Page 37 of The Oscar Escape
“You chucked a stone through it, then grabbed a handful of bonbons in a display in the window. You’re lucky you didn’t cut yourself.”
“Bonbons,” she rasped as Oscar returned his hand on the small of her back, and they continued down the path.
They passed the front of the shop. Two older women with red kerchiefs covering bobbed haircuts and brooms in their hands paused their work and stared at them. No glared—at her.
“Do they know I did that?” she whispered.
“It sure looks that way.”
She inhaled hints of cocoa. “It smells like heaven in there. Maybe we can stop by later to shop and apologize when they’re not looking at me like I’m a criminal.”
“You sort of are a criminal.”
“Is that chocolate shop the landmark? If it is, you know I can cover the cost of a window and some sweets. It’ll be okay.”
“No, it’s not the landmark, and there’s more. Before you broke into the chocolate shop, you jumped into the water when the ferry arrived at the dock.”
She nearly fell over. “What?”
“You wanted to get the makeup off your face.”
“That’s one way to do it,” she replied, touching her cheek and finding it pleasantly glop-less.
“I dove in after you and helped you to shore.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I jumped ship, then broke into a chocolate shop?”
“And you did it naked. Your glitter and sequins costume didn’t hold up to the salt water.”
She grabbed his arm so she wouldn’t fall ass over elbow. “I was naked?”
“There were a few sequins stuck to your butt.”
Her lips parted, but the only sound she could make was a low, grating moan.
“It was two in the morning. Only the ferry captain and I saw you.”
“Noooo,” she lamented.
“Luckily, you took off my hoodie before you jumped in. I was able to get you to put it on after you ate about ten bonbons. But on the positive side,” he continued.
She reared back. “There’s a positive side?”
“There aren’t any paparazzi here.”
She sighed. “Thank goodness for small mercies.”
Now she had a pretty good idea why she had to appear before the island’s judge.
They came to a fork in the road and took the Homer Path. Gray-shingled cottages lined the wide gravel trail. That’s when she noticed she hadn’t seen a car—anywhere. The island must not be able to accommodate them. No wonder Mrs. Alden got such a kick from her asking for one. She was about to remark on hercar-lessconclusion when a pop of color from a cottage caught her eye. At first glance, the compact structures looked like the other gray and white-trimmed island buildings until she caught a glimpse of the first cottage’s ornately painted front door. It didn’t stop there. From Van Gogh’sSunflowersto bold, modern images to portraits to island landscapes, each door was a work of art.
“What is this place?” she asked as they passed a kiosk with a glassed-in case. She paused and read a flyer tacked to the top. Sporting a picture of a stone-faced man and woman dressed in clothing from what had to be the late eighteen hundreds, the wordsHAVENMATCH ISLAND LOVE & LOBSTERS FESTIVALwas printed beneath the photocopied print of a couple. She read the date. The event was set to take place eight days from today—on her birthday.
She tapped the glass, then concentrated on Oscar. “Is this why you’re here?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re here for work—to shoot the fall colors. Are you also photographing the festival?”
