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미스터리/스릴러/호러

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• 제휴몰 주문 시 고객보상, 일부 이벤트 참여 및 증정품 증정, 하루/당일 배송에서 제외되므로 참고 바랍니다.

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• 도서  > 외국도서  > 문학  > 소설  > 미스터리/스릴러/호러

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• Chapter One "Binx, I have a feeling we're not in Hollywood anymore." I stood on the front step of my adorable stone cottage, cradling a mug of chai tea in my hands as I took in the sight before me. Just beyond the path that wound its way past my cottage, the morning sunshine glinted off the water of the canal. "Of course, you were never actually in Hollywood," I added, glancing down at Binx, my black cat. "But I was, and this place is about as different as it gets." If I'd seen this view while I was living in Los Angeles, I would have pegged it as a film set. The grass was a vivid green and my two-story stone cottage, like those of my neighbors, looked as though it had been plucked from the pages of a fairy tale. Many of the bridges that spanned the network of canals were also made of stone, and not a car's engine could be heard. Aside from emergency vehicles and a few golf carts, the closest land vehicles could get to Larch Haven, Vermont, was the parking lot on the outskirts of town, and any motorized boats on the canals had to be what we called whisper boats, powered by a quiet, electric motor. That meant that here in the heart of the picturesque village, there was just the sweet twittering of birds in the trees and the gentle lapping of the water against the banks of the canal. This was no set constructed for a movie, though. This was my beloved hometown. After graduating from college, I'd lived in Hollywood for seven years, but a few months ago I'd returned to Larch Haven, and during moments like this I didn't question that decision in the least. As I stood there on my doorstep, soaking in the idyllic view, a gondola glided by, steered by its lone occupant, Oliver Nieminen, the owner of a local cafe. Oliver raised a hand in greeting as he passed by, and I waved back as I breathed in the scent of the summer flowers blooming in my window boxes, mingled together with the aroma rising from my mug of tea. Smiling, I glanced down at Binx. His tail switched back and forth as he kept an eye out for any birds or squirrels that might dare set foot in his yard. "Time for me to get to work. Come on, Binx." After scanning the front lawn with his green eyes one last time, Binx preceded me into the cottage, heading straight for the kitchen at the back. I followed and found my gray tabby, Truffles, sprawled in a patch of sunlight on the floor. She raised her head and watched me as I headed into the small laundry room off of the kitchen. There, I unlocked the kitty door that gave Truffles and Binx access to their catio, an outdoor enclosure I'd built for them with the help of my grandfather, Pops. The cats recognized the sound of the door being unlatched and zoomed into the laundry room. Binx came around the corner so fast he skidded across the tiles, making me laugh. I scooped both cats into my arms before they could slip outside to their catio, giving each one a cuddle and a kiss on the head before releasing them. After moving back to Larch Haven..., I'd adopted the cats from the local animal shelter, and now I couldn't imagine my life without them. They were so sweet and loving, and they made me laugh on a daily basis. "See you later!" I called to Binx and Truffles as they disappeared through the flap. I made sure that the cats' water dishes were full, and then I left through the front door, locking it behind me. Some residents of Larch Haven didn't bother with locking their doors, but after spending seven years in Los Angeles, it was something I did automatically. Since I wasn't carrying anything that didn't fit in my pockets, I bypassed the small boathouse where I kept my flat-bottom Jon boat moored and struck off along the paved walkway that followed the edge of the canal. The summer sun was already warm on my face and arms, despite the early hour, and I spotted a few other early risers out and about. A middle-aged couple walked a golden retriever on the other side of the canal and a young woman jogged past me with a cheery, "Good morning!" My cottage was nestled on a small island in a residential part of town, where emerald-green lawns and colorful flower gardens surrounded the charming homes, all of which were either stone or timber-frame cottages. More than once I'd overheard tourists say how Larch Haven looked like a cross between Venice, Italy, and a quaint English village. I'd described it that way myself when telling my friends in Los Angeles about my hometown. By the time I crossed a couple of bridges, I was drawing closer to the main part of town at the southern edge of the network of canals. Things weren't quite so sleepy here. Several gondolas glided past me, moving more swiftly than their usual unhurried pace. The gondoliers kept their eyes straight ahead, focused on propelling their boats, which currently had no passengers. Later in the day, the professional gondoliers would take tourists around for leisurely rides, but for now they were practicing for the upcoming gondola races, a popular annual event. I wouldn't be taking part, but I planned to be on the sidelines, cheering on the racers. At the moment, however, I needed to get to work. Crossing one more bridge took me to the town's main street, Venice Avenue, a wide cobblestone walkway lined with colorful timber-frame shops and restaurants that faced the canals. Amsterdam Avenue ran perpendicular to Venice Avenue and was dominated by the stately Larch Haven Hotel, which resembled an English manor house. I doubted there were many vacancies at the moment. Tourists always flocked to Larch Haven in the summer, and the gondola races had attracted even more visitors. Some intended to take part in the races, while others planned to simply watch and enjoy all that our town had to offer. I hoped all the tourists would stop in at my family's chocolate shop, True Confections, which was my current destination. I waved to Mr. Henderson, who was sweeping the front step of his souvenir store, two doors down from the chocolate shop. Then I dug out my keys and let myself in through the front door of True Confections. Pausing just inside, I drew in a deep, appreciative breath as I did every morning, enjoying the enticing aroma of chocolate. After switching on the lights in the kitchen, I tied back my dark hair, donned my apron, and washed up. It was time to make some bonbons. Most of the people I knew in Hollywood didn't understand why I'd chosen to leave behind my acting career to make chocolates in a small New England town. After a couple of years of struggling to get good jobs and having to wait tables to keep a roof over my head, I'd landed a role in the pilot episode of Twilight Hills, a television drama with an ensemble cast. The show had quickly gathered a dedicated following, and partway into the second season, with my character appearing on every episode by that time, I'd been able to quit my waitressing job. Then, after four seasons, the network canceled the show. Initially, I'd planned to pursue more acting jobs, but then I ended up in the hospital with a ruptured appendix. If not for my roommate calling an ambulance for me when I collapsed, I probably would have died. While lying in my hospital bed, recovering from surgery, I realized how homesick I was. Once I was well enough, I packed up my belongings and boarded a plane to come home. I'd been making chocolates with my grandparents, Lolly and Pops, since I was ten years old, but after returning home I'd qualified as a chocolatier. Lolly and Pops had mostly retired now, leaving the shop in my hands and those of my cousin Angie. She looked after the business part of the shop and I made the chocolates. So far, it was a perfect arrangement. To start, I got busy making mango jelly, which I would pair with dark chocolate ganache to make mango tango bonbons. The ganache would sit atop the jelly, and the two-layered center would be encased in a dark chocolate shell painted with speckles of orange and white cocoa butter. While t

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