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Chapter Twelve
The man enjoyed being in the middle of things.
The village bustled with pre-holiday mirth and activity. He didn’t think everyone on the island cruised all the little booths, displays, food offerings, and entertainment, but it certainly felt like it.
He wandered through the square, the aroma of popcorn, BBQ, and sweets vying for supremacy. As he sifted through the crowd, he smiled, said hello, joked, and even flirted here and there. It was harmless fun, and as far as anyone else was concerned, he was also harmless. He was just another island resident.
It was always interesting to visualize responses if he ever showed his true nature.
He dodged a group of teenagers, but paused to take a quick look back. They knocked up against one another, pointing and laughing at someone or something he wasn’t privy to. He’d acted the same way as a kid, except he doubted any of them ever cut open animals to see their insides, at least outside of biology class.
The island was a good place, a safe place, but he had started to feel that dark itch. It started as a faint whisper, before growing into little insistent needles at the base of his skull. He valued his control, and could push back the primal urge, but eventually he would need to free that part of himself. But things had changed. His territory had grown small.
He stepped inside the recreation center. Heat from an anemic furnace, and a lot of bodies, wrapped around him. To his left, Brighty Newton peddled her different varieties of honey, all topped with those cheap stick-on bows. On the right, that old lady Joannie something-or-other sold jewelry with imitation stones and intricate twisted wires. More folks peddled their crap ahead, but he smiled and showed interest, even purchasing a tiny wooden bear, crudely carved by an untalented hand from local wood. On the other side of someone selling sun-catchers to people living in a place with little sun, he spotted Klahanie Bishop chatting with that local fruit artist, Hedgewell. He paused and pretended to inspect a stained-glass cardinal that could have come from a Make-it-and-Bake-it kit, as far as he was concerned, while shooting subtle looks her way. She didn’t seem to be a showy type of woman, her clothing always casual, but even with little make-up, her beauty was striking. He wondered if she was even aware of it, and decided she wasn’t, which made her even more attractive.
He replaced the little cardinal, turned, and bounced off George Ramirez, who quickly apologized and took responsibility for contact that wasn’t his fault. The man considered the other a giant doormat, which was annoying, but sad. Despite his size, he knew he could take him on and bring him down. Big didn’t always mean anything. It didn’t happen too often, but he’d killed larger than himself before. His imagination tipped into familiar urges, and he took a second to breathe and shoot the shit with Ramirez for a few moments.
As tiring as it could be, by slow gradations, it would soon become close to impossible to keep that part of himself tamped down. He would be forced to make some kind of plan or decision.
He dove through the crowd again and treated himself to a corn dog. He left a decent tip in the jar, even though it was stupid, and smiled in thanks.
The mainland and surrounding state parks would beckon, but now he wondered if it wasn’t time to do something a little different.
Chapter Thirteen
At one glance, I knew where Tiny Hedgewell had yanked his inspiration.
The highest elevation on the island added up to just shy of 500 feet, but from that modest peak, the view took in 360 degrees of ocean, hills, and meadows. To the south, Georgie and George Culler’s lavender fields stretched almost to the water, and this is where Tiny’s muse had fixated. Right now, those plants would be brown with a touch of waning violet hanging on in stubborn protest, but come spring and summer, the rich tones of purple and blue would draw visitors from all over the state and beyond. Just looking at the painting, my sensory memory could smell those flowers, and I knew I had to have the painting. Bungalow five needed some help, after the last framed picture mysteriously jumped, shattered, and hid under the bed in apparent shame.
“It’s gorgeous. Is this oil?” I smiled at one of the island’s aging hippies. He stood before me, sharing my height, and returned my smile, saddle bag skin creasing in earnest pleasure. His left eye held a distinct cloudiness, so his ability to capture such a view impressed me even more.
“It is. Thank you. I just finally mounted and framed it. You can’t be too careful with oil.” The man blushed, pleased with my spot-on guess.
“I think you’ve got yourself a sale, Mr. Hedgewell.” I dug in my purse, figuring I’d slip away, stow the painting in the back of SUV, and come back in for some nibbles.
He named a price, and immediately dropped it by $200.00 when my face must have blanched. I nodded in agreement, made my payment, and he turned to grab some brown paper to wrap the painting in.
“Well, if that view doesn’t look familiar!” A deep voice sounded behind me, and I didn’t even flinch. The music appeared to have gone into cruise control, so I figured Noah had to be roaming around kiosks and craft tables. Every year, the holiday bazaar was held in the rec center, with food offerings and any vendor overflow relegated to tents out front. There were plenty of places to poke around.
“Well, if it isn’t my radio wave stalker.” I turned in time to see his face shift from good-natured to alarmed. As with Gram, I wanted to swallow the words, but could only lessen the implication. “Just kidding. I know you’re harmless.”
“Do you?” His face blanked and he dead eyed me for several seconds. “Are you sure you still know me?”
At his dark, stoic look, unease cooled my blood. He was right. A decade is plenty of time to change a person. Startled, I almost took a step back.
A second later, he grinned. “My turn. Just kidding Klahanie. I am pretty harmless. Mostly.”
“Good to know. I think.” My silly fearful prickling disappeared on a cleansing out breath. Stupid imagination. “So, you remember that view?”
“I remember us going up there a few times. We’d bring some sandwiches or something and plop our butts at the top of the hill. When we were downwind, all we could smell was lavender. It even blocked out the ocean.” His mouth twitched to one side. “I think you liked it better than I did.”
“Probably, but I don’t remember you complaining.” I met his gaze, and smiled. He used to have a bad habit of being too agreeable. It took months before I could get him to suggest, let alone, plan, the occasional outing for us.
“No, I guess I didn’t.”
“Okay, Klahanie, here you are.” Tiny turned back to us and held out the neatly wrapped painting. “Thank you, darling. I really appreciate it.”
“I guess us islanders need to stick together, huh?”
