First Look: Murder at North Pond
Exclusive Excerpt:
Chapter 1
The sun winked at me from the horizon just moments before obliterating the peach colored streaks of dawn and erasing the perfect shadowy lighting from my work in progress. The sweet pepperbrush would have to wait until tomorrow. Its deep green, toothy leaves seemed to relax as I packed up my watercolors as if it knew it had been sitting for a portrait. It was weeks too early for the plant's crowning glory, a tall, white spike of flowers, but I preferred to catch nature just before it went from inconspicuous to glorious. It was like spotting and admiring a movie star long before anyone else noticed their potential.
I snapped shut the tray of watercolors and tucked my paper pad under my arm. "Well, Huck, guess it's time to head back." The dog tilted his head side to side trying to decide whether the all important word 'cookie' had come up in my last few words. Deciding I hadn't mentioned one, he trotted on ahead of me, his bobbed tail pirouetting behind him as if he sported a long, fluffy tail.
Huck was such an odd mix of breeds. His rough, mottled coat and amber eyes gave him the look of a feral dog, one that belonged somewhere in the Australian Outback or African Serengeti rather than on an island. Michael and I laughed when we spotted the dog at the rescue. It was love at first sight… for me at least. Michael took some convincing. But Huck, already two at the time and on his third home, knew how to warm his way into Michael's heart, greeting him joyfully after a long day on the water, resting his head in his lap whenever Michael was feeling down and even, on occasion, bringing him one of his special doggie treats. Michael would pretend to eat it so as not to disappoint Huck. The dog understood that he had to do things right this time, another family, another month at the shelter waiting for someone to fall for him and take him home was out of the question. He needn't have worried though. For me, the attachment was so instant, so profound, I knew Huck had finally found his forever home.
Huck pounced into some shrubs and scared a pair of robins from their shelter. Robins, with their marmalade colored bellies, were always the first to arrive. Spring was just starting to peel back the dreary layers of winter. It wouldn't be long before Frostfall Island burst to life with all the critters lucky enough to call it home.
Frostfall Island was one of those elusive places no one could find on a map. It was neither north nor south, east nor west. It wasn't too close to the equator and was still far enough from the North Pole. Frostfall wasn't lush and humid like a tropical island. At the same time, it wasn't a mass of frozen tundra like Iceland. The island's mood was fickle, depending on the weather and where you stood. If you peered across the moors on the northeast corner during a frosty fog, you could half expect a dark and brooding Heathcliff to wander out of the gothic mist. But on the sunny, westernmost edge of the island, a bike ride and a double scoop of mocha fudge marble seemed more in order. Most people, even on the Atlantic coast, had never heard of Frostfall Island, and we liked it that way. Michael used to say Frostfall was like that small Hawaiian island that no one could remember the name of but that was far more beautiful than its popular sisters, Oahu and Maui. There were numerous islands off the eastern coast, some that were too rocky and wild to inhabit and some with real estate in such high demand only the wealthy could afford it. Frostfall was somewhere in between. It had its own little place in the Atlantic universe, and once I'd landed here, I knew I, too, had found my forever home.
Huck trotted ahead but stopped at the curve halfway along the trail. He knew I would stop there too, the same spot I paused at every time we hiked along Beach Plum Trail. My breath produced cloudy puffs in the early morning chill. The tin tray of watercolors had grown cold in my hand by the time I reached Huck.
The dog was staring off at the horizon, as if he was remembering that fateful day, the day that Huck and I stood to wave at Michael as his fishing trawler rounded the southern tip of the island. His glossy, yellow rain slicker glistened in the cloud-filtered sunlight as he waved to us from his wheelhouse. Huck and I stood on that same curve everyday for a year, no matter how thick and cold the fog or how brittle and sharp the wind. I'd blow Michael good luck kisses, and Huck would bark his goodbyes. Gosh, how Michael hated the sound of Huck's bark. "That dog's bark sounds like someone chewing on a mouthful of gravel," he would complain with a laugh. Michael's laugh was the thing I missed the most about him, along with a million other things like the way he buttered toast and poured coffee for me every morning and brought it to me in bed so my feet didn't have to hit the cold floor before I'd warmed myself with breakfast. Like the way he'd hold me as we stood out on the front porch listening to the springtime frogs or the fall crickets. Or the way he'd bring me something special, a trinket, a shell or a pretty tea cup from the mainland after he'd docked to weigh his catch.
