by Lyn Gardner
“And that’s what gives you chills?”
“No,” Judy said, pointing over Robin’s shoulder. “That does.”
Robin turned around, immediately shading her eyes from the sun coming through the trees. She expected something out of the ordinary, but instead, she found herself looking at a flagpole holding the American flag at half-staff. “Don’t get me wrong. I can be as patriotic as the next person, but I feel like I’m missing something here.”
“Didn’t you notice how it was hanging?”
“Yeah, at half-staff. Who died?”
“They did,” Judy whispered, pointing at the graves. “And this cemetery, on this tiny little island I call home, is one of only four National Cemeteries having the honor to fly their flag at half-staff...every day of the year.”
Robin instantly rubbed her arms, trying to calm the goosebumps that had sprung to life.
“Glad to see it affects you the same way,” Judy said, smiling. “Or are you cold?”
“No, I’m not cold,” Robin said as she gestured toward the road. “But I will be if we don’t keep moving.”
“Well, St. Anne’s is right down the road. I’ll race you.”
Judy was already running down the path by the time Robin had processed what she had said, and with a laugh, Robin took off after her. She caught up just as Judy dashed past the stone entrance leading to St. Anne’s and Robin jogged in silence until they turned down a side road and Judy slowed to a walk. “And this is the largest cemetery on the island.”
Robin looked out over the sprawling graveyard, the numerous headstones and monuments nestled amongst the towering oaks and sugar maples dotting the landscape. “It’s gorgeous. I can see why people would want to be buried here.”
“Well, if you have any plans to join them, you better hang around for about fifteen years.”
“I’m hoping to hang around for a lot longer than that. Thank you very much.”
Judy grinned and bumped her shoulder into Robin’s bicep. “That’s not what I mean.”
“Okay?”
“In order to be buried on Mackinac, you either have to be born here, or you’ve had to live here for at least fifteen years.”
“Seriously?”
“Oh, you’d be amazed at how many tourists contact the cemeteries every year, trying to buy plots.”
“Then I guess that means none of your family is here?”
“Nope,” Judy said, shaking her head. “Scott’s parents are buried here along with a few of his uncles and aunts, and I guess when he kicks the bucket, he will be, too, but as far as my real family, no, they’ll never be here. And that’s yet another bone of contention between Patrick and me. He wants me buried in the family plot in Indiana, and I want my ashes interred here.”
Robin frowned. “Is it me or has this conversation turned maudlin?”
“Yeah, it’s definitely taken a turn for the worse,” Judy said, chuckling. “But since we’re talking about families, how do you feel about Thanksgiving?”
“Crap. That’s coming up. Isn’t it?”
“In two weeks, and I wasn’t sure if you were thinking about visiting Declan or...or someone else, or just hanging out here.”
“There’s no one else to visit other than Gabby, and her folks retired to Arizona a few years back, so she usually goes down there for the holidays now.”
“Who’s Gabby?”
“Oh, she’s my agent. Actually, she’s Declan’s, too. We all went to college together. Remind me, and I’ll show you a picture of her. There’s one on the mantle.”
“Okay,” Judy said. “So, does that mean you don’t have any plans?”
“Not a one. Why?”
“Well, Rita and Hank usually invite me over on Thanksgiving, but I know they’ll be in Cheboygan this year, so since I’ll be alone, and you’ll be alone, I was wondering if...if you’d like to spend it together? It doesn’t have to be any big deal. I could run over to St. Ignace next weekend and pick up a small turkey. What do you think?”
Robin paused and looked at the road in front of them. “How far are we from your place?”
“Um,” Judy said, glancing around. “Probably about a half-mile. Maybe a little less if we cut through the park.”
“What park?”
Judy slowed her stride as she looked at Robin. “Great Turtle Park. At the end of this road, we just have to make a right and then a left into the park. My place is directly on the other side of it. Why?”
