Free Ransom at Sea by Fred Hunter Page A

street. They went past a store selling party supplies, and another whose theme neither of them could make out, since its window displayed a variety of hand-knitted afghans and homemade fudge. They found a place called the Corner Kitchen: a clean, glass-framed sandwich shop, where they decided to stop for a cup of tea. The shop was on the corner of River Street, which had followed the natural curve of the river and at that point was separated from the water by a brief expanse of park.
    â€œLook, there’re the Millers,” said Lynn as she raised the cup to her lips.
    Emily had to twist in her seat to see them. Martin and Laura Miller were at the far end of the park, pressing a passerby into the role of photographer while they posed against the background of the water.
    â€œOh, dear,” she said lightly.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI have a feeling that the Millers are the type of people who make nuisances of themselves wherever they go.”
    â€œThe Millers? I’d plump for Muriel Langstrom, or Marcella Hemsley.”
    â€œMarcella, I think, can’t help herself,” Emily said, still watching the Millers. “And Muriel is the type of person who one instinctively tunes out. But you’ll observe that the Millers are the type of people who draw others in.”
    They fell silent and watched the distant couple, each with an arm around the other’s waist. Laura laughed as Martin waved at the cameraman to take more pictures.
    When Emily turned back to Lynn she was met by a pair of very amused eyes.
    â€œWhat is it?” she asked with an upraised brow.
    Lynn lowered her cup onto its saucer. “Nothing. I was just wondering where you’d like to go next?”
    Emily elevated her shoulders a fraction of an inch. “I suppose we should go back to Main and finish our tour of the shops.”
    â€œYou make it sound as if that’s what’s expected of us!”
    On the short stretch back to the town’s main street, they passed a large Victorian-style house with a broad, inviting front porch on which there was a pair of unoccupied wicker rockers. In the center of the lawn that fronted the house was a sign announcing the Evergreen Bed-and-Breakfast. Next to this was a small recessed building, once a bungalow, that had been converted into a shop selling ceramic masks.
    On Main they continued to wander to the end of the business district. They stopped in at a store that sold homemade candies where Emily bought a box of peppermint-striped saltwater taffy, and Lynn succumbed to the allure of some hand-dipped strawberries.
    Farther down the block they went into the Southwest Trading Company. The air inside was tinged with a hypnotic, salty incense, and from unexposed speakers a gentle, soothing Indian melody played on wooden flutes.
    The two women spent nearly an hour in the store, examining the jewelry and other wares. Emily at last purchased a hand-woven blanket with brown, white, and muted pink stripes.
    â€œI want to bring something back for Jeremy, you see,” she said when they finally left the shop.
    â€œDo you think when he picks us up at the dock he’s going to say ‘Did you bring me anything?’” Lynn said, obviously amused at the mental image.
    The touch of red that flowed into Emily’s cheeks was accompanied by a somewhat coy smile. “It’s only proper that I should bring my host a gift.”
    They spent the remainder of the afternoon making their way in and out of the shops on the opposite side of Main Street, stopping twice to rest on one of the benches and enjoy some of the proceeds from their visit to the candy store.
    â€œYou’re right,” Lynn said out of the blue as she finished off her second strawberry. “It is very nice here. Very peaceful.”
    â€œYes,” Emily agreed, pleased to find that Lynn had lost the anxiousness that had been evident earlier.
    â€œThis might be a nice place to—” Lynn had