IZABEL
Beth’s Gallery and Café was as eclectic as Beth herself. Nestled in the center of
Eastsound, the exterior boasted a Cape Cod-style porch with oversized floral baskets
hanging year-round. Wicker chairs waited patiently for weary citizens to stop and
sit a spell, and an old pickle barrel, long empty, completed the picture. Faded red
paint and black hardware decorated the saloon-style door that evoked a warm feeling
of welcome.
Izabel and Beth had been friends ever since Izabel had moved to the island. They
were a striking pair, as Izabel measured five-foot-eight, and Beth was no taller
than five feet in heels. Izabel adored her friend, but she’d never been able to figure
out how Beth got away with her no-nonsense, sometimes vulgar talk, and still amassed
a store full of loy
