Heroes Are My Weakness(25)
Across the road from the wharf, a few small eateries were shuttered for the winter, along with a gift shop and a couple of art galleries. The island town hall, a small, multipurpose, gray-shingled building that also served as post office and library, was open year-round. On the hill rising behind the town, she could just make out the snow-topped headstones of the cemetery. Higher up the slope and looking out over the harbor, the gray-shingled Peregrine Island Inn sat dark and empty, waiting for May to bring it to life again.
The village’s houses had been built close to the road. Their side yards held stacks of wire lobster traps, reels of cable, and junk cars that hadn’t yet found their way to an off-island dump. The Rose home looked much like the others: square, shingled, and functional. Barbara let her in and took her coat, then led her to the kitchen through a serviceable living room that smelled of woodsmoke and the hostess’s floral perfume.
Mint green tieback curtains framed the window over the sink, and a souvenir plate collection hung above the dark wood cabinets. Barbara’s pride in her grandchildren was evident in the numerous photos displayed on the refrigerator.
A still-handsome octogenarian whose high cheekbones and broad nose suggested she might be some combination of African and Native American sat at the kitchen table with the only young woman other than Annie, a petite brunette with a snub nose, black-framed, rectangular glasses, and a medium-length bob. Barbara introduced her as her daughter, Lisa McKinley. This was Jaycie’s friend, and the one who’d recommended Jaycie to Cynthia Harp for the housekeeping job.
Annie soon learned that Lisa was both Peregrine’s volunteer librarian and the owner of the island’s only coffeehouse and bakery. “Bakery’s closed until May first,” Lisa told Annie. “And I hate Bunco, but I wanted to meet you.”
Barbara gestured toward her refrigerator photo gallery. “Lisa has two beautiful girls. My granddaughters. They were born here.”
“My punishment for marrying a lobsterman instead of taking off with Jimmy Timkins when I had the chance,” Lisa said.
“Don’t mind her. She loves her husband,” Barbara said, before she introduced Annie to the other women.
“Doesn’t it bother you, being out in that cottage all alone?” The question came from Marie, a woman whose deeply etched lines descended downward from the corners of her mouth, giving her a sour expression. “Especially with Theo Harp as your only neighbor.”
“I’m pretty fearless,” Annie replied.
The puppets in her head fell all over themselves laughing.
“Get your drinks, everybody,” Barbara ordered.
“You couldn’t pay me to stay there,” Marie said. “Not while Theo’s at Harp House. Regan Harp was the sweetest girl.”
Barbara jiggled the dispenser on the wine box. “Marie has a suspicious nature. Don’t pay attention.”
Marie wasn’t deterred. “All I’m saying is that Regan Harp was as good a sailor as her brother. And I’m not the only one who thinks it’s strange that she took that boat out with a squall blowing in.”
As Annie tried to take this in, Barbara directed her toward a seat at one of the two tables. “Don’t worry if you’ve never played. There’s not a steep learning curve.”
“Bunco is mainly an excuse for us to drink wine and get away from the men.” Judy Kester’s comment didn’t merit her big laugh, but Judy seemed to laugh at almost everything. Between her good humor and the dyed, bright red hair that projected from her head like a clown’s yarn wig, it was hard not to like her.
“Real intellectual stimulation isn’t allowed on Peregrine,” Lisa said tartly. “At least not during the winter.”
“You’re still mad because Mrs. Harp didn’t come back last summer.” Barbara rolled the dice.
“Cynthia’s my friend,” Lisa said. “I don’t want to hear anything bad about her.”
“Like the fact that she’s a snob?” Barbara rolled again.
“She’s not,” Lisa countered. “Just because she’s cultured doesn’t mean she’s a snob.”
“Mariah Hewitt was a lot more cultured than Cynthia Harp,” Marie said sourly, “but she didn’t go around looking down her nose at everybody.”
Despite Annie’s own issues with her mother, it was nice to hear her spoken of fondly.
As Lisa took her turn, she explained to Annie, “Cynthia and I became friends because we like so many of the same things.”
Annie wondered if that included their decorating tastes.
“Mini-Bunco,” someone said at the next table.