Island Blues by Wendy Howell Mills Page A

rocking chair. “I’ll take another cup of this here stew. Best thing old Tubbs ever did, hiring Marilee,” he said to Sabrina. “Stacy Tubbs did a great job behind that counter, but I didn’t think Tubbs was ever going to find someone after Stacy left to go to college this past semester.”
    â€œWell, don’t get too attached to Marilee being here. I just talked to her about taking her SATs and going to college. Did you know she wanted to be an FBI agent?”
    â€œNo, but I’m not surprised. That girl has a lot of spunk, let me tell you. Never a word of complaint, as bad as it must have been taking care of that old bastard, her great-grandfather. Not that Booker was a bad fellow, but he got right religious in his old age, always wanting to shove the Bible down my throat.”
    â€œIt’s never pleasant when someone tries to impose their religious beliefs on you.”
    â€œNo, I meant he actually tried to push the Bible down my throat. This is when he was into his nineties, you understand. We got in an argument one night after we’d both had a few—Booker liked his whiskey—and he came over the table with the book in his hand. Before I knew what was happening, he had my mouth open and was shoving that Bible into my mouth, doing his darnedest to get it past my teeth.”
    â€œOh, Lima!”
    The old man shrugged, his eyes gleaming.
    â€œBooker was one strange bird. Everyone says he was helping the bootleggers when he was on the police force back in the twenties. Some say he even helped cover up a murder.”
    Sabrina leaned forward as Lima settled back into his chair in preparation for a nice, long story.
    â€œWeeell, Booker was the one who found Gerry Lowry right after he shot himself. Booker was only seventeen, and looking for work. He was tired of fishing already, and what else was an island boy supposed to do to make a living? All around him, people were making it rich off the liquor that was flowing through this island like Shinola through a septic field.
    â€œNo one knows for sure what happened, but it’s pretty common knowledge that Gerry Lowry ran afoul of the bigwig rumrunners on the island and was planning to take the run boat—that’s the boat that ran between the islands and the mainland—off the island first thing in the morning. Then he decided to off himself that evening, after telling everybody he was leaving? It didn’t make sense. Like I said before, it was Booker who found him, and his testimony was key at the inquest the sheriff held before Gerry’s body was even cold. The sheriff was so deep in the rumrunners’ pockets it’s a wonder he didn’t choke on pocket lint. If the rumrunners
were
involved, the sheriff sure wasn’t going to call them on it. And Booker…well, Booker might have had his own reasons for not being entirely truthful about what he saw that morning. Soon after that, Booker was hired by the sheriff, and it’s rumored Booker made hisself a fortune looking the other way. Who knows, but most people agreed that Gerry Lowry wasn’t the type to kill himself, especially by shooting himself. You see, Gerry was shot by accident by his big brother when he was a kid, and after that he couldn’t even look at a gun without getting squirrelly-eyed and sweaty.”
    Neither had noticed Mary Garrison Tubbs until she spoke.
    â€œSabrina Victoria Dunsweeney, we give you a simple job, something even
you
can do, and you manage to muck it up in a gigantic way. I should have known, should have known!”
    â€œMary, you’re one nasty bat, have I mentioned that today? What are you going on about now?” Lima rocked his chair angrily.
    Mary took a deep breath and let it out in a delicious rush. “Gilbert Kane was found murdered over on Goat Island, that’s what, and it’s all Sabrina’s fault!”

Chapter Nine
    Sabrina pressed down harder on the gas pedal of