Stranded at Poppyridge Cove

By Rimmy London

USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF COZY MYSTERY!

A doctor on the run, and a lawyer in need of a break... and neither of them want company.

When paranoid surgeon Jessie LeVan wants to rent the entire Inn at triple the cost, Abby and Chase are thrilled to have the extra income. But he demands absolute solitude... and one renter never got the message.

Taylor, a corporate lawyer struggling with anxiety and nightmares, is in desperate need of a break. Her week at Poppyridge Cove was a lifeline she couldn't do without. So when a bossy doctor insists she leaves, she refuses. There's plenty of space, after all, and she vows to stay out of his way.

But something's not right in the high-profile doctor's life. With each confusing turn in his behavior, Taylor quickly realizes it might've been smarter to leave. When her vacation away from it all begins to feel more like a trap, she's determined to set things right. And if it means using every lawyer-savvy trick in the book... so be it.

Start reading today!! Join Jessie and Taylor as they battle it out in this high-stakes mystery that leaves them racing to find answers before someone gets hurt...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Publishing
• Release date: Jun 11, 2024
• ISBN: 9781094465081

Rimmy London

Rimmy London is a USA Today Bestselling author of cozy mysteries. Her first series is the Seaside Inn Mystery series, set along the rugged Northern California coastline. Suspense to the core. Each book features a new couple while focusing on the blackmail, murder, or espionage around them. Her Megan Henny Mystery series is all-new and follows a more traditional cozy mystery style, with quirky characters, a Great Dane named Fred, and a beach boardwalk along the Washington state coastline. Plenty to love with both series! Snuggle up with one of Rimmy's cozies... if you dare. Follow on Amazon or sign up for her newsletter at www.rimmylondon.com and never miss a sale or new release❤️

Book preview

1

Jessie caught sight of a small mob forming in front of the hospital and ducked behind a bus. A boisterous mix of reporters and fans had gathered yet again. Pah, some fans . They'd hardly given him a moment to think since his novel had topped charts across the country a week ago.

He leaned to the side to catch a glimpse as bus-goers started up the steps. They were beginning to scan the area as if they could smell him. As if they could sense he was no longer inside the hospital. Someone had tipped them off to his early departure, surely.

But he waited a moment too long. An arm waved in the air, with his book clutched in its hand and a wild delight on the woman's face. Dr. LeVan! she shouted, pointing and nodding at every soul around her. Can you sign my book? She plunged into the street, dodging traffic like a wide receiver locked on target.

Jessie leaped up the steps behind the last man in a trench coat, a common choice in the drizzly San Francisco weather. Go, go! he gasped, watching in horror as the woman came within feet of the bus. The driver smirked and pulled the door closed, moving the bus forward with a lurch.

The woman pounded on the side of the vehicle. Wait! Stop the bus!

Jessie flopped into the front seat, keeping his eyes glued to the windshield to avoid any attempted conversation from the other passengers.

But the bus driver knew him well enough. A hearty laugh vibrated through the man's ample belly. Too good for those fans of yours, Doctor? I'da thought a little fame would be nice. Change things up a bit—add some spice to life. He glanced back briefly. Not so much, eh?

Jessie heaved out a breath, scrubbing one hand through his wet black hair. Cold rain dripped down his face, reminding him he'd left work without his coat. Maybe if they let me do my job at the same time. I swear, I've probably forgotten every name and nearly misdiagnosed a dozen patients since all this commotion. I can't even handle half my regular workload, it's a joke! Having to re-check everything I do… He shook his head. I don't know, Lars.

Eh, don't worry so much. Lars checked his mirrors and began to circle out a wide turn with the mammoth steering wheel.

It reminded Jessie of a dance he'd seen once. Except it was a beautiful woman in Cairo, and she wore jangles and shimmering fabric.

"In another week, you'll be old news, you and your stories of the strangely mystical relationships between doctors and patients. An exploration of ethics and when it's okay to lie." Lars swept his arm up dramatically as if preaching to the heavens.

Jessie's dark eyebrows rose, and he tilted his head appreciatively. You've read my book? It was hard to imagine. Lars was a man full of sarcasm, dry wit, and bad language.

But now he feigned offense and lifted his chin. Does that surprise you?

Well…

My wife was the one who bought it, Lars interrupted, losing the usual jest in his voice. She's been dealing with pain for nearly ten years. Been to a hundred doctors. It's rough. He gazed out at the street with conflict in his eyes. But reading your book changed something. She can finally relate to the process, like she understands it better. She said she can see the caring now, ya know? He glanced back. She couldn't see that before. But it's there.

