It was indeed a beautiful day, and I thought that a nice relaxing stroll into town could be fun. Or not. We had barely gotten one block when I noticed that Bertie was panting loudly and starting to turn red.

  “Are you sure you're up for this?” I asked. “I can always call-”

  “Nonsense,” Bertie replied. “I'll have you know, I'm a card carrying member of-”

  I never found out what Bertie was a card carrying member of, because we were interrupted by the sound of a horn behind us. Not just any horn, but one that was playing “Welcome to the Jungle”. I turned to see a golf cart that had been impressively tricked out to resemble a Harley Davidson motorcycle. The driver was dressed in black leather and wore a helmet that looked like a Disco ball. As it approached, a voice that I recognized yelled, “Hey, gals, want a ride?”

  The golf cart stopped beside us and Vera Hayes stepped out. Vera is a 75 year old woman who doesn't appear to have matured past her college sorority days. She's a close friend of Aunt Sam and certifiably crazy, although I seem to be the only person on the island that's noticed the last part.

  “How do you like my new ride?” Vera asked.

  The bike was all black with silver writing on the side that read “I'm Back and I'm Bad!” on one side and “Appetite For Destruction” painted on the other side. Vera was wearing a tee shirt that was covered with skulls and the words “Bad to the Bone”. I hadn't taken Vera for a heavy metal aficionado but somehow I wasn't surprised.

  “I've never seen anything like it before,” I said truthfully.

  “Well, hop in! This old gal is ready for action! I got a few boxes in the back but I can squeeze you in!”

  I had taken a ride with Vera before, and it was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life. Vera takes the rules of the road more as suggestions than actual rules. On the other hand, I'd probably end up carrying Bertie on my back if we were going to make it to town on foot.

  But, before I could make a decision, Bertie decided for me. “Oh, that looks like fun!” she said, jumping into the seat next to Vera. “Come on Teri, let's go!”

  “You must be Dr. Brad's sister, Bertie. Put 'er there partner!” Vera said, shaking Bertie's hand. Turning to me, she pointed to the big cardboard boxes on the back seat of the cart and said, “Just put one of those boxes on your lap and there'll be plenty of room for you, Teri.”

  I picked up a box that must have weighed a ton, and wedged myself into the seat next to another large box. When I put the box on my lap I could hear glass clinking against glass.

  “My, everyone is so friendly around here!” Bertie said.

  “What's in these boxes, Vera? Is it something breakable?” I asked.

  “Possibly! I'm taking some pickled turkey gizzards to my cousin's booth. I got 'em in mason jars. Jody Lee sells all kinds of pickled stuff during Archie Gras; bologna, eggs, blueberries and all that. I help out as much as I can.”

  “I'm sure she will very appreciative,” I said as I tried to shift the box on my lap into some position where it wasn't cutting off all blood flow below my waist.

  A moment later I was glad to be anchored down, because Vera took off like the proverbial bat out of you-know where. She veered from side to side as she pointed out the “sights” along the way, such as the outhouse in front of the Wilson's house which couldn't be removed because the town council had named it an historic site. Regrettably for the Wilson's, passersby who were unaware of it's historic significance continued to use it for less scholarly purposes.

  Next Vera swerved onto the sidewalk in front of another house to show Bertie a stone marker that had been built in 1664 although no one knew why or what it was supposed to mark. The homeowners were using it as a base for their mail box. All very interesting stuff, but every time she turned sharply from side to side I had to struggle to keep the jars of pickled turkey gizzards from destruction.

  The trip culminated in Vera nearly running over some unsuspecting pedestrians before screeching to an abrupt halt in front of a colorful booth with a homemade sign in front that read: “What the Pucker!” A stout woman with gray hair in a bun hurried up to the golf cart and said, “Thank God you're here, Vera! I just sold my last jar of pickled turkey gizzards. I'll take those that you've got on your lap, young lady.” She whisked the box off my lap like it was weightless. This must be the famous Jody Lee.

  Bertie and I got out of the golf cart and I thanked Vera for the ride. “It was my pleasure!” Vera said. “Now have fun, girls, and don't do anything I wouldn't do!”

