
“It was business, Pep, nothing personal.” He smiled. “I guess you could say I’m a financial prepper, prepared for the unexpected.”
“Actually,” I said with a short laugh, “I would have done the same thing. I did do it as soon as I discovered Willow Lake Lodge had sold, but the sale was kept so tight-lipped that I couldn’t find anything out about the new owner.”
“Sorry about that, but I didn’t want it known until I got settled in some. I must admit I was impressed with your website and all the information on prepping, and I’ve enjoy reading your blog and following your You Tube postings.”
“You continue to do it?” I asked, surprised.
“I do and I continue to enjoy them all.”
“You knew who I was the day you found me with the dead guy in the woods,” I said and cringed at how that sounded.
“I did, but I thought you might think it creepy that I already knew who you were and when your father, the sheriff, showed up, I thought I should wait for a better time to tell you.”
I laughed. “Wise move, since that wouldn’t have gone over big with my dad. I do appreciate you being honest with me.”
“It’s no’ something I would have kept from you, Pep, and I’ll make sure to tell your dad now that I’ve told you.”
“I can tell him.”
“No, lass, that would no’ be right. I’ll speak to your dad.”
Wow, a man not afraid to face my father. Now I really liked this guy.
“Share something with me about yourself that’s not on your website and I’ll do the same,” he said.
I don’t know why I said it and I would’ve pulled the words back in my mouth if I could have. “I’m not good with relationships.”
“Who is?” Ian said with a laugh and the like meter went up a notch. “I hate spiders.”
“I’ll take care of spiders for you,” I offered.
“Good to know, Pep,” he said.
“What happened that caused the fright?”
“You’re the first one to ever ask me that. Ah dinnae mention it much since most people make fun of it when they find out. When I was about four, I wandered into an old shed on our property that was to be torn down. It was full of false widow spiders and the reason it was fated to be torn down. I actually suffered a couple of bites and was rushed to the hospital.”
“That’s terrible. No wonder you hate spiders.” I shook my head, imagining what a fright it had to have been for a four-year-old boy. His honest sharing had me saying, “I hate thunder, so does Mo, my Alaskan Malamute you met. We both crawl into bed under the covers and you would think I had a bed that vibrates, we tremble so much. I can’t say why it frightens me, it just always has.”
“I’ll be there for you when it thunders, Pep.”
He looked so sincere that I felt my heart flutter. Oh, good Lord, I was sounding like one of Amy’s romance novels.
Our meals came, stuffed lamb breast with lemon, ricotta, and oregano for him and bucatini with lemony carbonara for me. We talked between eating and when we were nearly finished, Ian brought up the dead guy.
“I keep wondering what that guy was doing in the woods, in a suit. Why would you walk in the woods wearing a suit?”
I jumped right in. “My thought as well. Was he meeting someone and if so, why have the meeting in the woods? Did someone lure him there? And for what reason? But most of all, why lie about his name?”
“That is strange and makes one wonder if his intentions were nefarious. Unless, of course, Robert Louis Stevenson was his real name.”
“Not likely,” I said, shaking my head.
“I agree, especially since I did a search for the name, other than the famous author, with solicitors’ offices in Scotland and nothing showed up.”