They pulled up to Jessie's stop, but instead of opening the doors, Lars turns around in his seat. After you read about doctors breaking down the second they leave a shift, hardly able to function, never having a moment to take care of themselves because they give everything to these strangers every day. I've never thought about it quite like that before. It's an eye-opener.

Jessie felt strangely exposed, wondering for the millionth time if he'd done the right thing in being so honest and raw.

Well, thank you, he said quietly. I appreciate that.

And you're funny as all get-out, Doc! Lars burst into a fit of laughter and clapped his hands. What you seen in those rooms, and the conversations of patients coming out of surgery—priceless! He heaved out another laugh and smacked Jessie on the shoulder as he descended the steps.

Have a good one, Jessie said, grinning back at Lars who was still red-faced with laughter. He lifted his hand in a wave and closed the doors.

No one ever got off on the same stop as Jessie, and he liked it that way. The neighborhood he lived in was full of remodeled classic mansions, although they could hardly be called mansions by the current standards. The street was wider than most in San Francisco, with mature trees shading it entirely and stretched-out lawns on each side. Plus, enough walking time between the bus stop and home for his brain to wind down, even at a quick pace.

Jessie breathed deeply, his footsteps swift, thinking over a fellow surgeon's advice to take a break. In fact, he'd been in the midst of planning one. But for some reason, the thought made him feel weak, as if he was running from something when really he should be able to handle it. A bit of fandom? It was nothing. He dealt with life and death procedures and high-risk patients. Surely, he could manage this too.

A young teenage boy burst from the shrubs, and Jessie jumped back to avoid a collision. The youth shoved something into his hands.

Jessie caught the envelope before it could drop to the ground. What the—?

But the boy skittered away, disappearing behind a neighbor's house… and Jessie didn't follow. He only stared down at the envelope, reading his name on the front, in letters clearly not written by the messenger.

Doctor Jessie LeVan

His stomach recoiled, and he glanced around the neighborhood. Something inside him was warning, cautioning, until he shoved the envelope into his pocket and walked swiftly up the steps to the wide carpenter-style estate he called home.

He entered warily, securing the lock and pacing through each room. But everything was in its place, clean and organized. Instead of taking pride in it, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of resentment. All it told him was that he was very alone. At least there were no fans here. He kept his address private, and so far, no one had been dedicated enough to follow him home. At least not yet.

With a sigh, he returned to the living room, amidst vaulted ceilings, old rustic beams, and windows that showed off an incredible view of the city, and sunk into the couch cushions. He slipped a finger under the seal and pulled out a single paper, gazing meticulously over the typed message.

The hair on his neck bristled, and he sat up rigidly, flicking his gaze back to the beginning and reading it a second time. One line continued to stand out.

…there will be no further action against you if you state that your novel is a work of fiction, which it so obviously is.

He was being threatened. His eyes narrowed at the last line, where he was warned against contacting police, and he pulled his cell phone from his pocket. Searching for the local police station, he typed in the numbers and waited as it rang. His heart was pounding at the thought of explaining the letter, but he swallowed back the nerves, refusing to be intimidated.

The ringing stopped suddenly, the call dropped.

Grumbling to himself, Jessie pressed the call button again. This time it only rang three times before suddenly cutting off again. He froze, staring at the screen of his phone as he fought with a growing suspicion. When a text appeared from an unknown number, there was no denying it.

I said not to contact the police.

His face felt cold. In the back of his mind, he could see himself in a bird's-eye view, standing in the middle of an empty room in an empty house. An easy target.

He deleted the text with a swipe of his thumb and hurried to his room. Setting his personal cell phone on top of his dresser, he opened a small top drawer and sifted through a random assortment of gifts he'd received over countless speeches, dinners, and awards. Everything from thousand-dollar watches and diamond cufflinks to fountain pens.

And then he spotted it. A gift he'd thought was either extremely inappropriate or just blatantly unusual, depending on its use. His associate had called it a travel phone and had backed the explanation with a leering expression and a sly glance at a pretty woman in the room.

It's untraceable, he'd explained with a wink, and as he'd known his friend to be suffering through an unhappy marriage, Jessie hadn't needed further details. At the time, he'd been angry, offended even, that his so-called friend would assume he desired such a lifestyle.

But now, he thanked that immoral man. If there was one thing he detested, it was being pressured into things. As a high profile surgeon, he'd felt that persuasion countless times. It'd been difficult at first, but over the years, he'd learned to push back and make his stance known as soon and as strongly as possible.

The situation now was different in every way, but it didn't change the fact that he had to do something. He had to make a move. And he had to do it quickly.

He pulled out a business card that he'd scribbled a note