by Eve Calder
Kate sighed. “All right, then count me in.”
“Corizon, I never counted you out,” her friend said, smiling. “Even if you did.”
Chapter 16
Hiking up the long wide driveway, Kate couldn’t help but admire the house. Say what you will about Harper Duval, he had excellent taste. It looked like an old Florida mansion that had been part of the landscape forever. Yet it was just a decade old—built by Harp and Caroline when they first moved to town.
Kate could see glimpses of Harp’s hometown of New Orleans in the structure, too. Especially the sweeping white-columned porch surrounded by tall pin oaks. Beautiful though the place was, she would have been perfectly happy to let a few days go by before she saw Harp.
As if reading her mind, Maxi looked over at her and smiled. “Just focus on the food and fun,” she said softly. “And I won’t leave you alone with him. Promise.”
“I’m going to hold you to that,” Kate replied, as they climbed the steps, joining a gaggle of fellow book club members.
Magically, the massive oak door opened before anyone had to ring the bell. “Come in, come in and welcome,” their host enthused, stepping back to usher them into the two-story marble foyer.
Today, Harp wore a blue blazer over a powder blue dress shirt with jeans. Casual money. But Kate would have bet a dozen of her best chocolate chip cookies that the tan leather loafers on his sockless feet were hand tooled and handmade.
“The buffet tables are already set up in the cellar, along with a few trays of chilled champagne,” their host said. “Everyone just help yourselves.”
Kate smiled broadly and concentrated on staying within the thick of the crowd as they trooped through the house and into the “cellar.”
Due to the realities of South Florida geology, it wasn’t underground. Instead, it was the best that copious amounts of money could buy: a cavernous room with rough-hewn stucco walls, niches stacked with dusty bottles, polished gleaming hardwood racks, and a stone floor. Windowless and temperature controlled, it was always chilly, too.
Luckily, Kate had remembered to bring a sweater.
“This should be good,” Maxi said, elbowing Kate in the ribs. “The theme this time was ‘brunch.’”
“You know that’s right,” Andy Levy said, off to Kate’s left. “I brought spiked orange mini pancakes. And Bridget made this French toast she does that’s all eggy and really good.”
“Spiked orange?” Kate asked.
“Grand Marnier,” he said with a grin. “The alcohol cooks out, but the cakes taste great. And the batter has fresh orange zest, too. We use what’s left when we make orange juice. Really gives it some zip. So what did you bring?”
“Key lime tarts.”
“Sweet!” Andy said. “Can’t wait to snag one of those. Hey, Bridget, Kate brought key lime tarts.”
“Nice!” said the bubbly twentysomething blond at his elbow. “I could use one of those right now. Maxi, what’d you bring?”
“Tropical fruit salad,” the florist said happily. “This one has lots of mango, ’cause that’s how mi mami and aunties make it, plus lime juice to keep it fresh, and a little shredded coconut for extra sweetness.”
“I’m sold,” Kate said. “And it sounds like it would go really well with those orange pancakes and some nice French toast.”
“Well, you helped with the French toast,” Bridget confessed. “We used some of the challah from the bakery. With a little vanilla and a little cinnamon, of course. And half-and-half instead of milk. That’s the secret.”
“This all smells so good it’s making me hungry,” Maxi said. “Hey, there’s Rosie and Andre.”
“Don’t start the party without us,” Rosie teased. “Besides, my guy here went all out. Dessert crepes with strawberries and melted chocolate.”
Kate’s face lit up. “That sounds wonderful.”
“Eh, we shall see,” Andre said modestly. “The people will like them, I hope.”
“Please, every time he makes them, folks lose their minds,” his wife said proudly. “I couldn’t compete, so I brought a giant bowl of whipped cream for on top.”
“Can’t go wrong with whipped cream,” Maxi chimed in. “That would go with pretty much everything here. Even the coffee.”
“Especially the coffee,” Kate agreed.
“Hey, I see Dr. Patel over there, and Carl and Minette just walked in,” Maxi said. “But where’s Barb? It’s not like La Presidenta to be late.”