“Because the loser washes all the dishes on Thanksgiving,” Robin said, and suddenly her brisk walk turned into an all-out sprint.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
After their run on Monday, Robin and Judy got back to their routine. On Tuesday, they continued painting upstairs in the afternoon until they ran out of rooms needing only that. On Wednesday, they began moving furniture out of their way and on Thursday, they started attacking what they agreed was their least favorite room.
Robin bounded up the steps, and as soon as she entered Central Lake, she grinned. “You’re making quick work of this.”
“We have Adele to thank for that,” Judy said, stepping back to look at what remained of the fuchsia and pink wallpaper on two of the walls. “If she hadn’t used sizing on this plaster, we’d be using a hell of a lot more elbow grease to scrape this stuff off.”
“Which brings me to the bad news.”
“The bad news?”
“This is the last one we have,” Robin said, holding up a blue plastic bag. “And since we plan to go to the mainland tomorrow to get a turkey for next week, we either have to run over to Public Works today or wait until Monday. We have plenty of clear though, but you said you didn’t want to use those.”
“I’d be afraid to put this stuff in a compost bag with all the ink in it,” Judy said, gathering a few scraps of paper off the floor. “And I’ve already sprayed down the next wall. Why don’t you go get some more, and I’ll keep going?”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, unless you can’t handle the hill on Market Street,” Judy said, her eyes creasing at the corners. “I know how much you love hills.”
“Very funny,” Robin said, tossing the bag to Judy. “I’ll be back in a few.”
“Hey, since you’ll be out that way, do you mind going to the post office? I haven’t checked my box in a few days, and it would save me the trip.”
“No, I don’t mind at all, especially since I keep forgetting to check mine. Where are your keys?”
“In my coat pocket.”
“All right. See you in a bit.”
“Be careful.”
“What am I going to do? Get hit by a walker?”
“You’re about to get hit by a wet piece of wallpaper if you’re not careful,” Judy said, wadding up a nearby strip. “Now get out of here and let me get back to my work.”
“Yes, dear.”
***
Pam stepped off the ferry and immediately wrinkled her nose. “Jesus, it smells like shit here,” she mumbled under her breath. Yanking up the collar on her time-worn leather jacket, she strutted down the nearly deserted dock until she saw a man, bundled up in a puffy blue parka, standing near the locker area.
“Hey you,” Pam yelled as she approached. “How about giving me a hand?”
Glen looked up from his clipboard. “Sure thing, miss. What do you need?”
“I need to know where this place is, and it’s mizz not miss,” Pam said, and bringing up the notes on her phone, she shoved the screen into Glen’s face.
Glen cleared his throat, and rocking back in his stance, he glanced at the phone. “That’s the Safe Harbor.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It’s a B&B.”
“A bed-and-breakfast?”
“That’s right,” Glen said, tucking his clipboard under his arm. “But I’m not sure they’re open.”
“Well, don’t you worry about that, old man. They’ll be open for me. I guarantee it,” Pam said, sli
pping her phone into the back pocket of her jeans. “Now tell me how I get there.”
The tendons in Glen’s neck tightened. He had been brought up to be courteous and respectful toward others, and on the rare occasion when someone stepped off the ferries wearing a frown, he did his best to turn it upside down. He loved his island, and he wanted everyone to enjoy it, but Glen doubted this woman enjoyed anything. Like a statue, she remained in his personal space, glowering back at him through eyes dark and hostile. The pungent cologne she had bathed in was making his eyes sting, and even though Glen knew he was older than the woman, someone displaying a road map of sun damage on their face shouldn’t be throwing stones.
Glen took a step back, thankful for the breeze clearing away the essence of fermenting petunias. “You can take a taxi, or you can walk. Totally up to you.”
“And just where in the hell do I get a taxi?”
Glen’s lips thinned. Taking a slow, even breath, he motioned toward the carriage parked at the end of the dock. “Right over there.”
“What in the world are you smoking? I’m not getting on a fucking wagon.”
