Burnside was cut off as Will snatched the menu away. He stared intently at the Mudpuddle logo. It was the same as the one hanging on the sign out front, and the same as the one painted on the sign in front of the counter. He’d seen that sign every single time he’d visited the bookstore, coming and going, for years. So it was no wonder he’d never noticed the similarity. There was somewhere else he’d seen that delicate symbol, much more recently.
“Where did the Mudpuddle logo come from?” Will asked.
“What do you mean?” Maida answered.
“This butterfly?” Will tapped the menu.
“I’m not sure, but I think it’s based on a family heirloom,” Maida said. “Aunt Minerva has a portrait of her great-great-grandmother Flora wearing a necklace with a similar charm.”
“That’s it, then!” Will clapped his hands together. “Drink up, Burnside. We’ll get going as soon as you’ve finished your sandwich. And Granny, maybe you should order those flowers after all. I think I know where Zani is. Flora is the key!”
Chapter20
The Mermaid’s Whisper
Goldie waited until the shadows lengthened across Avalon Bay before making her way to the Casino. The grand white building gleamed against the darkening sky, its circular Art Deco facade a beacon that had drawn visitors to the island for nearly a century. Just like her, it had withstood the test of time, though unlike her, it made no secret of its age.
She’d wound her luxuriant hair into a loose bun beneath a silk scarf and hidden her eyes behind oversized sunglasses. The nondescript canvas tote bag slung over her shoulder held the mysterious film reels.
The disguise felt absurd. She was going to greater lengths to hide her youth than she ever had gone to in order to hide her age. But she didn’t want to risk anyone noticing the overnight transformation. How could she possibly hope to explain it, when she herself didn’t understand?
The afternoon tour groups were just finishing their tours. Streams of tourists flowed out the doors as Goldie slipped inside. A maintenance worker nodded absently in her direction, but his eyes passed over her without recognition. People saw what they expected to see, and no one expected to see a film star from the silent era walking among them.
She hovered near the spiral walkway, listening to snippets of conversation that floated around her.
“Can you imagine being here in the summer, before they had air conditioning?” An impeccably dressed woman muttered, looking horrified.
“There was always a cool breeze. People actually came to the island to escape the heat back on the mainland,” the perky tour guide explained.
It had still been hot, Goldie thought. People just dealt with it. Or they fainted. She could recall at least a few summer nights that involved placing bets on who might swoon next. Of course, with her crowd, some of it was acting.
“Celebrities hung out here? Which ones? Where was the gambling?” The well-dressed woman’s companion, a heavyset man, fired off his questions rapid fire.
“I’m afraid there was never gambling here,” the tour guide apologized. “It’s a misunderstanding. Casino is an Italian term for gathering place.”
The man just stared back at her, still blinking as if that did not compute. “Well, what about the celebrities? What did they even do here if there weren’t any gambling?”
“Oh, the celebrities came for sure. They had dances and film screenings … During its heyday, Catalina was famous for celebrity sightings.” The tour guide rattled off a litany of decades’ old names that, considering the lack of reaction, it was likely only Goldie recognized.
“Nothing more recent?” The couple, upon discovery that there was neither gambling nor more familiar celebs to spice up the historic tour, seemed deflated. Distracted, they drifted away from the guide, arguing over what they wanted to eat for dinner.
Another member of the tour group, a young woman wearing a wide-brimmed hat, stopped to read an informational poster about the upcoming eclipse.
“We’re so lucky. They say that the viewing is going to be ideal from here,” said the guide to the woman.
“That’s cool, but honestly, I’m more excited about that old film footage they found,” the woman replied. “I just love the old-timey stars. What do you think happened to Ondalune? Supposedly, she just vanished one day.”
“Probably ran off with a handsome man.” The guide laughed. “Or maybe she’s still alive. Can you imagine? She’d be like an ancient zombie by now.”
The two young women shared a laugh.
Goldie pressed her lips together. If only they knew.
Movement across the lobby caught her attention. A young man wearing a T-shirt from the film institute was carefully mounting the publicity posters for the upcoming festival. Goldie’s breath caught as she watched him unfurl the centerpiece: a lovingly restored version of the poster forThe Mermaid’s Whisper. It showed her ethereal figure emerging from stylized waves. In it, her face had a vacant, dreamy expression. The director loved it. She’d thought it made her look daft.
“Make them yearn for something they can never have,” he’d tell her before each take. “Make them believe you’re something special. You’re not an ordinary human like all those other girls, Ondalune. Prove it.”
How absurd his cajoling seemed from where she stood now, staring at her younger self.