“Last I heard, she and Amos were carpooling,” Andy said. “And they’re bringing some sort of surprise guest. I’m guessing they’ll be here anytime.”
“Well, it’s a brunch, so everyone can grab a plate whenever they’re ready,” Harp said, presenting a tray of champagne flutes. “And what’s brunch without a little bubbly, I always say.”
“Ooo, that would be perfect,” Rosie said, lifting two glasses from the tray and handing one off to Andre.
“Mais oui,” Andre agreed.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Maxi said.
“Thanks,” Kate said, quickly taking a glass. As her eyes met Harp’s, he smiled broadly, before disappearing across the room.
“Well, you don’t have to ask me twice,” Rosie said. “I’m going to get a plate and start in.”
“We’re right behind you,” Bridget seconded.
“Uh-oh,” Maxi said under her breath.
“I think you were right,” Kate said softly to Maxi. “Everything’s finally going back to normal.”
“Hold that thought,” Maxi said, eyeing the doorway. “Barb and Amos just walked in. And your ex is with them.”
Chapter 17
Kate’s head whipped around. Sure enough, Evan Thorpe, wearing his most devilish smile, was standing by the cellar door chatting amiably with Barb, Amos, and Dr. Patel.
“What in blazes is he doing here?” Kate stage-whispered.
“He’s like one of those vampire monsters that refuses to die,” Maxi said softly. “You’re gonna have to go after that one with a wooden stake and some garlic.”
“If he’s not careful, I am going to plant him next to Alvin,” Kate admitted under her breath. “I’m going over to tell him to get lost.”
“No, corizon, not smart. He can always say he’s here for some other reason. Then you look like la mujer loca, the crazy woman. Besides, Barb and Amos brought him. He’s their problem, not yours. Ignore him. Like he’s dead to you. And if you want to leave early, we will.”
“What’s up?” Claire St. John asked, as she and Gabe Louden materialized behind Kate, champagne flutes in hand.
“Kate’s ex showed up, and he’s trying to make nice with everyone and win her back.”
“Maxi!”
“Well, she asked,” the florist replied.
“Do you want him back?” Claire asked, concern audible in her voice.
“I want him back in Manhattan where I left him,” Kate quipped.
“I hope the leaving is joyful, and I hope never to return,” Gabe said.
“Amen,” Kate agreed.
“Why does that sound familiar?” Maxi asked.
“Frida Kahlo,” Gabe said.
“No wonder. We Latinas know how to make an exit.”
* * *
“I don’t know which I like better, Bridget’s French toast or Andy’s pancakes,” Maxi said softly, as they tucked into their plates.
“I accidentally got some of Andre’s melted chocolate on Andy’s spiked orange hotcakes,” Gabe confessed. “Best discovery ever.”
“Maxi, this fruit salad is wonderful,” Kate said. “Really juicy.”
“It’s the mangoes,” her friend said. “Mi mami’s got this trick for knowing just when they’re ripe.”
“Hey, Big Guy,” Evan said, appearing suddenly behind them and affably addressing Gabe. “If you slide over, I can actually sit next to my girl.”
Gabe paused mid-sentence, barely turning. “Sorry, no can do. But there’s an empty chair near Amos
and Barb. Since you’re their guest.”
“Evan, I’m not your girl,” Kate protested. “Not any more.”
“You’re right,” Evan said, adopting the expression of a wounded puppy. “Absolutely right. Did you get the roses? I know they’re your favorite.”
“They’re a big hit at Oy and Begorra. Which is where I drop them off every day. Evan, if you want to stay in Coral Cay, I can’t stop you. But please stop lying about me. Our engagement ended months ago. And I’ve moved on with my life.”
“Could we possibly talk? Privately? Just for a minute?”
“No, Evan,” Kate said, feeling like a cornered animal. “Just … no. Please.”
“Look, I’m not afraid to tell the world,” he said, huskily. “I love you, Katie. From the moment we met, I’ve never stopped loving you. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. The very best. And I don’t want to live without you.” With that, he took his plate and strolled across the room toward Amos and Barb.
