Island Intrigue (3 page)

“Sabrina!” Virginia's crisp, green eyes widened as she saw Sabrina. “I see you survived the tea party unscathed. Frankly, I was glad I promised to help out with the Regatta so I could get out of the cleanup. Would you do me a favor? I took over from Missy Garrison, who had taken over from Katie Garland, who had relieved Sondra Lane…anyway, I really must use the ladies room, if you wouldn't mind…?”

Sabrina nodded uncertainly and Virginia hurried out from behind the booth, untying her apron and thrusting it at Sabrina. Sabrina watched in bemusement as the slim woman made her way to where the crews were congregating. Virginia stood on tiptoe, trying to see over the heads of nearby people, and then made her way to a blond giant with young Robert Redford looks. The man was surrounded by islanders, but Sabrina caught the furtive, shared smile between the two of them.

Hmmm.

A moment later, people were clamoring for more griddle cakes, more griddle cakes, and Sabrina was busy distributing the hot, fragrant delectable and collecting the two-fifty for each.

The afternoon flew by. A pretty, stocky woman with long black hair who introduced herself as Sondra Lane eventually relieved Sabrina, and she walked around looking at the island-made crafts and watching the musicians and an inept magician. For the first time since she had arrived on the island she felt welcome.

After dark, Sabrina found herself in the Walk-the-Plank Pub, a shabby building right on the edge of the harbor, with outside seating featuring plastic lawn furniture and paper towel rolls on the tables. The place was packed, and Sabrina was clapping along to the catchy tunes played by an old man with a guitar. Some type of contest involving walking the porch rail ended with one man in the water, the other sprawled across a table with his face in a plate of fried flounder and hush puppies.

“Salt, salt, salt!” Sabrina yelled along with the crowd, grinning at her nearest neighbor who was tossing a shaker of salt over her shoulder. She felt part of the crowd and invisible all at the same time. She could do whatever she wanted and no one would think to care. She finished her beer as the song ended and decided it was high time she took herself home, before she was too tipsy to find home. She left the bar and turned down the dark street toward her end of the island. She was suddenly so tired she could barely see straight.

She felt a headache coming on, and she hoped it wasn't anything serious, like an aneurysm or an embolism. She could hear music and voices, but they faded as she crossed a rickety bridge and entered the embrace of shadowed trees. She crossed her arms across her chest, thankful there wasn't any violent crime on the island.

Fireworks lit the night sky above the trees, illuminating the huge, bearded man standing not ten feet from her.

Chapter Three

“What am I supposed to say again?” Sid Tittletott hissed, grappling with the big white box.

“Don't say anything. You'll say something stupid and then she'll know we're lying,” Terry Wrightly said.

The two boys stopped at the edge of the stairs and gazed up at the small gray cottage where Lora Wrightly had lived for sixty years. Terry had been in this house hundreds of times in his short life, but right now the house seemed menacing and foreign.

“Do you think he's in there? Do you think Walk-the-Plank Wrightly is really staying here?”

“I don't know. I don't think ghosts need a place to sleep. But I'm not sure.” Terry tapped a clipboard attached to several official-looking papers against his thigh.

“But this is his house. Walk-the-Plank Wrightly built this house almost three hundred years ago.” Sid was convinced the ghost of the famous pirate was staying in this house. Everyone was talking about him, after all, and several people had seen him.

“Not this house, stupid,” Terry said. “It's in the same spot, that's all.”

“Well, let's do it. It'll be Mitchell's Day before we get in there.” Sid tried to act nonchalant, but his knees were feeling weak, like the time he and Terry had snuck a pack of cigarettes from Tubbs Store and tried smoking one.

“Okay, here goes.” Terry took a deep breath and advanced up the stairs.

He knocked on the door.

“Harder!” Sid whispered. “She'll never hear you.”

Terry knocked so hard his knuckles hurt.

There was silence for a moment, and then an ungodly shrieking noise sounded from inside.

“Oh jeez.” Sid took a step backwards.

Terry knocked again, trying to look confident.

The unearthly noises came again, and Terry found himself on the very edge of the steps with Sid halfway across the yard when the door swung open.

