“If he should approach you, don’t say anything. Don’t tell him anything that he can use against your brother, do you hear me?”
“Yes. I hear you.”
“He’s dangerous. He could ruin all of us!”
Chapter Two
“Sabrina!” Lima called, and she started guiltily. Above her there was an abrupt silence and then a door slammed.
“Right here!” She hurried back around to the front of the house.
“Where did you go? Never mind, let’s go in,” Lima said, stomping up the stairs to the front porch of the house.
The door opened, and a large woman of about sixty in a peacock silk dress and an elaborate beehive hairdo stood in the doorway.
“Lima Lowry, I declare,” she said, with a coquettish flutter of her mascara-encrusted lashes. Her voice had a distinctive southern strum, a drawling lilt that Sabrina recognized. Sabrina studied her with interest, wondering who the woman was, and why she had sounded so angry just moments before.
“Elizabeth, darling,” Lowry said in a courtly voice, bending at his waist and kissing the hand that Elizabeth proffered. Two people squeezed out of the door from behind her, and with expressions of profound relief they hurried down the driveway. Both clutched strange multi-colored sculptures in their hands—after a second look, Sabrina decided that the neon sculptures were most likely the famous teapots.
“Lima, Lima,” Elizabeth said in a flirtatious voice, “where did we go wrong?”
“Elizabeth, two shining stars like ourselves are not meant to marry. Our neighbors would have had to wear sunglasses,” Lima said grandly.
Elizabeth deigned to glance at Sabrina with eyes which were face-lifted into a permanently aghast expression. “And who, may I ask, is this?”
“Sabrina Dunsweeney,” she said in a friendly voice.
“Aaaall right.” Elizabeth sighed, as if she was a maitre d’ just barely allowing a marginal customer into the building. She opened the door wide and Sabrina followed Lima into the house.
The large front living area had been converted into a lobby, decorated in casual, artfully-stressed wicker and bright cushions. A rainbow array of fresh roses crowded every available surface. Displayed on the walls were campaign posters showing a handsome young man, and many of the people milling around the room sported buttons that read “Brad’s the Lad for President!”
“Don’t mind Elizabeth, she’s like that with everybody. Went to school on the mainland and came back with some exaggerated ideas about her own importance in the grand scheme of things, if you know what I mean.” Lima winked at Sabrina and then made a beeline for a little girl in a fancy pink dress carrying a tray of what could only be scones.
Sabrina went over to look at the teapots which were arranged on long tables. She never knew teapots came in such shapes and sizes. Silver pots, bronze pots, cast iron pots, ceramic pots, clay pots, pots big enough to serve a family of forty-six, miniature teapots suitable for Barbie and her pals, pots in fanciful shapes painted crazy neon colors, pots shaped like farm animals…many, many pots.
Around her, several conversations were going on at once: “After the tea party, we need to go down to the dock and watch the Regatta come in…” and “I guess I need to buy a dern teapot or Mrs. Elizabeth will never invite me to another party…” and “You seen the ghost yet? Hear he’s been hanging around by the Old Wrightly house…”
Sabrina glanced surreptitiously at the price tag on one of the crude clay pots, painted with a childish sunflower, and tried not to gasp at the price.
“Do you like that one?” asked a woman dressed in a chic green wrap-around dress and wearing very high heels to emphasize her slender ankles. She looked to be in her mid-thirties and her golden hair was brushed into a sophisticated French twist. Sabrina fought the urge to smooth down her own unruly gold curls which bounced around her head no matter how hard she tried to repress them.
“Please?”
The woman looked confused, but continued on. “It’s shaped after an ancient pot which was made by the local Irrocottilo Indians hundreds of years ago. Would you like to buy it?”
“It’s very nice, but no.” Sabrina hastily replaced the ugly pot.
“What about one of these? These are made by a talented local artist, Bob McCall.” The woman picked up one of the strange, misshapened, neon pots and held it out to Sabrina.
“Bicycle Bob?” Sabrina asked in surprise. “He makes those?”
“I didn’t realize—” The woman broke off in confusion. Recovering, she offered her hand.
