ago.”
My hands went cold.
“By whom?”
She hesitated.
“Whitcomb Lake Hospitality.”
I had never heard of it.
“There’s a contact person,” Denise added.
“Ashley Whitcomb?”
Her expression answered before she did.
She printed the filing.
There was my cottage address.
Ashley’s email.
A proposed occupancy of ten people.
Weekly rentals.
Estimated seasonal revenue:
$24,000.
Then I reached the section labeled:
PROPERTY OWNER AUTHORIZATION
Under it was my name.
Marianne Whitcomb.
And beneath my name was a signature.
It was supposed to be mine.
It wasn’t.
Daniel used to
