The Invisible Husband of Frick Island by Colleen Oakley (autobiographies to read .TXT) 📗

offering that she’d forgotten to take to church that morning.”

Pearl chuckled and Anders joined in. He took the last bite of his second cookie and chewed, considering his next question thoughtfully. He knew Mrs. Olecki enough to know if he asked anything off-limits it would just shut her down. He decided to go for it: “What about Tom’s boat?”

He stared at her intently, expecting a reaction of some kind, but she remained unruffled as she ripped leaves of iceberg lettuce apart and dropped them in a bowl. “Oh, you heard about the fire, huh? Yeah, that was terrible.”

“I didn’t just hear about it. I was there. Helped them put it out.”

At this she looked up. “You did? I didn’t know that. It’s a good thing, I guess. Unlike BobDan to be so careless with his cigarette butts, but accidents happen, I ’spose. Maybe if he didn’t try to hide his habit from Shirlene—as if she doesn’t know—he wouldn’t have to dispose of the nasty things so quickly, but it’s none of my nevermind.”

Anders stared at her, not hearing her opinionated ramblings. His brain had shorted out, stuck on the first thing she said—BobDan had told everyone the fire was an accident.

BobDan had lied.

And Anders wanted to know why.

—

Clouds hung low in the sky, painting the town with a dreary brush—making every storefront and house appear even more dilapidated and depressed, if that was possible—and Anders shuddered in his cotton shirt, wishing he’d brought a jacket with him. It was the first weekend in October and it reminded Anders a little of home—how the blistering heat of summer seemed to never end, until one day it was fall, just like that. And then the cold of winter blew in right on its heels. Autumn in the south wasn’t so much a season as a stopgap between summer and winter.

After helping Harold move the china cabinet (and feeling as though the muscles of his lower back had ripped apart from each other like Velcro in the process), Anders had set out from the bed-and-breakfast, his stomach rumbling. He had half a mind to confront BobDan about the fire, but knew that would get him precisely nowhere. So he set his sights on the One-Eyed Crab for a bite and maybe another conversation with the waiter Jeffrey, who, while not overfriendly, was the only person who didn’t seem to completely shut down when Anders pressed him with questions. He didn’t outright answer anything, of course, but his snide, sarcastic commentary made Anders think he had a torrent of anger running just under the surface and might one day burst.

The door to the post office chimed as Anders neared it, and Lady Judy stepped out onto the street holding an armload of packages so high, it nearly covered her face.

“Whoa. You need help with those?” Anders asked, reaching out for the top one.

“No!” Lady Judy barked, startling him back. “I’ve got it.”

He held up his hands. “OK.” He watched as she half hustled, half waddled up the street under the weight of her packages. He stared at her, perplexed. What was she receiving—more wine bottles? Or something else?

A drug-trafficking ring. Mr. Gimby’s words floated back to him, unbidden. And then an image: Lady Judy as the kingpin of an island-wide heroin or meth ring—her large bosom straining against a Scarface-like suit, holding two tommy guns and cackling. Chuckling, Anders shook his head, dismissing the ridiculous idea at once.

Anders walked into the One-Eyed Crab, the screen door slamming behind him, announcing his presence. The place was empty save for two faces swiveling in his direction: Jeffrey, whose eyes looked like they could cut glass, and Piper, whose eyes looked like they could laser it all back together.

“Uh . . . hi,” he said to the stony silence of the room.

“We’re closed,” Jeffrey said, cutting his eyes back to Piper.

“Closed?” Anders checked his watch again. It was five minutes after three—an off time for a meal, to be sure, but he didn’t remember the restaurant ever closing between lunch and dinner.

“Yep, tourist season is over. Which means locals only.” Jeffrey still wasn’t looking at him, but Anders got the distinct feeling that Jeffrey wasn’t just talking about the restaurant anymore.

“Don’t be a jerk,” Piper said.

“Wait, is that why you weren’t at the wildlife center last Saturday?” Anders asked.

“Yep. Season ends third week in September. A few tourists still trickle over, of course, but everything kind of shuts down after that.”

“Oh.”

Sue suddenly appeared in the doorway carrying a big stack of freshly laundered bar towels and brightened when she saw Anders. “Oh, hey there. You hungry?”

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you were closed.”

“It’s fine.” Sue waved him to come closer inside. “I’m happy to whip you up something. Least I could do for your help with the freezer.”

“No, no. I can just go over to the market and find something.”

“I’ll come with you,” Piper said, hopping off the stool. “I was done here anyway.” She cut her eyes at Jeffrey one last time. Anders recognized the piercing look from his fumble in the wildlife center and felt overwhelming relief he wasn’t the recipient this time.

Once they were a few yards away from the restaurant, Anders spoke first. “What was that about?”

“Nothing,” she said, rubbing her arms through her sweatshirt.

“It didn’t sound like nothing.”

Piper shrugged. “Just Jeffrey being Jeffrey.”

Anders knew, from the palpable anger he’d felt in the air, there was more to it than that.

“I take it you don’t like him?” he pressed.

Piper sighed. “It’s more . . . complicated than that.” After a few beats of silence, Anders realized that was all she was going to say on the matter.

When they got to the market, the fluorescent lights were on, but the place was deserted. Anders stuck his hands in his pockets to wait for Mr. Garrison to return, but Piper walked right behind the counter.

“Are you allowed back there?”

“Of course. I work here.”

“Really? I thought you worked at the bed-and-breakfast.”

“Just in the mornings, helping Mrs. Olecki cook.”

“So you have three jobs.”

“I