***
“She’s gone,” Nettie Wrightly said as she came into the back room of the shop. “I don’t think she suspected anything. You have to be more careful. If anybody sees you…” Nettie lowered herself to a chair, feeling the pain in her joints. Well, why not? She was almost sixty-five years old. Or was it seventy-five? Anyway, she was old enough to know better, that’s for sure.
“No one saw me,” the man said. He was seated in the back corner of the store room, his black clothes blending into the shadows. A black hat was pulled low over his eyes, and a long sword in a black sheath rested by his side.
“You’re just lucky then,” Nettie snapped, but then her tone softened. “It was a bad storm. I don’t blame you for wanting to get out of the rain. Now you better stay here until it gets dark, and then slip out the back. I’ll pack you some more sandwiches, and I’ve got a bag of shrimp I boiled up after Dock brought them in yesterday. This can’t go on too much longer.”
“It doesn’t have to,” the man said in a low voice. “It’ll all be over Wednesday night.”
Nettie was troubled. “I wish you would tell me what this is all about. It’s been so long, are you sure…?”
In the corner, the shadow stirred. “He’s got to pay for what he did.”
Chapter Seven
When she got home, Calvin was chattering darkly in his cage.
“Varooom, varooom.”
Sabrina saw the vacuum cleaner in the corner of the living room, and understood the noise Calvin was imitating. He hated the vacuum cleaner.
“Hallo, Miss Dunsweeney,” May Mitchell said as she came out of the kitchen. May was dressed in her usual shapeless faded dress, her gray hair pulled ruthlessly away from her tanned, skeletal face. Sabrina had forgotten the woman was coming today. In fact, she’d accepted that the dour island woman pretty much came whenever she wanted.
“Hello, May. That was some storm, wasn’t it?” Sabrina said, prepared for the little smile and the frosty dismissal May always delivered. May had been very proper and polite the two other times she cleaned the house, but never friendly. But this time May surprised her.
“See you bought a teapot,” she said, gesturing into the kitchen where Sabrina had dumped the pig-shaped teapot on the stove from lack of anywhere else to put it. The thought of making tea in the smiling, bloated pig was vaguely unsettling.
“Please? Yes, I bought it yesterday at the Tittletott House.”
“I got one too,” May said. “I must have gone to the party earlier than you, because I didn’t see you. Mine’s shaped like a cow in a wedding dress.”
“It was a nice party.” Sabrina brought Calvin out of his cage and set him on her shoulder. She wondered if she should mention the laxatives in the tea, but it seemed gauche somehow.
“He didn’t like the electric broom much,” May said, nodding her head at Calvin. She was obviously struggling to find something to talk about. Sabrina wondered why she was bothering, but she was happy to oblige.
“No, he’s always hated vacuum cleaners. Back in Cincinnati, he used to try to attack mine, and one day I ran over his tail and sucked off most of his tail feathers. He looked funny waddling around with no tail.”
May and Sabrina laughed together, and the laughter trailed off into uncomfortable silence. May stood, twisting her hands in the dish cloth she held.
“Did you meet Bradford?” she blurted.
“Bradford Tittletott?” Sabrina asked. “Yes. He seems like a nice man. I’m sure he’ll make a good…uh, president.”
“Sure.” May nodded her head briskly. “He will. Ninja Tittletott did a good job too, but he was getting old. He started forgetting things, talking to electric poles, shaking hands with the little flags on the mailboxes. We were all relieved when he got it into his head to run for the state senate and got elected.” She paused. “Bradford is the cream of the crop. The best this island’s got to offer and we’re all proud of him. I’m making flounder fritters for his rally Wednesday night.” Her eyes were dreamy, and her tone ranged between that of a proud aunt to a giddy school girl. Sabrina half expected May to ask her if she’d noticed how nice his buns were.
“Are you related to Brad?”
“My sister Greta is married to Haleb, who is fifth cousin to Lima Lowry, who of course is Brad’s great-uncle on his mother’s side, so yes, I am related.” Her tone seemed to imply that she was related enough to have a hold on the boy, but not close enough for consanguinity to be a problem if the boy chose to look her way. Sabrina struggled not to laugh. May was a leathery, wind-blown woman in the throes of passion for a man twenty years her junior.
