“She’s just trying to find her place here on Comico Island. She only moved here six months ago, you know. After her mother dying like that, and that spot of women’s trouble she had, Sabrina is just going through a—what do you call it?—an adjustment period.”
Lima’s loyalty to the newcomer was sandpaper on Mary’s nerves. “Maybe she should go on back to Cincinnati, if she’s having so much trouble adjusting here.”
“Mary Tubbs, you don’t need to stick your nose into every living soul’s business. And by the way, what’s with your hair? You look like you dipped your head in a bucket of red paint.”
Mary put her hand to her hair while she considered belting Lima one in the head with her purse. “The hair stylist over on the mainland swore this was the color I picked. I told her if I planned to look like a clown I’d have asked her to put in some purple and yellow as well, but she plain refused to change it without me paying her again. And of course I wasn’t going to do that.” Mary was still so angry about the whole thing she could spit nails. But darned if she was going to pay any more money to that lying, pert-bosomed stylist.
“You should have called the corporate office and seen if they had one of them um-bus-men. I was watching CNN the other night, and they said all the big companies have them now. They’re having so many complaints about stuff, they have these um-bus-men to kind of negotiate between the customers and the company.”
“Lima, you very well may be the most ignorant man I ever met.” Mary said the words without heat, however, because an idea was forming. It could be the answer to all their problems.
She saw Hill emerging from the bathroom, looking pale and well-scrubbed. Mary made a beeline for him, leaving Lima sputtering in her wake, and she plain enjoyed the look of fright on Hill’s face as she approached. He looked around for a hiding place, but she was coming too fast.
“Something needs to be done, Hill,” she called when she was still fifteen feet away. “After that horrible article, and all these complaints we’ve been getting from the tourists, something has got to be done. And if you’re not man enough to figure out a solution, I am. That is to say—well, never mind that. Did you hear what Sabrina Dunsweeney did this morning?”
Hill looked like he wished he could escape back into the restroom, perhaps hang out by the soap dispenser for the rest of the afternoon.
“No? Well, I’ll tell you about it later. What’s important is that Sabrina needs a job, right? And if the woman is good at anything, it’s sticking her nose in other people’s business. I think we should make her—”
Chapter Three
“Island Ombudsman?” Sabrina was pretty sure she must have heard wrong, so she repeated the phrase with a different inflection to see if a word was hidden in the midst of the unintelligible syllables. She still remembered Chris Robinson in the fifth grade telling her “immature” was pronounced “eye-ma-turd” and getting her to repeat it to all his friends to their hilarious delight. “Island Ombudsman.”
It didn’t help. The five smiling faces continued to smile, and now they were nodding too.
Sabrina knew the best way to deal with this type of situation was to nod along and look intelligent.
“Ah! What an interesting idea!” She was happy to see that this answer pleased her audience.
“We knew you’d agree, Sabrina.” Sondra Lane of Sweet Island Music pushed back her veil of long dark hair. “You’re the perfect person for this job. A former schoolteacher who is great with people, what more could we ask for? I knew it the minute Mary came up with you as a possible candidate.”
Sabrina narrowed her eyes a bit as she looked over at Mary Garrison Tubbs, who sat smug and satisfied at the end of the table. Mary’s idea? That put a different spin on things. Sabrina would have to be sure to look for the floating surprise in the punch bowl.
“And everyone knows you’re between jobs, Sabrina, so this works out perfectly. Can you start right away?” Nettie Wrightly, small, round, and twinkly, was the newest member of the council. As Sanitary Concessionary, in charge of distributing the highly sought-after septic permits, she was arguably one of the most powerful people on Comico Island. Without her say-so, nobody could build a new house or add on to their existing one.
