At this hour, the town was even quieter than the forest. As I jogged down the main street, the only sound was the lone stop sign creaking in the wind.

White Rock is a nowhere town. Every kid who lives there can't wait to get out. For tourists, it's a stopover, not a destination. The town survives as a service center for hunters and snowmobilers and cottagers, a place where you can buy everything you need for survival and nothing that isn't essential to it.

As down home and comfortable as an old pair of sneakers – my kind of town.

Back at the lodge, I detoured to the lake for a dip. Crazy on a May morning, but it certainly knocked any remaining dream cobwebs from my mind. By the time I headed up to the lodge, it was nearly nine. Waiting on the back deck was Emma Walden, the lodge's live-in housekeeper/ cook. Her husband, Owen, takes care of the grounds and buildings. They're both past retirement age and were when they came to work for me. As Emma says, this is their retirement.

"Anyone up yet?" I called.

"I made cinnamon buns."

The smell of Emma's rolls woke guests faster than a dunk in the frigid lake.

"You look like a drowned rat. I hope you're planning on drying off before our guests see you."

I leaned over and squeezed a rivulet from my hair onto her clogs. She snapped her dishtowel at me. I snatched it and quick-dried my shoulder-length curls.

"You know where that towel's been?" she asked.

"No worse than where my hair's been. Has Sammi started work yet?"

"She's here all right. But working?" Emma snorted.

I tried not to sigh too loudly. Sammi Ernst was Emma's part-time assistant, hired two months ago.

"About Sammi, Nadia, we had a problem with the York couple. They didn't mention it until they were checking out, after you left."