Brad Tittletott seemed to have that effect on a lot of women. It was something about the way he pitched his voice lower when he talked to a woman, and leaned close as if he had something private to say, and looked straight in her eyes as he talked as if she were the only person in the world.
Sabrina shook her head. Goodness. If she didn’t watch out, next she’d be thinking about his buns.
“Have you heard about the ghost?” May asked matter-of-factly.
Ah ha, Sabrina thought, this is what she wanted to talk about.
“Walk-the-Plank Wrightly?” Sabrina asked. “Yes, Lima told me about him.”
May’s eyebrows rose, and Sabrina saw that her stock with the woman had risen as well. Not only was she hobnobbing with Queen Elizabeth Tittletott, she was talking to Lima Lowry. How bad could the crazy blond tourist be?
“I was just wondering.” May attempted nonchalance but failed. The tiny gray hairs on her hairline, which had fought their way free from the confines of her bun, almost quivered with eagerness, and she kneaded her hands in the dishcloth. “I was just wondering if maybe you had seen him? You are living on his land…”
“No,” Sabrina said regretfully. “I haven’t seen him, I’m afraid.”
“‘Cause I could have sworn I saw him when I was cleaning the upstairs bedroom and looking out over the marsh. Could have sworn I seen Walk-the-Plank Wrightly dressed all in black walking through the marsh right before it rained. And what’s more, I saw his wife, Sarah Wrightly, blond and golden, walking at his side! And then they disappeared right into the marsh. It was the strangest thing I’ve ever seen.” May was caught up in her story, her bland face twisted with excitement, her boggy eyes closed as she tried to memorize exactly what she had seen.
“Well, goodness, it sounds to me like you may have seen a ghost then,” Sabrina said, wondering if it was the same man she had seen in the woods. Even so, you didn’t see her going around talking about seeing ghosts. In Cincinnati, that was recipe for a tiny, locked room and a nurse named Hilda who force-fed you applesauce.
“I might have, at that. It’s the second time I’ve seen ‘em in that marsh. I’d look out if I were you. Who knows what a ghost might be up to?”
“Thank you, I will.” Sabrina looked around at her spotless house. “And thank you for going such a good job cleaning. Everything looks wonderful. Let me get you a check.”
“I’m almost done,” May said. “I’ve got to get to my restaurant anyway, and get ready to open for dinner.”
Sabrina followed as May headed back to the kitchen. “Your restaurant?”
“I own Blue Cam over on the Towner side of the harbor. Used to be Nouveau Island Food With a Twist, but nobody could ever figure out the menu—like it was written in another language except you recognized some words, the small ones. If you wanted to eat there you just ordered by number and prayed whatever came wasn’t seaweed or raw fish. I changed the name when I took over from those slick New Jersey fellas. Been trying to make a go at it, but I don’t think I’m cut out for the restaurant business. I’m about ready to get rid of it and do something else. Maybe I’ll set up a booth and sell conch shells. Missy Garrison made a living at that one year, I hear.” May had turned back to washing dishes as she spoke.
Goodness gracious, get the woman talking and she wouldn’t shut up! “The Blue Cam,” Sabrina said, s
earching her memory. “I don’t think I remember seeing it.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what everybody says. It’s right next to the Ride the Big One Pub, and no one has trouble remembering that place.” May’s face twisted. “Anyway, I’m just going to finish up here in the kitchen. What do you do to these pots, anyway? Looks like you’re burning glue in them.” She held up a pot to show the black crust on the bottom of the pot.
“Risotto,” Sabrina said cheerfully. “It was great.”
May stared at her, and then shook her head as she stacked washed dishes into the dish rack with unnecessary force. It bothered Sabrina to have someone else wash her dishes—she had always cleaned the house she shared with her mother. But this month was different, and Sally insisted she get someone to clean her house so she wouldn’t have to worry about it.
May left while Sabrina was perusing Romeo and Juliet. Calvin was sleeping on the windowsill, his head hunched forward and his eyes closed. It had been a while since she had read over this, one of her favorite plays, and she smiled in contentment as she read, savoring the magnificent word play.