  “What a sweet woman!” Bertie exclaimed as we watched Vera roar away, scattering frightened shoppers in her wake. “You won't meet people like her back in Minnesota.”

  I didn't doubt that for a minute. “I guess you'd like to start at the drug store first,” I suggested. “Dr. Brad said you needed some personal items.”

  “Yes, he made such a big deal about my using his toothbrush. It was ridiculous. It's not like we aren't family. We have the same DNA , after all.”

  The drug store was the old fashioned type; wood floors, dim lighting and no signs telling what was in each aisle. It took a bit of hunting before we located the toothbrushes, but unfortunately the toothpaste was nowhere to be found. I went up to the front where a teenage girl was lounging behind the cash register and asked her where the toothpaste was. Without looking up from her phone she said, “Aisle nine.”

  “There aren't any signs on the aisles,” I said. “How do I find aisle nine?”

  “You just start at aisle one and count,” the girl said in a well-duh tone of voice.

  “Does aisle one start on the right or the left?”

  “Your choice. You're the customer.”

  With that bit of useless information I got Bertie and we started walking from one end of the store to the other counting aisles. As we passed the feminine hygiene products aisle, I noticed the man with the battered fedora that I had seen looking in the windows of my RV yesterday. He was still wearing his purple sunglasses despite being indoors, and seemed to be studying a large box of maxi pads intently. I gave him a wave. He nodded back at me, smiling nervously and then hurried off.

  “Did you see that strange man?” I asked Bertie.

  “What strange man?”

  “He was here a minute ago. He just left in a hurry.”

  “And what was so strange about him?”

  “I don't know, exactly. But he was browsing the feminine hygiene products aisle, which is a bit odd.”

  “Oh, that's not so unusual,” Bertie said. “Herb always buys tampons to use when he gets a bloody nose from bumping into things when he's drunk. He thinks the little string is handy to pull it out with.”

  I decided to drop the conversation. We finally found the toothpaste next to the laundry detergent and toilet bowl cleaner in what was apparently aisle nine.

  “This is a strange place for toothpaste,” I said.

  “It does make sense though,” Bertie said. “These are cleaning products and that's what toothpaste is for, isn't it? Now all I need is a comb and a brush and some makeup.”

  After marching from one end of the store to the other a few times without locating anything that resembled makeup or even a comb, I surrendered and approached the unhelpful clerk again.

  “We don't sell combs and brushes. You have to get them at Wilkins Feed Store,” she said.

  “Combs and brushes at a feed store?”

  “Yep. Dad says there's no need to sell them here because people can just get them over there when they buy their animal feed.”

  “Okay, but which aisle has the makeup?”

  “We don't sell makeup anymore,” the girl replied with a yawn. “Dad said if my Mom hadn't worn so much makeup all the time the pool guy wouldn't have asked her to run off with him, which he did and she did.”

  “But you wear makeup,” I said.

  “Yeah, but it's okay because that guy was the only pool guy in town and now he's gone.”

  “Okaaay... So where do you get your makeup?”

  “Oh, everyone gets their makeup over at the cell phone store.”

  “They sell make-up at the cell phone store?”

  “Sure, just ask for Angie. She sells Mary Kay. It's good stuff.”

  I had more questions but I didn't want any more answers, so Bertie and I paid for what we did find and then started off for the feed store. When we got there the young man at the counter was quite helpful; he led us straight to an aisle that was marked Hair Care. It had combs and brushes for horses, cats, dogs, raccoons and fortunately, for humans. While Bertie picked out her comb and brush, I said to the clerk, “Do raccoons like to have their fur brushed?”

  “I wouldn't know,” he said. “I'm allergic so I never tried it.”

  “Allergic to raccoons?”

  “No allergic to the rabies shots I'd have to get after the raccoon bites me because it doesn't like to have its fur brushed.”

  It was just then that I noticed a familiar fedora and purple sunglasses peeking over a pile of feed bags that lined the next aisle. “Excuse me a minute,” I said, and made a beeline for the aisle. But as I rounded the corner, it was empty. I stood there a minute, puzzled. Was I imagining things?

