Stranger on the Shore (Mirabelle Harbor, Book 4) (8 page)

I collected these images, as if carrying my own bucket of sea treasures, and kept them with me as I moved onto the store next door. Castaways. That was the place that should have my water shoes in stock.

From my view on the sidewalk, it looked to be busy inside—a good sign. And to the other side of it was The Beaded Periwinkle, which appeared to be some kind of shell shop. Interesting. I plunged into the beach outfitters first, deciding to explore them in order.

Castaways had a motley assortment of very weird stuff.

But, I had to admit, Elvis was right. There were tons of clothing items, water gear, shoes for the beach, and shoes for the water. I found the Beachwalkers in the snorkel section without a problem and was both pleased and relieved to see that they were reasonably priced. But, after I grabbed a pair of those, I was inspired to sift through some of the shop’s other wares and, goodness, what an amalgamation of items they were.

Stacks of extra-large, extra-loud towels covered one row of shelving. One of the towels featured thick strands of purple, orange, and green swirled strangely together like some kind of ‘70s tie-dyed creation. Next to it was a huge sky-blue one that was covered with hot air balloons. Another was an unusually artistic one that looked like a picnic on the beach, with a picture of a towel on the real towel and a basket filled with goodies in the middle that was half unpacked.

There were adult-sized goggles with leopard-print designs, flippers that were painted to resemble a duck’s webbed feet, swim trunks for men dotted with images of tropical fruit—pineapples, coconuts, mangos and...wow. Nothing like a large banana right on that front zipper, eh? I stifled a laugh and forced myself to look away.

My gaze landed on a wall crammed with t-shirts with bizarre sayings like, “Shelling is easy. Explaining the increasingly expanding spiral of a Nautilus without using differential calculus is hard.”

Huh?!

Most of the other shirts were a little easier for me to understand, but still very original, smart, and funny. Maybe if Donny had been half as creative with his t-shirts, he would’ve been able to make his business take off.

I spied a set of paintings in this shop, too, and they appeared to have been done by the same artist whose work was in The Golden Gecko. Again, beautiful, vibrant shades of teal, sapphire, cerulean, indigo, emerald, and lime—and that was just the water and sky. I studied one canvas up close and noticed it had a very loud beach towel in it. Made me wonder if the artist’s work was influenced by seeing the towels in this shop, or if the shop’s owner bought that particular painting because it had the towel in it.

I managed to inch my way up to the busy counter, pay for my purchases, and step out of the store into the insane midday mugginess. The Beaded Periwinkle was next on my list of visits, but the stirrings of hunger and thirst took priority.

After finding a sandwich shop and picking up a tuna wrap and a lemonade, I collapsed into a chair in the air-conditioned corner of the deli and enjoyed my lunch. The flurry of passersby and the call of seagulls I heard every time the door opened was entertainment enough.

Afterward, I even allowed myself to wander back via Fudge Fantasia, where I waved at the teen girl who was still working there. The girl had lured a young couple into her net and was busy giving them the details of the sweets sale, but she still took a second to grin at me and say, “I knew I’d see you again!”

Inside, it was as irresistible as I’d expected, and I walked away with a half-pound splurge of Turtle fudge and a large sample pack of some of their most popular dessert creations. This way, I’d get to try the Oreo, peanut butter, dried fruit, raspberry, caramel, French vanilla, hazelnut, almond...etc. They would make for a great dessert for weeks—if I could get them back home before they melted.

I window-shopped a little more en route and began to feel the edges of exhaustion—the combination of the humidity and the visual overload took its toll—and I knew I ought to head back to the bungalow soon. But, when I finally entered The Beaded Periwinkle, I was glad to have saved it for last.

I was struck at once by the sheer number of shells packed into this small space and the gazillion unique uses for them. There were picture frames made of shells, wind chimes, hall mirrors, lampshades, nightlights, an array of shell-encrusted furniture and, oh, jewelry. So much jewelry. Earrings, bracelets, necklaces, even belts. They were so imaginatively designed and well-crafted that I was mesmerized.

Hanging from a tall spinning case were a hundred pairs of shell-and-bead earrings of various styles, shapes, lengths, and colors. The ones that caught my eye first were made of six calico scallops—three on each side—with the smallest shell on the top, followed by the medium, and then the largest. When jostled, they jingled like angels’ bells. But it wasn’t just the sound and shape that grabbed my attention. It was the starbursts of soft pink, rose, and lavender that zigzagged across each shell. The expertly fastened sterling fishhook gave the dangles the finished sheen of a professional piece. The natural symmetry of the ridges and ripples. How gorgeous.

