Free Stranger on the Shore (Mirabelle Harbor, Book 4) by Marilyn Brant Page A

jewelry store owner laughed.
    I felt a sudden bolt of envy at their warmth and sense of community, but I smiled and shook the hands of all three women. “Marianna Gregory,” I said. “Very nice meeting all of you.”
    “Nice to meet you, too, Marianna,” Abby replied. “Midwestern, yes?”
    I nodded. “I’m from a northern suburb of Chicago, Illinois—Mirabelle Harbor—but I’m in Sarasota for—”
    “WHAT? You’re from Mirabelle Harbor? So am I!” Abby beamed at me. “Wow. Small world.”
    Something tugged at the edges of my mind. “Oh, my goodness, wait. Are you Abby Solinski, by chance? My good friend Olivia mentioned—”
    “Olivia Michaelsen?” Abby interrupted.
    “Yes.”
    The younger blonde paled just a little, but she recovered quickly. Probably not quickly enough to escape the notice of her friends, though.
    “Yeah,” she said. “I’m Abby Solinski. And I know the Michaelsen family, uh, pretty well.”
    Because she’d been Chandler Michaelsen’s girlfriend for five years, I remembered. Oh, poor lady. Those Michaelsen men could be heartbreakers. But I didn’t say that.
    “You’re right. It’s a very small world,” I told her instead. “And Olivia said wonderful things about you. She was hoping we might meet.”
    “Thanks,” Abby murmured. “Olivia was always really nice to me. Any friend of hers is a friend of mine.” She paused. “How long are you in Sarasota, Marianna?”
    “Just for a few weeks.”
    “Yeah, that’s what I thought, too, when I first got here, but it’s turned into a few years.” Abby chuckled. However, I couldn’t help but detect a note of sadness just beneath the laughter.
    “I hail from Tallahassee,” Lorelei said, successfully turning our attention toward her, maybe as a way to give Abby a break from her memories. “My husband’s job got us transferred down here about a decade ago. Fell in love with Sarasota.”
    “And I’m originally from San Antonio,” Joy told me. “I’ve been in Florida since I was in junior high, but—”
    “She refuses to let go of her Texan ways,” Lorelei teased, motioning me nearer as if to share a deep confidence. “I am sure she does it just to torment me.” She drew out her vowels extra long for emphasis and fluttered her hand like a fan by her face, as if she was in need of reviving.
    Joy rolled her eyes, her lips twisting in an unsuccessful attempt not to grin. “Hi, ho, there, Mrs. Lorelei Beck. Don’t you take that pomegranate tone with me or I’ll be fixin’ to get even.”
    The other two women chuckled in delight, but I was perplexed. What the heck was a “pomegranate” tone? Maybe it was an expression native to Florida...or to Texas. All I knew was that I never heard it before.
    I was still debating whether or not to show my ignorance and ask, when Joy said, “What do you think of their bracelets? Beautiful, aren’t they?” She pointed to a shelf right beside Lorelei and Abby that was strewn with jewelry—mostly bracelets, but also a few necklaces and earrings—and I was struck by the thoughtful combination of small shells and beads that comprised their designs.
    “Yes,” I replied, reaching to pick one up. “They’re really lovely.” The one I was holding was made of white slipper shells, pierced and strung in an alternating pattern with delicate pale-pink beads and an occasional indigo-silver swirled bead. In the middle of the bracelet was a single sterling butterfly charm. But there was no price tag. “Are you selling these?” I asked, knowing I shouldn’t buy more of anything, especially since I was already planning to get the scallop earrings, but this bracelet was just as pretty in its own very unique way.
    “Not yet, but we will be,” Joy said. “They’re for the special project I was telling you about—B.E.A.D.S.—Bracelets for Endangered And Defenseless Species. All of our donations will go directly to help Florida’s most endangered mammals, birds, insects, and marine