“Please? Oh, um…I would like to hear a bit more about what the job would entail, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Sabrina squirmed in the child-size desk, but no matter which direction she turned, there was no way to avoid having her thigh squeezed or her rump pinched. She suspected Mary had had a hand in the set up for this meeting. The five town council members were lined up in a row of adult-sized chairs at the head of Mrs. Lowry’s third grade classroom, while Sabrina’s tiny desk was positioned in front of them. She felt like a prisoner in front of a parole board.
“We only have ten more minutes before the children return from recess, so we need to make this expeditious,” Bill Large said, frowning at his fellow board members. “I want to note for the record that I still think this whole idea is ridiculous.” Bill was a very important man—to Bill. He represented the Lighthouse Estates contingent of Comico Islanders, recent transplants who lived in their expensive mansions in a gated community by the sea.
“We really don’t care what you think, Bill,” Mary announced. “Hill, are you going to conduct this meeting anytime soon?”
“Ah, yes,” Hill said, on cue. It was the first time the mayor had spoken since Sabrina arrived, in a curious frenzy to know why the town council wanted to see her at ten o’clock on a sunny Monday morning. “You’ve seen the article, I suppose?” He asked the question vaguely to the back of the room, and Sabrina resisted the urge to turn around and see if there was someone standing behind her.
“I’m afraid not. What article?”
“But even you have noticed that relations between islanders and our visitors have been strained?” Mary asked, though her tone made it clear she was not at all certain of Sabrina’s powers of observation or even her ability to butter bread without help.
“Of course. There’s been a lot of them lately, and so many seem miserable. How can you be unhappy when you’re vacationing on such a beautiful island?” Sabrina beamed at the group, but only Sondra smiled back.
“Oh, they have plenty of reasons to be unhappy if Vicki Carroway is booking their vacation. And she’s booking more than half of the rooms and houses on the island now,” Nettie said, her face crinkling so it resembled a crumpled paper bag. “She’s making it almost impossible for anyone to book their own rooms without going through her. And her customer service stinks! You know Sabrina, I’ve started a new religion based on the joyous rewards of providing good customer service. What happened to a nice smile delivered along with your cheeseburger? Why can’t—”
“Look, old woman, I don’t want to hear anything more about your religion of the month—” Bill Large cut in.
“Vicki Carroway doesn’t care what groups she books,” Sondra Lane said loudly over their squabbling. “Like the ‘Maximum Security Prison Reunion’ group last month. And she’ll tell people almost anything to get them to reserve a room or cottage. Then they’re disappointed when they get here and don’t have an Olympic-sized pool or their own golf course. They can’t sue, because they sign these iron-clad contracts.” Sondra shook her head, her hair swishing like a length of midnight blue silk. “And it’s not like we can complain to her boss, because she’s the president and owner of Paradise Vacations. Every time we try to pass an ordinance to stop her, she’s one step ahead of us.”
“She’s bringing money onto the island, people, are you forgetting that?” Bill asked with disgust. “Don’t you think that’s more important than a couple of whining tourists?”
“Some things are more important than money, Mr. Large.” Mary was frosty with a chill nip of scorn. “You may be happy with a dung heap in your front yard if someone paid you to store it there, but the rest of us—”
“I’ve seen your front yard, Mary, and while the sixty-seven Airs
tream certainly adds a touch of elegance to your flower bed and your urinal birdbath personifies class—”
“Why, you—”
“Please.” Hill clasped his hands over his ears. “Please stop.”
“I still don’t understand what this all has to do with me.” Sabrina knew she sounded plaintive, but she couldn’t help it. She was as unhappy as the next islander by the influx of disgruntled vacationers, but what did the town council expect her to do?
“Why, Sabrina,” Sondra said in surprise, making Sabrina feel like a dimwit, “we need someone to listen to their complaints and try to make things right. We need an ombudsman to act as a non-biased mediator between the visitors and the islanders.”
“But I’ve never heard of an island having its own ombudsman. Isn’t there supposed to be someone responsible for these type of complaints, like, like…the Better Business Bureau or the Visitors Bureau?”
