‘I suppose I could,’ she relents. ‘Not today, though. Tomorrow?’
‘Thank you, I do appreciate that.’
‘Meet me in Jacksonville at the coffee shop on Village Walk at one-thirty.’
After the call has finished, I stay sitting in my car, musing over the conversation. I take out the photograph of Alice and Martha. Probably taken in the house I was just at.
If only I could get inside Alice’s house, I’m sure I’d find out more about her. Hopefully, Roma will be able to tell me some more tomorrow. I think of Alice’s friend, Martha. Now she would surely be able to tell me more about Alice. She’d have a totally different relationship with Alice than Roma would; it will help me to build up a clearer picture in my mind of who my sister really is. The real Alice Kennedy beneath the rather too sweet-and-kind facade currently sitting at home with my family. The little roll of emotion, I recognise now as jealousy, gives a tumble inside me, reminding me of the not-so-admirable quality I’ve discovered about myself recently.
I think back to Alice’s conversation where she mentioned Martha working as a waitress. I’m sure she said the Beach House Diner. It stuck in my mind as it reminded me of where my first Saturday job was; the Beach House Café in Brighton. Thank goodness for the ability to remember little details, always handy with my line of work, I suppose. Thank goodness also for my smartphone as I’m able to tap Beach House Diner, Amelia Island into the search engine and in a matter of seconds I’ve located the diner, got the zip code and programmed the sat nav.
Amelia Island is small and, within a few minutes, I’m pulling up outside the diner. It’s blue and yellow, with big, open windows, situated on the corner of what looks like one of the main roads through the town. Big lorries, laden with sixty-foot-long logs trundle past at what seems like two- or three-minute intervals. I assume they are heading to the sawmill I read about on the flight over when I was researching the area.
When I go into the diner, I look around for Martha. I’m looking for someone not dissimilar to Alice, long brown hair, about my height and weight. In fact, I realise I could be looking for either of us, me, Alice or Martha. A small, dark-haired Hispanic-looking young girl comes over.
‘Hi, welcome to the Beach House Diner. Table for one, is it?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ I smile warmly.
‘My name is Angelina and I’m your waitress today. Would you like to sit by the window?’
‘That will be fine.’ I follow Angelina through the diner and scan the area as I go. It’s big and must have at least seventy covers. The walls are white and with the big windows, the whole place has a light and airy feel. I sit down at the table and Angelina passes me a menu and runs through the specials. I order a glass of juice and Angelina leaves me to peruse the menu. She comes back a few minutes later with a glass and juice bottle balanced on a circular tray.
‘So are you here on vacation?’ asks Angelina as she takes the bottle opener from her apron pocket and flips the lid.
‘Kind of,’ I say, delighted with this opening that I didn’t even have to try for. ‘I’m actually trying to find a friend of a friend. Last I heard she worked here.’ I smile again at Angelina and she looks expectantly. ‘Martha Munroe. Does she still work here?’
‘Martha? Well, no. She hasn’t worked here for about a month.’
‘Oh, that’s a shame,’ I say, hoping I look disappointed. ‘You don’t know how I can get hold of her, do you?’
‘You can’t. No one can. She’s gone off travelling with her friend.’
‘Really? Who’s that?’ And then seeing Angelina look at me suspiciously, I add, ‘I wonder if it might be someone I know.’
‘Alice Kendrick. You know her?’
‘Is that the girl who Martha lived with?’
‘That’s right,’ says Angelina, and I can almost see her lower her guard again. ‘Although, it beats me why Martha would want to go travelling with Alice. Not after what happened between those two girls.’
‘Which was?’ I prompt when it appears Angelina isn’t going to continue.
‘I don’t know if I really should be talking about them,’ says Angelina. ‘It’s kinda bad to speak behind their backs.’
‘But I am a friend of Martha’s. Did they have some kind of disagreement?’ I’m hedging my bets, but I feel I can’t let this opportunity slip by.
‘You could say that.’
Chapter 20
I look expectantly at Angelina, willing her to get on with it. She settles herself into the seat opposite me and leans forward, her hands clasped together in front of her.