“You should try ‘em on,” a petite dynamo of a woman in her mid-thirties said, a hint of Texas lingering in her voice. “You’ll find a mirror just over there.” She crooked her thumb at the shell-framed oval mirror hanging on the wall behind me.

I pulled out my small, mother-of-pearl teardrop earrings, and I slipped on the scallop-shell ones. Staring at my reflection, I couldn’t help but think that, until yesterday, it had been a long, long time since I’d purchased anything for myself that wasn’t a dire necessity. I realized another thing, too. That even a change in my appearance this small could make me look and feel like someone else.

And I happened to quite like this new someone.

“They are really lovely,” I told the woman.

“So thrilled to hear you like ‘em,” the shop lady replied. The delight in her voice and the hawk-like gaze of the woman snagged my attention, and I immediately suspected the other woman’s heightened awareness might be more than just interest in a potential sale. There was more at stake here.

“By chance, did you make these?” I asked, motioning toward the earrings I was wearing and then toward the entire twirling jewelry stand.

The shop woman grinned and nodded. “I make everything in here.” Her focus strayed to a small table in the far corner where two other women were sitting and poring over some shells, decorative beads, nylon strings, and various metal hooks. They were so absorbed in their task, neither seemed to see or hear anyone else. “Well,
almost
everything,” she clarified with a laugh. “My friends over there are helping me with a special project.”

When I raised my eyebrows in curiosity, the energetic jewelry lady motioned me closer. “C’mon. I’ll show you,” she said.

The two new ladies, one about my age and one a decade younger, glanced up and smiled as the jewelry lady and I approached them.

“Hi, there,” the tall brunette said, her Southern origins evident in just the softness of these two syllables.

“This is Lorelei,” the jewelry lady told me, pointing toward the brunette, who had a very intelligent expression and had to be in her early forties. Then to the blonde, who was shorter, rounder, younger, and very sweet-looking, “And this is Abby. My best friends.” She beamed at them. “They’re also my rescuers. I don’t know what I’d do without them this week.” She turned back to me and stuck out her palm. “I’m Joy Canton, owner of this shop and—”

“A recovering Texan,” Lorelei interjected, with an arch of her thin, dark eyebrow.

“Someone who hasn’t yet learned to say no,” Abby added, her amused tone not remotely Southern.

“Oh, put a sock in it, y’all. I was gonna say I’m always glad to meet visitors. Maybe I should say I’ll be glad to get some
new
best friends.” She mock glared at the other two women.

“Nope, you’re stuck with us,” Lorelei said to her, then she winked at me.

Abby picked up a long nylon string and snapped it in Joy’s direction. The jewelry store owner laughed.

I felt a sudden bolt of envy at their warmth and sense of community, but I smiled and shook the hands of all three women. “Marianna Gregory,” I said. “Very nice meeting all of you.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Marianna,” Abby replied. “Midwestern, yes?”

I nodded. “I’m from a northern suburb of Chicago, Illinois—Mirabelle Harbor—but I’m in Sarasota for—”

“WHAT? You’re from Mirabelle Harbor? So am I!” Abby beamed at me. “Wow. Small world.”

Something tugged at the edges of my mind. “Oh, my goodness, wait. Are you Abby Solinski, by chance? My good friend Olivia mentioned—”

“Olivia Michaelsen?” Abby interrupted.

“Yes.”

The younger blonde paled just a little, but she recovered quickly. Probably not quickly enough to escape the notice of her friends, though.

“Yeah,” she said. “I’m Abby Solinski. And I know the Michaelsen family, uh, pretty well.”

Because she’d been Chandler Michaelsen’s girlfriend for five years, I remembered. Oh, poor lady. Those Michaelsen men could be heartbreakers. But I didn’t say that.

“You’re right. It’s a very small world,” I told her instead. “And Olivia said wonderful things about you. She was hoping we might meet.”

“Thanks,” Abby murmured. “Olivia was always really nice to me. Any friend of hers is a friend of mine.” She paused. “How long are you in Sarasota, Marianna?”

