Thomas Kinkade: The Inn at Angel Island

She wondered if Walter and Marion Doyle still owned the place. Liza recalled seeing them at her aunt’s memorial service, but that didn’t mean they still lived out here and ran the store.

Liza glanced around and soon spotted Walter behind the deli counter, packing up an order for a big, burly man wearing high rubber fishing boots.

Marion was closer, stocking a shelf with boxes of throat lozenges. Liza walked over and caught her glance. “Hi. I’m looking for a fax machine. Do you have one here?”

“A fax machine?” Marion shook her head. “We don’t have one of those. We have express mail delivery, though. Your package might get delivered by tomorrow, depending on the zip code.”

Liza remembered now. The General Store on the island also served as the post office, with a section of PO boxes right past the deli counter. Marion Doyle had always been the postmistress, selling stamps and weighing packages. Now she had express mail to offer. But tomorrow was too late. An hour from now was too late.

“That’s all right. I need to have some sketches at an office in Boston by one o’clock…” Liza glanced at her watch. It was already a few minutes past eleven.

Marion straightened up and frowned a moment. “Let me see… I think there is one around here. I just can’t remember where…” She turned to her husband. “Walter? This lady is-”

“Doesn’t Daisy have one? I don’t think she uses it much,” he added. “It might not even be hooked up.”

“That’s right.” Marion nodded. “You can try her.”

“Daisy?” Liza knew she was grasping at straws now. “Does she live somewhere on the island?”

Marion laughed. “Daisy Winkler runs the tea shop across the square. Just knock on the door. She’s usually in there, even if the place isn’t officially open… Hey, aren’t you Liza Martin, Elizabeth Dunne’s niece?”

“Yes, I am. I didn’t think you’d recognize me after all this time, so I didn’t introduce myself,” Liza explained, feeling a bit embarrassed at the lapse. She had easily recognized Marion and Walter, who had not changed very much since her childhood. Her explanation was partly true, but Liza had also wanted to avoid getting bogged down in small talk. Now she couldn’t avoid it.

“It’s good to see you, dear. I heard you were coming back for a visit,” Marion confided. “Claire North mentioned it when she was in here shopping yesterday.”

For the chowder ingredients, Liza realized. That figured.

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” Marion admitted. “You’ve changed so much since I saw you last.”

Liza wasn’t sure when that was. Or what to say. Was that a compliment or a comment on how little she’d been around to visit her aunt?

“It’s been a while,” Liza replied vaguely. “This place looks the same though, exactly the way I remember it.”

Marion smiled widely. “Seems to work for us. If it ain’t broke-”

“Don’t break it,” her husband finished with a laugh. Something about that was wrong, but Liza wasn’t about to take the time to figure it out. “How long are you staying?” he asked.

“Are you going to open the inn this summer?” Marion added, before Liza could answer the first question.

They both looked at her expectantly. Liza was put on the spot. All she wanted was a fax machine. How had she gotten into this conversation?

“Actually, my brother and I are putting the place up for sale.”

“Really?” Marion seemed shocked.

Walter wiped down the counter with a paper towel. “There’ll be a lot of that going on pretty soon. Can’t say I’m surprised.”

With all the improvements on the north side of the island going on, he meant. But Liza didn’t want to start in on that topic either. She had lost enough time and had to get back to the hunt.

“Well, guess I’ll try Daisy. Thanks for your help,” Liza said.

“I don’t know that we helped you very much.” Marion sounded genuinely concerned. It was very kind, considering that they were practically strangers.

“Good luck.” Walter’s expression made her heart sink.

Liza sighed out loud. Her head was pounding, maybe because she hadn’t eaten a bite or even had a sip of coffee. Caffeine deprivation could be ugly. “May I have a pack of those pain tablets, please?” she asked, pointing to the brand she wanted.

“Sure thing. Here you go.” Marion handed them across the counter.

“How much will that be?” Liza opened her purse.

“Oh, they’re on the house. I hope you feel better. You’re not having such a good day so far, are you?”

“No, I’m not,” Liza admitted.

“Well, I hope it gets better. Just remember, don’t sweat the small stuff-and it’s all small stuff,” Marion added in a jaunty tone.

Liza nodded but didn’t reply. She really hated those cheery little inspirational slogans. People who said them either had to be in deep denial or were just plain lying.

She stepped outside and blinked at the strong sunlight. The day was chilly but fair. No sign of rain. That was a plus. At least the bridge would be open.

“Don’t sweat the small stuff ”? What was that supposed to mean? This wasn’t small stuff. This was big stuff. Liza had worked so hard and come so far. She wasn’t going to let herself be beaten out steps from the finish line. Not if she had to swim to the mainland with the sketches between her teeth.

Liza retrieved a water bottle from her car, downed her headache pills, and surveyed the tiny town center. Right next to the General Store, she spotted a storefront window covered by a red first aid symbol. The sign above read, “Medical Aid-Walk-in Clinic. Emergency Services. Visiting Nurse.”

She wondered if they had a fax machine. Her problem was definitely an emergency, though not of a medical nature. There was an automotive garage on the corner of the block with one lonely old-fashioned-looking gas pump in the small lot. That place had always been there, though if a vehicle needed serious repairs, it usually had to be towed to the mainland, Liza recalled. She doubted they had a fax.

On the opposite side of the street, she noticed another storefront office. This one had even more official-looking lettering on the window that read, “State of Massachusetts Environmental Protection Agency.” And another sign below that read, “ Angel Island -Village Office.” Between the two bureaucratic offices, there must be a fax machine, she reasoned. But as she drew closer, she could tell both were closed.

She checked the hours listed near the door and saw that the state office was open only once a week, and the village office had limited morning hours three times a week. Though there was a number to call and a night court held once a month.

What in the world did people visit night court for out here?

Speeding tickets? Inappropriate trash dumping?

She passed another little shop that had colorful signs for homemade ice cream. Now that place was definitely new. If only it had existed when she was a kid. A hand-written sign on a sheet of notepaper was stuck to the inside of the glass door. “See you in the spring!” Liza wondered how the shop survived here, even in the summertime.

Finally, she ended up at Daisy Winkler’s place, her last hope. The small cottage stood diagonally opposite to the General Store on the town square. Surrounded by a sagging picket fence, the building was two stories high but in dollhouse proportions. Painted pale yellow with a violet door and gingerbread trim on the roof, eaves, and porch, it looked like something out of a fairy tale, and she doubted that anything even remotely technological was going on within. But Marion had said there might be a fax machine here, and Liza had to ask.

Liza walked up to the cottage and opened the creaky wooden gate. She passed a painted sign that hung near the path. “Winkler Tearoom & Lending Library-Books Are Our Best Friends.”