LeeAnn wore a cowgirl ensemble complete with killer boots and a rope. Maria was a gypsy fortune-teller, her dark wig spilling over her shoulders, a long swirly skirt nearly touching her toes. They looked almost as silly as I did, but I gave myself bonus points for showing more skin. And having a train.
Maria giggled. “I had a dream about you, but you were a fish, not a mermaid,” she said.
Great. According to the psychic, I was meant to be a fish. I guess a mermaid is half-fish, so maybe Maria’s dreams aren’t so crazy. With my luck, Skip’s costume would be a fisherman. Not a big stretch for a man whose family owned a fishing charter service.
“Skip’s on his way. Didn’t sound too happy about it, but he’s coming,” Rita said. “Think it’s bad luck for him to see you in your costume before the party?”
“We’re not getting married,” I said. “It’s a Halloween party in a bar.”
“Too bad that’s not white,” LeeAnn said, “it would make a hell of a wedding gown with all that sparkly shit.” She grinned. “Assuming you’d wear white.”
Maria giggled again, and I was afraid to ask what kind of dream she might have had about that.
We froze when we heard the sliding patio door open and snap shut. It had to be Skip, but we—at least I—felt weird even talking about Skip and marriage in the same sentence. Two seconds later, he stood in the office door, filling it with his height, shoulders, and frustration. We all stared. Skip was the sexiest pirate—outside of movies—I’d ever seen. Bare-chested, low-slung knee-length breeches, boots. The most outrageously sexy part of his costume was the sword dangling from a red sash around his waist. Maybe it was Freudian, but somehow a sword looked just right on Skip. He had a red bandana tied over his head and an eye patch on a string dangling around his neck. I figured it was probably hard walking around with one eye and getting the bar ready. He could put the patch in place when the party got swinging. I knew he was in party-planning mode, and his scowl suggested he didn’t have time for my conspiracy theories.
The scowl, however, evaporated in an instant when he laid eyes on me. How could you see me in this ridiculous costume and not laugh? I could keep my mouth shut all night and still be the life of the party. A smile spread across his face and his eyes took three long passes of my mermaid self.
“Can you spin around?” he asked. He leaned one shoulder against the door frame. “I’d sure like to see the back view.”
“Look at these,” I said, ignoring Skip’s question. I handed copies of the real estate flyers around and waited for a big reaction.
Maria whistled. “I like this house. It has a whole separate wing for the children. Maybe I could sleep at night. I wonder if it comes with a room over the garage for my husband?”
“See this one?” LeeAnn said. “Gourmet kitchen takes up half the main floor. I could make fish tacos that would make Charlie Tuna weep if I had a kitchen like that.”
“I think you’re missing the point,” I said.
Skip stared at his flyer. “Mine’s for a gas station and convenience store. Not as fancy as all yours, but it’s on a corner. Can’t beat the location.”
Rita huffed out a breath. “Look at the picture at the bottom. The realtor.”
There was a beat of silence while they all looked.
“Never heard of Dale Long, but this guy sure looks like that stupid reporter from the old farts magazine who’s been hanging around,” Skip said.
“He is that guy,” I insisted.
Maria and LeeAnn took a closer look. LeeAnn got her reading glasses out of the front pocket of her checkered cowgirl shirt.
“Just as ugly,” she said.
“I had a bad feeling about that guy,” Maria said, shaking her head and looking sinister. With her dark looks and costume, she could scare people—at least children—with her gypsy gig. “He’s leading a double life. Probably cheating on his wife, too.”
I tried to picture Dalton or Dale or whatever his name was with a wife. I shrugged. “I haven’t figured the whole thing out, but we’re going to. Here’s what I know. The real estate company that bought a bunch of properties a few years ago is affiliated with the company that’s shopping around right now. They have offices in the same building. I saw it for myself when I went to that bogus interview.”
“So they’re both throwing away money in Barefoot,” Skip said. His eyes wandered to the door, probably hoping for an escape route back to his party setup.