“Actually, it’s a carriage,” Glen said, lifting his chin. “I guess you’re not up on your Mackinac history. We don’t have cars on the island, and since all the bike shops are closed, it’s either the carriage, or you walk. Like I said, it’s totally up to you.”
Pam huffed. “And I suppose that thing’s going to cost an arm and a leg. Isn’t it?”
“It’s five bucks for the ride, and if you want them to wait, it’s a dollar a minute.”
“That’s fucking robbery.”
“It is what it is,” Glen said, shrugging. “Now, I have some things I need to do so if we’re done here—”
“How do I get there if I walk?”
Glen pointed toward the road. “Make a left on Main and a right at the end of the street. It’s up on the right. You can’t miss it.”
“And how far, exactly, is that?”
“Oh, I’d say about four minutes, maybe five in those boots.”
“Five?” Pam shouted, intruding on Glen’s personal space again. “Are you fucking serious? You actually tried to talk me into paying for a taxi when it’s that close?”
“I didn’t try—”
“Don’t bother!” Pam said, holding up her hands. “You tourist trap people are all the same. All you ever see are dollar signs. Well, I got news for you, pal. It’ll be a cold day in hell before you get any of my money.”
Glen watched as the woman lumbered toward the street, the clicking of her three-inch heels against the concrete echoing in the confines of the overhang. Scratching his head, he laughed as he pulled the clipboard out from under his arm. “Sure as shit takes all kinds.”
***
It wasn’t long after Robin left when Judy rocked back on her heels and set aside her scraper. She had already managed to fill the remaining bag with paper, and without another, she was left with either littering the floor with damp remnants of wallpaper or waiting until Robin returned. With a sigh, Judy got to her feet, grabbed a bag in each hand, and made her way downstairs. Placing them next to another, she was about to head back to Central Lake when the doorbell rang. After wiping her hands on her glue-speckled jeans, Judy went over and opened the front door.
“Hi!” Judy chirped. “Welcome to Safe Harbor. How may I help you?”
Pam gave the woman the once over. She had always imagined people who owned bed-and-breakfasts to be the retired type. Round at the waist, ruddy in the face, and with hair the color of salt, they’d spend their days pontificating to their captive listeners, who’d be forced to listen to all the tales about the good old days while they gobbled down their eggs, bacon, and biscuits.
The woman grinning back at Pam did not fit that bill. She wasn’t fat. Her skin was clear and glowing, and while there was some gray in her hair, she felt no need to conceal it behind dye like Pam did. But even the sum of all those details didn’t irk Pam as much as the vitality in the woman’s Nordic blue eyes. Someone her age had no right to feel so good...or look so good.
“I’m here to see Robin Novak,” Pam said with a syrupy smile. “Is she around?”
The hairs on the back of Judy’s neck stood on end. The woman was smiling, but the emotion didn’t reach her eyes. They were hard and piercing and held in their muddy brown nothing but arrogance. “Um...no. Actually, she...she just went to run some errands.”
“Then I guess I’ll just have to wait, now won’t I?”
It was a standoff Judy wished they hadn’t just reached. She either had to let the woman inside or make her wait on the porch. Inwardly, Judy sighed. “Of course,” she said, opening the door wider. “Please come in. You can wait in the parlor.”
Pam arched an eyebrow, giving Judy a half-glance before marching into the house. There was a lot to take in, but Pam was an expert in scrutinizing her surroundings. By the time she heard the door close behind her, she had sucked in every detail before she turned around and eyed the innkeeper again.
“My name’s Judy Dunnigan,” Judy said, and holding out her hand, she forced herself to continue smiling. “Now it’s your turn.”
Judy had expected the handshake to be quick and uneventful, but once she felt the strength in the woman’s grip, she returned in kind. There was no need to show force, to squeeze until the other participant grimaced, but that’s precisely what the woman seemed to be doing. It was rude, and it was uncalled for, so without one flicker of discomfort showing on her face, Judy continued to shake Pam’s hand, all the while staring her directly in the eye.
