Page 35 of The Oscar Escape
The chipper woman checked her watch. “My, my, look at the time. You and themist-ahbetter get a move on,” she added in the rolling accent.
Whoever this gal was, she acted as if they’d met. Oddly, there was something familiar about her. Perhaps the hallway lady had lent her the clothes. Still, why couldn’t she remember? An uneasiness swished in her belly as another round of kaleidoscope memories flashed. She saw—no, felt—the chill of icy water. Had she gone swimming? Suddenly, she was quite thirsty. She ran her tongue across her teeth and tasted a chocolate-cherry combination. Had she eaten sweets? She’d gobbled up the bonbon from Boston, but that was hours ago.
She pulled herself together and stretched her smile within millimeters of snapping. “Where do I need to go, ma’am?”
The woman’s expression darkened. “Why, Mrs. Elliott, you and your husband are expected in front of the judge.”
Chapter8
ARIA
Aria’s jaw hit the floor. Or should she say,Mrs. Elliott’sjaw crashed onto the ground?
Did this woman think she was Oscar’s wife? Had he told her they were married?
She gave up on trying to remove the ring and glanced back at the man, who was most definitely not her husband, and mouthed, “What is going on?”
And what did hernot-husbanddo? He shrugged.Shrugged!
He wouldn’t be any help.
She returned her attention to her senior twin. They even had on the same fire engine red boots. No matter. It was time to drop her signature sass and turn on the charm. “You seem like a lovely person, Miss . . .”
“It’s Mrs. Alden. Etta Alden,” the woman supplied with a warm grin. “My husband and I own this inn for the time being.”
It was an odd answer, but at least the lady was friendly. That had to be a good sign.
“I’m Aria. I was wondering, Mrs. Alden, could you help me? I don’t know anything about meeting with a judge. What I need is to call a car to take me to Boston.”
The woman’s eyes twinkled. “Hey, Del, Mrs. Elliott asked if I could call her acah.”
“You’d have better luck hitching a ride on a flyingsau-sah,” a man called in a matching accent from in the corridor.
Aria stood there, gobsmacked. Where in the fresh hell was she?
Oh, that’s right, she was on a freaking island somewhere off the coast of Maine.
“What about a boat?” she tried.
The woman cocked her head to the side. “What about a boat?”
They were speaking the same language, weren’t they?
“Is there a boat?” Aria asked, enunciating each word.
The woman burst out laughing. “It’s an island. Of course, we have boats. What do you think we dohe-ah? Cavort around in submarines? Del,” the woman called again, “Mrs. Elliott thinks we’ve got submarineshe-ahon Havenmatch Island.”
“We could park it in thehah-bah,” the man replied.
Mrs. Alden looked at her watch, then reined in her amusement. The woman pulled a pamphlet from her pocket. “We best not be keeping you. Here’s a map, but you don’t have to worry about navigating the trails. I wrote the directions to find the judge on a little sticky note. You don’t want to be late. The Honorable M. Gibson Harpswell doesn’t take too kindly to tardiness.”
As if in a daze, Aria accepted the folded paper with a neon yellow sticky note with a lobster in the corner tacked to the front. “Regarding the judge, I have a legal team that usually takes care—”
“I’m sure you do,” Etta Alden interjected, cutting her off. “Chop, chop,” she added with another lively clap, then strolled down the hall.
Aria could feel Oscar come up behind her. She set the map with the lobster sticky note on her notebook and held the items to her chest. “Why are they calling me Mrs. Elliott, and why are we expected in front of a judge?” she asked, doing everything in her power to keep her voice even. Warily, she peered down the hall, but the Aldens were gone. There wasn’t a soul to be seen. Were they the only people staying at this inn? Or was something else going on? “Am I on one of those fish-out-of-water shows where celebrities get dropped into some bonkers situation?”
Sure, it was a stretch, but it could be possible.