  Just then Bertie said, “Oh, dear, we'll have to go back to the drug store. I forgot to get shampoo.”

  “We have shampoo here,” the young man said. “It's Mane 'n Tail and we have all the different varieties.”

  “But isn't that just for horses?”

  “Not just horses; you can use it for cats, dogs, humans, you name it.”

  “It's really great, Bertie,” I said. “I use it all the time.” I didn't, but I was willing to lie to avoid another visit to the drug store. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

  “Maybe we should buy some plant fertilizer while we're here,” Bertie said. “Bradley could probably use some for that tree thingy of his. It looks so unhealthy.”

  “We don't sell fertilizer here,” the young man said, “but you can get it over at the music store. Jared Ames makes some of the best fertilizer around. Everyone buys it from him.”

  “Why is it called a music store if he sells fertilizer?” I asked.

  “Well, he does sell a lot of vinyl.”

  “We can get fertilizer later. Let's see about getting that makeup you wanted.” I said to Bertie, hoping not to go any further down the Admiral Archibald Falls Island shopping rabbit hole than I had to.

  When we got to the cell phone shop, there was no sign of makeup, only cell phones. A pleasant middle aged woman behind the counter asked if she could help us.

  “My friend here would like some makeup?” I said.

  “Oh, sure,” the woman said with a smile. “Let me just take you to the back room and show you what I have. Freddy, get out here and mind the counter. I have a makeup customer.”

  Freddy was a freckled-face teenager who was wearing a short sleeved white shirt and a bow tie with his jeans. “Wanna buy a phone?” he asked me, as the woman disappeared into the back with Bertie.

  “No thanks, I've already got one.”

  “What about minutes? You can buy minutes here. We got lots of them!” Freddy said, pointing to a wall full of colorful phone cards.

  “Yeah, I'm doing okay for minutes right now, so-”

  “You got a mother?”

  “What? I- uh, yeah.”

  “Then you guys want to buy one of our great family plans! We're having a sale and if you buy one today you'll get an extra discount of... of... gimme a sec, where did I put that brochure?” Freddy started rummaging through a drawer under the counter.

  “I appreciate the offer,” I said quickly, “but my mother lives out of state, so I don't think we're in the market for one right now.”

  “Well, if you bought some minutes, you could call her and tell her about our great family plan.”

  “You know, I'm going to sit on that chair over there and think it over,” I said, pointing to a row of chairs on the side of the shop that was farthest from the counter. “If I decide to buy any minutes I'll let you know.”

  I think my brain needed a rest more than my legs did, but maybe sitting would help that, too. However, as I was about to take a seat, I spotted the man with the fedora and purple sunglasses peeking in the window. When he noticed that I had seen him, he walked away quickly. Okay, this wasn't a coincidence anymore. First the RV, now every store in town. I was being followed. I sat down slowly with a cold tingle running down my spine. Was he some kind of crazy stalker? But if he was, why didn't he confront me at the RV instead of making up an excuse and leaving? What other reason could anyone have to follow me? Then another thought occurred to me; was he following Bertie? But that didn't make sense either; Bertie didn't know anyone on the island except Dr. Brad. Did she?

  By the time Bertie came out of the back room with a huge shopping bag full of cosmetics, I felt mentally and physically exhausted. “Let's take a break for lunch,” I said. “There are plenty of good restaurants around town.”

  “Oh, I know just the place,” Bertie said. “I saw a restaurant called Pierre's when we were on our way to the feed store. I'd love to try some French food and it's only a few blocks from here.”

  I'm not a big fan of French cuisine, but the idea of sitting down in any air conditioned room was highly attractive right now, so I gathered the metric ton of packages Bertie had accumulated and we started off. I stole glances over my shoulder to see if the mystery man was still following us, but I didn't see him. Maybe he was gone or he had lost us in the crowds and festival booths. Or maybe he was still there and I had lost him in the crowds and festival booths.

