“Do you know Goddess19?”
“Of course. She starts most of the topics.”
“She’s sitting right beside you.” I nodded at Dee, who was now blushing furiously.
“You’re kidding.” Martín looked at her, mouth agape. “Dude!”
“Oh my God, Penny.” Dee was still blushing and still trying to hide behind her drink. “It’s like your own little fan club meetup right here on Pan Island.”
I laughed loudly. Martín was still shell-shocked, apparently, because he was looking between Dee and me and not saying much, which was odd for him as far as I knew.
“Are you going to the party at Caliban Manor?” he asked Dee finally.
“Are you asking me to accompany you? Because I wouldn’t be opposed.”
“Sure, why not?” Martín smiled, then looked over at me. “Do you have any jobs while you’re here?”
“Actually, I do.” I smiled. “They sent me an address.” I pulled out my phone and looked at the email from Exclusive Real Estate again. “Actually, they sent me a pin location.”
“What would you need a pin for if you have an address?” Martín frowned.
“Sometimes the GPS doesn’t have the location of these old houses since they’re so far off the road. Pin drops work best.”
“Especially here. I pin drop and I’m from here.” Dee laughed. “I mean, really. I only pin drop with Ubers.”
“When are you going to take the pictures?” Martín asked. “Can we come with?”
“Sure. If you don’t mind leaving now.” I finished off my martini and looked outside at the gloomy skies. “This is as light as it’s going to get today.”
Martín and Dee both finished off their drinks. We set money on the table for Dolly and walked out of the bar.
“Should we walk?” Martín asked. “I don’t have a ride.”
“You can ride with me,” Dee said, then shook her head. “You know what? It’s better we walk. I only had one drink, but last time I drove here after one drink I spent the night in jail.”
“And on the paper the following morning.” I raised an eyebrow at her. “My grandmother sent me a picture of the front page.”
“With a warning about how your friends suck, I’m sure.” Dee scoffed.
“You know it.” I winked.
“I find it fascinating that Pan Island is so conservative, yet hosts the most liberal carnival every year.” Martín shook his head. “I mean, last year there were people walking around naked.”
“That’s Pan for you.” I shrugged a shoulder and looked at the red dot on my phone. “It’s this way.”
We started our trek uphill and I was definitely glad we’d agreed to walk instead of drive. The island was a series of hills and curves, and even though I’d only had one drink, my head was already spinning.
“What does the description say?” Martín asked. “Of the house, I mean.”
“Just that it’s been handed down from generation to generation, and the new owner wants to break tradition and sell.” I looked up at him. “Basically, the classic Pan Island story.”
“I’ve heard that.” He stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “I think that’s why I was so surprised when you told me you were from here and had left.”
I nodded. The typical Pan Island tale consisted of people getting married, living either with their parents or within walking distance of them, and inheriting their houses when they passed. It was the reason I was shocked to see an email from the real estate company here at all. The market was usually stagnant. The only house I’d known of to sell to an outsider was Doña Erica, and that was only because she lived alone her entire life and had no children. There was no one to inherit the property.
As we walked, we talked about the market and the craze around all things old and haunted. Martín filled Dee in on his life, since he’d already told me about it on the bus. He was a banker in the city who worked with top bank clients. He wouldn’t name names, but told us they were the who’s who of the city. Dee and I weren’t impressed. It wasn’t that gossip was beneath us, but we had enough of that on the island already and I was definitely planning to lay low this weekend. I was so busy listening to them discuss The Haunt that I nearly didn’t realize the red dot stopped moving.
“It says we’re here.” I stopped walking. The three of us looked around. I could smell the ocean, though I couldn’t see it with the fog. I couldn’t see much at all, but I knew we were definitely nowhere near Dolly’s Bar anymore.
“How far did we walk?” Martín asked.
“Two miles,” Dee said, eyeing her exercise watch.
“This is so weird.” I walked over to the street sign. “It says we’re on Dreary Lane.”
Dee froze. “We cannot be on Dreary Lane.”
“Why?” Martín asked with a chuckle. “Because the Devil’s Chair is here?”