The Island Flamingo: Chapter 14
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 1
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 2
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 3
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 4
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 5
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 6
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 7
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 8
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 9
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 10
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 11
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 12
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 13
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 14
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 15
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 16
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 17
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 18
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 19
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 20
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 21
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 22
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 23
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 24
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 25
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 26
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 27
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 28
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 29
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 30
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 31
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 32
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 33
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 34
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 35
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 36
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 37
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 38
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 39
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 40
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 41
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 42
The map’s directions point to the left side of the island, up a hill with a wooden walkway. Beside it stand rectangular rock pillars. My wristwatch says it’s 11:45, so I have over two and a half hours to spend here. With a deep breath, I clutch my tote bag and head toward the pathway. My heart still beats fast, so I combat my nervousness with other thoughts.
My escort’s probably at the shops now; she told me she wants to buy leather sandals for souvenirs. Maybe I can go to the markets tomorrow and purchase some worry beads and authentic olive oil. The olive trees are wonderful for oils; I’ll compliment Miss Jessica on them when we meet; she may have some products to give me.
Miss Jessica, it may be a coincidence they share the same name. Still, it is odd how no one ever hears from Jessica Galton since…
A short honk jolts me back to reality. The flamingo, Fizz, greets me from behind a large bush. She nuzzles my leg with her beak, so I can’t resist stroking her pink feathers. Since the first encounter with her, seeing a flamingo on a Greek island does not surprise me.
What does surprise me is the voice from behind.
“Hello, Tamara; it’s nice to meet you.”
I turn and stare at a large rock pillar on the side of the walking path. Behind it emerges a tall, middle-aged woman with a confident smile.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
My body is rooted to the spot as my eyes look over the woman. She wears faded brown capri shorts, flower thong sandals, and a white sleeveless shirt with the faded image of a single coconut palm tree. An olive-green headband sits atop her long black hair.
The face, the hair, even in casual clothes, I can recognize her. Is it the same Jessica Galton who inspired me to become a journalist?
“Are you okay?” she asks.
I snap out of my daze. “Yes, I am sorry about that; intense focusing is a gift and curse for me. I have already met Fizzy; she’s a sweetheart. Are you Miss Jessica?”
“Yes.” She answers with a chuckle.
My heart goes into my throat when I squeak out the next question.
“Miss Jessica Galton?”
With a carefree sigh, Miss Jessica answers.
“Of course!”