4
Once Sterling had receivedthe shopping list from the cook, Tione, who seemed reluctant to have anything to do with him, he strolled to the gravel parking lot. On the way inside earlier, he’d noticed that the parking space beside the door was reserved for the owner. It was currently occupied by a yellow bicycle with a plastic basket on the handlebars.
Was that Katarina’s primary mode of transportation? Surely not. Perhaps her car was at a workshop for repairs. That would make sense, based on what he’d seen of her. The woman had bitten off more than she could chew, but she would run out of motivation or cash before long. She’d be better off selling to him and buying a small, modern bed and breakfast that didn’t need extensive work to make it habitable.
He drove into town, taking directions from a GPS navigator with a robotic English accent. When he reached his destination, a minimart in the cobbled town square, he parked and got out. Dozens of people milled about the courtyard, eating ice creams or baked goods and chatting. Many of them had cameras slung over their shoulders, and some snapped photos of a bronze statue in the center of the square.
The minimart was to his left, a blocky, whitewashed building with square windows through which he could see two cashiers serving customers. As he was about to head over, the knot of people surrounding the statue moved and he got a better look at it.
How strange. The subject of the statue wasn’t a politician, military man or hero; it was a shirtless surfer, leaning on a surfboard, located on a raised platform in the middle of a fountain, with water spraying up from a number of small jets around him. Behind the statue, Sterling could see the local pub, with a sign hanging above the door that read The Den. He spun to check the signs of the other buildings that fronted onto the square: The Book Trove, Cafe Oasis, The Hideaway, The Treasure Chest, Sea Glass Gallery, Seafaring Adventures.
Charming names. How had he not noticed this during his research? His attention settled on the building beside the minimart. The Hideaway. The sign on the road frontage read “Gym and studio of Rebecca Cane, artist.” He frowned. In what world did it make sense to combine an artist’s studio and a gym? He closed his eyes, counted to twenty, and blinked the fuzziness away. The sign still proclaimed that The Hideaway was a gym and art studio.
Someone passed by and jostled his shoulder, bringing him out of his reverie and back to the task at hand. Groceries. He chose a small shopping cart and entered the fresh produce section, consulting the list to see what he needed from this part of the shop. He was selecting ripe avocados when someone tapped his shoulder from behind.
“I’ll just be a moment,” he said, privately thinking the person could stand to learn some patience. It wasn’t like he was hogging the avocado bin. They could reach the other side if they wanted.
“Excuse me, son.”
“Give me two minutes, and I’ll get out of your way.” If he sounded snappy, so be it. Finding the best avocados took effort.
“It’s not the avocados I want, Mr. Knight.”
Hearing his name, Sterling turned. The man had sparse white hair, hazel eyes and a creased face. He was perhaps in his sixties or seventies. While he was shorter than Sterling, his shoulders were straight, his posture good, and his white button-up shirt stretched tightly over his paunch.
Sterling didn’t recognize him. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”
“No, but you will soon enough. I’m Hugh MacAllister, elected council representative for this fine town.” He held out a hand and Sterling shook it. Hugh MacAllister had a surprisingly firm grip.
“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. MacAllister.” Sterling stretched his lips into a rare smile. He’d learned from Eli’s dealings down south that having the local powerhouses on-side mattered. “It doesn’t sound like I need to introduce myself?”
Hugh MacAllister shook his head. “I know exactly who you are and why you’re here, my boy.”
How? He’d been in town for less than two hours and had hardly spoken to anyone during that time.
Hugh must have noticed his confusion, because he laughed, a deep booming sound, and said, “Everyone knows everyone’s business around here. Usually before they know it themselves.”
Sterling nodded. This day kept getting stranger. “Was there a reason you wanted to talk to me, Mr. MacAllister?”
“Hugh, please. I just wanted to welcome you to the community.”
“Oh, I won’t be staying.”
Tapping his forefinger to his nose, Hugh said, “You might surprise yourself, Mr. Knight. The bay grows on people.”
Sterling shook his head. He wouldn’t give it a chance to grow on him. Hugh turned to leave, tipping his head in farewell, but Betty interrupted them both.
“Hugh,” she exclaimed, kissing the cheek he offered, then glowered at Sterling. “I see you’ve met Mr. Knight. Did you know he’s trying to convince Kat to sell Sanctuary?”
“Yes, I’d heard that, Betty. How are you, dear? Don’t tell me you’ve gotten yourself worked into a dither. Kat has a good head on her shoulders. She won’t sell.”
Sterling stared at the two of them in disbelief. If Kat had a good head on her shoulders, of course she’d sell. Her lodge was a money-suck. Where was their common sense?
Betty sighed. “She’s a good girl, but she’s vulnerable, and I don’t want to see the corporate vultures make a meal of her.”
Corporate vulture? Him? Well, now he’d really heard it all.
Peering into his shopping cart, Betty asked, with what sounded like disappointment, “Are you staying? Is there a group of you here to pressure poor Kat?”