“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.
“Diamond Realty; this is Kimberly. May I help you or direct your call to a particular agent?”
“Uh, no. I found your number in the Sentinel; I’m calling about the house—at least I believe it is—on the beach. Palmetto Island. Does your office have that listing?” Alison knew the listing had stated “beach house,” but she also knew that people tended to exaggerate when they were trying to sell something. At least this had been her experience on more than one occasion, though this was the first time she’d actually called a real estate agent to see a house for sale. She always rented, but maybe this was the start of a new beginning.
“Yes, ma’am, it’s only been on the market a few days. Beautiful home, if you don’t mind doing a few updates.”
“What do you mean, ‘updates’？” Was she talking new roof, windows, or anything major?
“The place is actually in decent shape. I believe the previous owners installed a new central air system. The inside hasn’t been updated in a while, though it’s very quaint. If you’d like, I can show you the house today.”
She was eager, Alison thought. That could mean a few things: Either the woman was desperate to make a sale, or there was more wrong with the house than she was telling her, or both.
“Yes, I’d like to see the place.” Decision made; it couldn’t hurt to look. It wasn’t as though she had a schedule to stick to, though Alison realized she kept making excuses for prolonging her drive to Key West. But maybe she wouldn’t have to drive that far south to find a forever home. Palmetto Island called to her, for some unexplainable reason. The quietness, the beach, and the sunsets, according to Renée, were extraordinary.
“Is three o’clock this afternoon convenient for you?” Kimberly asked.
“That’s fine, though I’ll need an address.”
“Are you familiar with the island?”
“Not much,” was all she said, which was true enough.
“Well, then do you have a GPS?” Kimberly asked.
“No, I don’t, but if you give me an address, I’m quite confident I’ll be able to find the place.” Did she think she was stupid?
“It’s a bit out of the way,” Kimberly told her. “Take Dolphin Drive to the beach, then turn left on Loblolly Way. There is a public parking area; it’s somewhat obscure, but keep driving until you see a small parking area. I can meet you at three. The house is just a short walk from there.”
“I’m familiar with the area. I’ll be there at three this afternoon.”
“Miss, before you hang up, I need your name and a contact number, just in case.”
In case of what? Alison thought, but gave her the information, because she knew this was expected. Real estate agents probably always needed this information, in case their clients decided not to show.
“Then it’s a date! Again, I’m Kimberly Everette. I’ll be in a white Range Rover. See you there.”
“Sure thing,” Alison said, ending the call. She didn’t want to waste her minutes on idle chitchat with a complete stranger. She had a little bit of time to kill before she had to meet Kimberly. She headed toward Matlacha Pass, remembering there was a coffee shop there, The Daily Grind. She could use another dose of caffeine. She spied the coffee shop and pulled into the empty parking lot. Thinking they were closed, she was about to turn around when she saw a couple go inside. Directing the Jeep to a parking spot, she shut off the engine and grabbed her purse with her weapon still inside. She locked the Jeep, then entered the coffee shop.
The scent of burnt coffee and grease hit her as soon as she opened the door. If the smell was indicative of their coffee, she couldn’t imagine how the place stayed in business. Starbucks didn’t have to worry, that much was clear. She idled up to the area where a sign read ORDER HERE. Standing there, she read the menu on the white board behind the counter. They offered every kind of coffee drink the big guys offered, but the prices were way less. An older man appeared from the back of the shop. He had steel-gray hair and brown eyes. His glasses were so thick, his eyes reminded her of a dead fish, only twice the size. “What can I get you today?”
“I’ll just have a coffee, black,” she said.
“Don’t let the smell scare you. We had a newbie leave a pot of coffee on the burner too long. This place smells hideous.” He smiled at her.
Alison smiled back. “Just black coffee. And sorry about your newbie.”
“They’re a dime a dozen these days, coming and going like the tides.”
Alison didn’t know how to respond, so she took a ten from her wallet, placing it on the counter. “Just keep the change,” she said before leaving.
“No, you take this back. Coffee is only a buck,” the owner with the fisheyes said.