“He really does seem rather contrite,” Claire said.
Gabe shook his head and smiled, wiping his mouth carefully with a napkin. “No comment.”
Maxi looked at Kate, who appeared to be studying the plate in her lap.
Gabe shook his head and kept eating.
“I’ll say one thing,” Maxi said softly to Kate. “Pirates or not, La Presidenta has a lot to answer for.”
* * *
A half hour later, amidst empty casserole dishes and brunch plates, Harp stepped to the front of the room and held his glass aloft.
“All right, everyone, consider this your two-minute warning. Please feel free to refill your glasses before we begin the meeting. And for those of you driving, we have a fine selection of coffee, iced tea, and lemonade.”
As Barb stepped up to the podium, Kate noticed that the bookstore owner actually looked a little nervous. And that was new. From what Kate had witnessed, people got nervous approaching Barb Showalter—not the other way around.
“OK, folks,” Barb started, halting as she scanned the room. Kate saw her look to the left, where Amos and Evan were seated. Each of them gave her a little nod, and the bookstore owner smiled.
“I know we’re here to discuss Josephine Tey’s The Daughter of Time, which delves into a real historic mystery. But before we start, I’d like to float a proposal.”
“So how many of these folks do you think Barb has deputized?” Maxi whispered to Kate.
“Less than half,” Kate said softly. “She’s actually worried. But something’s up.”
“What do you mean?” her friend asked.
“Evan. He’s involved in this somehow.”
“A few days ago, we were all very disappointed that a local find turned out not to be Sir George Bly,” Barb reported.
“A local find?” Maxi whispered, incredulous.
“Give her points for tact,” Kate said, watching late arrival Annie Kim nibble on one of the key lime tarts. “Some folks are still eating.”
“As you all know, Bly, his rumored treasure, and the legend of our pirate founders bring a lot of people to our island. And it finally looked like we were going to be able to substantiate the claim that we’re actually an older settlement than Jamestown. Nearly as old as St. Augustine. Which wouldn’t be bad for business, either.”
Several of the business owners laughed, and Barb visibly relaxed.
“Which got me thinking. Why wait for someone to accidentally stumble over Gentleman George? This is our town, and he’s our founder. Our history. Who better to launch an expedition to find evidence of his presence on this island, and perhaps even his last resting place, than us?”
A murmur started among the crowd, as everyone started talking at once.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Kate said quietly to Maxi.
“Yeah, your former boyfriend is grinning like that Alice in Wonderland cartoon cat.”
Barb put her palms up. “Hang on just a sec, people. Let me get this out, and we can put it to a vote. Now, we recently proved that the folks in this club are pretty good at taking a little information and piecing together the bigger picture. You’ll recall the little matter of Mr. Stewart Lord.”
The developer’s name touched off another spate of uncontrolled chatter.
“I think Detective Ben and mi amor had a little something to do with that one,” Maxi whispered. “And I didn’t see La Presidenta breaking into Lord’s office with us, either.”
The book club leader again raised her palms, attempting to quiet the crowd. “I say we put those same skills—and our knowledge of our own island—to work on the historical mystery of Sir George Bly. Now, I’ve talked with a good number of the people in this room, and I know many of you feel the same way. And, with that in mind, I’ve spoken with Mr. Evan Thorpe of the Thorpe Family Foundation.”
At the mention of Evan, Kate felt Maxi’s elbow lightly in her side. And a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.
“And,” Barb continued, her voice resuming its usual stentorian timbre, “he has very generously agreed to sponsor our project.”
Amid a sprinkling of light applause, Kate and Maxi exchanged a look. Instinctively, Kate knew Evan had to be beaming—he lived for the limelight. But she wouldn’t let herself meet his eyes.
“So now I’d like to put this to a formal vote of this club. How many of you would like us to launch an expedition to search out and document the story of Sir George Bly and his men on Coral Cay?”
Rosie Armand stood.