Judy wasn’t one who judged rapidly, and she never judged by the cover, but after the childish show of strength, Judy made an exception. At first glance, she found the woman unattractive. Her eyes, framed by a swath of eyeliner, were deep-set and shadowed in their sockets, and her lips were thin, barely hiding a slight overbite. Her hand was rough and calloused, and she was gaunt, the flare of her hips scarcely noticeable under the faded denim painting her legs. Separately, the elements that made up this stranger were hardly appealing, but like a recipe, when the ingredients were combined the result wasn’t unpleasant, except for one thing. The woman’s face was etched with defiance, and her beady eyes were currently trying to bore their way through Judy. She had yet to discover the stranger’s name, but that no longer mattered. Judy already disliked her...no matter who she was.
Pam had begged, borrowed, and forced money out of everyone she knew in order to drive to Michigan, and she was too close to her end game to leave anything to chance. Without missing a beat, as their hands parted, Pam honked out a laugh. “I’m sorry. My name’s Gabby. Gabby Passarelli. I’m Robin’s agent.”
“Oh...um...it’s very nice to meet you,” Judy said, and taking a step toward the parlor, she motioned inside. “You can make yourself comfortable in here. Robin should be back soon.”
“If it’s all the same to you,” Pam said, looking up the stairs. “I’d rather wait in her room.”
“Her room?”
“Yeah. She does have one—right?”
Judy tilted her head. “Well, since she owns this place, she uses the innkeeper’s suite. I would have thought you’d know that.”
It was a misstep, the tiniest of stumbles, but Pam was a master of fabrication. Without so much as a hint of hesitation, she barked out another laugh. “Of course, I know that. Duh!” she said with an exaggerated eye roll. “But the last time we talked, she said she had a lot of cleaning to do. I just figured with all this trash piled up, she was still working on her place.”
“Oh, I see,” Judy said, glancing at the stack of blue bags.
“So, like I said, I’d rather wait there if it’s all the same to you,” Pam said, leaning in toward Judy. “Or is that a problem?”
“No,” Judy said, locking eyes with Pam. “As a matter of fact, I was just heading back there to grab some water. Would you like some?”
“You got any beer?”
***
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Judy rushed back down the stairs with her hoodie in hand, and when the front door opened and Robin walked in, Judy let out the breath she’d been holding for the past twenty minutes. “Where have you been?”
“Well, hello to you, too,” Robin said, shrugging out of her coat. “And you know exactly where I was,” she said, placing the stack of bags on the receptionist podium. “I went to Public Works and then to the Post Office. I ran into Maxine while I was there, so I stopped to chat. Why? And what’s up with the sweatshirt? It’s not cold in here.”
“It’s freezing in your apartment.”
“That makes no—” Robin cut herself off as she glanced toward the back of the house. “Crap. Isobel must be visiting.”
“She’s not the only one.”
“Huh?”
“You have a guest,” Judy said as she put on her hoodie.
“Who?”
“She says she’s your agent, Gabby.”
“Gabby’s here! Oh my, God, that’s—”
“I don’t think it’s Gabby,” Judy said, placing her hand on Robin’s arm.
“What are you talking about?”
Judy looked over her shoulder and then began to whisper. “Remember how you said there was a picture of her on your mantle?”
“Yeah, it’s the one on the far left. Why?”
“Because the woman sitting in your apartment isn’t in any of those pictures. Not unless she’s lost a shit load of weight.”
A sucker punch couldn’t have emptied Robin’s lungs any faster. Frozen in place, it took almost a minute before she could find her voice. “Let me guess? Short? Thin? Wearing boots and...um...and lots of jewelry?”
“Yes,” Judy said in a breath. “Who is she?”
“Someone you don’t want to know,” Robin said as she took off her jacket and handed it to Judy. “Stay here. I’ll handle it.”
“Robin—”
“Judy, please. This isn’t your problem. It’s mine.”