Back to Madeline Island by Jay Gilbertson Page B

toad window, which is just starting to light up with late afternoon sun.
    â€œGood God,” Ryan marvels. “I’ve never—this place is filled with surprises. Now what’s the story here?”
    â€œâ€™Tis a long one, dear,” Ruby says, giving the toad’s crown a tap. “Basically, you’re looking at the original logo from this cottage’s rather exotic past.” Ruby turns to face us. “This way.” She turns left and dramatically pushes open the door and then steps into the library. “The library,” she announces.
    â€œOh man.” Ryan lets out a laugh. “I must be dreaming.” He wanders off to look at the hundreds of spines.
    Helen heads over to one of the window seats and cautiously sits down next to a ball of gray fur.
    â€œSo you’re Rocky, the mouse catcher.” Helen lets him smell her hand; he looks over toward me.
    â€œHelen—meet my favorite guy—Rocky.” I come over and sit on his other side. “Have you a cat?”
    â€œI did.” Helen lowers her eyes, petting Rocky. “I had just recently moved into my condo and my cat, Newton, kept running back to my old apartment and then one day…he was gone.”
    â€œThat’s simply dreadful, darling,” Ruby offers. She scoops up one of the several “tasteful” trays displayed on the round table in the middle of the room and comes over. “Care for a finger sandwich? The open ones are crab with my special dill sauce, this is liver pâté and onion, and these are avocado.” She hands Helen and me paper napkins covered with leprechauns doing the cancan. She then saunters over to Ryan.
    â€œShe’s really wonderful,” Helen comments. “This place is wonderful. I’m so glad you invited us over. Sorry about dinner, but I’m meeting with some associates and—”
    â€œDon’t be silly.” I wave away her apology. “Rocky loves girls—don’t you, honey.” I give his head a good rub; he lets out a happy “meow.” “He also loves mice and squirrels and bats—other things, too.”
    Ruby and Ryan come over, arm in arm. “Ryan tells me he’s about to get his doctorate in forensic psychology and I thought I’d give him some pointers, seeing as I’m an expert and all. Besides—you two need to chat in private and he needs to get re-dressed.” They turn to leave and I hear Ruby ask him if he’s ever heard of her dear friend, Kay Scarpetta. Oh boy.
    We settle back into cushions, facing each other, with Rocky all snuggled among our legs. Helen’s are so long, she hangs them over the edge, I watch as she straightens her perfectly creased jeans. Can you believe it? She irons her jeans.
    â€œSo, you went to college in Eau Claire ?” I ask, taking a sip. “Watts, she works at my salon, does all the college kids. Maybe you went to her? ’Course I would have remembered—I never forget a face.”
    â€œNo, actually,” Helen tucks her hair behind an ear, “I’ve always had long hair, so I don’t have it trimmed very often. My sister cuts it several times a year.”
    â€œIt is long.” I study her and notice some curly hairs underneath. “Do you straighten your hair?”
    Damn it, I didn’t mean it to come out so accusingly, but it did. I love my curls; we made peace years ago, mainly ’cause I’m too lazy to pull them straight with a blow dryer. It’s way too much work.
    â€œI do.” She absently runs her fingers through her hair. “Ever since I discovered a paddle brush and now there’s all these great products and—I just don’t feel polished with it curly. No offense, it looks great on you, but not on me.”
    â€œYou certainly needn’t apologize,” I say apologetically. “It’s a relief, in a way. I mean, all I could really recognize on you was my nose ,