Unforgettable Heroes II Boxed Set

by Elizabeth Bevarly

  I forced my head back in the game. “It’s Barefoot Key.” I spread my arms, palms up, suggesting the answer was obvious.

  “What about Barefoot?” Skip hooked an elbow on a ladder rung and stared down at us like we were toddlers messing up his clean house.

  “Come see for yourself,” I said.

  I heard his complaint roll out on a sigh as he backed down the ladder.

  Rita lightened the fresh pitcher by a glassful while we waited for Skip.

  “See?” I asked.

  Skip spread his hands across and leaned over the poster like a construction guy leans over a blueprint.

  “So it’s Barefoot,” he said.

  “And all the businesses have a red box around them,” I said. Even to myself, I sounded like a kid explaining that there really was a big scary monster in her closet.

  “Red boxes,” I repeated, my righteous indignation fading at the dearth of enthusiasm from my supposed army.

  “Not all of them,” Rita said.

  Everyone looked at the map. LeeAnn sloshed a drop of beer on it and used her elbow to swipe off the laminated surface.

  “I see that now,” Skip said, his tone implying interest for the first time.

  “The Gull has a box,” Maria said. “This bar does, too.”

  I considered asking Maria if she’d had any visions involving red boxes dooming Barefoot Key to the dumpster, but I didn’t know what the effect of booze on visions was.

  “Parts of downtown are boxed,” LeeAnn said.

  My business matrix brain hit overdrive as I looked for an answer, a logical pattern.

  “All in groups,” Maria said.

  We leaned in like pirates elbowing each other to get at a treasure map. The red squares were all next to another one, none of them standing alone.

  “What do all the groups have in common?” I said aloud.

  Everyone looked perplexed. Silence. A faucet dripped behind the bar. Rita poured a glass of beer and handed it to me. We all took a swig.

  Except Skip.

  He shoved a hand through his hair and gazed around his not-ready-to-open bar with the crazed look wives get when their mother-in-law threatens to pop in.

  “Maybe they’re all in the toilet,” he said. “Like me.”

  “Gull’s not in the shitter,” Rita said. She sat next to Maria, hip shoving her over. Centered over the poster, Rita put her elbows on both sides, owning it. “Know what I think?” she asked.

  For the record, despite daily immersion and my generally savvy reputation, I was no good at reading Rita’s thoughts. Probably safer that way, but sure as hell not as much fun.

  “This came from the real estate company that’s nosing around, right?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “Not the same one that got their asses in a sling a few years back and lost money on this town. Is it?”

  That question nagged me, too. Did the two companies have any connection? I’d think Sunny Dreams Real Estate would warn off Sandshore Realty, would tell tales of write-offs and losses. Maybe Sunny Dreams was hoping to thin the herd of real estate companies by watching a competitor fail.

  “Not that I know of. Not officially anyway. But they seem to have offices in the same building.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” LeeAnn said.

  We all looked at her. Her glass was empty again.

  “What?” she asked. “It’s a pretty poster. And we got a box. I feel sorry for all those places that didn’t even get a mention.”

  “I’m driving you home,” I said. My dramatic announcement and revelation was a rock at the bottom of a pond. My employees were drunk. And my pseudo-boyfriend looked like he wanted to make us all walk the plank.

  Rita rolled up the map and handed it to me. “I’ll call her a cab,” she said. She glanced at Maria. “I’ll call one for both of them.”

  She ushered them out the door with the most direct access to The Gull and closed it behind her. The click was loud in the empty bar. Skip and I faced off over the empty table.

  “Why did you go to that stupid interview?” he asked.

  I tightened the roll in my hand. “Curiosity,” I said. Honestly, that was the reason I did most things. It took a lot of self-control not to knock on all the motel doors and ask people what they were doing in there.

  “Satisfied?”

  “Worse,” I said. “There’s something going on around here and I’m going to figure it out.”

  “Better figure out a way to keep that access road open or we’re two islands in the stream.”

  “I know.”

  “Have you mentioned any of this to your aunt and uncle?” Skip asked.