“I’m Virginia Tittletott. And you are…?”
“Hello, nice to meet you, Virginia. I’m Sabrina Dunsweeney.” Sabrina extended her hand.
“Ms. Dunsweeney! You’re the one who always wears such pretty, bright clothes and drives the red convertible.” Virginia’s pretty face smoothed in satisfaction. “I covet that car.”
“It’s a rental.”
“How nice to meet you. I had thought that you were one of the people staying in a local hotel.” Virginia tactfully avoided the word “tourist.”
“Lima asked me to come with him,” Sabrina said shamelessly.
“You better watch out for him.” Virginia laughed. “He’s had every woman on this island in love with him at least once sometime in the past eighty years.”
“I noticed that.”
“Are you enjoying your vacation?”
Sabrina hesitated. “I am now.”
“Virginia, do you know where Missy put the extra scones and muffins?” A thin man wearing a petulant scowl and glasses pulled at Virginia’s arm.
“Yes,” Virginia said. “I do. Gary this is Sabrina Dunsweeney, no relation to Helen. Sabrina this is Gary Tittletott, my husband. If you will excuse me.” Virginia disappeared through an archway in the back of the room.
“This is a very nice party.” Sabrina studied the man with interest. He must be the Gary to whom Elizabeth was speaking. Who were they talking about? Why were they so afraid this mysterious “he” was back in town? All in all, very strange.
“Do you think so?” Gary’s nervous gaze roamed the room. He looked very uptight, as if expecting Sabrina to shout “boo” at him at any moment, and somehow insubstantial, as if he was accustomed to fading into the woodwork. He kept scratching at his neck, so hard that red welts were rising, and pulling at the sleeves of his too-large sports coat.
Sabrina looked over Gary’s head at one of the campaign posters. Bradford, the man on the poster, was a bolder, bigger version of Gary Tittletott. They were brothers, though Gary had been cheated of the basic vitality that imbued his brother.
“Listen up everyone,” Elizabeth Tittletott called stridently. “If anyone would so desire, the bar is now open for those who would like a drink.”
Sabrina was unprepared as Gary bolted for the open French doors at the far end of the room.
“Please don’t let me stop you,” Sabrina said to Gary’s retreating back.
“And who is this?” asked a warm, enthralling voice.
Bradford Tittletott stood behind her with a smile pinned to his handsome mouth. Lots of practice, she mused, to have a smile that consistently wide and even. He wore a perfectly-fitted lightweight suit and his dark blond hair curled rakishly on his forehead. Rakish. She’d always liked that word, and it applied very neatly to the candidate.
“Bradford Tittletott,” he said, proffering his hand. “Call me Brad.”
“Hello, Brad.” Sabrina shook his hand. “I’m Sabrina Dunsweeney.”
“Yes, Helen is a wonderful woman. I’m glad to meet you. How long have you been on the island?”
“I’ve been here for about a week.” She stared up into his blue eyes. Lord, they shouldn’t make men this handsome. Who would be threatening this attractive, pleasant man?
“Well, I hope to meet you again.” Brad squeezed her hand and dropped the smile down a notch from personal to intimate.
“That would be nice,” Sabrina said, and then
realized she was grinning like a smitten schoolgirl. She cleared her throat. “Good luck with your campaign.”
“Thank you, Sabrina.” He touched her arm and walked off.
Hoping to hide her blush-stained face, Sabrina turned to study the ancient document framed in a varnished picture frame which hung over the fireplace.
“I see you’ve found the Tittletott pride and joy.” Virginia came up beside Sabrina. “It’s the Tittletott deed to Comico Island.”
“Really?” Sabrina looked at the framed document more closely. It was yellow and cracking, and the ink was faded and almost unreadable, but Sabrina could read the date: 1720.
“The island was deeded to my husband’s ancestor Lord Russell Tittletott back in 1720. He had to clean up all the riffraff first—this island was notorious for harboring pirates—but once he cleaned them all out, he built a house and came here to raise his family. This building is built on the foundation of Lord Tittletott’s first house.”
“How fascinating.”
