Page 9 of Dead Men Tell No Shells

Families had begun arriving early, too, because apparently the concept of waiting until the actual festival started was something visitors found personally offensive. Kids ran along the sidewalks with sticky fingers and far too much energy. Parents followed behind them carrying handled burlap bags from previous years of the festival, coolers, folding chairs, and the occasional exhausted-looking toddler. Retirees had claimed their usual spots near the harbor before anyone else could get them, and the local businesses had all put out signs welcoming visitors while quietly hoping they'd spend money inside. The whole town seemed to be moving toward the water, eager to get a start on enjoying the festival before the tourists arrived in droves tomorrow at its official opening.

I was moving toward Harbor Lights. Not because I needed anything from Ricky, although I could always find an excuse to stop in there. Today I had actually promised to bring him lunch because he'd told me that if he had to survive another twelve-hour festival week without a proper meal, he was going to start eating hair products, moaning about how he couldn't get away to Dixies and heaven forbid he think to pack his own lunch and bring it.

Ricky was dramatic, but not always in ways that were entirely theoretical, so I believed he'd not get to eat otherwise, as this was a regular occurrence during the town's festivals if one of his friends didn't bring him sustenance. And by that, I meant me. His best friend since he moved here in third grade, the rest of our friends having appointed me his keeper. The bell over the salon door jingled when I walked in, and I immediately found myself surrounded by the smell of hairspray, shampoo, and whatever floral-scented candle Ricky had decided was necessary to make the place feel festive. From its red colour with brown speckles, I was going to assume it was supposed to smell like spiced apples.

“Don't say it,” he called from behind one of the styling stations.

“I haven't said anything.”

“You were thinking it.”

“I was thinking that this place smells like somebody spilled something fruity and sweet, and vaguely apple-y."

“That is festive. It's harvest time, and while we have Waterman's first, no one wants to come in and smell fishy type stuff or tomatoes.

“It smells like a hostage situation.”

Ricky looked at me in the mirror and grinned. “You're just jealous because my business is thriving.”

“Your business is thriving because half the women in town decided they needed their hair done before the festival.”

“And half the men.”

I glanced around. There were, indeed, two men sitting beneath dryers.

“Fine. A surprisingly large number of men.”

“Everybody wants to look good for the festival. Old Joe Scoggs even asked me to perm his beard."

“Why?”

He gave me a look.

“You're thirty-six years old, Max. Surely you understand that people like to look good when they go out.”

“I write about witches who run coffee shops and occasionally turn people into frogs. I don't understand anything about normal people. And I'm not sure getting a beard perm counts as that anyway."

“You're the most normal person I know, and you shouldn't be so judgemental. He's trying to get in touch with his softer side. A lady he's been chatting to from Delaware is coming down tomorrow so he, as he put it, can squire her around."

“That is deeply insulting to me, and as for Joe, good for him! He deserves a bit of happiness."

He laughed, "Yes he does!" before reaching for the bag I was carrying.

“Lunch?”

“Unless you want me to start eating your decorative towels.”

“Dixie's?”

“Of course.”

"Gimme!" he demanded, as he took the bag from me and peeked inside. “You brought crab cakes and sweet potato biscuits and butter.”

“June said you were too busy to leave and made me promise to come down and save you from yourself."

“She knows me well.”

“Hmm. Apparently you told a customer you were starving to death slowly, and she told June. June also said to tell you that if you don't bring the containers back, she'll come over here and collect them herself, as those are used to keep batter and stuff when they have to whip up a special batch for vegans and gluten intolerant people and stuff."