Wherever the local kids go to smoke up and make out when all the vacation home millionaires aren't home. Being part of the pro hockey world, Blair had seen his share of expensive vacation home enclaves. He knew how often they were empty.
And he'd seen the evidence of, say, local kids breaking onto Eli's fishing cabin's grounds to use his pier for skinny dipping and smoking pot.
"You're right, sir, that isn't a question we usually get."
"I'm a great tipper," Blair said, aiming for persuasive, "but more importantly, a friend of mine is having a real shitty time and I just want to help get him some peace and quiet."
Either the promise of a big payday or the appeal to the concierge's humanity won out, because it turned out, he knew just the place.
…
"Careful," Blair whispered as he made his way down the steep, half- rotted wooden steps. "The guy said no flashlights just in case someone's home, but these stairs were not made for feet our size."
