Goodies General Notes and Table of Contents (read this first!)

Chapter Three

When I originally decided to place a big chunk of the book in the San Juan Islands, we took a family vacation up there to take a look around. Roche Harbor is such a cool place, I knew I had to put it in the book. Sadly, again, much of the Roche Harbor stuff got cut out of the final manuscript.

However, here are some pictures I took of the area, so you can get an idea of where they are. Below is a section of chapter three. Click on the underlined words for pictures that match the description in the book:

We left the plane and immediately began running, getting pelted with stinging rain as we went. Reuben led the way, hurrying down a short hill and across a parking lot that had once been made of dirt and was now two inches of slime. Rebekah ran in front of me, and I watched her slip twice as she picked her way frantically across the impromptu pond. I slipped five times, but I’d volunteered to carry her violin case, and I blamed it on that.

We turned onto a semi-paved road. Densely packed pines stood on both sides, affording us a little protection from the rain, but the ground was still a mess. To my right I could see a broad field with several small cabins, lined in neat rows. Lights gleamed in a few of the windows.

Ahead of me, Rebekah paused. As I caught up with her, she pointed in the distance. “Look.”

Despite the pouring rain and dark, it was undeniable. “A marina?”

“Where are we?”

“I don’t know,” I said, shivering slightly. Rebekah’s long blonde hair was plastered to her face and neck, and her clothes were soaked through. “Let’s hurry.” I took her hand and we ran again.

The road curved along the side of the hill, and more buildings became visible. A large steepled church rose to my left, and a building dropped off to my right. I glanced down and saw that the water – dancing and glistening in the rain – was only thirty or forty feet below us.

Suddenly, the dirt ended and the wide path was paved with cobblestones. Reuben swung over to the left, and under the wooden awning of a white, three-story hotel. Without waiting for us, he wiped his muddy shoes on the doormat, and entered. Rebekah and I followed, grateful to be out of the rain.

The building was old – probably historic for one reason or another. There was a fireplace, but sadly no fire had been lit. The check-in desk was made from old, dark wood, and antique furniture lined the lobby.

“Here,” Reuben said, turning to us. He handed us each a room key. “Head upstairs and get dried off.”

The people in the pictures, by the way, are my parents, my wife, and my daughter.

To read my daily reports while I was scouting locations on San Juan Island, go to the Articles Section.

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