“I hope the boys bring the entire cast tomorrow,” she said out loud as she considered the cast of characters. Even in a pinch, they would have to have at least eight or nine children. Of course, Romeo and Juliet, but what about the Friar and Mercutio and Benvolio and the nurse? And the feuding lords, Montague and Capulet?
Somewhere in her ruminating, she fell asleep and dreamed that she heard the back door open and someone come in. A big, shadowy figure stood in the doorway from the kitchen, but she could not see his face and she could not move, and she opened her mouth to scream—
It took several moments to register that someone was knocking on the front door. When she opened her eyes she was surprised to see that the sun had set, though the water gleamed with an incandescent pink light, as if the glowing orb was buried in the depths of the sound. The storm clouds had moved away, and the moon hung, massive and orange, low on the darkening horizon.
Calvin was stirring on his cooling windowsill, looking around as the knocking continued.
“What a dream! My heart is still pounding. I wonder who that could be?” Calvin chirped in irritation as she got to her feet and went to the door.
“Hello Ms. Dunsweeney,” Bradford Tittletott said. “You left this at the house today.” He held out her coat.
“Goodness.” Sabrina took the coat. She must have forgotten it at the table where she had lunch. “I appreciate you bringing it to me.” She looked up at him, wishing she was wearing heels because she was getting a crick in her neck.
“No problem,” he said easily. “It’s the neighborly thing to do.” He slouched against her door frame, sexy in his immaculate suit with his rumpled blond hair.
“Would you like to come in?” Sabrina asked after a moment.
“No, no. I just thought—well, I just don’t want you to get the wrong impression of my family. My mother and brother can be rather—outspoken at times. I just don’t want you to misunderstand anything they said this afternoon.”
Sabrina thought back on the conversation she had overheard that afternoon at the Tittletott House. Gary and Elizabeth had been talking about Thierry Wrightly in a rather derogatory fashion, but surely that could not be what Bradford was worried about her overhearing? What juicy tidbit did she just miss overhearing?
“No, I don’t think I misunderstood anything,” she said. “It was rather—um, shocking.” She hoped she hadn’t overdone it.
“Well—” Bradford hesitated, studying her with guileless eyes. “Yes, I imagine it might have been. Of course, none of it was true. Just people trying to discredit me.”
“Yes, ahem,” Sabrina said, wondering how in the world to draw the secret, whatever it was, out of him.
“Well, I hope you didn’t miss the jacket too much. You have a nice night.”
“You too, and thank you,” She called after him as he went down the steps and into the night.
Sabrina stood staring after him, until a stirring in the bushes made her slam the door. Why in the world didn’t this house have any locks?
She turned to find Calvin right behind her, head cocked in curiosity.
“Now what was that all about?”
He cheeped, and waddled toward the kitchen.
“I know, I know,” Sabrina said. “It’s supper time.”
She got Calvin his food and opened the refrigerator to stare at the contents unenthusiastically. She liked to pamper her stomach, she always had. Each meal was an adventure to her. But the island did not have the gourmet items that she enjoyed, like portabella mushrooms, couscous, and saffron. How was she supposed to create culinary masterpieces with a small can of pork and beans ($4.95), creamed corn (two cans for $6.00) and a bag of tortilla chips ($5.50—the salsa had been too expensive to even contemplate). She wondered how the locals could afford to live on this island.
She moved aside a loaf of bread ($3.99) and was surprised to see a bag of boiled shrimp shoved into the back corner of the refrigerator. Where had that come from? She searched her memory, trying to remember if she had picked it up at one of the several fresh seafood marts around the island. Now that was a plus about island-living, all types of seafood fresh off the boat. But the last thing she had picked up was some scallops the other day and she made scallop carbonara with that. So where did the shrimp come from?
She opened the bag and sniffed cautiously. It was fresh.
“Ah, ha!” Sabrina said out loud, and Calvin glanced up at her. “It must be from May, Calvin. It’s a gift. These islanders are really coming around.”
Calvin chirped around a mouthful of bird seed.
