Fear Thy Neighbor (18)
With nothing but time on her hands, she drove back to the beach and parked in the same spot as before. No gray sedan or white Range Rover, but it was early. She didn’t really expect the real estate agent to already be waiting here. She rolled down the windows, turned the radio on, and found a local station here on the island, WPMO. According to the radio, low tide was apparently at 5:28 this evening, the sunset at 7:49, and the moon phase was in the waning crescent. She knew the tides were dictated by the moon, but that was it. Maybe if this place turned out to be her forever home, she’d learn about the tides, the moon, and its many phases. She remembered learning about the cosmos when she was in fifth grade, though she didn’t think her teacher referred to them as the cosmos, just the solar system. She learned the phases of the moon, and knew the sun lit up the half-moon except during a solar eclipse. That was the extent of her knowledge. The disc jockey went on to other local topics, such as fishing and who was having a special on bait. None of that interested her, so she turned the radio off.
She took a brush from her purse and ran it through her hair, pulling it back in a ponytail. She wiped sand from the hem of her shirt before getting out of the Jeep. She leaned against the rear bumper. The sounds of the island were so different from Tallahassee and Tampa. This was more tropical, a true island. Private. She saw a blue heron swoop down into the water, flying away with a small fish in its grip. Three brown pelicans flew low across the gulf, their wings flapping loudly as they emitted hoarse sounds she was familiar with. You couldn’t live in Florida without seeing a pelican. Animal Kingdom in Orlando had pink flamingos. Alison remembered the first time she saw one. She thought someone had actually colored them, thinking how cruel to do this to an innocent animal, until she learned the reason for their color was their diet of pink shrimp. She smiled at the memory of her first jaunt to one of Florida’s main attractions.
The white Range Rover pulled into the lot, parking beside her vehicle. A woman who looked in her early thirties got out of the vehicle. She had blonde hair, brown eyes, and a killer tan. She wore a pink sleeveless shift dress and pink heels to match, and a small designer handbag hung from her wrist. Alison suddenly felt dowdy. But who in their right mind wore heels to the beach?
“You must be Alison,” she said. “I’m Kimberly.” She held out her hand. Alison shook hands with her, then noticed her discreetly wiping her hands on the back of her dress. This was a bad idea. This woman was a first-class snob. She could practically smell it on her.
“I’m Alison, yes.” She wasn’t going to make this easy for her, especially after seeing her wipe her hands off on the back of an expensive dress. At least it looked expensive to her; everything tended to.
“So you realize the house is for sale? Not a weekly rental?” Kimberly asked, her tone implying Alison didn’t truly know why she was here.
“I do.”
Kimberly seemed flustered. “Then let’s go have a look.”
Alison nodded. “I’ll follow you.”
“Of course, it’s just a short walk.”
Alison trailed behind Kimberly, in awe of her expertise navigating the sand in heels. Must have a lot of practice, she thought as she followed her. She was surprised when Kimberly stopped in front of a pale-yellow cottage with an actual white picket fence, hidden slightly behind one of the larger beach houses. She hadn’t ventured into this area, had no idea there was even a house here.
“This is it.” Kimberly punched a code in the key box on the doorknob, then stepped aside. “Come and see if this is what you’re looking for. As I said on the phone, it’s a bit dated inside, though it’s structurally sound and the air conditioner is new. I went through the original specs—someone replaced the roof five years ago. This was before my time, but that’s good. You could get another ten to fifteen years out of the roof, provided we don’t have a major hurricane.”
Alison stepped inside the cottage. The knotty pine walls had to be original. “This was built when?” she asked Kimberly.
“Early nineteen-sixties,” she said. “The knotty pine is original; the oak floors, too. Some white paint would do wonders for these ugly walls. Maybe the floors could be restored. As I said, it’s old, but in decent shape.”
Alison felt the same trickle of excitement she felt when she’d made the call earlier. She saw the potential this adorable cottage had due to its location, just a few yards from the beach, but not too close. The house to the right of her looked empty. “Does someone live in the large house?” she asked.
“It’s a vacation rental. The owners bought it about three years ago and rented it out after only a month. So, not much life here until the winter season. It’s actually very quiet here, even with the snowbirds coming and going.”
“Why?”
“Palmetto Island is a hidden gem. It hasn’t been discovered by the big developers yet. It’s charming, close to everything one needs. If you cross the bridge to Matlacha Pass, you’ll find grocery stores, and further down Pine Tree Road will take you to Fort Charlotte. You won’t be isolated in the sense that you can’t take a thirty-minute drive to the nearest Walmart.”
Was that a dig or was she being too sensitive? Probably the latter, as she was overly sensitive at times. “That’s a bonus, since that’s the only place I shop.” She couldn’t help herself.