“Businesses, especially huge ones that would have these properties for sale,” I pointed to the flyers for emphasis, “don’t throw money away. They throw money at stuff. I had thought they were looking for tax write-offs. Buying properties and then devaluing them in a later sale. But that doesn’t explain the whole picture. Or the map.”
I grabbed the map from the top of the filing cabinet and spread it over my uncle’s desk. “They’re systematic. They buy properties, marked with red boxes, and then maybe they plan to get the neighboring ones, also marked with boxes.”
“So they lose twice the money,” Rita said.
“So they gain twice the control,” I said. “They’re playing a game. If you devalue property, you breed desperation. People who would not normally sell will sell if they’re afraid everything’s going down. Like Jeanette.”
I had them with Jeanette. No one ever imagined the owner of Sunshine Souvenirs next door selling out. Especially when it put both The Gull and Skip’s bar out of driving access and in big trouble. Had Jeanette been coerced to sell? Maybe. Or maybe it was just like she said, someone made her a decent offer and she grabbed it before property values plummeted any more in Barefoot Key.
“So,” LeeAnn said, her reading glasses giving her a professorial look I envied, “these real estate companies work together to buy up, crap on, and then re-buy properties in an effort to sink values all over town.”
“Yes,” I said, feeling like a piece of the puzzle was just out of reach.
“Why?” Maria said. “Sounds like someone hates our sleepy little town.”
“Or loves it,” Skip and I said at the same time, a stereo revelation in the quiet office. Our eyes met, a strange understanding gleaming in both of them.
I leaned over the map, my mermaid cleavage practically spilling over and revealing the toilet paper Rita had stuffed in there. Skip leaned over the other side of the desk and made an obvious reconnaissance mission down the front of my costume.
“Save it for later,” I whispered. Everyone heard it anyway. It was no surprise we were sleeping together. What no one, including us, knew was where it was leading. Given our costumes for the party, I thought there was a chance he’d kidnap me and have his way with me on the open seas. I’d be fine with that.
“If someone wanted to buy a bunch of contiguous parcels in this area, this is how they would do it,” I said.
“A bunch of what?” Rita asked.
“Properties that are connected,” I said. “Like they had big plans for the area, but needed a chunk of land.”
“Sounds like it would take lots of planning and balls to pull something off like that,” LeeAnn said.
“Businesses employ people who do nothing but long-range planning. As for balls, I’d say they’d need information more than anything.”
“Like inside information?” Skip asked.
I nodded. “If something big is being planned for Barefoot, how come none of us know about it?”
Nobody answered.
“Seriously,” I said. “You’ve all lived here forever. I’ve been to chamber of commerce meetings. No one seems to know anything.”
“Wait a minute,” Skip said. He fiddled with his sword. Maybe it helped him think. Or gave him confidence. “This is just gossip. Probably drunken gossip since I got it from my dad. And it’s old news.”
“What?” I asked.
“A few years ago, there was some talk about a new airport going in around here somewhere.” He paused. “A big airport. International deal like Orlando and Mi
ami.”
I crossed my arms and wrinkled my brow. Maybe I looked like a savvy-thinker and maybe I just looked like an angry mermaid. This gossip didn’t make much sense to me, but I wasn’t exactly a local. The other women in the room were nodding like they knew something I didn’t.
“Why does this area need another international airport?” I asked. “Isn’t the Tampa airport just an hour away?”
“Uh-huh. But it can’t grow,” Skip said. “It’s landlocked. There was talk of moving up the coast. Heard they were looking at a place about thirty more miles up, but it’s some kind of protected wildlife area.”
“So you think Barefoot is being targeted for a possible airport? That’s why this company is trying to buy it all up?” I asked.
“Haven’t heard anything lately about it,” Skip said. “Guess we all thought the idea died out a few years back.”
“Maybe it didn’t,” LeeAnn grumbled. “Maybe Barefoot Key isn’t as worthless as it looks.”
“Values could skyrocket,” Rita said. “Somebody who owned a big enough chunk of ground could be sitting pretty.”