That day, the day Huck and I watched Michael float off for the last time, there was something not quite right about my husband's smile. Even his wave seemed less exuberant. He never reached up to scoop my wind-borne kiss from the salty air.
I'd gone over the details of those last few moments so often it had drained me. The sun had tried badly to break past the gray clouds streaking the sky. The sea was a deep, emerald green, and it was choppy enough to make the Wild Rose, the twenty-foot trawler and Michael's pride and joy, waddle from side to side like a fat duck. Three great black-backed seagulls hovered low next to the boat, determined to help with the catch. For months, whenever I spotted a gull, I interrogated the bird (and the bird would look at me, rightfully, as if I was crazy) to see if it had been one of those three gulls. It seemed they would be the only souls on earth, the only witnesses that might be able to tell me what happened that fateful day when Michael sailed off and never returned.
A wind pushed a strand of my auburn hair across my cheek. I flicked it back and gazed out one last time, past the edge of the rocky bluffs, over the black iron cap of the Southern Lady Lighthouse and along the rippling blue water. I wasn't sure why I always stopped to look. Maybe I was just trying to get back that feeling, that joy I felt knowing that after a long, hard day Michael would climb the porch steps, curse a little as he pulled off his tight work boots and lumber into the house smelling like salt and diesel and love.
I patted Huck's head. He pushed against my hand, hoping for a scratch behind his ear. I obliged him for a moment. "We need to get back, buddy. I've got to start breakfast."
Beach Plum Trail, my favorite on the island, gently glided up the center of the island. It was dotted with the Kelly green leaves of beach plums, the cheery little fruit-bearing plants it was named for. Delicate white blossoms were already making their debut, whispering promises of crimson and purple plums, a fruit that was most assuredly a matter of taste. I found them bitter but others found them sweet.
If you walked south on Beach Plum Trail, you would end up at the southern lighthouse, one of two on the island. North would take you to Moon River and the bridge leading to Calico Trail. And Calico Trail led home, my home. Michael had inherited the Moon River Boarding House from his grandparents. The three-story Victorian boasted fifteen rooms, eight fireplaces and enough creaks and rattles to scare off even the most stalwart of ghosts. Admittedly, after my slick, modern apartment in the city, the house, with its drafty windows, moaning pipes and the occasional unexplained noise, took some getting used to. I'd given up more than my city life when I followed Michael to Frostfall Island. I'd given up a successful career in finance, a boring, high stress career that I was just as happy to leave.
Michael's fishing business was so dependent on the will of the ocean, I thought we needed to supplement our income. His grandmother had run a successful boarding house. While I'd never imagined myself running a boarding house while flitting between economics and business management classes, the idea soon grew on me. Michael had ruled against it, vehemently, insisting we could manage on whatever his catch brought in. I'd given up on the idea until Michael disappeared. Then, I found myself alone with a large, empty house in constant need of repair.
I started the boarding house a year after Michael was lost at sea. My tenants, a collection of mismatched, eccentric and the most wonderful people I'd ever met, were now my family. One of them, literally. My older sister, Cora, had joined us after the death of her second husband. The first hubby had died too. In her defense, they were both incredibly old… and incredibly rich. They'd also both had previous families, ex-wives, children and grandchildren who made sure that my sister didn't leave their posh estates with more than she could carry.