It was the blond lady, blinking in the vivid morning sunlight. Her hair was a mess of blond curls and she was dressed in orange and red and purple.

“It's okay, Calvin,” she said in a soothing voice. “Don't be scared.”

Terry and Sid looked at each other, and then craned their necks to see behind the woman. There was no one there. Sid gulped.

“Hi ma'am,” Terry said in an unnaturally high voice, and stopped, unable to continue.

“Hello, how are you two boys doing this beautiful Sunday morning?” Terry found himself relaxing when the woman smiled. Something about her smile was very nice.

“We're fine,” Terry said.

“I'm Miss Sabrina Dunsweeney, but you may call me Miss Sabrina,” the woman said. “What are your names?”

Her voice was compelling, and Terry and Sid stood up straight, puffing out their chests and lifting their chins.

“I'm Sid Tittletott,” Sid blurted. “You can call me Sid.” He elbowed Terry, smirking.

“Sid Tittletott,” the woman said thoughtfully, putting her hand up to stroke the back of her neck. “Let's see. Would you be Virginia and Gary's son?”

Sid nodded. “Elizabeth Tittletott is my grandmother,” he said, and Terry knew he was trying to impress Miss Sabrina.

“I see.” She turned big blue eyes on Terry and he tried not to blush.

“I'm Terry Wrightly.” He looked at his feet.

“Ah,” Miss Sabrina said. “I'm guessing Roland Thierry Wrightly the Tenth, the owner of this house, is a relation?”

“Grandpa Dock.”

“I don't suppose either of you have been clipping my roses, have you?”

They boys avoided looking at each other. She seemed so normal, and then she beamed over into Bonko Zone.

“Will you buy some cookies?” Sid was unable to hold back any longer.

“Please?”

“Would you buy some cookies, please?” Sid corrected himself. “We're selling them to raise money for—” He broke off, looking at Terry.

“To raise money for a school play,” Terry finished, having practiced this line beforehand.

“Really? How nice. What play?”

“Uh—” Terry floundered, looking at Sid for help. This he hadn't anticipated.

“Romeo and Jello!” Sid smiled broadly at Terry. See, he did remember something from Mrs. Piggy Perkin's English class.

“Ah.” Miss Sabrina smiled her nice smile. “Do you have someone to help direct this play?”

“Well, no, not yet,” Sid said, and Terry kicked him, hard. “Ouch!”

“Well, you're in luck. I happen to know Romeo and—uh, Jello pretty well. When do you begin rehearsing?”

Terry and Sid stared at each other.

“How about tomorrow? Would you like to rehearse here? Good. Three-thirty tomorrow afternoon, then, right after school.” Miss Sabrina beamed at the two of them. “Oh, and you needed me to buy some cookies? Let me get some money.”

She left the door open and went inside to find her purse. Terry and Sid were in shock, and didn't even remember to peek inside the house which was the entire reason for their visit.

Miss Sabrina came back with her purse, took the clipboard from Terry, and signed her name on the top line. “Haven't had much luck yet, have you?”

“You're the first house we've been to,” Terry recovered enough to say.

“I'll take a big bag, then,” she said. “Here's five dollars.”

Sid opened the top of the big box and brought out a bag of cookies and handed them over.

“How nice.” She opened the top of the bag and peered inside. “Calvin, don't these look yummy?”

This time Terry could have sworn he heard someone answer. Someone with a very high, chirpy voice.

“What kind of cookies are these?”

“They're my grandma's special, her Millionaire Cookies. She owns Nettie's Cookie Shop down the road.” And he had better get this box of cookies back before Grandma Nettie returned to the shop or there would be heck to pay.

“Okay, gentlemen,” Miss Sabrina said, closing the top of the bag. “I expect to see you here at three-thirty sharp tomorrow afternoon.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Terry and Sid muttered and started inching their way backwards down the steps while Miss Sabrina smiled at them.

“Wonderful, I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“And boys?”

They looked up at her, not aware of the pure desperation written all over their faces.

“Don't forget to bring the rest of the cast.”

