finished. “Windfall is pretty much the way it was two hundred years ago, except for central heat, electricity, and indoor plumbing—and you won’t even find that everywhere.”
Dex picked up his first beer, tapped it lightly against the second. “I’m just grateful you have it here.”
“Amen, son. You curious about anything in particular?”
“Maybe it would be faster if you give me a list of subjects you’re willing to talk about.”
AJ threw back his head and laughed. “I like this boy, Maggie,” he shouted out. “He’s got a quick mind, and a hell of a delivery. Next time you’re over t’the mainland, maybe you could pick up a couple more just like him so we don’t wear this poor fellow out entertaining us.”
Maggie stuck her head around the end of the booth. “I barely got this one back. Who knew ego weighed so damn much?”
The whole place erupted at that, laughter and catcalls, and disparaging comments about his career choice and his origins. Apparently, taking on Windfall was like pledging a fraternity, minus the physical torture, and if he hadn’t had such a thick skin, some of the commentary would have had him throwing a punch or two.
“Don’t look dyspeptic, son. They wouldn’t be razzing you if they didn’t like you.”
Dex kept the frown on his face, but inside he was pumping a fist in the air. Not an islander yet, not by a long shot, but not exactly an enemy, either.
“The antique store,” AJ said when the ruckus died down.“Meeker, Josiah Meeker, owns the place. He has some artifacts on display—that’s if you can find them in that maze of flea market rejects he calls antiques.” His lip curled, making his opinion of Meeker absolutely clear, even if his sense of fairness got the better of his dislike. “In all honestly, some of the furniture and knick-knacks are genuine, and he has some books that are first editions. And then there’s his pride and joy.”
Dex lifted his eyebrows, inviting elaboration.
“Meeker collects Island journals.” AJ picked up a perfectly spot-free glass and took to polishing it. If he understood the significance of what he was saying, it didn’t show.
But it was everything Dex could do to keep his expression noncommittal. Though he already knew the journals existed, he felt like he’d been buzzed by a cattle prod. He didn’t dare think about what those probably innocuous-looking little books, full of the seemingly inconsequential events of someone’s everyday life, could mean to his future. Or that they might give the Stanhope family the answers they’d been praying for. He still had to find a way to get his hands on them.
Without letting on how important they were.
“I’m not much into history,” he said to AJ.
“Just as well. Meeker isn’t what you’d call accommodating, even to paying customers. Maggie seems to be the only person on the island who can talk him into anything.”
Maggie
.
Shit
. His eyes strayed to that back corner again, and although his excitement faded somewhat, he had to smile a little. All roads, he mused. He tried to stay away from Maggie Solomon, but fate kept pushing them together. And who was he to argue with fate?
“Gift store has some souvenirs,” AJ was saying, “A few books on local interest for the tourists, history of salvagers, that sort of thing. Maisie Cutshaw owns and operates.You want to watch out there. Woman can talk the ears off a cornfield and not say two words of sense the whole time. But you’d know that, seeing as she parked herself at your table for a time tonight.”
With a view toward moving into his life. He’d played hell fending her off without pissing her off. “So, what do you do around here for entertainment? Besides pick on outsiders.”
“Or hit on them?” AJ boomed out a laugh. “Might not be a bad idea to keep yourself busy, at that.
“Well, son, if you’re thinking to keep to your room at night, there’s always the television or a good book. Maggie flies
Dex picked up his first beer, tapped it lightly against the second. “I’m just grateful you have it here.”
“Amen, son. You curious about anything in particular?”
“Maybe it would be faster if you give me a list of subjects you’re willing to talk about.”
AJ threw back his head and laughed. “I like this boy, Maggie,” he shouted out. “He’s got a quick mind, and a hell of a delivery. Next time you’re over t’the mainland, maybe you could pick up a couple more just like him so we don’t wear this poor fellow out entertaining us.”
Maggie stuck her head around the end of the booth. “I barely got this one back. Who knew ego weighed so damn much?”
The whole place erupted at that, laughter and catcalls, and disparaging comments about his career choice and his origins. Apparently, taking on Windfall was like pledging a fraternity, minus the physical torture, and if he hadn’t had such a thick skin, some of the commentary would have had him throwing a punch or two.
“Don’t look dyspeptic, son. They wouldn’t be razzing you if they didn’t like you.”
Dex kept the frown on his face, but inside he was pumping a fist in the air. Not an islander yet, not by a long shot, but not exactly an enemy, either.
“The antique store,” AJ said when the ruckus died down.“Meeker, Josiah Meeker, owns the place. He has some artifacts on display—that’s if you can find them in that maze of flea market rejects he calls antiques.” His lip curled, making his opinion of Meeker absolutely clear, even if his sense of fairness got the better of his dislike. “In all honestly, some of the furniture and knick-knacks are genuine, and he has some books that are first editions. And then there’s his pride and joy.”
Dex lifted his eyebrows, inviting elaboration.
“Meeker collects Island journals.” AJ picked up a perfectly spot-free glass and took to polishing it. If he understood the significance of what he was saying, it didn’t show.
But it was everything Dex could do to keep his expression noncommittal. Though he already knew the journals existed, he felt like he’d been buzzed by a cattle prod. He didn’t dare think about what those probably innocuous-looking little books, full of the seemingly inconsequential events of someone’s everyday life, could mean to his future. Or that they might give the Stanhope family the answers they’d been praying for. He still had to find a way to get his hands on them.
Without letting on how important they were.
“I’m not much into history,” he said to AJ.
“Just as well. Meeker isn’t what you’d call accommodating, even to paying customers. Maggie seems to be the only person on the island who can talk him into anything.”
Maggie
.
Shit
. His eyes strayed to that back corner again, and although his excitement faded somewhat, he had to smile a little. All roads, he mused. He tried to stay away from Maggie Solomon, but fate kept pushing them together. And who was he to argue with fate?
“Gift store has some souvenirs,” AJ was saying, “A few books on local interest for the tourists, history of salvagers, that sort of thing. Maisie Cutshaw owns and operates.You want to watch out there. Woman can talk the ears off a cornfield and not say two words of sense the whole time. But you’d know that, seeing as she parked herself at your table for a time tonight.”
With a view toward moving into his life. He’d played hell fending her off without pissing her off. “So, what do you do around here for entertainment? Besides pick on outsiders.”
“Or hit on them?” AJ boomed out a laugh. “Might not be a bad idea to keep yourself busy, at that.
“Well, son, if you’re thinking to keep to your room at night, there’s always the television or a good book. Maggie flies
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