“It’s all a bunch of bunk,” Virginia said, smiling sidelong at Sabrina. “Of course, my mother-in-law is in love with that story, and so is the rest of the island, actually, but who really cares about something that happened almost three hundred years ago? God forbid, don’t let Elizabeth hear me say that.”
“I won’t tell her,” Sabrina promised.
They stood in comfortable silence, watching as Elizabeth browbeat a hapless tourist into buying one of Bicycle Bob’s monstrous teapots.
A couple walked out onto the terrace, holding tea cups gingerly. The woman suddenly thrust her tea cup at her husband and came back inside. A moment later, the man’s eyes widened and he followed his wife.
“And sometimes right when I get fed up with this place,” Virginia said softly, almost to herself, “something happens to make me realize that Comico Island is in my blood. I could never leave here.”
She was looking out the window overlooking the water lying like crumpled gray silk across the harbor. Sabrina followed her gaze to see a parade of boats with colorful sails aloft glide through the inlet.
“The Regatta,” Virginia said. “Every year the sailboat race stops over here for the night. It’s always a whole lot of fun.”
Virginia looked around as raised voices drifted from the front of the lobby.
“What’s going on?”
“Momma, I don’t feel so good.” The little girl in the pink dress was painfully flushed.
“Calm down everybody, calm down! There’s nothing to be concerned about!” Elizabeth’s voice was shrill, but nobody appeared to be paying her any attention.
All around, people were clutching their stomachs and looking around wide-eyed. Sabrina noticed a line of people in the hall beside the reception desk, fidgeting from foot to foot. A man came out of the bathroom, paused, and then went back in. The next person in line beat angrily on the door.
“Like it’s something I ate.” An old man leaned on the arm of his wife. “Haven’t felt this bad since I ate that raw squid when I was a kid.”
“We should have known something would happen,” Virginia murmured. She hurried over to Elizabeth and the two conferred in low, urgent tones.
“I assure you, the food at the Tittletott House is, as always, of the highest quality.” Elizabeth was almost yelling as more people headed for the lengthening bathroom line, and others hurried out the front door.
“Don’t forget to buy a teapot!” she shouted at their retreating backs.
“Hee, hee,” Lima chortled as he came up to Sabrina.
“What in the world is going on?”
“Laxatives, I do believe. In the tea, or maybe in the chocolate scones, but I recognize the signs. Should, since I did it to my fourth grade class back about a hundred years ago.”
Sabrina put down her cup on the nearest end table. “You’re saying someone put laxatives in the tea or the scones? Why would they do that?”
Lima shrugged. “Maybe it was an accident, maybe it was someone who doesn’t like the Tittletotts. Plenty of ‘em around. All I know is Brad Tittletott has got worse luck than a fish caught twice the same day. He’s a golden boy, don’t get me wrong, but things just don’t ever go right for him. This campaign has been jinxed since he started it. First his office burns down, and now this.”
People were beginning to yell back at Elizabeth as she tried to cajole them into buying a teapot as they stood in line waiting to get into the bathroom.
“Let’s get out of here,” Lima said as Elizabeth spotted them.
“I didn’t drink any of the tea, because it was too hot,” Sabrina said, allowing herself to be ushered toward the door. “But I saw you drinking it. And eating the scones. How come you’re not affected?”
“Got a stomach like steel,” Lima said complacently. “Always have. Nothing can upset this ol’ tummy.”
“Miss Dunsweeney.” Elizabeth clamped a taloned hand on Sabrina’s shoulder. “You must have forgotten to buy a teapot.”
Ten minutes later, Sabrina left the Tittletott House clutching a teapot shaped in the form of a smiling pig. Her only consolation was the look on Elizabeth Tittletott’s face moments after Sabrina bought the teapot and just before Elizabeth beat a hasty but very dignified retreat toward the bathroom.
“Hee, hee, hee,” Lima said.
Smothering a smile, Sabrina followed him down to the docks where the small rubber boats were bringing in the crews from the great sailboats.