“Rosie,” Barb acknowledged. “You have the floor.”
“I think we need to ask a few questions before we put it to a vote,” she said. “For one thing, this sponsorship. If we find remains or historical artifacts, who would they belong to? And where would they go for study or display? Because it doesn’t do us any good to uncover and document our local history if the evidence supporting that discovery just disappears to a museum in New York.”
“Who gets George’s gold?” a woman called from the back. Kate recognized the clarion voice. Stylish, eighty-plus Sunny Eisenberg, who ran the local yoga studio.
Evan stood, a broad smile on his face. Even Kate had to admit he looked good. The tan accentuated his blue eyes. Afternoons on the yacht, Kate surmised. And the South Florida humidity had added extra curl to his dark hair.
Sporting a faded indigo golf shirt, khaki Bermuda shorts, and a casual, off-handed manner, he could have been just another one of the locals. If not for the movie-star looks and piles of family money.
“You’re going to need another sweater,” Kate whispered to Maxi. “Because in the next few minutes, the snow in here is going to get pretty thick.”
“Hi, everybody. For those of you I haven’t met yet, I’m Evan Thorpe. I work with the Thorpe Family Foundation. I’ve been down here on vacation. And to see my, well”—he cocked his head and gestured toward Kate with his right hand—“the one that got away.”
She felt her face go hot. Across the cellar, she saw Harp wince.
“Anyway,” he continued, “when Barb told me Gentleman George’s story, I was riveted. It’s like something out of a Hollywood movie. Except it’s real. It’s real, and it happened right here. I mean, in school we learn that this country was founded by puritans and farmers and famous statesmen. But an outlaw pirate hero? That’s cool. And the idea that the foundation could help bring that story to light? Man, that’s the whole reason we exist.”
“That and the massive tax write-off,” Maxi hissed in Kate’s ear.
“And to answer your question,” Evan said, looking directly at Rosie. “Our funding this project won’t change the ownership of what’s found or where it would be housed. That will be your decision. It’s your history.” He looked to the back of the room, where Sunny was sitting. “And your gold.”
Evan paused expertly, allowing half a beat for the members of the crowd to giggle. Which they did.
When he continued, his smile was electric. “We make resources av
ailable, yes. But if and how you use them? That’s up to you. And we have a very similar arrangement with an archaeological dig in Montana.”
“He’s right about that,” Kate admitted quietly to Maxi. “And they’ve made some amazing discoveries.”
“Please, the only piece of history that boy’s interested in unearthing is his past love life,” Maxi whispered directly into Kate’s ear. “Do you trust him?”
“No.”
“You wanna vote against this craziness?”
“If we vote in favor, it might help Alvin,” Kate said.
Maxi went silent. Kate could tell her friend was torn.
As Evan sat, Barb stood up. Like some kind of synchronized tag-team dance routine, Kate thought ruefully.
“Any other questions?” Barb asked.
Hardware store owner Carl Ivers stood. “Carl?” Barb said, acknowledging the former cop.
“When you say ‘project,’ what exactly would we be doing? ’Cause on some parts of this island, it’s mighty dangerous to dig. And no matter who we’re after, there’s such a thing as private property rights. And you can’t just wave a magic wand and make those go away.”
A couple of people around him nodded, including his wife, Minette.
“Initially, we’re looking at a research project,” Barb said. “The only digging we’ll be doing will be through stacks at the library. We’ll be tracking documents, sending emails to historians and academics, and combing through private papers for clues. We’ll construct a timeline for the life of Sir George Bly, along with the source material. We’ll be looking to verify and cross-check the facts we do have and add more points to that timeline. At the same time, we’ll be keeping an eye out for indications of what may have happened to him. Mentions of local homesteads or landmarks. Family. Funeral practices. Local burial grounds. That kind of thing. If and when we get enough evidence, then we’d look at making some kind of physical expedition. And we’d have the Thorpe Foundation to help us secure the proper experts and equipment and permissions.”
Carl looked down at Minette, who smiled as he took his seat.