  I shook my head.

  He gave me the look cops give shoplifting teenagers.

  “I know,” I said again. “But they’re busy. Dealing with my headstrong and possibly crazy great-aunt has kept them busy almost two months.”

  “They’re not in much hurry to get back,” he observed.

  “Busy,” I reiterated, waving my poster like a wand. “It’s not easy to settle up someone’s property and court dates before you park her in a rest home.”

  “I guess.”

  Skip dropped into a chair and pulled me into his lap. He kissed my neck right behind my ear and I forgot why I was here. I dropped the poster and let it roll under the table.

  “Coming to my party?” he asked.

  “I didn’t get a formal invitation.”

  He used two fingers to turn my face and kissed me on the lips until I was a puddle of need, desire, and questions that could all be answered yes.

  “You’re invited,” he murmured as he moved on to kissing my neck.

  I wanted to go to the party. Desperately. In addition to having friends all over Barefoot and feeling like I belonged in this sleepy Gulf Coast town, I would take any opportunity to be within arm’s length of Skip. Especially when thinking about my aunt and uncle told me my days here were probably numbered. As the days got shorter and the end of year started to get closer, I felt the pull of the job I thought I’d always wanted. A thousand miles away. These days, the pull was losing some of its grip.

  “I have nothing to wear,” I said.

  “Come naked.”

  “To a costume party?”

  “You’d win the contest,” he said.

  “There’s a contest?”

  “Always is. That’s the fun of a costume party. Competition, fueled by alcohol, is the American Way. If you don’t believe me, watch cable TV.”

  I faced Skip, our noses just touching. His eyes were warm caramels. Soft. Sweet. Irresistible.

  “I’ve never been to an official costume party,” I confessed.

  Now the eyes were caramel surprise.

  “We’ll fix that. I’ve already planned our costumes.”

  “Our?”

  “We’re a pair. A matched set.”

  “Of what?” I blurted. Sure I wanted to know what our costumes were, but I also wondered how deep I should go diving for the meaning of pair and set. A more foolish romantic might consider that an offer or proclamation of some kind. When it came to Skip, I’d proven myself capable in the foolish department and hung my savvy reputation out to dry. Maybe it was his abs, his eyes, his impressive ability with his hands. Could be the tool belt. Hell, I wasn’t fooling even myself. It was everything about him.

  “I think I’ll surprise you,” he said. “I’ve never seen this look on your face in the six years I’ve known you. I think I’ve got you intrigued and I want to make it last. At least another day.”

  I wanted to protest, but my hormones were still fighting each other for supremacy in staged battles all over my body. And Skip knew it.

  “I’ll send over your costume tomorrow, just in time for the party.”

  “What if I don’t like it? Or it doesn’t fit?”

  “Trust me,” he said.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Although my brain was used to handling complex thought processes, I was
n’t sure being savvy would help me figure out a poster with mysterious red boxes and how to handle a man like Skip McComber. Especially when that man seemed pretty confident about being able to handle me.

  “Skip brought over a box about an hour ago,” Rita told me when I got back from a Costco run. I carried bags of Halloween candy I’d bought in ridiculous quantities, but hey, it was bulk pricing. It had to be good, right? The Gull, like other businesses in Barefoot Key, would participate in the annual Halloween Walk. Kids in costumes paraded down the strip and harvested treats from every gift shop, restaurant, tourist trap, and motel. It was quite a haul for kids, good public relations for local commerce.

  I dumped my bags on the check-in counter. “Almost afraid to ask,” I said. Letting Skip pick out my costume for the party was one of the most personal things I’d let him do. Aside from sex. That was personal, but there were hormones involved so it shaved off the responsibility of rational thought. Costumes are premeditated. They say a lot about a person.

  “He looked happy,” Rita said. “Like a kid getting away with something.”

  “Getting away with stealing cookies from the kitchen jar or getting away with stealing Grandma’s prescription drugs and fencing them on the street?”

  Rita looked thoughtful for five seconds. “Somewhere in between.”