Cora Cromwell, a name she kept from the second husband because of its prominence in Great Britain's history, was the candy coated crowned jewel of the family. Growing up, it had just been the two of us, trudging back and forth across town to stay at Mom's during the week and Dad's for the weekend. My mom was sure my sister's beauty would lead her to Hollywood or a lucrative modeling career. Instead, Cora took the much simpler route to a wealthy lifestyle. She was much better at saying 'I do' than 'I can'. Her second wedding cost more than eight hundred thousand dollars, including her fifty thousand dollar designer dress dotted with diamonds (she had to return the dress to the estate upon her husband's death). It was such an elaborate affair, she'd had no choice except to sign the draconian prenuptial agreement her future step-children forced upon her just seconds before the start of the ceremony. After all, no bride runs off when there are swans with gold tails and white horses dressed as unicorns waiting for you at the reception. It was the fairy tale wedding she'd always dreamed of, only instead of Prince Charming standing in his velvet lined cape and gold crown at the blossom covered altar, ninety-one-year-old Walter Cromwell waited, hunched and supported by both his sons (who were also old enough to be the bride's father). Still, my sister walked out with her radiant smile and obscenely expensive dress and sparkled like the diamonds on her gown. There was a collective gasp as the guests caught sight of the gorgeous bride. My dad kept pulling at his tight collar and shaking his head at the ridiculous spectacle. Mom wept with joy at the sight of her beautiful daughter. At least, I thought it was joy. It might have had to do with the prenuptial that would leave Cora destitute upon the death of her husband, an event that appeared to be not too far in the distant future.
My sister had fared better with her first marriage, managing to leave the funeral with a two million dollar check. Cora was never one to be called thrifty or cheap. She quickly spent the money on designer clothes, cars, jewelry and luxury vacations. My mom never had quite the same amount of praise for me as she had for Cora. It was true the only thing we shared were our green eyes. I was my parents' reliable, practical daughter. My mom's most glowing description of me to date was—"Anna, my sweet, you're tall but not too tall, thin but not too thin and plain but not too plain." One day, while we were out looking for dresses for Cora's first wedding, she came up with a real zinger—"Anna, if you turn your head just right and the sun shines just so, you're actually quite pretty." I'd laughed at the time telling her that it seemed all the stars in the universe had to line up for me to be passably pretty. She had the nerve to be hurt that I wasn't overjoyed at her compliment.
Huck led the way at a full trot. The new morning sun glinted off Finnegan's Pond, a small natural pond just off the trail and bordering a vast open space teeming with plants and wildlife. Ahead of me, toe nails clicking on the wooden bridge over Moon River alerted me to the fact that my dog was in need of a nail trimming. Naturally, I wouldn't tell him that or even dare to spell out the words nail trimming until it was time for the deed. The last time I'd pulled out the clippers and clicked them in my hand to loosen them up, Huck ran out his door and into the trees behind the house. He stayed there until all threats of a pedicure had disappeared.
I stopped halfway over the bridge and gazed down at the crystal clear water dashing and dancing over the rocks below. A pair of mallards floated along, happy to have the river free of snow and ice for a change.
As much as I preferred to stay out in nature on a sunny spring morning, I'd procrastinated long enough. My band of merry misfits would be gathering at the kitchen table soon, and something told me, on this particular morning, they might just have a surprise planned.
Chapter 2
I paused to admire the Moon River Boarding House in all its vintage, charismatic glory. Even with the collection of sad memories; the evening I sat in front of a dying fire waiting for Michael to return, wondering what on earth was taking so long for him to come home to me and waiting urgently to hear him drop his heavy, wet boots on the porch; me standing hopefully, anxiously on the porch as the young coast guard walked up the path, wet, cold and nervous about delivering dreadful news that the Wild Rose had been found stuck on rocks thirty miles east of Frostfall, no skipper onboard; the wake we held after seven years had passed and Michael was officially declared dead, people drifting silently, sadly in and out of the mahogany front door carrying casseroles, pound cakes and condolences. Even with those memories clinging to the ivory white edges of the house, I was always happy to see it.
For a long while, the Victorian beauty and Huck were my only family, the only two souls on earth who felt and understood my sorrow. And yes, the house had a soul. I was sure of it. She knew exactly when to comfort me, when to wrap her big Victorian arms around me and keep me warm and safe. At the same time, she knew exactly when to push me out the door into the revitalizing sunshine or a brisk, energetic breeze.
