Page 7 of Trick of Light
Gabby giggled alongside Heather at the absurdity of such a gesture constituting strong-arming. “He came off as really arrogant. I know his type. Grew up with a silver spoon, lap of luxury, all that.”
“But he turned his back on it all. I heard he was working on water systems in Nepal. Or it might have been vaccines in Tibet. You get the idea.”
“Well, good for him, but then why was he working so hard to protect the family name?”
“Because he still cares about his family? That’s not a bad thing.”
“I know it isn’t.” Gabby could understand that very well, in fact. How many times had her own work put her at odds with her mother? Being the daughter of a highly successful legislator who practically lived in the spotlight had its own challenges. “I just wish he hadn’t been so arrogant about it.”
“Gotcha. Well, I hope you can give him another chance. He’s Luke’s brother, and according to Luke, one of the good ones. It’s a low bar, but still.”
They both giggled at that. The Carmichaels were a bundle of contradictions, that was for sure.
“Is it okay if you interview Tamara by yourself?” Heather asked, as they approached the cluster of buildings that passed as a town center. “I have to help my mom. We’re painting the kitchen today.”
Her mother’s coffee shop had fallen victim to an arson attack a few weeks ago. Heather had stayed on the island to help her out, and Gabby had joined her so they could keep working on the biggest story they’d ever tackled.
“I can help—” Gabby said right away, only to be waved off by Heather.
“Maybe some other time. Right now you’re on the trail of a pirate’s mistress’s descendant and I’d never get in the way of that.”
And that was why she and Heather were such good friends, Gabby thought to herself. When it came to anything related to journalism, they vibed really well together.
Heather parked the truck outside the Bloodshot Eyeball, Sally McPhee’s café. Heather’s mother had a twisted sense of humor, which was the only thing that could account for such a horrendous name. Not that it mattered, because it was the only coffee shop out here and the fishermen wouldn’t mind if it was called the Rotting Carcass. They’d still roll in for their five-thirty pickup.
Sally came out to greet them. She wore hot pink overalls, which were already speckled with paint. Gabby couldn’t imagine two more different mothers than Sally McPhee and Paulette Ramon. Sally dressed as if she were still twenty-five, vaped non-stop, and had that oddball sense of humor, whereas Paulette never left home without her string of pearls and her bright lipstick.
“Am I witnessing a miracle? You gals here to help out?” she called.
Ouch, thought Gabby. Sally didn’t hold back with her jabs.
“I am,” said Heather, climbing out of the truck. ”Unless you piss me off too much. Gabby has other things to do and don’t you dare give her a hard time.”
“Never would.” Sally blew a kiss at Gabby. “She’s my favorite.”
Ouch again. But Heather shrugged it off, since she was used to her mom’s ways. “Mom, you know Tamara Brown, right?”
“Tamara? The witchy one?”
“How do you mean, witchy?”
“Always with the herbs and shit. She used to be the go-to for when girls needed a little problem dealt with, if you know what I mean.”
Gabby caught Heather’s eye, seeing the same spark of interest on her face. Reproductive rights were a topic they wanted to cover on the podcast.
“Are you saying she helped girls end their pregnancies?” Heather asked.
“Well sure, if you gotta spell it out. Don’t ask me for names. I’d never sell out another woman. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, and it ain’t no one else’s business.”
So maybe Sally and Paulette weren’t so different after all.
“We’re not trying to bust anyone. We just want to interview Tamara about her background. Do you know where we can find her?”
“She’s a hermit type. Hardly ever see her except when she needs to go into town for something. I think she’s…well, in those old forests past southwest cove. There’s a bunch of trails and one of them goes to her cottage.”
“I know all that,” Heather said impatiently. “Can’t you narrow it down just a little?”
“What makes you think I’ve been to her place? I had you, didn’t I?”
