Pamela pushed a donation box toward him and while he was still sorting through the unfamiliar notes, Fleur reached up, taking one from his hand and pushing it into the box.
“Thank you, that’s very generous. For twenty dollars you can have one of these...” Pamela reached under her desk, pulling out a pile of brightly colored bags, which sported a line drawing of the library building.
“You choose, Fleur.” She’d have to get to her feet to look through the pile, and Rick wondered if she would. She shot him a grimace, leaving the crutches propped against the back of the chair and leaning on Pamela’s desk to shuffle forward a couple of steps.
“Pink’s nice...” There was mischief in her smile.
“Yes. Ellie will like pink.” Clearly Fleur hadn’t seen him walking along Kensington High Street with a one-year-old in a body sling and a pastel print bag full of baby paraphernalia. He was hardly going to baulk at a pink library bag.
Pamela was sorting through the books, and checking them into the computer. “I thought you might like to revisit Raymond Chandler, Fleur. Since you have the time to appreciate some of his subtler twists.”
“That’s great, thanks.” Fleur nodded.
“And these are two very good new mystery writers...” Pamela started to load the books into the bag, glancing at Rick. “And would you like to sign yourself and your daughter up for a library card, Rick? We have a children’s reading club here on Thursday afternoons, and the nursery staff at the clinic’s daycare center usually bring along any of the younger children who’d like to attend.”
“Um... Yes, thank you. That would be very nice, I’m sure that Ellie would love it...”
“I’ll go and find a form for you to complete.” Pamela disappeared through a doorway behind her, and Fleur looked up at him.
“You’ll get used to everyone knowing who you are and what you do. No one can escape the island network for very long.” Fleur quirked her lips down. It seemed that she didn’t think that was an entirely good thing.
HE WAS DETERMINED. She’d give him that. Fleur had made him pay twenty dollars for a bright pink bag that most people donated ten for, and then subjected him to the indignity of carrying it into the hardware store, so that she’d have something to put her purchases into. She’d chatted to the proprietor, leaving Rick to loiter next to the counter.
He loitered well. Easy on the eye, meeting the other customers who came in and out of the store with a smile and a Good afternoon. Dressed in a dark jacket and scarf, he looked impeccable and Rick was seemingly unfazed by the fact that everyone already seemed to know who he was, and he had no idea who they were. He’d learn.
“I’ve got to go and pick up a cake for someone’s birthday.” He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket as they left the store. “Would you stay here with the bags while I pop across to get it?”
“Sure... Where do you have to pick the cake up from?”
“Over there, I imagine. Won’t be a minute.” He was already making his way down to the crossing, and Fleur sucked in a breath, ready to call after him. Maybe not. If someone else hadn’t told him already, maybe she’d just let Rick find out for himself.
He waited for the lights to change, even though there was only one car on the road, which wasn’t likely to hit him on account of it having stopped, to allow its occupant to have a conversation with someone on the sidewalk. No one had told him that either. Islanders only considered jaywalking an offence during the summer when the roads were busy, or if Sheriff Brady happened to be looking directly at them.
She sank down onto the bench outside the hardware store and watched as he entered Sunbeam Victuals and Delectables. Rick wound his way through the tables and chairs, speaking to the young man with blue dreadlocks behind the counter. The smile dropped from Rick’s face as Phoenix Flame Jones marched past him, flinging the door open, his outstretched arm inviting him to leave in no uncertain terms.
Rick hesitated for a moment, and then did as he was told. Forgetting all about the crossing, he walked straight across the road, frowning as he caught sight of Fleur laughing behind her gloved hand.
“That’ll be a dollar fine you owe Sheriff Brady for jaywalking...” She grinned up at him.
“Fair enough. Direct me to his office and I’ll go and pay it. Are we even now?”
“Even?” Not yet. But, then, he couldn’t know quite how much Fleur hadn’t wanted to come into town today.
“Yes. I get it, Fleur, you don’t need to spend your time here, you want to go back to Boston. So you sent me into the wrong cake shop.”
“It’s a bakery. And I didn’t send you anywhere.”
“No, and you didn’t tell me there were two bakeries either. Or that there was some kind of cake war going on, and I’d be invited to put the clinic’s high-fat, old-fashioned, unhealthy birthday cake where the sun doesn’t shine.”
Fleur tried to keep a straight face, and failed miserably. “That’s a little unfair. Fiona’s cakes are lovely, and a birthday cake’s allowed to be a little high fat. It’s only once a year, after all.”
“I didn’t get the chance to say that, before I was ordered out.” Rick turned, looking across the street to where Phoenix Flame was standing in the window of his vegan establishment, glowering at him. “I suppose I’m banned for life now.”
“Oh, don’t worry. If you go in and order a low-fat soya latte and a chia-seed muffin, they’ll forgive you. Everyone likes it when someone sees the error of their ways.”
“Don’t they just.” He raised an eyebrow, and a trickle of embarrassment ran down Fleur’s spine. Maybe he’d like it if she saw the error of her ways, but Rick wasn’t in possession of all the facts.
“Brady’s Bistro and Bakery is down there.” Fleur ignored the obvious dig, and pointed toward the other end of the row of shops.
“Brady’s...? Wait a minute, the sheriff owns a bakery?”
“It would be handy, wouldn’t it? You could pay your fine and pick up your cake at the same time. But, no, Fiona and Tom Brady own the bakery. Jim Brady is Tom’s younger brother and he’s the sheriff. See, I’m a mine of information, and all you have to do is ask.”
Rick rolled his eyes. Perhaps he was beginning to realize just how irritating it was to have someone be one step ahead of you all the time. He picked up the pink library bag, and turned, opening the passenger door of the car.
“Get in.”
A woman who seemed to know and be liked by everyone, but who preferred to stay away from the town and skulk in her hospital room. It was a mystery worthy of any self-respecting crime novel, and one that was baffling Rick. He drove the length of Main Street until he reached a shop with gleaming paintwork and a neat fifties-style sign.
“This is the
