in early morning sunrays that reached her through the kitchen window, Janice’s spirits took an upturn. Her unexpected helper was turning out to be equal parts amusing and exasperating. Shane had been a total mother hen about leaving her here alone last night, but she’d been firm, and at last he’d taken Atlas and headed out with a final admonishment to get a landline phone installed ASAP.
Yes, Sergeant Gillum, she’d thought and nearly saluted. After what they’d been through, he’d probably felt as though he had a stake in her well-being. What would she have done without him? Matters would probably have gone quite differently yesterday without his help.
Janice sobered. Was Shane Gillum among God’s ways of assisting her through this rough patch or were things coming together too easily? Not that her injuries equated to easy, but her replacement worker had popped up effortlessly, seemingly out of nowhere. Should she be suspicious?
Suspicion and paranoia were family traits—the guilty were naturally suspicious of others. Since she had no guilty reasons for coming here to dispose of this property, she’d like to choose a different reaction. Shane had showed up when she’d needed someone and then gone above and beyond to be helpful.
He appeared to be a private sort, as she was herself. In all other respects, he’d proved compassionate and helpful. Just a guy looking for some peace of mind through a change of scenery. Again, they had a lot in common. Hopefully, they would work together well—he’d work and she’d supervise, that is.
If he was starting a new antiquing hobby, she’d been told the storage unit in Edgartown held quite a few pieces. She’d yet to check out the contents and would need help when she started sorting through things. Shane would come in more than handy. Some items she might use to stage the cottage for sale. Others she could sell outright. Maybe Shane would be interested in some of the pieces in exchange for his work. Then her budget wouldn’t be so strained. Who knew? Maybe she’d find a few things to keep for herself.
What was she thinking? Janice shook her head as she capped the bottle of water. She wanted nothing that bore the Moran stain. Whatever she couldn’t sell or exchange for labor would go into the nearest trash bin.
An hour later she’d washed, dressed with a bit of an awkward struggle in a sweatshirt and jeans, and brushed her teeth and hair. After numerous one-handed attempts, she’d finally managed to gather her heavy locks away from her face and into a loose ponytail bound with a large hair clip.
Tired before the day had any traction under it she leaned against the kitchen counter while her bagel toasted. Her breakfast popped up just as the porch boards squealed and a knock sounded on the door. Glancing from the steaming, golden-brown goodness to the front door and back again, she sighed and headed to answer the knock. If Shane’s early-bird habits were going to cause her a cold meal, she’d dock his pay. Well, at least she’d razz him a little.
Janice opened the door, a quip on her tongue, but the words froze behind her teeth. The most unusual person she’d ever seen in her life—and she’d seen a few—gazed at her with bright hazel eyes rimmed in a virtual rainbow of eye shadow. The woman was about a head and a half shorter than Janice but nearly as wide as the doorway. She wore a floral print, muumuu-style dress under a crisp white apron edged in eyelet lace. A knitted shawl hugged sturdy shoulders, and a silver-white, beehive hairdo rose to a height that a more slender neck might find difficult to support. She hugged a small paper sack to her ample bosom.
“Hi, there,” the woman said with a beaming smile framed in vivid red lipstick. The word there came out “they-ah.” Definitely a native New Englander.
“Hello.” Janice tried a return smile, but it probably didn’t succeed as much more than a puzzled grimace.
“When I heard someone was out at the old Moran place, I could scarcely believe my ears. But here you are, pretty as a picture.” The woman bobbed her several chins.
“I take it the rumor mill is alive and well on Martha’s Vineyard.” So much for a low profile.
“You got that right, lambkin, and second to none.” The woman grinned and rocked on pudgy feet overflowing serviceable brown clogs. “I apologize that it’s taken a while for me to find a spare minute to drop by. I knew someone was here a couple of days ago when some fishermen at sea reported spotting lights up at the old Moran place. Scared their hair frizzy. They were talkin’ all crazy-like about ghosts and long-dead pirates, but I told ’em in no uncertain terms to stow their imaginations. There’s always a sensible explanation, and I’m lookin’ at her. I—”
“That’s impossible.” Janice burst into the woman’s chatter.
“What’s impossible?” The rainbow eyes blinked at her.
“Lights. Here. Days ago. I didn’t arrive on the island until yesterday morning, and the electricity wasn’t turned on until yesterday afternoon.”
“Well, what do you know about that?” Her guest frowned. “I’m thinkin’ some jackdaws bored of a poor night’s fishin’ got a snoot full and started tellin’ each other stories about bootleggers and pirates. Imagined the lights out of the reflection of the moon on the water.”
Janice inhaled a deep breath. Pirates? Bootleggers? Typical activities of her ancestors. But no peg-legged, eye-patched ghost was behind the strange clump of accidents she’d encountered since reaching Martha’s Vineyard. If those things were sabotage, they’d been carried out by flesh and blood.
“Sorry to see you’ve met with difficulties.” Her guest nodded toward Janice’s sling. “Please tell me you didn’t get hurt on our island.”
“I can’t assure you of that, but it was my own fault for not watching my step going down into the basement.” For now, Janice would count that version true, unless examination of the broken step told a different story.
The woman clucked. “I was on my way to work this morning and just had to see if I’d heard right. Then I saw your lights were on for real, so I thought I’d stop and introduce myself. Esther Mae Furbish here. Essie Mae to my friends, and that’s everyone!” She burbled a laugh that drew a genuine smile from Janice.
“I’m Janice Swenson, the Realtor handling renovation and sale of the property.”
“Sale, you say? Place like this’ll bring a pretty nickel with all those off-islanders hungry for vacation homes.” Essie Mae’s lips pursed as though she’d sucked something sour, but then she broke into her infectious grin. “Guess I should be grateful for the summer swarms. Without the tourist trade my job would be in jeopardy. My little place is next one up the road from here, Chilmark-way. You couldn’t buy it off me for love or money. To hang on to it, I wait tables at the Beach Shanty in Menemsha. You stop on in someday soon for the best chowder on the island. If I’m not there, tell ’em Essie Mae sent you, and you’ll get a 10 percent discount.”
“Thank you. I appreciate the offer.” A stiff breeze whooshed across the porch, ruffling the fringe on Essie Mae’s shawl and lapping at Janice with a chilly tongue. She shivered.
“Here I am keeping you standing in the doorway with my jawing.” Essie Mae hugged her shawl close, displaying glittery blue nail polish and an eclectic array of rings on every finger, including the thumb.
“Would you like to come in?” Janice stood back.
Maybe she could share her bagel or even toast another one, but she’d be challenged to know where to seat a guest with only a folding camp chair available. Apparently
