The door to the post office chimed as Anders neared it, and Lady Judy stepped out onto the street holding an armload of packages so high, it nearly covered her face.
“Whoa. You need help with those?” Anders asked, reaching out for the top one.
“No!” Lady Judy barked, startling him back. “I’ve got it.”
He held up his hands. “OK.” He watched as she half hustled, half waddled up the street under the weight of her packages. He stared at her, perplexed. What was she receiving—more wine bottles? Or something else?
A drug-trafficking ring. Mr. Gimby’s words floated back to him, unbidden. And then an image: Lady Judy as the kingpin of an island-wide heroin or meth ring—her large bosom straining against a Scarface-like suit, holding two tommy guns and cackling. Chuckling, Anders shook his head, dismissing the ridiculous idea at once.
Anders walked into the One-Eyed Crab, the screen door slamming behind him, announcing his presence. The place was empty save for two faces swiveling in his direction: Jeffrey, whose eyes looked like they could cut glass, and Piper, whose eyes looked like they could laser it all back together.
“Uh . . . hi,” he said to the stony silence of the room.
“We’re closed,” Jeffrey said, cutting his eyes back to Piper.
“Closed?” Anders checked his watch again. It was five minutes after three—an off time for a meal, to be sure, but he didn’t remember the restaurant ever closing between lunch and dinner.
“Yep, tourist season is over. Which means locals only.” Jeffrey still wasn’t looking at him, but Anders got the distinct feeling that Jeffrey wasn’t just talking about the restaurant anymore.
“Don’t be a jerk,” Piper said.
“Wait, is that why you weren’t at the wildlife center last Saturday?” Anders asked.
“Yep. Season ends third week in September. A few tourists still trickle over, of course, but everything kind of shuts down after that.”
“Oh.”
Sue suddenly appeared in the doorway carrying a big stack of freshly laundered bar towels and brightened when she saw Anders. “Oh, hey there. You hungry?”
“Sorry, I didn’t realize you were closed.”
“It’s fine.” Sue waved him to come closer inside. “I’m happy to whip you up something. Least I could do for your help with the freezer.”
“No, no. I can just go over to the market and find something.”
“I’ll come with you,” Piper said, hopping off the stool. “I was done here anyway.” She cut her eyes at Jeffrey one last time. Anders recognized the piercing look from his fumble in the wildlife center and felt overwhelming relief he wasn’t the recipient this time.
Once they were a few yards away from the restaurant, Anders spoke first. “What was that about?”
“Nothing,” she said, rubbing her arms through her sweatshirt.
“It didn’t sound like nothing.”
Piper shrugged. “Just Jeffrey being Jeffrey.”
Anders knew, from the palpable anger he’d felt in the air, there was more to it than that.
“I take it you don’t like him?” he pressed.
Piper sighed. “It’s more . . . complicated than that.” After a few beats of silence, Anders realized that was all she was going to say on the matter.
When they got to the market, the fluorescent lights were on, but the place was deserted. Anders stuck his hands in his pockets to wait for Mr. Garrison to return, but Piper walked right behind the counter.
“Are you allowed back there?”
“Of course. I work here.”
“Really? I thought you worked at the bed-and-breakfast.”
“Just in the mornings, helping Mrs. Olecki cook.”
“So you have three jobs.”
“I guess. But the wildlife center is volunteer, and I just help out at Mrs. Olecki’s in exchange for rent. Kind of like you.”
She slid open the refrigerator case door and pulled two crab cakes off the ice.
“Oh, I’ll probably just have a turkey sandwich.”
Piper peered at him over the counter. “The sandwiches are terrible here.” Anders had ordered one before, cheap white bread stuffed with packaged deli meat and a square of plastic-wrapped cheese. Still, he thought “terrible” was an overstatement.
“I don’t really eat seafood.”
“Are you allergic?”
“No. I just don’t like it.”
“That can’t be possible.”
“To not like seafood? I think it’s pretty com—”
She cut him off. “You haven’t eaten the good stuff.”
Realizing she wasn’t going to take no for an answer, Anders remained silent as Piper moved to the flat metal grill next to the sink in the back. After lighting the fire with the turn knob and squirting oil onto the surface, she slapped both crab cakes on it with a satisfying sizzle.
When they were done, Piper flipped them both onto a paper plate and directed Anders to grab a couple bottled waters and follow her out to the covered porch, where two plastic chairs sat waiting. A light mist filled the air, minuscule raindrops not strong enough for gravity to pull to the ground, giving the whole island an otherworldly feel.
“Here,” Piper said, offering him the plate after they sat down. She watched intently as he bit into the crab cake. Anders emitted a small grunt of surprise at the texture (somehow meaty and flaky) and the flavor (salty, buttery, with a hint of sweetness, but no fishy taste to be found). He swallowed. “It’s good.”
“Good?”
“Yeah,” he said, confused at her clear disappointment in his response. “I like it.”
“Are you always this enthusiastic about things you like?” she deadpanned.
“Yes.”
She laughed. “Oh! I know what you should do for your next assignment.”
Anders narrowed his eyes. “You mean I haven’t done every single thing there is to do on Frick Island?”
“Not yet. You haven’t picked crabs.”
“Which is different from crabbing, I presume?”
“It is. You’d have to come Wednesday evening, though. That’s when they do it.”
Anders considered this. If he could convince BobDan to bring him over after he dropped off the afternoon passengers, instead of catching the noon ferry, he would only have to take a few hours off work.