  “Great.”

  “It’s on your desk. I would’ve peeked, but the box is taped shut.”

  “And that stopped you?”

  Rita shrugged. “This time.”

  I tore open a bag of Butterfingers and ate one, hoping the buttery sugary sweetness would get me in the Halloween spirit. “I’m going to do some paperwork and then I’ll try it on. Whatever it is.”

  I retreated to Uncle Mike’s office—mine until they came back, whenever that was going to be—and shoved things around his big desk for a few minutes. Fact is, there was no paperwork I had to do right then. Rita had the reservation system under control. I had paid all the monthly bills. Payroll, small though it was, was complete. I’d even reorganized Uncle Mike’s filing system, and he’d be birthday-boy happy when tax season rolled around and he was already prepared for a sit-down with the tax preparer.

  The expandable cardboard folder with the real estate papers I’d swiped from the Tampa office took up space on the edge of my desk mat. A quick glance in the backseat of my SUV yesterday told me there was nothing overtly incriminating in it. It was the poster with the red boxes around the livelihoods of people I knew and liked that grabbed my attention.

  I looked at the big cardboard box that said “Savvy” on top in red magic marker. I had to face it. I slid open a drawer and grabbed a pair of scissors. I heard Rita on the phone in the outer lobby helping someone make a reservation. It was just me and the box. Palms sweaty, I clutched the scissors and cut the tape. The first thing I saw was sequins. Sparkles. Colorful, ethereal fabric. Was I a princess? A ballerina? I’ll admit, I got my hopes up. I pulled the costume from the box and held it up.

  Mermaid.

  Holy shit.

  Strapless, shaped boob cups, form-fitting. It was a mix of turquoise blue and sea green and glittered even in the afternoon light of the dingy office. A closet door in the office had a full-length mirror tacked to the inside of it. I swung the door open and held the costume in front of me. Maybe I hoped for magic.

  The length was right, just above my feet in front. Although it was hard to tell because this costume had a long tail that would drag behind me far enough to qualify as an occupational hazard. It looked like it was made for someone skinnier than I am, but that was also hard to tell considering the fabric appeared to be some shimmery-stretchy concoction.

  There was only one way to know how bad this was going to look. I had to try it on. Perhaps I would discover that I was a drop-dead sexy mermaid, and I’d never want to take it off. There was also the possibility that I’d be running to the drugstore for a Nixon mask and stealing Uncle Mike’s funeral suit from his closet.

  I closed the office door, getting a quizzical glance from Rita. She’d probably give me five minutes before she breached the door to see me in my costume. I adjusted the ancient window blinds so no one could see in. And then I took off my clothes and shimmied into the mermaid costume.

  Somewhere between adjusting the boob cups and tucking my ass into the costume, I realized I was going to need help. A zipper ran from my shoulder blades to my booty and the material wouldn’t allow for error—one fatal catch of shimmery silk in the zipper and it would be belly up for the mermaid.

  “Rita?” I called, opening the office door a sliver of an inch. Thank goodness the lobby was empty. I was more exposed than a lighthouse on a rocky island. “A little help?”

  Rita shoved the door open and looked at me, half squeezed into a glittery mermaid mess of a costume. She laughed. “I love Skip.”

  The thought of Skip choosing this costume for me and bothering to order and deliver it gave my stomach a lurch, like how a fish feels when it was being reeled in beyond its control.

  “I wonder what he’s wearing?” Rita asked.

  “He said our costumes matched.”

  She choked on a laugh. “He sure as hell isn’t a manmaid, so I’m guessing maybe a sailor. Fisherman. Pirate. Something like that.”

  “Can you just come in here and zip this damn thing up?”

  “Hell yes. I’d pay money to see you in it. But we may have to stuff those cups.”

  Rita locked the office door and squeezed and arranged me in the costume, flouncing my glittering tail out behind me like I was a bride and she was my maid of honor. She clucked her tongue, her face pure amusement.

  “How’s a savvy girl like you end up in a costume like this?”