“We don’t have either of one of those. The only thing we have is a welcome center.” Sondra looked uncomfortable.
“Comico Island has a welcome center?”
“We’re getting off subject, dear.” Nettie’s tiny cinnamon eyes were earnest. “We really we need an ombudsman.”
“Before it’s too late!” Mary stood and began pacing in the space between Sabrina and the council members. Sabrina noticed that Hill flinched every time Mary got too close to him.
“If our tourists continue to leave unhappy, before too long no one will come back. Sure we may not always like the tourists, but we darn sure need their money.” Mary avoided looking at Bill Large as she said this. “If they all stop coming, none of us will be able to afford to live here. We need to make sure they leave happy, and that’s your job, Sabrina.”
“But Vicki realizes this as well, doesn’t she? If all of the people she books leave unhappy, soon she will be out of business.”
“And then she’ll move on to the next place,” Sondra said grimly. “She’s done it time and time again. She’ll make as much money here as she can, and then move on, leaving us with her mess. I talked to a couple of people at the Small Island Association meeting last week, and several of their islands have already been victimized by Vicki Carroway and Paradise Vacations. They said there’s nothing you can legally do, just wait until she decides to leave, and that’s not until she’s sucked you dry and ruined your reputation.”
“This is what she’s doing to us.” Mary tossed a magazine to Sabrina. “She’s already made a start at ruining our good reputation.”
Sabrina caught the glossy magazine. It was a popular coastal magazine, featuring a beautiful picture of Hurricane Harbor on the cover. Sabrina began to smile until she noticed the caption: “Comico Island: Paradise Destination or Hell on Earth?”
“The reporter booked a house through Vicki,” Mary said, “and he records the entire horrendous experience. This magazine is read by thousands and thousands of people. If we don’t do something fast, we may lose all of our vacationers.”
A chorus of high-pitched voices began to echo through the halls. Mrs. Lowry’s third grade class would soon be back to claim their room.
“Will you do it, Sabrina? We need to know right away, or we’ll have to find someone else.”
Sabrina pretended to study the cover of the magazine to hide her agitation. Could she do this?
“I don’t think—” she began, her heart heavy with disappointment.
“Please, Sabrina, you have such a rapport with people,” Nettie implored. “We heard what you did for that poor tourist woman yesterday, and look how much you helped my family last fall. You’re wonderful with people, and you like to fix things for them. If you’re doing it for fun anyway, why not get paid at the same time? We wouldn’t know who else to turn to if you said no.”
Sabrina frowned and looked back down at the magazine. She was between jobs again, with no better idea of what she wanted to do than when she came to Comico Island six months ago. After her mother’s death and her breast cancer scare, she had wanted to start over, to experience all of the zesty life she had been missing. That’s why she gave up everything she knew in Cincinnati to move to Comico Island, with no plan except to start over, to try something different. But different didn’t always equal better, and life was no easier to figure out on Comico Island than it had been in Cincinnati. The reality was that she gave up a comfortable home—languishing on the market in Cincinnati—and a good job with benefits to move to a vacation island with a limited job supply. So far, none of them had worked out. Would this one be any different?
She wished she could go home and think about this for a week or so, talk to her friend Sally, and Calvin, and figure out the best course of action. But they needed an answer now, and what in the world should she do?
“I’ll do it,” she heard herself say, and stopped in surprise. “But only on a provisional basis,” she added quickly, before her rebel tongue could get away from her again. “I’m not sure—well, anyway, let’s see how I do, and then we’ll decide whether I’ll stay on in this position.” They’ll want to fire me in a week, she thought. I’ll quit before that to save them the trouble.
“Wonderful!” Hill said, and everyone turned to him in surprise. He hurriedly looked down at his hands.
“I’ll warn you,” Sabrina said. “I’m all thumbs when I first start a job. It takes me a little while to get the hang of it.”