***

Sabrina closed the door behind the two boys and smiled to herself. They seemed like nice young men.

“What do you think, Calvin?” She reached up and stroked his warm body cuddled behind her neck.

“Cheep, cheep, cheep,” the parakeet said, mimicking the sound of her voice. He imitated everything, from the sound of the telephone to the beeping of the microwave.

“Do you think they'll show tomorrow?”

Before Calvin could answer, Sabrina tripped over something under the Oriental rug and Calvin screeched with indignation.

“Sorry, boy.”

Sabrina put the small yellow parakeet on the floor and went into the kitchen. She looked out the window and wasn't surprised to see Apples grazing the back lawn. The shaggy brown pony seemed as much at home in her yard as the two cats curled up on the porch. She stood for a moment, watching as the sun poured through a chink in the clouds, spilling iridescent light over the sound. The splash of an osprey hitting the water generated an explosion of dancing diamonds that sparkled and glittered atop the waves even as the osprey flew away with the fish wriggling in its grasp.

“What do you think, Calvin?” She turned to find the small bird climbing the miniature palm tree to reach his favorite new perch on the windowsill. “Who's trimming the roses?”

Sabrina picked up her cup of hot tea and dug into the white bag for a cookie. When she had left to go on her walk this morning, she noticed the roses around her rental cottage were freshly pruned. When she checked the small shed where she kept her bike, she found a large pair of lawn shears, neatly oiled and sharpened, with the remains of a rose bud in the hinge of the shears.

“Maybe it's the person with the big feet who's walking on the beach every morning.” The footprints were there again this morning, an unbroken string of very large footprints down the clean expanse of sand. She'd followed them until they veered off into the marsh.

She couldn't help feeling a little spooked. After seeing that man last night just standing there in the dark woods, his eyes fixed on her, she ran home and closed the door, for the first time fervently wishing that the doors had locks.

In the bright light of day, she wondered if maybe she was overreacting. The man could very well have a good reason for standing in the woods. Maybe he was hunting, or looking for something.

“Maybe it's that ghost—what's his name? Walk-the-Plank Wrightly.”

She laughed, munching on the cookie—they were mouth-tingling good—and went back into the living room.

“For heaven's sake!” Sabrina said, as she tripped over the thing under the Oriental rug once again. She'd been meaning to see what was under there, but it never seemed worth the effort. As she hopped on one foot, rubbing her stubbed toe, she decided it was high time to see what was under that rug.

Calvin followed her into the living room and watched with interest as she took the corner of the somber rug, so out of place in the cheerful room. She pulled it back to reveal what looked like a hatch in the varnished wood floor.

Calvin chirped in delight and waddled over to peck at the door.

A metal ring for opening the hatch was what she had been tripping over. There was a large stain covering the hatch, almost as if someone had spilled grape juice on the wood floor.

“Why in the world would someone put a door in the floor?” Sabrina mused.

Calvin pecked at the metal ring.

Sabrina shrugged, grasped the metal ring, and gave it a hearty pull. The door hesitated, and then swung upward and stood upright. Sabrina peered down inside the hole, wrinkling her nose at the smell of old, dry dirt.

Calvin chattered in excitement, and Sabrina nudged him back from the opening.

The cottage sat on four foot high pilings to protect the house against sudden storm surges. The hatch simply opened on the empty space under the house. But why?

“What's this?” Sabrina leaned forward, her eyes adjusting to the gloom. Something colorful lay on the ground under the hatch.

Sabrina reached inside the hole, but could not quite reach whatever it was.

Calvin cheeped impatiently, and Sabrina sighed. She lay down on her stomach, and reached down into the hole, very conscious of spiders and snakes and lizards, oh my, and grasped the edges of several pieces of paper. She sat up with difficulty and studied her prize.

Bright green, yellow and blue construction paper was scrawled with angry crayon pictures. Stick figures of people and dogs and houses, engulfed in brilliant orange, red and yellow flames.

More disturbing than the furious pictures were the red spots spattered all over the construction paper.

Red spots. Blood spots. Blood was spattered all over the childish, angry pictures.