“Just for a few weeks.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too, when I first got here, but it’s turned into a few years.” Abby chuckled. However, I couldn’t help but detect a note of sadness just beneath the laughter.

“I hail from Tallahassee,” Lorelei said, successfully turning our attention toward her, maybe as a way to give Abby a break from her memories. “My husband’s job got us transferred down here about a decade ago. Fell in love with Sarasota.”

“And I’m originally from San Antonio,” Joy told me. “I’ve been in Florida since I was in junior high, but—”

“She
refuses
to let go of her Texan ways,” Lorelei teased, motioning me nearer as if to share a deep confidence. “I am
sure
she does it just to torment me.” She drew out her vowels extra long for emphasis and fluttered her hand like a fan by her face, as if she was in need of reviving.

Joy rolled her eyes, her lips twisting in an unsuccessful attempt not to grin. “Hi, ho, there, Mrs. Lorelei Beck. Don’t you take that pomegranate tone with me or I’ll be fixin’ to get even.”

The other two women chuckled in delight, but I was perplexed. What the heck was a “pomegranate” tone? Maybe it was an expression native to Florida...or to Texas. All I knew was that I never heard it before.

I was still debating whether or not to show my ignorance and ask, when Joy said, “What do you think of their bracelets? Beautiful, aren’t they?” She pointed to a shelf right beside Lorelei and Abby that was strewn with jewelry—mostly bracelets, but also a few necklaces and earrings—and I was struck by the thoughtful combination of small shells and beads that comprised their designs.

“Yes,” I replied, reaching to pick one up. “They’re really lovely.” The one I was holding was made of white slipper shells, pierced and strung in an alternating pattern with delicate pale-pink beads and an occasional indigo-silver swirled bead. In the middle of the bracelet was a single sterling butterfly charm. But there was no price tag. “Are you selling these?” I asked, knowing I shouldn’t buy more of anything, especially since I was already planning to get the scallop earrings, but this bracelet was just as pretty in its own very unique way.

“Not yet, but we will be,” Joy said. “They’re for the special project I was telling you about—B.E.A.D.S.—Bracelets for Endangered And Defenseless Species. All of our donations will go directly to help Florida’s most endangered mammals, birds, insects, and marine life. We’re selling the bracelets for the first time this weekend at the Annual St. Armand’s Craft Festival.”

“And, because Little Miss Texas has been talkin’ them up in her shop all month, we have a list of advanced orders and have to make at least a hundred more pieces by Saturday,” Lorelei complained, digging for a clamp and arching her eyebrow again.

“Well, what was I supposed to do?” Joy cried. “Not show the customers the new charms when they came in? Y’all know how cute they are.”

“They are the cutest,” Lorelei admitted, putting the finishing touches on the bracelet she was working on by attaching that final clamp.

Abby glanced at me, noting that I was still clutching the bracelet with the butterfly, and she smiled. “Let’s show them to Marianna. I think she’ll like them, too.”

Lorelei nodded and tipped over a small black canister filled with sterling-silver-shaped creatures. “See this one here?” She pointed to a butterfly charm just like the one in my hand. “That’s the Schaus’ swallowtail butterfly. It’s been threatened since 1976 and endangered in these parts since 1984.” And then she rifled through a few more and pulled out a chunky sea animal of some kind. “This one’s a manatee.”

“Oh!” I’d heard of them, of course, and I knew they were endangered, but I’d never seen a charm shaped like one before. “What other animals do you have?”

The three women hunted through the pile until they found a representative charm of every type—seven in all. In addition to the swallowtail butterfly and the manatee, there were also charms for the shortnose sturgeon, the American crocodile, the peregrine falcon, the Florida panther, and the green sea turtle.

“All endangered,” Joy said, frowning, the change in expression creating a crease just above the bridge her nose. “Even before the big oil spill, but that sure didn’t help. The Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission does what it can, but it’s a never-ending battle. They can use every penny we send them. Aside from subtracting the cost of materials, we donate one-hundred percent of what we make from the jewelry.”

“So, you three came up with this idea?” I asked, reaching for my wallet and pulling out a couple of twenty-dollar bills. Yes, yes, I vowed there’d be no more unnecessary spending, but I fully intended to help support this cause. A world without butterflies and sea turtles wasn’t a place I wanted to live. Definitely worth cutting back on a few carryout dinners and fudge treats.