Chapter 4: The Local Perspective
The golden retriever stopped near the mailbox, sniffing a patch of dry grass while the elderly man adjusted the cap on his grey head and looked up at the porch with an expression that was half-pity and half-exasperation. Arthur walked down the wooden steps, his hands held open in a gesture of non-threatening openness, while Martha and Elena watched anxiously from the shadow of the overhanging roof.
"Evening," the old man said, his voice raspy from decades of salt air and cheap tobacco. "You folks the new renters for the Miller place?"
"If by renters you mean people who just got cheated out of two thousand dollars, yes, that's us," Arthur replied, forcing a grim, self-deprecating smile as he reached the bottom of the steps.
The old man sighed, pulling gently on the dog's leash as the animal tried to investigate Arthur's sneakers. "I figured as much. You're the fourth family this month to show up on this porch with luggage and a look of pure shock. That Miller fellow sold this property back in the spring, moved down to Florida, and some out-of-state shell company bought it. They never intended to rent it out. They just leave the listing up on those shady third-party sites to harvest deposits from unsuspecting tourists."
Elena hurried down the steps, her face flushed with disbelief. "Are you serious? Is there no local police department we can call? We have a receipt, a confirmation code, and text messages from the supposed property manager."
"Police won't do much for civil fraud until Monday morning, ma'am," the old man said gently, tipping his hat toward Martha. "And even then, the company registered that LLC out of Delaware with a fake address. You're fighting ghosts."
The silence that followed his words felt heavier than the humidity. Toby had walked over, listening intently with wide, uncomprehending eyes, while Leo kicked a stray pebble into the tall weeds.
"Where can we stay?" Arthur asked, cutting straight to the core of their immediate survival needs. "Everything in town must be full."
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"During the regatta weekend?" The old man scoffhed lightly. "Not a chance of finding an empty room within twenty miles. But..." He paused, stroking the retriever's golden head thoughtfully. "My sister runs a small bait shop down by the municipal pier. She keeps an old cot in the back office, and she's got a patch of gravel out back where you could park your car safely for the night. It ain't much, but it has a roof and running water."
Elena looked at Arthur, her eyes pleading for a decision. Without hesitation, Arthur nodded at the stranger. "We'll take whatever you can offer. Thank you."
