The game was as easy to learn as Barbara had said, and Annie gradually sorted out the names and personalities of the women seated at both tables. Lisa fancied herself an intellectual; Louise, the octogenarian, had come to the island as a bride. Marie’s personality was as sour as her face, while Judy Kester was naturally funny and cheerful.
As the island’s volunteer librarian, Lisa soon turned the conversation to Theo Harp. “He’s a gifted writer. He shouldn’t be wasting his time writing trash like The Sanitarium.”
“Oh, I loved that book,” Judy said, her boundless good humor as bright as the purple sweatshirt that proclaimed her WORLD’S BEST GRANDMA. “Scared me so bad I slept with the light on for a week.”
“What kind of man writes about all that torture?” Marie said, pursing her lips. “I’ve never read anything so grisly in my life.”
“It was the sex that made the book sell so good.” This observation came from a ruddy-faced woman named Naomi. Her towering height, harshly dyed black bowl cut, and big voice made her an imposing figure, and Annie wasn’t surprised to learn she captained her own lobster boat.
The most stylish member of the group—and the owner of the local gift shop—was Naomi’s Bunco partner Tildy, a sixty-year-old with a thinning blond crop, cherry red V-neck sweater, and layered silver necklaces. “The sex was the best part,” she said. “That man has some imagination.”
Although Lisa was about Annie’s age, she was nearly as puritanical as Marie. “It embarrassed his family. I don’t object to well-written sex scenes, but—”
“But”—Tildy cut in—“you don’t like sex scenes that actually turn people on.”
Lisa had the grace to laugh.
Barbara rolled the dice. “The only reason you didn’t like it was because Cindy didn’t approve.”
“Cynthia,” Lisa corrected her. “Nobody calls her Cindy.”
“Bunco!” Silver crosses bobbed at Judy’s earlobes as she slapped her hand down on the bell at her table. The others groaned.
They switched partners. The conversation drifted to the price of propane and the frequency of power failures, then to lobstering. In addition to learning that Naomi had her own boat, Annie discovered that most of the women, at one time or another, had served as sternmen on their husband’s boats, a hazardous job that entailed emptying heavy traps, sorting the contents for keepers, and rebaiting the traps with grotesquely smelly bait. If Annie hadn’t already dismissed any fantasies about island life, their conversations would have brought her back to hard reality.
But the primary topic was the marine forecast and how it affected the transport of supplies. The big ferry that had brought Annie to the island ran only once every six weeks during the winter, but a smaller boat was supposed to come over weekly with groceries, mail, and supplies. Unfortunately twelve-foot swells had kept the boat on the mainland last week, so the islanders had to wait another week for the next scheduled run. “If anybody has extra butter, I’ll buy it off you,” Tildy said, tugging on her silver necklaces.
“I have butter, but I need eggs.”
“No eggs. But I have some extra zucchini bread in the freezer.”
Tildy rolled her eyes. “We all have zucchini bread.”
They laughed.
Annie thought about how little food she had left and how much more organized she needed to be when it came to ordering groceries. Unless she wanted to end up eating from cans all winter, she’d better call in her order first thing tomorrow. And pay for it with more credit card debt . . .
Judy rolled the dice. “If the ferry doesn’t make it next week, I swear I’m going to roast my grandkids’ guinea pigs.”
“You’re lucky to still have all your grandkids here,” Marie said.
Judy’s cheery expression faded. “I can’t imagine what I’ll do if they leave.”
Louise, the octogenarian, hadn’t commented, but Tildy reached over and patted her frail arm. “Johnny won’t leave. You’ll see. He’d divorce Galeann before he’d let her talk him into going.”
“I hope you’re right,” the old lady said. “Lord knows, I hope you’re right.”
As the evening came to an end and the women gathered their coats, Barbara gestured Annie away from the door. “I’ve been thinking about you ever since our visit, and I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t warn you . . . A lot of people believe we’re all one big family out here, but the island has its dark side.”
Tell me about it, Annie thought.
“I’m not talking about Marie and her obsession with Regan Harp’s death. Nobody believes Theo was responsible. But Peregrine’s a place for people who want to slip off the radar. The captains hire sternmen from the mainland without asking too many questions. Your mother had vandals break in a couple of times out there. I’ve seen fights, knifings. Tires get slashed. And not all our full-timers are stand-up citizens. If you drop your traps in somebody else’s fishing area once too often, you might find your lines cut and all your equipment on the ocean floor.”