  As we passed through the arcade area, a large square of tents set up at the intersection of the two main streets, I heard a voice calling my name. “Ms. McAfee! Ms. McAfee! Hi there!” I looked around me, but in the throng of tourists and families gathered around the booths playing carnival games, I couldn't spot anyone I recognized. With all the constant noise of pop guns, sirens and children screaming, I thought maybe I imagined it.

  Bertie touched my arm. “I think that lady is calling you,” she said, pointing to a woman waving frantically at us from one of the gaming booths. “Is she a friend of yours?”

  “Um, maybe?” The woman was thin, with curly black hair, and she was standing behind the counter of one of the gaming booths. The booth featured one of those games where you pay $5 to throw three wooden balls at a stack of battered cans in the vain hope you will knock them all down and win a prize worth slightly less than $5. I couldn't remember having ever laid eyes on her before.

  “Oh, Ms. McAfee!” the woman exclaimed as we approached her. “It's such an honor to meet you! I'm Betty Jean Weston, but you can call me Betty. All my friends do. I'm sure you've heard of my son Chuckie. He's a very talented juggler.” Another talent show mom. Terrific. Betty leaned behind the curtain at the back of the booth and called, “Chuckie! Come out here! I want you to meet a nice lady!”

  “That-that's really not necessary-” I said.

  “I don't wanna!” A child's whining voice responded from somewhere in the back.

  “Get out here now!” Betty said, her voice losing all of it's former charm.

  “I gotta pee pee!”

  “Hold it and get out here!” Betty quickly turned and smiled sweetly at us. “Don't mind Chuckie. He's just being a little cranky. You know how they are at that age.”

  A small boy, barely 8 years old, slouched from behind the tent with an expression on his face that you usually only see at funerals.

  “This is Ms. McAfee,” Betty said. “She's going to be judging the talent show this year. Isn't that exciting? Now be a good boy and show nice Ms. McAfee what you can do!”

  Chuckie sullenly picked up three wooden balls and began juggling them while giving me a look that would curdle milk. He was pretty good, but he wasn't going to win any points for charisma.

  “Oh, he's amazing!” Bertie squealed, clapping enthusiastically.

  Bertie wasn't judging anything, but this was apparently good enough for Betty Jean Weston. “Good job, Chuckie!” Betty said, patting him on the head. “Say goodbye to the nice ladies and go pee pee.” Chuckie stalked away without saying anything. “Of course, that was just a sample of his talents,” Betty continued, “he can juggle a lot more than balls.”

  “He's so talented and at such a young age, too!” Bertie said. “I just know he's going to be famous!”

  “Oh, I almost forgot! I have something for you,” Betty said. She grabbed a massive stuffed figure of a bald man in a sea captain costume. It looked like Elmer Fudd auditioning for a role on the HMS Pinafore. “It's Admiral Archibald himself, and our largest size! Normally you would have to trade two mediums for one of these.” She gave me a conspiratorial wink. “Don't forget: Chuckie Weston.”

  So now, not only was I carrying more bags than the Lewis and Clark expedition, I also had a stuffed toy slightly larger than Andre the Giant to add to the load. It was too big to carry under my arm, so I had to balance it on top of the bags and keep it from slipping off by holding Admiral Archibald's huge head down with my chin. I couldn't turn my head to look for the “Pierre's” sign, so I just started waddling in the direction of where I hoped the restaurant was.

  “Well, wasn't she the nicest person!” Bertie said as as we continued our journey through the crowed streets.

  “Yes, she's certainly one of a kind,” I said, hoping that was true.

  “You know, my grandfather on my mother's side looked a lot like Admiral Archibald. Do you suppose they could have been related?”

  “It's possible.”

  “That reminds me, I would love to see the waterfall when we have the chance. Is it far from here?”

  “The waterfall?”

  “Yes, the Admiral Archibald Falls, the one the island is named after.”

  “Actually there isn't any waterfall named after Admiral Archibald,” I explained. “When he was the first governor of the island, it seems that he liked his booze too much and regularly fell off of things and into things. I don't know why that seemed like a good idea for a name for the island, but I guess the residents did.”