The house was surrounded by a massive porch, held in place with shiny white columns and a weather safe overhang. It was an assortment of steeply pitched roofs and a patchwork of double-hung windows. For a stately old Victorian, she lacked some of the whimsical gingerbread embellishments, the standard adornments of other ladies from her time. I preferred the simpler, more austere look to the over accessorized Victorian.
Huck bounded up the steps ahead of me and scratched at the screen door. Something he'd been told a million times not to do but he'd dismissed every time as silly. A long, silver garland dotted with equally silver balloons greeted me at the entrance to the kitchen. I spotted the words Congratulations on your Silver Wedding Anniversary written in fancy white script across the metallic balloons. I stepped into the heart of the house, a massive eat-in kitchen.
Opal's fiery red hair spiked up from her head as she leaned over a plate of chocolate covered strawberries. (There was more chocolate on the plate… and my kitchen counters than the fruit.) Huck shot past me alerting Opal to my arrival. Her face popped up. She hadn't, as she liked to say, put on her face yet, a heavy layer of makeup that bordered on theatrical. Her eyes rounded behind her purple rimmed glasses. "Oh, Winston, the birthday girl is here. Surprise," she said, somewhat past the point of actual surprise.
Winston spun around from the sink, a wash rag in his hand and a baby pouch hanging in front of his chest. The two baby robins he'd been feeding around the clock poked their patchy bald heads above the edge of the pouch to see what all the excitement was about. Winston's big brown eyes smiled above his white, toothy grin. At thirty, Winston still retained that wonderful glow of youth, the youth I was apparently leaving behind to head into the next decade of my life, the one where you really started to feel that downhill pull. I had dreaded turning thirty. Now I would have given anything to be turning thirty instead of forty.
"Happy birthday, Anna," Winston cheered. He waved his arm toward the strawberries. "We made your favorite, and don't worry, I'll get this cleaned up in a jiffy." One thing about working with melted chocolate, it always somehow managed to get everywhere, as evidenced by the large streak on Winston's forearm, only to be outdone by the streak across his forehead. At least his thick blond hair appeared to have avoided the chocolate. He smiled down at his two baby birds. "William, Kate, did you say happy birthday?"
Opal scoffed. "Did you seriously name those birds after the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge?"
Winston's brow creased. "Who?"
I winked at Opal. "I think it's just a coincidence."
"Have a seat." Winston pulled out my usual chair at the table. "I've made coffee."
I walked across the room to the desk in the corner of the kitchen. It was cluttered with the week's menus, grocery lists and utility bills. I scooted the mess aside and put down my paint and artwork. Winston poured me a cup of coffee and set the cream next to it.
Opal's smile lines deepened on her face. "How are you feeling? I remember my fortieth like it was yesterday. The staff at the middle school I taught at left a cane and one of those old-fashioned hearing horns on my desk. They also brought my favorite chocolate torte. Delicious cake. I think that's why I remember the day so well."
"I'm not quite ready for the cane or hearing horn, but I did notice another few strands of silver this morning in the mirror."
Opal tilted her head and gave me a sympathetic smile. "It's cute that you call them silver instead of—you know—the color that should not be named."
"Yep, I'm sticking with silver."
Winston and his tiny friends joined us. William and Kate slipped back into the warmth of the baby pouch. Winston worked at the Frostfall Wildlife Rescue, a non-profit that took in all manner of creatures. Very often, when a baby animal needed extra or round the clock attention, Winston brought the animal home. None of us minded. In fact, we looked forward to the parade of baby squirrels, harbor seals and even, on occasion, young deer.
"Speaking of silver." Winston glanced up at the silver balloons hanging above his head with a good degree of consternation. "The plan was to decorate with purple and pink balloons, two of your favorite colors." He turned his dismayed expression to his party partner. "Opal was in charge of decorations, and I was in charge of strawberries."
"You took the easier job," Opal said with a haughty chin lift. "There were no purple or pink balloons anywhere on the island." Opal looked at me apologetically. "Becky Grubbs had some decorations left from their silver anniversary party. Can you believe she's been married to that dull man for a quarter of a century? I'd rather be married to a pile of bricks."
