The first time my husband, infant son, and I traipsed 120 miles due east from
Manhattan to Montauk, it was love at first sight. As a transplanted
Michigander, Montauk, on the easternmost tip of Long Island, became my
touchstone. The town embodied all the things I loved about laidback summers on
the Great Lakes and as an added perk it was only sixteen miles away from glitzy
East Hampton—summer home of the rich and famous.
Walking the beach toward the lighthouse, I would fantasize about which rickety
steps might lead upward to my new cottage.
Then I found it.
Through a set of newly purchased binoculars, I saw that the cottage was modest.
It had three-sided ocean views and an upstairs balcony the size of a ship’s
crow’s nest. There were twenty seven wooden steps leading up from the secluded
beach. I pictured myself reading mysteries on the screened porch or sipping a
glass of local Long Island wine on the swing that gently swayed under the
eaves.
Sold.
There was only one problem. The cottage wasn’t for sale. And even if it was, we
couldn’t afford it. We lived in Manhattan in a wonderful apartment and we both
had careers—but the price of an oceanfront cottage, even the small cozy one I
fell in love with, would’ve been way beyond our means.
But that didn’t stop me.
On our weekend jaunts to Montauk, I would wake at sunrise and walk a mile east
from our hotel toward the lighthouse, a beach chair strapped across my back, a
thermos of coffee, and a book in my beach bag. Then, I’d set up camp at the
bottom of the steps leading up to my cottage. The wonderful thing about
Montauk’s beaches was the fact that they had public access. You could own a
multimillion dollar cottage on a cliff, but the beach belonged to everyone.
I never saw anyone coming down those twenty-seven steps. No one sat on the
swing or stood on the deck gazing out at the Atlantic. I fantasized that the
cottage was uninhabited, the family fighting over whether or not to sell.
(Sell, darn it!) My husband thought I was bordering on the obsessive but I was
determined to have my cozy four-room cottage. (I knew it had four rooms because
I’d stalked a local real estate agent until she showed me photos of the no
frills cottage from when it’d been sold years before.) I had all the realtors
in town on speed dial, they had me on their blocked list.
One day, I opened my laptop, typed: BETTER HOMES AND CORPSES— A
Hamptons Home and Garden Mystery. A few pages later, I got the
cottage of my dreams. It was everything I’d imagined, right down to the
flagstone fireplace, wide-planked wood floors, and a vintage turquoise fridge…
I got my cottage in Montauk without spending a dime.
Kathleen Bridge started her writing career working at the Michigan State
University News in East Lansing, Michigan.
Bridge is the author and photographer of an antiques reference guide,
Lithographed Paper Toys, Books, and Games, a member of Sisters in Crime,
Mystery Writers of America, and has taught creative writing classes at The
Bryant Library in Roslyn, New York.
She is also an antiques and vintage dealer in Long Island, New York, and A Home
and Garden Magazine-aholic.
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After Meg Barrett found her fiancé still had designs on his ex-wife, she
decided it was time to refurbish her life. Leaving her glamorous job at a top
home and garden magazine, she fled Manhattan for Montauk, only to find
decorating can sometimes lead to detecting…
In between scouring estate sales for her new interior design business, Cottages
by the Sea, Meg visits the swanky East Hampton home of her old college
roommate, Jillian Spenser. But instead of seeing how the other half lives—she
learns how the other half dies. Jillian’s mother, known as the Queen Mother of
the Hamptons, has been murdered. Someone has staged a coup.
When she helps a friend inventory the Spensers’ estate for the insurance
company, Meg finds herself right in the thick of things. Cataloging valuable
antiques and art loses its charm when Meg discovers that the Spenser family has
been hiding dangerous secrets, which may have furnished a murderer with a
motive. As Meg gets closer to the truth, the killer will do anything to paint
her out of the picture…
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