  “I think this is what my mother was talking about when she warned me about boys.”

  “I doubt it,” Rita said. “She probably never saw this coming.” She fished her cell phone out of her bra and snapped a picture. “I’ll send this to your aunt and uncle. Might make the family Christmas card.”

  I grabbed for her phone, my scales and train knocking me off-balance so I swished over the corner of the desk. The file folder from the real estate company flopped onto the floor, spilling its contents like an ocean wave over the old tile.

  “Geez,” Rita said. “Don’t get your tail in a twist. I was just kidding about the Christmas card.”

  I tried to bend over and pick up the papers, but Rita had the wardrobe advantage. Shorts and flip-flops never looked so good. How was I supposed to party in a costume like this? Maybe Skip didn’t intend to dance with me and this was his way of gracefully getting out of it. I hoped he didn’t plan to put me on display like a hooked fish. That would take a sizable amount of alcohol.

  Rita scooped and shuffled the papers into a pile. There had to be dozens of real estate listings in the landslide on the floor. She straightened and looked at the stack in her hand.

  “Nice houses for sale. Million-dollar stuff.” She pulled out another paper from the stack. “This one’s got a pool and a guest house. And I think the guest house has its own pool. Who the hell lives like that?”

  “Nobody I know,” I grumbled. My sequins itched my underarms and I was considering feigning illness to escape the party. If Rita thought I looked ridiculous, I didn’t stand a chance.

  She handed me another paper from the pile. This multi-million dollar estate had six fireplaces, a home theater, and a giant fence all around the property. My eyes dipped to the small picture of the realtor at the bottom with his contact information. Like I’d be calling to set up a tour.

  The picture stopped me in my mermaid tracks. I maneuvered one butt cheek onto the desk corner, fighting for understanding.

  “What?” Rita asked.

  I held out the listing, my finger pointing to the small picture. “Does he look familiar?”

  Rita took the paper over to the window and flipped the blinds open. “Shit,” she said. “Looks a lot like that dumbass Dalton Longfellow.”


  “But that’s not the name on there,” I said.

  “Dale Long,” Rita read from the paper. “Close. Maybe they’re cousins or something.”

  Maybe it was the blinds opening or good juices flowing from the tight squeeze in my costume, but ideas starting hitting me like a swarm of moths fighting over a street light.

  “Wait a minute.” I stood, swishing my tail behind me, righteous in my shimmering costume. “I think Dale Long and Dalton Longfellow might be the same person.”

  “That costume is messing with your head. I don’t think a college nerd like you can handle all that cleavage and sparkle.”

  “I’m serious. Look at the picture. And those names? Come on. They’re practically the same.”

  Rita considered my idea, looking alternately at me and the paper. “So what if they are? How come dorky Dalton is a slick real estate agent on the side? Hell, I figured he lived with his mother and bagged groceries on the weekends.”

  “What if his supposed articles—which we haven’t seen—are just a front, a way for him to nose around Barefoot?”

  “Did you sleep last night? Or did you stay up all night thinking of conspiracy theories? I better take that poster with the red boxes away or you’re going to drift out to sea.”

  “It’s not a conspiracy theory. Don’t you see? There’s something going on around here. And it’s not good.”

  Rita’s brow wrinkled. I think I was getting through to her.

  “Want me to call another meeting of the drunks and pirates?” she asked.

  “It’s our only choice.”

  Rita went out to the lobby, shouted down the open corridor for LeeAnn and Maria, and used the landline to call Skip. I paced back and forth in the office, my tail swishing behind me like it was trying to clean up a big mess.

  “What the hell happened to you?” LeeAnn asked. She was the first one through the door. I’d almost forgotten the multiple layers of stretchy shimmery fabric encasing my body as I wore a path around my uncle’s office. At least I wasn’t the only one in costume. Clearly, LeeAnn and Maria had been using an empty room to get dressed for tonight’s party. I had already suggested they plan to stay over in an empty room so they could drink as recklessly as they wanted. Drinking recklessly was the only way I’d survive as a mermaid.