Opal had been married once, to a teacher she worked with. None of us knew much about him except that his name was John and after ten years of marriage he realized he was more in love with Gregory Everett, the football coach, than his wife. The divorce was quick and, from all accounts, amiable.
"I thought once, for this special occasion, you might leave your room and your marathon of movie classics to head to the mainland. There's a party shop just two blocks from the ferry stop," Winston continued.
Opal shivered visibly at the thought of a ferry ride. "You know that ferry ride makes me seasick."
I reached for a strawberry. The chocolate was still sticky. "Everything is perfect." I took a bite of the treat and winked at both of them. "So good and I love the silver decorations. They match the strands in my hair."
Opal grinned with satisfaction and lifted a wafer thin package off her lap. It was wrapped with one of her silk scarves. Opal tended to dress as if she'd just walked off the set of a silent movie. And, in her mind, she had. About ten years ago, a vivid dream convinced Opal Barlow that she had once walked the earth as Rudolph Valentino, the early century movie star known for his good looks and Italian charm. He died young and tragically. Opal decided, quite confidently, that she had been Valentino in a previous life. None of us argued the point. After all, we certainly didn't have evidence to disprove it.
Opal beamed as she handed me her gift. "I'll need the scarf back," she noted.
I smiled and untied the scarf, the pink silk slipped away from a glossy photo of Rudolph Valentino. It was signed Happy Birthday, Anna, love Rudy in Opal's distinctly feminine handwriting. It was my third 'autographed' photo of the movie star. The autographed photos had become a slight problem when Opal suddenly decided she could sell glossy, autographed photos of the star as if they were authentic. She argued with us for a bit, insisting that they were technically authentic, but when the possibility of forgery and felony was brought up, she ended her business. Now, the rest of us were on the receiving end of the five dozen glossy photos she had ordered in anticipation of high demand for a Valentino autograph.
The upstairs pipe creaked as the shower went on in the women's bathroom. We had two in the house. The Victorians were bigger on sitting rooms and parlors than on showering. We'd designated one bathroom with shower and claw foot tub for the women of the house and one, more modernized, for the men. The whole setup worked well.
"That will be my sister getting up for breakfast." I finished the cup of coffee. "Thank you both so much for the lovely treat. I've got to get breakfast started. Eggs and hash browns sound all right?" I stood up and carried my cup to the sink. My white porcelain farm sink was more chocolate than porcelain.
"I feel bad," Winston said. "We should be making you breakfast."
I gazed down at the mess. "Oh no, you've already done enough, Winston. I love my strawberries and my silver balloons."
I sighed to myself. Forty, when did that happen?
Chapter 3
The buttery scent of eggs and hash browns mingled with the metallic smell of the balloons and the rich scent of chocolate. The back door opened and Tobias walked inside. His thin hair stood up from his mostly bald scalp. The early morning sun had turned it pink, along with his nose.
"Toby, you're going to need to start wearing a hat again when you go for your morning swim," I noted.
Tobias reached up and patted his head. "You're right. I'll put that on my reminder board." Tobias was short and slight, and though he was fifty, he had the physique of a twelve-year-old boy. He kept trim and young with long morning swims at the beach. Aside from when he had the sniffles or a headache and as long as the weather permitted, he went everyday without fail. He insisted it cleared his head for working with numbers. Tobias was an accountant and the town treasurer, two jobs he took quite seriously. And rightfully so.
"I'll just get showered and changed. Breakfast smells good." Tobias hadn't noticed the silver balloons until he walked under them. "Oh right, happy birthday, Anna." He bowed his head formally. Tobias, or Toby as we called him, tended to be awkward in most social situations. However, when it was just the two of us, that social anxiety disappeared, and he could be quite informative and a good conversationalist as long as he wasn't talking about numbers.
"Thank you. Breakfast is almost done. If you see my sister floating around in all her lavish finery tell her soft boiled eggs are ready." Cora never liked her eggs scrambled. She said scrambled eggs were too chaotic. An interesting choice of word, considering the last ten years of my sister's life.
Tobias nodded again, awkwardly, as if we were mere strangers, then headed to the stairs.
