Ruth let herself in the front door, hollering, “I brought you a visitor.”
The home’s interior was furnished in feminine antiques and reams of mauve chintz. Abigail tried to imagine a man as large as Merle getting comfortable on the small tufted sofa or setting a beer on the diminutive maple coffee table. The swirled legs of the armchairs seemed as if they would splinter if he looked at them too intently.
“You-know-who’s a bit of a bull in a china shop here,” Ruth whispered. “His ex-wife loved this girly stuff, so he won’t change a lick of it.”
“Ex-wife?”
“He married a gal who visited the island one summer. This was back, oh, years and years ago. After a few months, she couldn’t stand it here. The isolation drove her nuts. Couldn’t hack it, so she divorced Merle. Only she didn’t tell him she was pregnant. He found out through an in-law and volunteered to leave Chapel Isle, to move to California to be with her and the baby boy. She told him not to. She’d already shacked up with another fella.”
“My God, that’s horrible—” Abigail began. Then she heard Merle clomping toward the living room.
“I’m coming, I’m coming. Oh, hey there, Abby,” he said, pleased to see her. Merle was using an umbrella as a cane and wearing a special vest with pockets for lures. The vest was wet.
Ruth folded her arms. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, were you fishing?”
“Maybe.” Merle hung his head.
“You could’ve killed yourself in that little boat of yours with a sprained ankle. I have half a mind to put you under house arrest until you’ve healed. Get off your feet this instant.” She badgered him toward the kitchen table and started making coffee.
Abigail joined him. “How are you feeling?”
“My leg hurts some.”
“Not enough to prevent you from fishing.”
“I’d have to be in a full-body cast not to fish. Even then I’d float myself on the water and put a line in my mouth.”
“That would be a sight.”
“You won’t have to wait if he doesn’t stay off that ankle,” Ruth threatened, setting out two cups for them.
“Aren’t you having any?” Abigail asked.
“Since our patient is obviously doing fine, I’ve got to get back to the Kettle. Give a jingle if you need me, Merle.” She scooped up her purse and went for the door as the coffee continued to perk. “Toodles.”
“How are the renovations coming?” Merle inquired once Ruth was gone.
“You say that like I’m putting a new wing on the house.”
“Are you?”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“I’ve witnessed you in action. I wouldn’t dare.”
“I’m making progress. I’d planned on stopping by your store today to buy some new drawer pulls for the kitchen. Scratch that.”
“You can go and get what you want. Back’s always open.”
“You don’t lock your doors? What about the robberies?”
“If those burglars want to steal a dozen boxes of threepenny nails and some WD-40, they can have at it.”
“This from the mouth of the man in charge of Lottie’s security.”
“Speaking of which, I have a favor to ask.”
“Whatever I can do, consider me at your service. Groceries, cooking, cleaning, you name it.”
“No, no, nothing like that. I can’t drive because of my ankle. If I can’t drive, I can’t check on the rental properties for Franklin.”
“You’re saying you want me to take over your night watchman post? Merle, no offense, but you’re humongous. I have trouble opening jars when the lids are too tight. There’s no comparison.”
“Abby, my brain may be a quart short o’ full, but my vision’s top notch. I realize you’re a…delicate flower. This isn’t a job where sizes matters.”
“What about Bert?”
“He doesn’t drive.”
“Doesn’t drive? How does he get around?”
“Walks. Chapel Isle isn’t what you’d call a sprawling metropolis.”
“Then how about Denny?”
“Don’t get me wrong, he’s a sweet kid. Not the sharpest tool in the kit.”
“What if something happens? What if I see the robbers?”
“Go straight to the sheriff’s station. All you have to do is make sure the cottages haven’t already been broken into and that the doors and windows are locked. Easy-peasy.”
“You mean I have to get out of the car?”