The rich smell of fried seafood, big soft pretzels, and griddle cakes floated through the air, and the school band, all six of them, were playing a lively tune involving several missed notes and an out-of-tune trumpet. The crews of the sailboats, big, hearty people with red faces and white smiles, circulated among the crowd in their team-color windbreakers. The islanders slapped them on the back, and handed them cups full of draft beer.
“Lima, we need you to pump the keg.” Mary Tubbs pulled Lima toward a booth.
Sabrina found herself holding a plastic cup full of beer, roaming alone through the growing crowd. She had not had beer in—she searched her memory. Well, it had been a good long time.
The smell of griddle cakes was becoming almost intoxicating, and Sabrina made her way over to the appropriate booth. She was surprised to find Virginia Tittletott behind the counter.
“Sabrina!” Virginia’s crisp, green eyes widened as she saw Sabrina. “I see you survived the tea party unscathed. Frankly, I was glad I promised to help out with the Regatta so I could get out of the cleanup. Would you do me a favor? I took over from Missy Garrison, who had taken over from Katie Garland, who had relieved Sondra Lane…anyway, I really must use the ladies room, if you wouldn’t mind…?”
Sabrina nodded uncertainly and Virginia hurried out from behind the booth, untying her apron and thrusting it at Sabrina. Sabrina watched in bemusement as the slim woman made her way to where the crews were congregating. Virginia stood on tiptoe, trying to see over the heads of nearby people, and then made her way to a blond giant with young Robert Redford looks. The man was surrounded by islanders, but Sabrina caught the furtive, shared smile between the two of them.
Hmmm.
A moment later, people were clamoring for more griddle cakes, more griddle cakes, and Sabrina was busy distributing the hot, fragrant delectable and collecting the two-fifty for each.
The afternoon flew by. A pretty, stocky woman with long black hair who introduced herself as Sondra Lane eventually relieved Sabrina, and she walked around looking at the island-made crafts and watching the musicians and an inept magician. For the first time since she had arrived on the island she felt welcome.
After dark, Sabrina found herself in the Walk-the-Plank Pub, a shabby building right on the edge of the harbor, with outside seating featuring plastic lawn furniture and paper towel rolls on the tables. The place was packed, and Sabrina was clapping along to the catchy tunes played by an old man with a guitar. Some type of contest involving walking the porch rail ended with on
e man in the water, the other sprawled across a table with his face in a plate of fried flounder and hush puppies.
“Salt, salt, salt!” Sabrina yelled along with the crowd, grinning at her nearest neighbor who was tossing a shaker of salt over her shoulder. She felt part of the crowd and invisible all at the same time. She could do whatever she wanted and no one would think to care. She finished her beer as the song ended and decided it was high time she took herself home, before she was too tipsy to find home. She left the bar and turned down the dark street toward her end of the island. She was suddenly so tired she could barely see straight.
She felt a headache coming on, and she hoped it wasn’t anything serious, like an aneurysm or an embolism. She could hear music and voices, but they faded as she crossed a rickety bridge and entered the embrace of shadowed trees. She crossed her arms across her chest, thankful there wasn’t any violent crime on the island.
Fireworks lit the night sky above the trees, illuminating the huge, bearded man standing not ten feet from her.
Chapter Three
“What am I supposed to say again?” Sid Tittletott hissed, grappling with the big white box.
“Don’t say anything. You’ll say something stupid and then she’ll know we’re lying,” Terry Wrightly said.
The two boys stopped at the edge of the stairs and gazed up at the small gray cottage where Lora Wrightly had lived for sixty years. Terry had been in this house hundreds of times in his short life, but right now the house seemed menacing and foreign.
“Do you think he’s in there? Do you think Walk-the-Plank Wrightly is really staying here?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think ghosts need a place to sleep. But I’m not sure.” Terry tapped a clipboard attached to several official-looking papers against his thigh.
“But this is his house. Walk-the-Plank Wrightly built this house almost three hundred years ago.” Sid was convinced the ghost of the famous pirate was staying in this house. Everyone was talking about him, after all, and several people had seen him.
“Not this house, stupid,” Terry said. “It’s in the same spot, that’s all.”
Island Intrigue Page 2