The click-clack of Cora's heels tapped the steps as she descended them. She flounced into the kitchen sparkling like bubbly cream soda in her camel colored sequin dress with a high collar and sleek pencil bodice. A thin gold belt finished the look. This was one of her more common day dresses, like my blue cotton shift with the small coffee stain on the hem and the sewn tear on the bodice. Only Cora's casual day dress was more suited to a Hollywood premiere, while mine was suited for a cup of coffee with a friend. I always called this particular selection from her closet her Ginger dress because it reminded me of the one Ginger, the movie star, wore on Gilligan's island.
Cora's wardrobe, a collection of designer dresses all too formal for everyday wear, were the only remnants of her short-lived stints as the wife of billionaires. I'd finally convinced her to put most of her fine jewelry in a safety deposit box. Not that I worried about anything happening to it at Moon River, but it seemed entirely too careless to leave a fortune in platinum, gold and diamonds just lying around the house. She had kept her diamond and platinum watch out of the box. It glittered on her thin wrist as she pushed a long blonde curl back behind her ear and stared up at the balloons. Her emerald green gaze looked wryly my direction.
"Now, I know you're not twenty-five because that would make me twenty-seven." She laughed airily, something she'd learned to do at all the social luncheons she had to sit through as a trophy wife.
I laughed, too, only mine was far more organic. "If I was twenty-five, I wouldn't be standing here with a spatula in my hand and an apron around my waist, and you wouldn't be twenty-seven, you'd be thirty-one, my dear older sister. You keep erasing years. Pretty soon, I'll be the older sister."
"I can't possibly be that old. Mirrors don't lie."
"Tell that to the Queen in Snow White," Opal quipped. Opal was an old movie expert. She spent the larger part of her day watching classic films.
Cora's dress shimmied, and the sequins caught all the different sources of light in the kitchen. She pulled out her chair to sit at our long pine table. I'd purchased the table, one that could fit ten people, at an antique auction on the mainland. I had to pay Frannie, the captain of the ferry, for six seats on the SS Salty Bottom just to get it across the channel. It was worth every penny. It had all the fabulous scars and marks and patina from a lifetime of being a dining room table. Sometimes, when I was alone in the kitchen, I could almost imagine all the conversations people had had at the table floating above it in those funny cartoon bubbles.
I carried a soft boiled egg and plate of hash browns to my sister. She smiled up at me with that picture perfect smile, the one that had all the boys in the neighborhood riding their bikes in circles in front of the house. "Happy birthday, sis. Love you." She blew me a kiss.
I blew one back. We'd always had our differences, but we were as close as two sisters could be. I was thrilled when Cora decided to move into Moon River.
Cora tapped her egg with a spoon to remove the crown. "When is the new boarder arriving?"
"Sometime today." I scooped eggs onto a plate and handed them to Winston first because he needed to get to work. Opal, on the other hand, tended to linger at the breakfast table all morning, occasionally filling my head with stories of her life, both lives, actually. I now knew far more about Charlie Chaplin and Lillian Gish than I ever hoped to know. And Opal always spoke with great confidence and clarity about her past life friends, so I never questioned any of it.
"I don't mind saying, I'm a little concerned about this new addition," Opal said. "He'll be a complete stranger."
I handed Opal her plate. "You mean like you were the first time you walked into the boarding house two years ago?"
"Yes, but that's different. I'm me. And this is a man. You know they're never as congenial and easy to get along with." Opal turned the lazy Susan in the middle of the table so that the butter and marmalade were in front of her. While most people opted for ketchup or hot sauce on their eggs, Opal preferred a sweeter version. She plopped a big spoon of tangy orange marmalade on her eggs and topped off her hash browns with a large scoop of butter.
"And this is where this man bows out of the conversation. We've got a baby harbor seal and its mother coming in this morning. They were caught in the reef below the lighthouse and got pretty bruised up." Winston carried his plate to the sink. "I'll see you all for dinner."
"Have a good day, Winston, and thanks again for the delicious strawberries," I called after him through the back screen door.
Cora got up to refresh her coffee. "I, for one, am pleased that the new boarder is male."