Rubbing her hands in excitement, Sabrina checked to see if she had the necessary ingredients. Tomatoes, no angel hair pasta, but here was some spaghetti, garlic—unfortunately, not fresh garlic, but the stuff in a jar—and white wine…too bad, no French bread, but…
***
An hour later, the smoke finally dissipating out of the kitchen, her stomach full of shrimp scampi pasta, she and Calvin traveled down the dark road toward the New Wrightly House. Daylight saving time had recently reverted to standard time and darkness fell early. The orange globe of the moon had risen and shrunk to a pale silver orb, illuminating a narrow, glittering path across the restless water. Sabrina shifted her gaze from the moon to the stars, twinkling like a million fireflies in the lustrous black sky. She couldn’t remember ever seeing so many and so bright. She picked out the Big Dipper, and with more difficulty located the Pegasus in all its autumn glory.
Calvin scolded as she tripped over a rut in the sand road.
“Sorry, Calvin. I just can’t believe how clear the stars look.”
He settled back down on her shoulder, his little head swiveling as an owl hooted from the apple orchard. Sabrina heard the rumble of hoofs, and out of the shadows came two island ponies, shaggy and brown, snuffling and blowing a bit when they saw her. Sabrina stood still as they trotted by her and effortlessly jumped over the fence into the orchard. A moment later, Sabrina almost tripped over a possum. He turned and stared at her, his long nose twitching, then hurried off into the underbrush.
Sabrina could hear the water lapping against the side of the old dock, the susurration of the silky water tickling at her ears. Up ahead, the lights of the New Wrightly House shone, and Sabrina hoped that Nettie Wrightly remembered the invitation she had issued.
Sabrina climbed the wood stairs and knocked on the door. She wasn’t really surprised when the door was flung open by the old withered man. He stared at her, working his toothless gums, his face twisting into a scream.
“No, no, I’m harmless,” Sabrina said, stepping forward and putting her hand out to the old man. “Please don’t scream.”
But it was too late. He shook her hand off as if they were big, hairy spiders and, still screaming, slammed the door in her face.
Sabrina stood in the cool night air, staring at the door. She had an incredibl
e feeling of déjà vu.
Chapter Eight
She was debating knocking again when the door swung open. Nettie still wore her embroidered white robes, and tonight she wore a flashing…thing on her head, silver like a tiara, blinking with multi-colored lights.
“Come in, come in.” Nettie opened the door wider so she could enter. “Good to see you. I just got this today.” She touched her twinkling headgear. “It’s supposed to enhance my ability to receive messages from the other world.”
Sabrina glanced past the woman at the old man huddled in a chair, glaring at the TV, his shoulders hunched. “Hello, Nettie. I don’t want to offend anybody…”
“Who? Dock? He’s harmless. Crazy as a Mitchell’s Day sailboarder, but he’s harmless.” With that ambiguous statement, Nettie pulled Sabrina inside.
“This must be Calvin!” Nettie reached up and scooped the tiny bird off Sabrina’s shoulder as Calvin twittered in surprise. “Good bird,” Nettie crooned, stroking him. He gazed up at her, mesmerized by the sound of her voice.
“Please tell me you’re not getting another flying rat,” Thierry Wrightly drawled as he strolled into the room. He was still wearing the same dingy blue jeans and T-shirt and showed no sign that he recognized her from the Tittletott House. He held a Budweiser in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
“This is Calvin, Thierry.” Nettie held up the bird so her son could see him.
“He’s a budgerigar, more commonly known as a parakeet,” Sabrina said. “He’s very rare because he’s buttercup yellow, just like a little chick, except for the bit of white on his forehead and underside. He was a gift from a friend of mine who is a bird breeder.”
Thierry snorted. “And who’s the tourist?”
“Thierry!” Nettie scolded. She was so tiny that she had to crane her head all the way back to see his face, and he grinned down at her from his six foot two height, not in the least repentant. “You’re not too old for me to put over my knee, you know,” she said, and he smirked. Nettie turned back to Sabrina. “Sabrina, this is Thierry Roland Wrightly, my no-good son. Thierry, Sabrina Victoria Dunsweeney.”
Island Intrigue Page 6