at the folding table to her right. When she completed her address of the crowd, Anders approached her.
“Anders Caldwell,” he said, sticking out his hand for her to shake. “Reporter with the Daily Telegraph.” Even after three months, and despite the fact that it wasn’t the Times or the Post, he still got a small thrill from saying it—a sense that his six-year-old self, who stared wide-eyed in admiration at Christopher Reeve announcing, “Clark Kent, the Daily Planet,” would be impressed.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Lady Judy.”
Anders raised his eyebrows at this. Wikipedia had mentioned that most people on the island were descendants of the British, but the woman looked, and sounded, about as far from royalty as one could get. “Er, is Judy your last name?”
“No, last name’s Cullins—that’s with an i-n, not e-n.” She nodded toward his notebook and Anders made the notation.
“I see,” he said, and scratched his pen on the notepad. He cleared his throat. “How long have you been in charge of the Cake Walk here?”
“Oh, Lordt, honey, I’m not in charge. Or not more so than anyone else anyway. We all just kind of pull it together each year. Used to be a much bigger affair, right after the cake was named Maryland’s official dessert—what was that? Ten years ago. Anyway, that’s the way of things, iddn’t it? Feast or famine.” Anders noticed Lady Judy had the same affectation in her pronunciations as the boat captain. T words came out with a soft d sound. It was similar to the Eastern Shore accent he had slowly been getting used to, but a derivative of it—like the difference between a British accent and Cockney.
Since she’d brought it up, Anders asked the question that had been bothering him since he had noted the dwindling attendance—he estimated about sixty people at the event, which had once drawn nearly five hundred. “Why is the event held on a Thursday? I know it’s the summer, but wouldn’t it have a greater chance of drawing a bigger crowd if it was a Saturday?”
Lady Judy just stared at him, and then shrugged. “It’s always been on a Thursday. That’s the way it’s done.”
“Yeah, but—”
Her eyes flared, effectively cutting him off. “Nobody goes around suggesting we change Thanksgiving, do they?”
“Um, no. I guess not,” Anders said. He glanced back at his notebook, eager to change the subject. “The only other thing I’ll need is the total funds raised from today’s walk. Is that a figure I could get from you when it’s over?”
“I reckon I could find that out for you.”
“Great,” Anders said. “Do you have an email or cell number so I can follow up?”
She cackled. “Wouldn’t be any good to you if I did, now, would it? Internet hardly works out here and the only place to get any kind of cell service is clear the other end of the island—Graver’s Beach. That’s what they say, anyway, though I never had need to test it out. And why it would work all the way out there is anybody’s guess.” And that was when Anders looked around and wondered how he hadn’t noticed before— heads weren’t bent toward phones in the crowd the same way they were everywhere else he’d ever been.
The next two hours plodded by, with a large swath of tourists surprisingly clearing out after the third walk—not even halfway through the event. Anders hadn’t noticed the clouds rolling in until suddenly the sun was blotted from the sky and the first fat drop of rain fell on his shoulder. Then the bottom dropped out, rain coming down like bullets, scattering the few people left to shelter beneath tents and open doorways. He stood, stunned for a moment that the old man’s prediction had been correct, and then he checked his watch and realized he only had fifteen minutes to get to the dock for the four o’clock ferry departing back to the mainland. And then he ran.
He reached the dock winded but relieved when he saw the yellow boat tied up where he left it. Until he got closer and realized no one was in it. His eyes darted around the docks and landed on the white shack of a building with the Frick Island Marina sign. In small letters above a door was the word Office.
* * *
—
The door squeaked on its hinges as Anders entered, grateful to be out of the deluge. And he came face-to-face once again with the boat captain, glasses perched on the