“Those robberies. Talk of the town. Everybody’s blabbing and nobody has a clue. Would be handy if somebody blabbed about who’s actually doing it.” She shook her head. “Thanks for offering to be my bodyguard, but I’m parked right here.”
Ruth had scored a space directly in front of the fire station.
“Lucky you. I parked so far from here I should have left my car at home.”
“It’s not luck if you come an hour early.”
“Whoa, you’re dedicated.”
“I believe you mean
“They’re not technically synonyms, but sometimes they’re the same.”
Ruth settled into a vintage sky blue sedan bearing an
“This is some ride. Drive it much?”
“Hon, I live on an island. Ain’t too many places to go.”
“I’m beginning to realize that.”
Ruth started her car. “Nice to see you out and mingling, Abby.”
Abigail hadn’t told Ruth her name. Though she wasn’t surprised she knew it.
“Don’t worry. Merle gave me the scoop on you. And I promise your coffee won’t be so hot next time.”
Watching Ruth drive away, Abigail wondered whether Merle had been gossiping about her or if he was trying to protect her again. Abigail hadn’t come to Chapel Isle to make friends, but between Janine, the John Deere twins, Hank Scokes, and his pal Nat Rhone, she seemed to be making enemies. She hoped Merle didn’t have it in for her too.
“I’m back,” Abigail announced, hesitantly sticking her head in the front door of the caretaker’s cottage. It was a relief not to come home to complete darkness, as she had the previous evening. Then she realized that she hadn’t left the lights on intentionally. In her haste, she’d forgotten to shut them off.
With the windows closed, the acrid odor of paint and cleaning products had congealed into an overpowering stench. Nonetheless, Abigail could still smell last night’s fire. It was a scent she couldn’t forget, even when it wasn’t there.
“Listen, I’ve had a pretty rough day and I’d appreciate it if there weren’t any more noises tonight. Please,” she added, righting the overturned radio as she climbed the stairs.
She changed into two layers of pajamas, removed her contacts at a record clip, and hightailed it out of the bathroom, making sure the switch was off. Twice. Abigail glanced back to check before shutting her bedroom door. The light was out.
“Now if only it would stay that way.”
kith (kith),
, earlier
kinship, knowledge, equiv. to
“What on earth were you dreaming about?”
No matter how hard she tried, Abigail was unable to summon the dream into daylight. What sprung to mind instead was the test she’d orchestrated with the oil pail in the lighthouse.
“One of your more inventive ideas,” she said wryly.
As with the dreams that plagued her, perhaps she was better off not knowing the outcome. She sat in bed, debating.
“The lighthouse isn’t going anywhere. And there’s a ton of painting to do. Oh, who are you kidding? You’re a coward and can’t face it.”
That may have been true in the moment, but not in the broader sense. Abigail had had three different roommates while recuperating at the hospital’s intensive-care unit, each released sooner than she was, evidence of how severe her condition had been—and that referred only to her physical wounds. She had courage; however, her reserves were low. Too low for a trip to the lighthouse turret today.
After a bowl of cereal for breakfast, it was time to paint the kitchen. A thorough sanding of the walls would eradicate the last of the wallpaper adhesive. Only that was a taller order than Abigail had predicted. Within twenty minutes, her hands were cramped into claws, she was breathing heavily, and her shirt was a lighter shade from the dust.
The prep work, though painful, proved to be worthwhile. Smooth from the sandpaper, the walls took the yellow paint evenly. Since the spots behind the refrigerator and oven were hard to reach, she wasn’t going to bother.
