Maybe he was right.
The cold snap finally ended, just in time for the “Taste of the Island,” as well as Jimmy and Sandy’s soon-to-be wedding.
As I sat outside my Airstream in my yellow sundress, waiting for Cole, I tilted my head back to enjoy the afternoon heat. It was amazing how quickly the Florida sun could brush away any lingering chill with its sultry, sweeping warmth.
The sunshine reflected off Rusty’s spanking-new windshield, and I savored the sight of my truck’s restored condition. It almost banished the bad memories of the coconut attack last week.
Unfortunately, it would take longer for me to forget how stupidly I had bungled the events at Carlos’ house.
Dumb. Dumb. Dumb.
Just then, Wanda Sue strolled up with Madame Geri. “Are you ready to head out to the `Taste of the Island’?”
“As soon as Cole gets here.” I sighed. “What a week. Can you believe what happened?”
“Yeah, who would have thunk it?” Wanda Sue sat next to me, fanning herself with a large straw sun hat.
“I didn’t get the whole story from the spirit world,” said Madame Geri. “Not about Carlos and Marco, and not about your raise,” she said, turning to me. “Turns out Anita’s grandfather was a skinflint.”
“Not surprising.” I slathered sunblock on my face to avoid more freckles and handed the bottle to Wanda Sue.
“I still can’t find it in myself to blame Carlos. He did it for Beatrice, so she could have the life he never had with Delores. It’s kind of touching in a way.” Wanda Sue sighed as she squirted a huge blob of sunblock into her palm. “I’ve got to be careful with the sun since that bee cream disaster.”
I nodded. “You don’t want to end up with another allergic reaction.”
Wanda Sue visibly shuddered.
“I told you, the Coral Island bees don’t create honey that agrees with humans,” Madame Geri stated, her mouth pursed.
“Except for Anita’s skin.” I hated to say it, but two days ago, her face finally stopped peeling, and she looked ten years younger. Wouldn’t you just know?
“Guess I was wrong about that one too,” Madame Geri admitted.
I checked my watch, wondering where Cole was. Then I took a peep at the site next door. The phantom Airstream was back! And so was the middle-aged woman in the apron.
“Look, she’s right there!” I pointed at my neighbor.
Wanda Sue didn’t glance up.
But Madame Geri waved at her. “It’s Maude Butterman. She used to keep her Airstream here at the Twin Palms.”
I flashed an accusatory glance at my landlady. “I thought you told me no one had checked in.”
“She didn’t,” Wanda Sue said, meeting my eyes with a sheepish expression. “Remember our conversation about Maude Butterman?”
“Maybe.” I took another look at the Airstream. It had vanished. “Okay, what’s going on?”
“Maude didn’t `check in.’ She died about ten years ago,” Madame Geri explained. “She and her husband honeymooned here in the fifties, but they liked it so much, they stayed. She reappears whenever there’s going to be a wedding on the island.”
“Oh.” What else could I say?
Wanda Sue spread her hands in helpless appeal. “Sorry, Mallie. I didn’t think you’d believe me if I told you the rest of the story about Mrs. Butterman. I guess she’s here because of Sandy and Jimmy.”
“Hi” Cole cruised onto my site, wearing a tropical shirt and knee-length surfer shorts. He grinned at me, holding out a small box. “Mallie, will you marry me?”
Omigod.
Marty Ambrose - Mango Bay 04 - Killer Kool Page 14