Page 7 of Summer People
“Sutton,” I call. As I step through the door, my boots thunk against the old, knotted hardwood floor.
“Fisher!” My niece flies down the narrow staircase, and when she screeches to a halt in front of me, she bounces on her toes. “Is it true we get to deliver Elizabeth Sweet’s bags?”
“Were you a big helper today?” I drop the boxes on the large table in the dining room where Mrs. K serves breakfast to her guests.
“Yes.” Her blond braids bounce as she nods. “I made up twelve beds.”
“She’s always the best helper.” Mrs. K pushes through the swinging door, wiping her hands on a long denim skirt that buttons up the front. She must have a whole closet full of them. I’ve known her all my life, and I swear I’ve never seen her in anything but the skirt, the lace-up Keds, and the long-sleeve V-neck.
“So do I get to go meet her?” Sutton tugs on my jacket.
“Yeah. We have to drop off her bag.”
Mrs. K’s eyes light up. “Did you hear?—”
I lift a hand. “At least five times, and I didn’t care the first time.”
“Always the life of the party, Sheriff.” Her blond hair doesn’t move when she shakes her head, the Aqua Net doing its job.
“Come on.” Sutton grasps my gray M-65 military field jacket with a tiny hand and tugs. “I want to see her. Everyone says she’s prettier in person. Her hair is longer too.”
I sigh. “Tell Wilder that if he and Lindsey want to come by later, he should bring beer but leave the words at home.”
“I heard that.” My best friend’s deep voice echoes off the walls an instant before his feet hit the steps. “You love my voice. It makes your soul sing.”
I roll my eyes. But the truth is, he’s one of the few people on the island I can spend more than a few minutes with.
“Comeon.” Sutton yanks harder.
“Okay.” With a deep breath in, I give Mrs. K a wave and follow my niece out the door.
“Bing,” I call.
Ten seconds later, the dog appears. He hops into the back of the truck, and once we’re buckled, we creep along the streets, headed for home.
The island is only four square miles, but we could walk home as quickly as it takes to drive along the narrow dirt paths we call roads. Three minutes later, our house on the far end of the island comes into view.
There are only two homes out on the point. Mine, and the one owned by Elizabeth Sweet’s family. I’ve been taking care of the place since my brother passed, and he’d been doing it for years before that without once seeing the family, so I was shocked when Dan called and asked me to do a couple of things around the place before his daughter arrived.
I park in front of the large white-cedar-shingled house. The sun is just setting, and nothing about the dark house looks inviting. Even with the large wraparound porch and the massive second-story windows, the structure looks angry. Like it doesn’t want a Hollywood princess here either.
“Hurry up!” Sutton hops out of the truck and takes off across the grass I cut last week.
I’m reaching for the luggage when a feminine scream pierces the air.
“Stay here, Sutton,” I demand. Heart thudding, I take off toward the house. Just as I hit the porch, another scream sounds from inside, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
I throw the door open and find a tiny blonde in jeans and a tight shirt standing on the table, feet bare, with a broom in her hand.
“Get it off. Oh my god, it’s in my hair.” She steps back, her foot teetering on the edge.
I rush across the six feet, arms out, and catch her as her arms windmill and she falls backward.
She smacks into my chest, still thrashing like a wild woman, causing me to stumble.
“It’s in my hair,” she shouts again.
I have one heartbeat to decide whether to drop her or just go down with her. I curse myself for being a gentleman as I hit the ground with anumph.
