“Of course it’s you, Peach. I heard you were coming, and I’d know those blue eyes and freckles anywhere.” He rushed toward them, smiling broadly and apparently forgetting, for the moment, the naked guy on the horse.
“Speaking of freckles”—Chloe’s whisper turned to an amused murmur—“I don’t think SPF 75 is going to be strong enough for that marshmallow on the horse. I can smell him burning from here. Is he starting to puff up?”
Dmitri reached them, his grin revealing a significant gap between his two front teeth. “And is this little niblet your daughter? It can’t be. She’s too grown up!”
“Oh no way. Do not let them nickname me niblet!” Chloe’s amused murmur became a hostile mutter into Emily’s ear. Preteen mood swing, but Emily could hardly blame her. Niblet was probably going to stick.
Emily smiled. “Hello, Dmitri. How are you? Good to see you. Yes, this is Chloe, my daughter.”
“Of course, of course. So are you back for good this time? Or just here for the Lilac Festival?” He pushed a lock of sweat-dampened hair away from his forehead. Apparently things got a little hot under that beekeeper’s hat.
“I’m not back back. I mean, I’m staying for a few months. I’m here to do some work for Gigi.”
He put the hat back on but kept the netting pushed to the top. “Oh yes. Working on Gigi’s rental cottage. I heard something about that from the Mahoney sisters. They’re in quite a tizzy about the whole thing. All up in arms about who’s doing what to which properties. Those women buzz, buzz, buzz more than my bees do.” He turned his head. “Don’t think I can’t see you trying to ride away, Clancy,” he shouted over his shoulder. “Chief Callaghan is going to hear about this, and now his own daughter is a material witness.”
“No, oh no.” Emily shook her head and took hold of Dmitri’s forearm. “My dad doesn’t know I’m here yet. I want to surprise him, okay? Can you help me do that?”
He pulled the veil back down with a dramatic twirl of his wrist. “But of course. Do you want to borrow my hat? No one will suspect a thing.”
“You’re sweet, but no, that won’t be necessary. If you’d just let Chloe and me be on our way and not mention to anyone that you saw us, that would be great. Give me at least a couple of hours.”
“No one can keep a secret like I can, Peach. You have no idea. Be on your way then, and remind Gigi she owes me three dollars from the last time we played euchre.”
“Absolutely.”
“Excellent. I shall now create a diversion.” He turned his back on them and started shouting again at naked Clancy on the horse.
Emily turned Chloe by the shoulders. “Quick, go that way!”
“Don’t we have to get our luggage?”
“I already tagged them to go to Gigi’s house. We’re all set. Now scoot before someone else sees us.”
On the list of people Emily was hoping to avoid, which included basically everyone on the island, she and Chloe ran into six of them as they made their way from the center of Main Street to the corner of Huron and Marquette. What should have been a five-minute excursion took them two hours. First they saw Mr. O’Doul, who informed Chloe that he owned the oldest grocery store in Michigan. His ancestors had, according to his genealogist uncle, accompanied the first Jesuit missionary to the island in 1670. As a kid, Emily had always thought that old Mrs. O’Doul was so very, very ancient, she just might have been that first priest’s housekeeper.
Then they saw Vera VonMeisterburger, the librarian, who told them all about her recent efforts to reintroduce bats to the island after the recent plague of white nose syndrome. There was going to be a town meeting that very evening. She certainly hoped they would attend. There would be cookies.
They also saw Edgar White, the man in charge of painting the front porch of the Imperial Hotel, which might not seem like such an important job, but he assured them that it was because that porch was six hundred and sixty feet long and took him all summer to paint.
Next they ran into, or rather were run into by, Gloria Persimmons. She was admiring her reflection in the tiny mirror of her purple bicycle when she crashed into them. The white wicker basket on the front of her handlebars went flying in one direction, and Gloria’s rhinestone-studded sunglasses flew in the other.
“Peachy-keen, oh my goodness gracious! As I live and breathe, I just heard from Mr. O’Doul that you were back. And I said to myself, I said, ‘Gloria, if Peach is back in town, then you better go put on your party dress because that girl loves to party!’ And now look, here you are! Bejeebers, how long has it been?”
Gloria reached down and picked up her sunglasses from the ground, exposing the green-and-white polka-dot panties she had on under her lemon-yellow sundress. Emily heard Chloe gasp and then giggle as she handed Gloria her basket. It was covered with pink plastic flowers, surely the envy of every six-year-old girl on the island.
Emily should have known she wouldn’t get far without news leaking out of her arrival, and now that Gloria had spotted them? Well, the naked man on the horse would be the second thing everyone talked about that day because when a wayward daughter returns, it makes the headlines.
“Gloria, my goodness. You look just the same as you did in high school!” Emily gave her a hug and mentally noted that her comment was entirely true. Unfortunately, in high school Gloria did not look that great. Uncharitable? Maybe. But poor Gloria Persimmons had the face of a walrus, right down to the long teeth and the fuzzy cheeks.
“Oh, why, Peach, you always were such a good liar!” Gloria threw her head back and laughed way too loud at her own joke, but she sobered quickly and squeezed Emily’s arm. “Oh, but as much as I want to catch up with you and hear all about your glamorous life, we’d better do that later. Right now you need to skadoosh because Reed’s mother was just in the post office and she could be coming out any minute. She’s as icy as ever. I got frostbite the last time I sat next to her at church.”
Emily looked down Main toward the post office, and sure enough, here came Olivia Bostwick. Her stomach went splat, like an ice-cream cone onto hot pavement. On that list of people she was hoping to avoid? Olivia Bostwick was at the very top.
“Thanks, Gloria. We’ll definitely have to grab a cup of coffee soon. Come on, Chloe. We need to roll.” She grabbed ahold of her daughter’s sleeve and started walking. Too late, though.
“Emily? Emily Callaghan, don’t think I can’t see you there. I heard you were coming to the island.”
“Sorry, girlfriend. I’m outta here.” Gloria hopped on her bike and pedaled away.
“Shit,” Emily muttered under her breath, then screwed her face into some semblance of a smile before turning back around to face her foe. She wouldn’t bother reminding Mrs. Bostwick that her last name was now Chambers, not Callaghan.