Opal and I exchanged knowing glances. Neither of us was terribly surprised about the position she had taken.
"You do realize that he won't be a billionaire," I said. "Not even a millionaire. Although, he did pay six months in advance. I told him it wasn't necessary since his room was month to month. After all, what if he doesn't like the place, I said to him in my email. We've only spoken through email. He wrote back that as long as he had a bed, a place to shower and some good meals he was happy. That is how I know he's not a successful businessman. I've known a few in my day, and they are the most spoiled, persnickety bunch of men in the world."
Tobias had deciphered that our conversation was about men, so he cleared his throat loudly as he entered the kitchen. I picked up the plate I'd prepared especially for him with the eggs on one side, piled neatly so that none of the fluffy yellow stuff touched the crispy, golden hash browns. Tobias could not eat any foods that had touched another food. It was something I'd learned rather quickly when I handed him his first plate, a plate with spaghetti and meatballs. He looked at the tomato-y mishmash of pasta, sauce, meatballs and parmesan and nearly passed out from revulsion. He explained that he needed meatballs separate and far from the pasta, and while he could overlook the sauce on the noodles, parmesan cheese sprinkled haphazardly over the dish was out of the question.
Tobias sat down with a polite smile for my sister. It was hard to tell if he was enamored with my beautiful sister or just afraid of her. She had, after all, had two husbands die off. Though each had one foot in the grave, so to speak, before she even walked down the aisle.
"Toby," Cora started. Just having her say his name nearly caused him to accidentally drop egg into his hash browns. He carefully moved the eggs away from the potatoes.
"Yes, Cora?"
"How do you feel about the new boarder being a man?"
"I suppose I haven't given it much thought. If we're talking ratios, it'll now be even in the house, three men and three women. As long as he's agreeable." Tobias reached for the salt shaker so he could begin his slow destruction of the meal I made him. He tended to shake so much salt on his food, I had purchased him his own personal salt shaker. "Is he an academic, by any chance?" Tobias tended to judge everyone by their level of education. He had three different degrees, all pertaining to numbers and statistics.
His question caused Cora and Opal to laugh behind their hands. We'd made a rule never to laugh at the expense of anyone at the table, but occasionally, a polite, hidden giggle was required.
"What would an academic be doing here on cursed Frostfall Island?" Opal asked. She insisted the island was cursed merely because of the occasional mishap, like the random murder. It was true, statistically speaking, as Tobias might point out, our island had more murders than the average island, but it could hardly be considered cursed. It wasn't as if the island invited murderers to its shores. It was more that murderers just tended to land here.
"What do we know about this new person?" Tobias asked with more interest. He'd finished dousing his eggs and potatoes with salt and could now focus on the conversation.
I sat with my eggs and found myself admittedly ashamed that I didn't know much. "As I said, we've spoken through emails. He said he needed a place to stay. He wanted a quiet place that provided meals. His name is Nathaniel, Nathaniel Smith."
Everyone scoffed at the name Smith, Tobias the loudest. "Unfortunately, Smith is the most commonly used name when someone wants to hide their true identity."
"It's also the most common name period, so the odds are very good that it's his actual name," Cora said. "I like the name Nathaniel. I once dated a Nathaniel. He had the darkest eyes and those arms—" She drifted off for a second, apparently thinking about those arms, then she snapped out of her daydream. "I had to break it off with him because it turned out he was married with three kids."
"Good call," Opal said wryly. "Well, let's hope he's interesting. We could use some fresh, new conversation at this table. It's been getting stale lately."
I had sort of tuned out of the table chat. My mind was thumbing back through the few emails I'd received from the new boarder. Had I been too lax? He came with a nice reference from a former landlord. Otherwise, I knew very little about the man.
"Hey, birthday girl," Cora said impatiently. It seemed she'd been trying to get my attention. "Are you walking to the produce stand? I'm off to work."
"Oh right. Yes. I'll walk with you. Our new housemate might be waiting at the ferry stop this morning." Let's hope he doesn't arrive wearing a hockey mask and holding a giant knife, I thought, darkly.