Heroes Are My Weakness(23)

“But”—Tildy cut in—“you don’t like sex scenes that actually turn people on.”

Lisa had the grace to laugh.

Barbara rolled the dice. “The only reason you didn’t like it was because Cindy didn’t approve.”

“Cynthia,” Lisa corrected her. “Nobody calls her Cindy.”

“Bunco!” Silver crosses bobbed at Judy’s earlobes as she slapped her hand down on the bell at her table. The others groaned.

They switched partners. The conversation drifted to the price of propane and the frequency of power failures, then to lobstering. In addition to learning that Naomi had her own boat, Annie discovered that most of the women, at one time or another, had served as sternmen on their husband’s boats, a hazardous job that entailed emptying heavy traps, sorting the contents for keepers, and rebaiting the traps with grotesquely smelly bait. If Annie hadn’t already dismissed any fantasies about island life, their conversations would have brought her back to hard reality.

But the primary topic was the marine forecast and how it affected the transport of supplies. The big ferry that had brought Annie to the island ran only once every six weeks during the winter, but a smaller boat was supposed to come over weekly with groceries, mail, and supplies. Unfortunately twelve-foot swells had kept the boat on the mainland last week, so the islanders had to wait another week for the next scheduled run. “If anybody has extra butter, I’ll buy it off you,” Tildy said, tugging on her silver necklaces.

“I have butter, but I need eggs.”

“No eggs. But I have some extra zucchini bread in the freezer.”

Tildy rolled her eyes. “We all have zucchini bread.”

They laughed.

Annie thought about how little food she had left and how much more organized she needed to be when it came to ordering groceries. Unless she wanted to end up eating from cans all winter, she’d better call in her order first thing tomorrow. And pay for it with more credit card debt . . .

Judy rolled the dice. “If the ferry doesn’t make it next week, I swear I’m going to roast my grandkids’ guinea pigs.”

“You’re lucky to still have all your grandkids here,” Marie said.

Judy’s cheery expression faded. “I can’t imagine what I’ll do if they leave.”

Louise, the octogenarian, hadn’t commented, but Tildy reached over and patted her frail arm. “Johnny won’t leave. You’ll see. He’d divorce Galeann before he’d let her talk him into going.”

“I hope you’re right,” the old lady said. “Lord knows, I hope you’re right.”

As the evening came to an end and the women gathered their coats, Barbara gestured Annie away from the door. “I’ve been thinking about you ever since our visit, and I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t warn you . . . A lot of people believe we’re all one big family out here, but the island has its dark side.”

Tell me about it, Annie thought.

“I’m not talking about Marie and her obsession with Regan Harp’s death. Nobody believes Theo was responsible. But Peregrine’s a place for people who want to slip off the radar. The captains hire sternmen from the mainland without asking too many questions. Your mother had vandals break in a couple of times out there. I’ve seen fights, knifings. Tires get slashed. And not all our full-timers are stand-up citizens. If you drop your traps in somebody else’s fishing area once too often, you might find your lines cut and all your equipment on the ocean floor.”

Annie started to point out that she had no intention of dropping lobster traps anywhere, but Barbara wasn’t done. “That kind of trouble spills over onto the land. I love most everybody here, but we do have our share of drunks and undesirables. Like Jaycie’s husband. Because Ned Grayson was good-looking and his family went back three generations, he decided he could do whatever he wanted.”

Just like Theo, Annie thought.

Barbara patted her arm. “All I’m saying is, you’re cut off out there. You’ve got no phone, and you’re too far away from town to get help fast. Keep your guard up, and don’t let yourself get complacent.”

No worries about that.

Annie left the house with a serious case of the scaredy-cats. She checked the backseat of her car twice before she got behind the wheel and kept one eye on the rearview mirror as she drove home. Other than a few minor skids and nearly losing her front end in a pothole, she made it back without incident. That gave her the confidence to make a return trip to town three days later to borrow some books.

When Annie entered the tiny library, Lisa McKinley was manning the desk while one of her red-haired daughters raced around the room. Lisa greeted Annie, then gestured toward a list mounted in a Plexiglas frame propped on the corner of the desk. “These are my recommendations for February.”

Annie scanned the titles. They reminded her of the heavy, depressing books Mariah had forced her to read. “I like books that are a little more entertaining,” she said.

Lisa’s shoulders sagged with disappointment. “Jaycie’s the same way. When Cynthia was here, we organized book recommendations for every month of the year, but hardly anybody pays attention.”

“I guess people have different tastes.”

Just then Lisa’s daughter knocked over a stack of children’s books and Lisa hurried off to clean up the mess.