Read Online On Deadly Tides (A Wendover House Mystery Book 3) by Melanie Jackson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Melanie Jackson
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admitted. “Then my courage forsook me. It was so…. Well, I don’t imagine many tourists stay there. I’ve never been anyplace less welcoming.”
He nodded again.
“It’s an odd town with a sad history. Disaster seems to strike it every couple of decades. Fires, hurricanes, even plagues. For a while they had a factory that made sulfuric acid for fertilizers. They had to tear it down though because they had a spill and the building kept oozing out corrosives and burning people, even melting their shoes. It is supposed to be safe now but…. At one point, the town was even treated as a kind of leper colony—no actual leprosy there, but the nearby towns noticed that bad luck seemed to follow the people who lived there and would drive them away if they did more than pass through the other villages. Of course, that all ended centuries ago, but I think the shadow of the past lingers there and the people still feel … unwanted. Mostly they stick to themselves.”
I nodded, believing. I had seen how things were in the islands and it didn’t take a huge stretch of imagination to believe that there had once been some kind of a curse laid on unfortunate Derrymoor .
“A curse is a good way of putting it,” Bryson said and I realized I had spoken aloud. “Except we aren’t sure who laid it. There is no story about witches or anything. Just one day the cows stopped giving milk, the sea went barren, and a lot of folks moved away. The ones who stayed got sullen and secretive.”
Witches. Didn’t want to talk about that. I frowned at my empty glass of wine and made up my mind not to drink any more. Fortunately our entrees arrived and I was able to give up speaking.
Bryson seemed satisfied with what I had told him and didn’t try forcing conversation again until excusing himself to speak to the owner of the restaurant. Probably about a shipment of illegal whisky, I thought, and then mentally slapped myself for assuming the worst.
His gloves were resting on the edge of the table and he knocked them to the floor as he got up to see the owner, who was also the cook and busy in the kitchen and unable to get away. Though it made me groan and belch, I managed to lean down and retrieve them off the floor. Then, still under observation by other diners, I began to feel silly holding his battered gloves in my hand like a butler, and stuffed them in my purse which was already bulging with my accumulated jam and syrup which I had forgotten to leave in my room.
Manny, bless him, offered to get me another tiramisu to go, but though it was the best I’d ever tasted, I declined. I had a feeling that my meal was already going down in the annals of island history.
Bryson paid the bill while he was away and so we were ready to go when he returned to the table.
By then I had had enough of the diner’s scrutiny and the garlic-scented air and was ready to leave.
“Woman, I have never seen anyone of your gender eat like that,” Bryson said when we stepped outside and closed the door behind us. There was a smile in his voice. I lifted my face to the sky, grateful for the falling drizzle that washed some of the odors gathered on my skin. “Can you walk or shall I borrow a wheelbarrow?”
“A hundred feet? I can waddle. I just hope I don’t fall asleep on the way. A meal like that is better than barbiturates.” I pulled my coat tighter against the cold. “Do you have far to go?”
“I’m over just one street. See that cedar? It’s in my backyard. The cottage belonged to my folks. I use it when I’m on the mainland.” He shook his head, still looking amused. “Better take my arm. You look half-asleep already.”
It was easiest to follow his suggestion. Moving closer I found that I liked his aftershave. I tried to think of something to say but was ambushed by a giant yawn.
* * *
The stairs to the second floor seemed impossibly long and steep, but I made it to the top without assistance. I fumbled a bit with the
He nodded again.
“It’s an odd town with a sad history. Disaster seems to strike it every couple of decades. Fires, hurricanes, even plagues. For a while they had a factory that made sulfuric acid for fertilizers. They had to tear it down though because they had a spill and the building kept oozing out corrosives and burning people, even melting their shoes. It is supposed to be safe now but…. At one point, the town was even treated as a kind of leper colony—no actual leprosy there, but the nearby towns noticed that bad luck seemed to follow the people who lived there and would drive them away if they did more than pass through the other villages. Of course, that all ended centuries ago, but I think the shadow of the past lingers there and the people still feel … unwanted. Mostly they stick to themselves.”
I nodded, believing. I had seen how things were in the islands and it didn’t take a huge stretch of imagination to believe that there had once been some kind of a curse laid on unfortunate Derrymoor .
“A curse is a good way of putting it,” Bryson said and I realized I had spoken aloud. “Except we aren’t sure who laid it. There is no story about witches or anything. Just one day the cows stopped giving milk, the sea went barren, and a lot of folks moved away. The ones who stayed got sullen and secretive.”
Witches. Didn’t want to talk about that. I frowned at my empty glass of wine and made up my mind not to drink any more. Fortunately our entrees arrived and I was able to give up speaking.
Bryson seemed satisfied with what I had told him and didn’t try forcing conversation again until excusing himself to speak to the owner of the restaurant. Probably about a shipment of illegal whisky, I thought, and then mentally slapped myself for assuming the worst.
His gloves were resting on the edge of the table and he knocked them to the floor as he got up to see the owner, who was also the cook and busy in the kitchen and unable to get away. Though it made me groan and belch, I managed to lean down and retrieve them off the floor. Then, still under observation by other diners, I began to feel silly holding his battered gloves in my hand like a butler, and stuffed them in my purse which was already bulging with my accumulated jam and syrup which I had forgotten to leave in my room.
Manny, bless him, offered to get me another tiramisu to go, but though it was the best I’d ever tasted, I declined. I had a feeling that my meal was already going down in the annals of island history.
Bryson paid the bill while he was away and so we were ready to go when he returned to the table.
By then I had had enough of the diner’s scrutiny and the garlic-scented air and was ready to leave.
“Woman, I have never seen anyone of your gender eat like that,” Bryson said when we stepped outside and closed the door behind us. There was a smile in his voice. I lifted my face to the sky, grateful for the falling drizzle that washed some of the odors gathered on my skin. “Can you walk or shall I borrow a wheelbarrow?”
“A hundred feet? I can waddle. I just hope I don’t fall asleep on the way. A meal like that is better than barbiturates.” I pulled my coat tighter against the cold. “Do you have far to go?”
“I’m over just one street. See that cedar? It’s in my backyard. The cottage belonged to my folks. I use it when I’m on the mainland.” He shook his head, still looking amused. “Better take my arm. You look half-asleep already.”
It was easiest to follow his suggestion. Moving closer I found that I liked his aftershave. I tried to think of something to say but was ambushed by a giant yawn.
* * *
The stairs to the second floor seemed impossibly long and steep, but I made it to the top without assistance. I fumbled a bit with the
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