Fear Thy Neighbor (16)

“Just walk in the store or call. She does her cards and readings in the back of the shop most of the time. I work most weekends, but not today. Mom said I needed sunshine and fresh air so she gave me the day off.”

“I see.”

“It’s the souvenir shop across the street. That’s Mom’s main business, but the other stuff she does is way cooler than selling T-shirts with alligators on them.”

Last night, Alison remembered she’d parked there. “Does she close early?”

“No, though Friday nights, she goes to Naples. Tampa sometimes; wherever she’s paid to go, she gives group readings.”

Renée’s mother sounded like someone Alison would like to know better. “So, if I wanted to see her, what’s the process?” It might be interesting to see if what Renée told her was actually true. Though she doubted Renée would tell an outright lie, it could be that she just believed what her mother told her. Alison had never really believed in such nonsense, though she did believe in karma.

“Just go to the shop and see when she’s available.”

“Sounds easy enough.” Before she left the island, she would visit the shop and see what vibes it gave her, given the services offered.

“Summers are pretty slow. If you want, I’ll send her a text to see if she’s busy now.”

“No, that’s okay. I might stop by her shop on my way out.”

“She could be booked up by then, but it’s up to you,” Renée said.

“Thanks for the offer,” said Alison. “I want to walk the beach a while, then I’ll see.”

“Mind if I tag along?”

“Not at all.” Alison found the teen’s company quite amusing. Never having a real friend in high school, she was curious to see what a teen girl’s thoughts were now that she was no longer one of them.

They walked alongside one another past the last house, then veered left. “This isn’t the best part of the beach. The marina is always noisy with all the boats stopping there. They gas up, then cross over to the bait shop, which is a totally gross shithole.”

“The one owned by John?” Alison had to ask.

“You know him?” Renée asked, her tone of voice odd, almost angry.

Not in the way she was asking. “No, he saw me on the beach, introduced himself, that’s all.” She wouldn’t fill in the gory details, as they weren’t necessary.

“Mom thinks he’s weird, won’t allow him in her store,” Renée told her. “He’s in and out of trouble all the time.”

“Thanks for warning me. I thought he might be a rotten egg.” Which was putting it nicely.

“You’re spot-on, Ali. Is it okay if I call you Ali?”

“It’s fine.” Pedro had called her “Ali” the day she’d started working at Besito’s, but no one had used the nickname recently. “So tell me more about this little island.” She said it as a way to avoid more personal questions.

“Let’s turn back, and then I’ll tell you. I don’t want John to see me.”

Alison agreed and followed Renée.

“So, the rumor is that John is weird. With girls,” Renée explained. “Not girls my age, or yours. Little girls, like eight or nine. It’s sickening. Mom says he’s been arrested a lot, but that’s as far as it goes. His family is like really, really rich. Mom says they pay his way out of trouble. I don’t know if this stuff is true, or just island gossip. I think it’s all made up, but I wouldn’t ever tell this to Mom. She’d croak.”

Alison felt sick, given the unwanted attention from a few of her foster fathers. “Isn’t this type of crime an automatic prison sentence, when a child is involved?”

“I don’t know much about that stuff, but I do know he’s in and out of trouble a lot, though he’s always here, so it must not be as bad as Mom tells me. If he did all the stuff she said, I think he’d be in jail.”

“I would listen to your mom, as they know best. Stay away from sickos like that.”

They continued down the beachfront, stopping when they reached the parking lot.

“If you want, I can meet you back here at sunset. Like I said, Mom lets me hang out till then,” Renée said.

“Thanks. I can’t promise anything, but if I change my mind, I’ll see you at sunset.”

“Great,” Renée said. “Nice meeting you.”

“Same here,” Alison said, sliding into the driver’s seat, then backing out of her parking spot. The sedan that was there earlier was gone. Odd, she thought, as she hadn’t seen anyone besides Renée while she was on the beach. Probably nothing, as she really didn’t know anyone on the island except Renée and John the idiot. She’d add Betty and Tank, but they didn’t live on the island.

So Saturday was quiet on the beach. She liked it this way—no tourists scattered about like ants at a picnic. Heading east on Dolphin Drive, she drove slowly, taking in the island, trying to locate the real estate office. She had the number from the ad in the paper, but that didn’t necessarily mean the number was from an office here on the island. Unsure of the prefix to use with the number, she pulled off the road, parking on the side before she reached the bridge. Using her newly purchased cell phone, she dialed the number from the paper.