Page 19 of Island Girl

“Surprise me.”

“Dangerous words.” He disappeared into the kitchen and came back a minute later with a glass of white wine. “On the house. You survived your first week.”

“Has it been a week?”

“Close enough.” He leaned against the bar. “So how was your day off? Did you actually explore, or did you just sit in your apartment and stare at the ceiling?”

“I explored.” She took a sip of wine. “I went to Ding Darling.”

“And?”

“It was incredible. I saw a roseate spoonbill.”

“No kidding. Those are special. You don't always see them.”

“I know. I texted my dad a picture. He's been talking about them for years.”

Crocker appeared from the back, wiping his hands on a rag. He'd been in the kitchen, she guessed, or maybe out back with his pottery. He nodded at her as he passed.

“Evening, Merritt.”

“Hi, Crocker.”

He stopped and looked at her more closely. “You've got color in your cheeks. You were outside today.”

“I went to Ding Darling. Saw a spoonbill.”

Something shifted in his face. Not quite a smile, but close. “Good place. Good birds.” He folded the rag and set it on the counter. “Have you been to the shell museum yet?”

“The shell museum?”

“Bailey-Matthews National Shell Museum. Over on Sanibel-Captiva Road.” He leaned against the bar, settling in. “You should go. Best shell collection in the country, maybe the world. And there's a story behind it.”

Justin caught her eye from across the bar and mouthed something that looked like “here we go.”

Merritt bit back a smile. “What kind of story?”

“You ever heard of Raymond Burr?”

She searched her memory and came up empty. “No. Should I have?”

Crocker stared at her like she'd just said she'd never heard of the ocean.

“Raymond Burr. Perry Mason. Ironside. One of the biggest television stars of the twentieth century.”

“I don't think I've seen those.”

“Of course you haven't. You're a baby.” He shook his head, but there was no real irritation in it. “Raymond Burr was an actor. A big one. But he was also a collector. Shells. Had a whole island in Fiji where he gathered them. Cowries, cones, all kinds.”

Justin walked by with a plate of food and set it in front of Merritt. Fish tacos. They smelled incredible.

“He's going to tell you the whole thing,” Justin said. “Might as well eat while you listen.”

“I'm listening,” Merritt said, picking up a taco. “Go on.”

Crocker shot his grandson a look, then turned back to her. “Burr was one of the early supporters of the shell museum. Raised funds, chaired the first capital campaign. When he died, he donated his whole collection to the museum. Fijian cowries and cones. Thousands of them.”

“That's amazing.”