Maria rolled out the desk chair behind me and plunked into it. I couldn’t sit in my costume, so it was fair game.
“You all right?” Rita asked, her gaze on Maria behind me. I turned and saw her face. Strained. Pale.
“I had a dream like this,” she said. “But it wasn’t just an airport, there were huge ships—cruise ships all over Barefoot Key. Tourists lapping up ice cream, The Gull no longer the same.” She put her head in her hands and rocked side to side. “The Gull had a continental breakfast and an indoor pool. Floors and floors of rooms. All that cleaning. Terrible.”
“You and your visions,” LeeAnn said, her tone teasing. “But maybe you’re right this time.”
“So what’s the deal with dorky Dale or Dalton or whoever the heck he is?” I asked.
I rolled Maria aside and leaned over the computer on Uncle Mike’s desk. I searched both names. Dalton Longfellow turned up pretty much zilch. An old man in California, the name of a porn star in New Jersey. Not our man. At least I hoped not. Dale Long also turned up some obviously false hits. A semi-pro ball player in Arizona, a private pilot in Maine, a watercolor artist in Alaska. And a member of the Florida state tourism board. I searched farther. Dale Long was a well-connected realtor who had friends in high places, including a brother-in-law in the Florida state senate. I was starting to think he also had friends in low places.
I shared the relevant results with my conspiracy club. “So dorkman Dalton isn’t really a writer for a travel magazine?” Rita asked.
“I don’t think so. Looks like that’s his undercover job.” I flounced around the desk, swirling my tail behind me as I went. I took another look at the map. “I think the real estate company sends Dalton out to supposedly ask questions for an article for a sham magazine, but he’s really a snoop. Finds out who’s got a solid business, who might be interested in selling, who’s on the rocks.”
“That little shit,” Rita said.
“I had a bad feeling about him,” Maria ventured.
LeeAnn rolled her eyes.
“So Dalton’s a mole, and somebody’s trying to swindle a load of property in town here which may or may not be for an airport and cruise line combination,” Skip said. He sounded skeptical.
“I saw the ships,” Maria insisted. “In my vision.”
To my surprise, Skip nodded. “I believe you. Something’s been nagging me for a while. Dad has mentioned it, but you know.” He didn’t have to finish the sentence. My companions all knew Jude McComber was a drunk with a reputation for running his mouth. He was a friendly drunk, not a mean one, but he’d been a principal disseminator of information in Barefoot Key for decades. And not all of it true. “Here’s the thing. The guy who owns the marina where Dad docks his fishing boats has had offers. Good ones. For the whole bundle. He owns a lot more coastal footage than people realize.”
“Do you think any of these offers are coming from Sandshore Realty?” I asked.
“Probably. But he’s turned them all down. Got a sentimental attachment to the land. It was in his family. Last month, though, he changed the contracts for all the dockage. Used to be two-year contracts. He changed them to six months.”
“And?”
“And now I wonder if he plans to bail out in six months. Maybe this time he got an offer he can’t refuse,” Skip said.
I took another hard look at the map, not even caring that a chunk of stuffing from my mermaid cups flopped out on the desk. The marina in question was outlined with a huge oblong box on the map. It had to be a half-mile of coastline. And it was surrounded by other red-boxed properties. In fact, a trail of properties, like a highway, led straight to the marina. The Gull was right on the path.
I pointed to the boxes and tried to look serious despite my ruffles. “That’s your answer,” I said. “Cruise line terminals there. A highway running right through here. A big international airport right out here on the edge of town where there’s plenty of room and a new power station. What I can’t imagine is how they think they can pull this off without anyone knowing what they’re up to.”
We all pondered that. LeeAnn and Maria fidgeted with their costumes. It was silent a moment.
“This is bullshit,” Rita finally said. “Somebody downtown has to know something. I say we go ask ‘em.”
Chapter Seventeen
Because she was the only one not encumbered by a ridiculous costume, Rita got elected to drive my old SUV the short distance across a bridge and into downtown Barefoot Key proper. The rest of us were piled in, our costumes unwieldy, itchy, and, in Skip’s case, downright dangerous. We tossed his sword on the floor the second time he nearly took out Maria in her gypsy costume. None of us could risk bad karma right then.