“We’ve heard,” someone muttered. The door opened and children erupted into the room, their happy shouting and swinging ponytails swirling and eddying around Sabrina and the council members.
“Ms. Sabrina! Have you come to read to us again?” one child shouted, and another one asked, “When are you going to do another play for the kids? I want to be in it!”
In the hall, she listened as Hill, with loud prompting from Mary, administered the Ombudsman Oath, which bound Sabrina to confidentiality and impartiality. She was still dazed and assimilating what she had just sworn to do as Mary ran through some additional information.
“…we still need to hammer out some details, like your pay—Health insurance? I don’t know about health benefits, Sabrina, but we’ll get to that. Right now, though, here are the most recent letters of complaint. I would suggest getting over to the Shell Lodge right away, that seems the most pressing.”
A paper sack bulging with reams of paper was dropped into Sabrina’s arms, and she staggered under the weight of the complaint letters.
“We’re counting on you, Sabrina!” Sondra called as the council members left with expressions of relief, leaving Sabrina holding the bag.
Chapter Four
Hundreds of islands dotted the brilliant waters of the sound, clustered around Comico Island’s belly for protection from the ferocious summer hurricanes. Most were uninhabited, though some held a single house or even small communities, and almost all were unreachable except by boat.
Shell Island was unusual in that a narrow causeway had been built eighty years ago, linking Comico and the smaller island. Shell Island was very private, and was only big enough for a single hotel, so officially it was considered part of Comico Island.
The causeway was lined with splashy flowers, and Sabrina drove slowly to enjoy the view of clear, swift-moving water framed by colorful blossoms. She had never been out to Shell Island, though she had heard about the island’s hotel, the Shell Lodge. It was reputed to be breathtaking.
The hotel appeared at the end of a long, curving shell driveway, surrounded by lavish vegetation. She stopped the car, enchanted by the sight.
White shells covered every square inch of the outside of the large lodge, reminding her of the fancy gingerbread houses her grandmother used to painstakingly construct when Sabrina was small. Set point-end first into concrete, the whelk shells also decorated numerous walkways and the steps leading up to the lodge’s massive front doors. It looked magical, unreal, like a castle out of a fairy tale.
Sabrina followed the driveway around to the side of the hotel where she fou
nd a parking lot filled with cars and trucks, as well as two Jeeps emblazoned with the Shell Lodge’s logo. From this angle, she saw that walkways wound through riotous, gaudy bushes, stopping at several miniature cottages, each adorned with thousands of ivory shells, before meandering down to a small beach.
Sabrina followed the fanciful walkway up to the back entrance of the hotel and stepped through the screen door into a deserted dining room. It was mid-afternoon, but already she could smell delectable scents floating from the kitchen, promising a savory dinner to accompany the expansive water views.
“Larry, make sure you set out water pitchers and the coffee stations in the meeting room, they don’t want us disturbing them once they start—”
The young man, dressed in a maroon Shell Lodge shirt and crisp khakis, stopped upon seeing Sabrina and smiled with professional charm.
“We’ve got light appetizers at the pool if you’re hungry,” he said with cheerful enthusiasm. “I’m afraid the dining room doesn’t open until five, though. To get to the pool, you follow that hall all the way down past the lobby and presto, like magic, the door will open onto the pool.”
“No, I’m not looking for food, though the smells coming from that kitchen might make me change my mind!”
The young man laughed, and stepped forward to offer his hand. His sandy hair was receding, and his nose was too pointy, but his laugh was infectious and his intelligent face attractive despite its flaws.
“I’m Matt Fredericks. Were you looking for a room, then? We’ve got a group in and we’re all booked up. That’s pretty unusual, so if you want to call back another time, I’m sure we’ll be able to accommodate you. It’s great that we’re booked this week, but I don’t like having to turn guests away. You hate to disappoint people, you know?”
Sabrina was having trouble getting a word in edgewise, so she waited until Matt took a breath and spoke before he could get started again.
Island Blues Page 2