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It’s eight-thirty, and Mrs. Scott still hasn’t arrived at dinner.
The theme in here tonight is a tropical motif, which seems strange since we’re on such a different kind of island. But there are palm trees swaying, white sandy beach, coconuts falling from the ceiling here and there and cracking at our feet. A toucan with his oversized beak swoops over the table every now and then, and yep—here comes the rain. It’s been raining on and off every five minutes or so, sparkly lighting effects with none of the wet. Very disorienting, as usual. Although this time Red is sleeping through it.
I’m seated next to one of the other ladies who was at the board meeting, and even though she and I smile at each other any time we accidentally make eye contact, she’s not one for much conversation—with
