Page 23 of Easton Island: Old-Fashioned Christmas
Morgan perked up. “Prank calls?”
“Someone called the office asking to speak with me,” Brett said. “When the receptionist asked who it was, the man hung up on her.”
“Maybe it was a nosy reporter, trying to get an inside scoop about the documentary.”
“I would have brushed it off if not for the fact that Mrs. Arnsby has taken two calls to the main number from a man asking if Brett lives here,” Elizabeth said.
“Could be a random nutjob,” Brett said. “Regardless, it’s something to be aware of.”
“Thanks for the heads-up.” Morgan promised she would be more mindful of her surroundings and left. During the drive to Easton Harbor’s grocery store, she thought about the storm and the forecaster’s ominous tone.
While she took the warning seriously, she knew some meteorologists sensationalized approaching storms for ratings and views.
A former Floridian, Morgan had been through more than her share of hurricanes, some worse than others. While she had plenty of experience with the monster storms, a blizzard was new—and concerning.
With the warning ringing in her ears, Morgan promptly drove to the grocery store. As anticipated, the parking lot was packed. It took her two full trips up and down the rows before she finally found an empty spot.
She hurried inside and was met with what could easily be summed up in two words…controlled chaos.
Islanders jammed the aisles, loading their carts with everything from peanut butter to pound cakes. Without a singlesolitary shopping cart in sight, Morgan snagged one of the last baskets and began weaving her way around the other shoppers.
While there was bread on the shelves, it was slim pickings. Morgan grabbed a loaf of rye and headed to the canned goods aisle. On her way to the peanut butter, she picked up a three-pack of canned chicken, some tuna and canned ravioli.
With a couple more quick stops, she headed to the checkout lane. She stood in a long line, waiting for what seemed like forever before finally reaching the front. Back in her car, she drove straight to Locke Pointe. The lights were on, and she caught a flit of movement, Greg and her pup, near the front porch.
Chester bounded down the sidewalk, his furry face covered in a dusting of snow.
“Hey, buddy. Did you miss me?” Morgan swiped at his whiskers. “If this snow keeps up, taking potty breaks is going to get tricky.”
Greg set his shovel aside and hurried to grab the grocery bags. “I was gonna call you to let you know you might wanna stop by the store to grab some supplies.”
“It was a madhouse.” Morgan hurried to keep up with his quick pace. “It reminded me of what it was like when hurricanes headed our way in Florida. Bottled water, bread…all the staples flew off the shelves.”
“At least you had some warning when a storm was coming,” he said. “I wouldn’t say this blizzard came out of nowhere, but it definitely ramped up in the last few hours.”
“I need to warn the guests they’ll want to pack up and leave early or risk being stuck here until the storm passes with limited heat and possibly no power.” Morgan trailed behind, followingGreg up the steps and into the house. “I was wondering about our generator and what it will power.”
“It isn’t powerful enough to keep everything running.” Greg mentioned the fireplace and their stockpile of wood. “The main rooms will stay warm, but turning on the stove or appliances would be iffy. The bottom line is I doubt we’ll have enough juice.”
Tina bustled down the hallway, a concerned expression etched on her face. “I thought I heard voices. A storm is brewing.”
“A biggie,” Morgan said. “According to the latest forecast, conditions will deteriorate starting tomorrow. I need to let the guests know they’ll want to pack up and head out.”
Tina told them she’d already mentioned it during the evening’s social hour. “All are planning to leave tomorrow morning, either by ferry or plane.”
“I’ll check in with them to find out exactly when. I would hate for them to get stuck here.” Morgan hung her jacket on the hook by the door. With Chester by her side, she climbed the stairs to the second floor. Working her way from room to room, she spoke with each of the guests, confirming they knew about the impending storm.
Relieved to hear they were all planning their departure, she and Chester returned downstairs to the kitchen. “I’ve offered everyone a credit for having to check out early.”
“Which is only fair,” Tina said. “You were hoping for a white Christmas. It appears there’s a winter wonderland on the way.”
“Note to self…be careful what you wish for.” Morgan crossed the hall to the office and settled in at the desk. She promptlytexted Wyatt to see if he’d heard. Instead of texting back, her cell phone rang. “Hello, beautiful. How did the show’s premiere go?”
“It was a great story about the Wynn Harbor Inn. Easton Holdings had a few mentions, and they included Brett’s and my interview. I don’t think I’ll have to don a ball cap and sunglasses to go out in public like Harlow Wynn,” she joked.
“You won’t have to worry about hordes of people descending on Easton Island, at least not for a few days.” Wyatt mentioned the storm.
“I’m at Locke Pointe, battening down the hatches. Guests are packing up and leaving the island before it hits.” A nagging concern popped into Morgan’s head. “Locke Village and Easton Harbor have reliable power grids, right?”
