Fear Thy Neighbor (14)
Leaving the store, she had the choice to drive south to Key West or west toward Palmetto Island. The place called to her, which was odd, given her experience there hadn’t been the least bit positive. She’d had nothing but crap happen to her since she’d stopped at the motel, other than reuniting Peaches and her kittens with Tammy. She still couldn’t recall all the events of the night before too clearly, but she did remember the beach, the soft white sand, and bubbly waves tickling her feet as she’d stared out at the gulf. It was the quiet, she decided. Nothing like some of the other beaches in Florida. No spring breakers, no families with groups of screaming kids playing and laughing. No drunks whistling or propositioning her; no one to bother her. And that is what she’d been searching for.
Maybe she’d wait another day before she headed to Key West. It wasn’t like she had a schedule to adhere to. Footloose and fancy-free, just the way she liked it. If she did stay another day, she wouldn’t return to the motel. Though it was clean and the rates beyond reasonable, she would rather spend more of her hard-earned cash on another motel than go through what she’d gone through last night. She truly didn’t believe she’d instantly gotten sick in Betty’s kitchen. Alison was pretty sure the burger she’d eaten is what had made her so sick, even though she’d insinuated otherwise to Betty. Food poisoning: she’d had it once before. She’d been eating out of a garbage dumpster behind a steak house in Atlanta, kind of like Peaches. Within hours of eating the meat she’d scrounged up, she became so violently ill, she’d spent the night in the emergency room. When it came time for her to check out, they’d asked her for an insurance card. She’d laughed, telling the staff at the hospital since she was eating out of dumpsters, health insurance hadn’t been a top priority. They’d sent her to the business office, where she’d been advised to claim that she was indigent, and her bill was forgiven. Humiliated, yet grateful she wouldn’t be leaving behind a medical bill, from that point on, she was very careful to really pick through the garbage when she was in need of a meal.
Alison had vowed to herself she would never live that way again. When she could, she cleaned up at a shelter, had a hot meal and a bed. After two days, she began searching for a job where she could make fast cash. There were days between jobs where she went without food or shelter, but she never gave up. Waitressing had been hard work, but she’d learned the ropes. A few years later, when she felt she’d had enough experience under her belt, she started applying for jobs at the finer restaurants, where tips were big and plentiful. Her desire to better herself promoted a strict work ethic, and she’d saved enough and made excellent investments so she could live comfortably, meaning no more eating from dumpsters or sleeping in parks and crappy hotels. If she chose to, she could live off her investments.
She decided to revisit Palmetto Island. Today was Saturday, when the beaches were usually packed with tourists. She wanted to see if the place really was as tranquil as she remembered. Before she could change her mind, she headed west on Pine Tree Road. She’d drive around, see if she could find the public parking area for the beach that idiot John had told her about. Most likely, he’d lied to her, using that as an excuse to stalk her. At least she still had her weapon, except this time, she’d take it with her. No more leaving her gun beneath the driver’s seat, where it was absolutely useless if she were to need it for protection. She continued driving until she reached Matlacha Pass. The bridge was just as crowded as the day before. Anglers were out in full force, rods and reels positioned over the sides of the bridge, barriers separating them and their bright yellow bait buckets from the traffic. From the looks of it, most of the fisherman were locals, wearing the white fishing boots that professional fishermen wore, long-sleeved shirts, and wide-brimmed hats to protect them from the sun. No fluorescent T-shirts, no “Welcome to Florida” logos. At least none that she could see.
The bridge was open, the traffic flowing at a steady pace. She did not like driving across the wooden bridge, even though the distance was less than a hundred yards. As soon as the tires were safely on solid ground, she let out the breath she’d been holding. The speed limit was thirty-five, allowing her to glance at some of the businesses she hadn’t noticed the day before. Several unique shops, cottages to rent by the week, a coffee shop called The Daily Grind. Grinning at the name, she thought it appropriate in so many ways. She drove the rest of the way, remembering to turn onto Dolphin Drive, then Loblolly Way, where John said she would find the public parking area. She turned down the small path that was barely visible due to all of the plant life overgrowth and not really what she’d call a road. Branches hit the sides of the doors and windshield. Due to the dips in the road, the Jeep jostled from side to side before Alison saw the clearing, a slab of blacktop. This must be the parking area, with maybe enough space for ten or twelve cars.
She saw one vehicle parked in the handicap spot, a gray sedan with Florida license plates. Taking her small bag, she put the gun inside, put her sunglasses on, then locked the Jeep. Alison smelled the briny salt air; seagulls cawed in the distance. She walked along the water’s edge. The tide was out. Spying a few shells she found interesting, she used the hem of her shirt to dry them before putting them in her pocket. The large, white puffy clouds above reminded her of tufts of cotton candy; the sky was the color of a robin’s egg. The temperature was hot, the breeze from the gulf enough to keep her from sweating.