I brought a tall glass of sweet tea, with a couple of sugar cookies on a doilied plate. From the moment Rowena came through the door, Bridgy and Ryan were frozen in place. I signaled as discreetly as I could for them to join her, but Bridgy gave an infinitesimal shake of her head, confirming my suspicion that she was at the bottom of Rowena’s dilemma, be it real or imagined.
I sat opposite Rowena. After watching her drain the glass dry, I went back to the kitchen and brought out a pitcher of sweet tea and a tray of empty glasses. This could take a while.
I was pouring her refill when Rowena sprang to life again. “I almost called the sheriff.” She turned to Ryan. “You know how you’re always saying to call if I think something is wrong.” She swung back to me. “But he said you sent him, so I decided to ask you first. Glad Ryan is here nonetheless.” Her head bobbed an emphatic nod.
“Rowena, who are we talking about?”
“Who did you send to my shop?”
Round and round we go.
“We all support one another’s businesses. Could have been anyone.”
“Not anyone. That old man. Smells like seaweed. The one who carried the human head around all last year. You sent him to me.” The accusation was forceful.
Skully. What would he be doing in the Sand and Shell Emporium?
Bridgy stood up and cleared her throat. “Actually, Rowena, I sent him.” She was fidgeting, the fingers on her right hand tugging on her left. “I ordered some earring posts and jeweler’s wire from a website and encouraged him to stop using fishing line for the things he makes. I’m convinced his lovely shell and fish bone jewelry will be top sellers. I thought you’d want to market such exquisite items, but if you don’t . . .”
“We’ll sell them here,” I finished.
Bridgy’s eyes widened in surprise, but I was not about to waste my night on Rowena’s histrionics, so I called her bluff.
“Not so fast.” Rowena must have had a vision of dollar bills flying out of her cash register and into ours. “I need time to decide.”
“Well, what did you tell Skully?”
“He said his name was Thomas. Thomas Smallwood. I told him I’d think things over and he should come back tomorrow. That way I could have Ryan around if needed.”
“And what did you think of his jewelry?”
“Oh, it’s magnificent. His wire and shell pendants are elegant; the handiwork is extremely intricate. They are guaranteed to jump off the shelves. He can’t possibly make pieces as fast as my clients will buy them.”
Ryan spoke for the first time. “Ms. Gustavsen, believe me, Skully is a decent man, just a little out of touch with this century. A few decades after the Civil War, lots of folks began traveling up and down the Gulf, stopping their boats at this island or that, plying their skills. Fishermen. Toolmakers. Tradesmen. It was how they earned a living, and passed down father to son for generations. Times have changed. Skully prefers the old ways. Nothing wrong with that.”
Rowena knew the history of the islands better than most. It was part of the sales pitch for her merchandise. I could see she was 95 percent convinced.
“Why do you call him Skully? He said his name is Thomas.”
Ryan touched each side of his head with his index fingers and rocked from side to side. Before Rowena realized Skully got the nickname when Lee County deputies found the fifty-year-old skull he’d dug up on Mound Key and stashed in his duffel bag for a few months last winter, Bridgy tapped Ryan on the nose with a rolled-up magazine as if correcting a naughty puppy.