Chapter 23

Light from the bare bulb in Kenzie’s store glowed under the door of Eleanor Trippett’s room like a flashlight in a deserted campground. The cash register rang almost non-stop and added to the din of excited conversation. She knew they were all islanders by the now familiar voices, and they were all men. It seemed the women had better things to do before a storm than last-minute gossip in a drafty building tainted with the smell of old bait, spilled beer, and stale tobacco smoke.

Slowly and methodically, she pulled the black veil over her face, pinned it in place then slid the gloves over her hands.

Kenzie’s warnings last night finally superseded his quest for additional pocket change when he suggested she leave the island immediately. She had acknowledged his advice with a nod then refused. Concern for her safety in this rickety building during a storm, or outside in the harsh elements, was dismissed as unimportant sometime before Kenzie even approached her.

The storm, eventually, would pass, the damage totaled, and the repairs began. But some things could never be repaired so she would stay and do what she could to prevent it.

Taking a deep breath, she stood tall, opened the door to her room, and stepped over the threshold.

Conversation ceased. The myriad acts of loading canned goods into boxes halted. All eyes turned to her and waited.

She met their gazes. “I’m looking for a man.”

They looked at each other as if collectively agreeing on the topic of conversation after her departure. No doubt, the subject would be Eleanor Trippett.

A grizzled man wearing faded coveralls wheezed, coughed then spat a stream of brown tobacco juice in the direction of a bucket in the corner of the room. He ran a hand across his mouth and smiled at her with his few broken teeth, and took a deep swig from a beer.

“Well, you ain’t gonna find a man dressed up like that, I can tell you.”

A ripple of guarded amusement traveled through the men congregated around the cash register.

“That’s God’s truth. ’Course with a little fixing up, you might be worth a second look.”

“But what’s she gotta look at, Gabe?” The man in a rain parka smiled broadly. “A woman’s gotta be blind, and stupid to boot, to take up with the likes of you.”

Gabe snarled then slowly recognized the joke. “Maybe so. Maybe so. I’ve had my fair share of the ladies, and can’t no one tell you otherwise.”

The man in the parka winked. “Stockpiling centerfold pictures doesn’t count.”

“C’mon boys, enough already.” Kenzie leaned his beer-induced girth against the cracked wood counter, stroked his beard with a fleshy hand decorated by a horseshoe-shaped diamond ring, and cleared his throat. “What can I do for you, little lady? You say you’re looking for someone?”

“That’s right.”

“Has he got a name?”

“Richard. He works for Sybil and Winston Mann. Where might I find him?”

Gabe stumbled toward her, stopped short, then tried to check his sway while peering closely through her black veil. “Who are you with such high and mighty talk?”

“Back off, Gabe,” Kenzie ordered.

“Won’t do it, Kenzie, and you can’t make me.” He leaned toward Eleanor. “And what business have you got asking for folks that have better things to do with their time, when you won’t even show us what you look like? What are you anyway? A ghost?” His laugh turned to a wheeze and a rattling cough.

She closed her eyes at the stench of alcohol from him, but never moved. “Do you know where I might find this Richard person, Mr. Kenzie?”

“I’d be more than happy to give a call over to Winston and find out, Mrs. Trippett, but I’m afraid the phones are out. Could be days before they come back on.”

“Trippett?” Gabe dipped precariously to one side then caught himself with a step back. “I know that name.”

“It’s getting kinda dangerous out there.” Kenzie nodded at the window. “But I suppose you might still have a chance at making it to their house if you’ve a mind to do that. I wouldn’t advise it, though. Wind could knock a little thing like yourself clear out to the next island.”

“I’ll take my chances, Mr. Kenzie.” She skirted the drunken Gabe and walked to the door.

Gabe reeled after her. “I know who you are now. Yes, I do.”

“C’mon, Gabe,” Kenzie said. “Don’t do this.”

“It was a long time ago, but I remember it as if it were yesterday. You were at Manchester Place, weren’t you?”

Kenzie came out from behind the cash register. “You’re cut off, Gabe, no more beer. And I think you better head on home now.”

“I ain’t going nowhere.” Gabe pointed his finger in Eleanor’s general direction. “You killed that boy sure as I’m standing here. Weren’t no effen proof, but I know it had to be you since no one else was there.”

Eleanor Trippett turned to him and stood frozen in place.

He hesitated, eyes widened, then took two steps back. “You don’t scare me.”

“Don’t I?”

Gabe spit, wiped his hand across his mouth, then backed to the counter and the cash register with the other men. “Damn women. Aw, hell with it.”

“Don’t I scare you?” She slowly walked to him. “I should. If someone’s killed once it’s easier the second time, you’ve heard that, haven’t you? The second time is much easier because there’s nothing left to lose. And there needn’t even be a good reason for killing again. In fact, there needn’t be a reason at all, but you’ve given me plenty of reasons. Should I list them, or will you figure that out all by your drunken self?”

Gabe’s face paled. He slid down the front of the counter and turned away from her. “I didn’t mean nothing by it,” he whimpered.

“Hell with it?” She bent over him. “You don’t know what hell is.”

Smoothing the black dress and the veil across her face, she turned on the heel of her pointed black shoes and walked out of the store.

“Get up, Gabe, you old fool. As if a storm outside wasn’t enough, you had to go and get one started in here. Damn fool.”

She paced the wooden planks outside the store. Damn fool was right, but Gabe was just one of many. Maybe she was, too. Sybil’s passing mention of this Richard fellow yesterday, and his growing romantic interest in Annie Cameron, had planted the seed in Eleanor’s mind. If she could talk to him, convince him of her theory, then maybe Annie and her son would have a chance. It was worth a try, however absurd it sounded. So maybe Gabe was not the only fool in the store this day.

The disagreeable drunkard had done something right, though, something she never thought possible anymore. He had made her angry. After two-and-a-half decades of feeling nothing, any emotion would have been progress. The first to show itself after so long was anger, and it felt good. It felt great. And there was a lot more where that came from.

“This is pretty bad weather for taking a walk, don’t you think?”

He was wearing blue jeans tucked into brown boots. A flannel shirt poked out from under a heavy jacket. He smiled at her from a handsome face covered in two days worth of beard and crowned by a mass of dark, curly hair.

“Are you a friend of Annie Cameron?”

His face a blank mask one second, reddened the next. “In a way, I guess. Maybe. In a way.”

“I’ve been trying to find you.”

“My name’s Richard.”

“Yes. I know.”

“I don’t think I know who you are.”

“Annie’s in trouble and needs your help.”

“Trouble? What kind of trouble?”

Eleanor sat down on the bench by the door to Kenzie’s store and patted the place next to her.

“Sit. I don’t expect you to believe what I’m going to say, but I hope you’ll hear me out anyway. You’re the only one who can help.”