The city offices were located in a building that looked too fancy for the name. It had been an ornate hotel in its early days over a hundred years ago when it seemed that the railroads would claim this edge of Florida. They didn’t, but the building lived on, its stone columns and elegant windows sitting quietly under a tiled Spanish roof.
We barreled out of the SUV and headed for the city manager’s office. No idea if and what he knew about these real estate rumors, not a care for how crazy we all looked.
Skip hooked an arm around me in the elevator and kissed my neck. “Arrgh,” he said.
“I thought you were trying to lose the pirate motif with your new décor. Goodbye Harvey’s Pirate Emporium, hello Skip’s Beach Shack.”
He shrugged. “If it’s not broke, I guess it’s one less thing I have to fix. Besides, pirates need a drink, too.” He looked at me suggestively. “They have all kinds of terrible needs.”
“You’ll have to think about your needs later,” LeeAnn said. The elevator doors pinged, opened, and dumped us all out on the third floor.
The expression on the face of the city manager’s frontline receptionist suggested she hadn’t expected a mermaid, pirate, gypsy, cowgirl, and one normal person. No one would. I vaguely recognized her, although I doubted I was recognizable in my mermaid getup.
“I remember you,” Rita said. “You spent a week at The Gull a month or so ago. Thought you’d passed on through town.”
She did look familiar and I recalled her quiet residency in room eighteen. Today, something about the secretary looked dangerous. She gave Rita the wrinkled forehead and clenched jaw look an ex-wife gives the new mistress. I hoped she wasn’t one of the thousands of Florida residents who’d taken to flea markets and self-defense seminars to pick up a concealed carry permit. We were living dangerously.
I could only take tiny little steps in my costume, so I speed-tiptoed to the counter and laid a fin on it. “We’re here to talk to the city manager,” I said.
She eyed her purse and I hoped she wasn’t mentally reviewing how to use a .22 in self-defense. Mouth drawn in a straight line, she returned her attention to me. “Do you have an appointment?”
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br /> All my life, I’d followed the rules. I’d been the good girl, relying on brains and hard work when others cheated their way through school. Making complete stops at four-way intersections. Even when no one was looking. Never embellishing my charitable donations on my tax forms. But this was no time for demure civility.
“We don’t need one. The city manager works for us,” I said, gesturing at my band of costumed warriors. My business minor was finally worth something! I was confident about city finances. At least, confident enough for the situation. “Our tax money pays his salary, so I think he can take ten minutes and hear us out.”
She dropped one shoulder, half-glancing over it at the door behind her. Her expression told me he was in there. The door was open a couple inches and we’d made no effort to be quiet. If he had nothing to hide and any mercy for his secretary, he’d be out here in a minute. We heard the murmur of voices, almost whispers, from the office.
“We could come back tomorrow,” Skip said. I was about to flip him with my mermaid tail and berate him for trying to be nice and back down. But I didn’t have to. “We can always ask someone else what they know about the land-buying scheme going on around here,” he continued loudly, “maybe the newspaper can shed some light on it.”
A chair scraped on tile and the office door opened wide. The city manager stood wildlife-still, a fight or flight expression fleeting across his face when he saw my costumed menagerie. Even in my state of righteous indignation, I found it in my heart to feel sorry for the guy for just a moment. I’d be nervous, too, facing a group like mine.
But we couldn’t let him off the hook until we learned what we came to find out. Was Barefoot Key being parceled and sold out by someone on the inside? Anthony White had been heralded in the local paper for his many projects supposedly improving the quality of life around Barefoot Key. He’d rebuilt the highway ramp off the interstate in order to bring more tourist traffic into town. Cleaned up an old factory that was designated a brown field by the EPA so the property, a large parcel in the heart of Barefoot, could now be sold and developed. Found grant money to put in a new power station right inside the city limits so Barefoot Key could generate far more power than it could possibly use. Sure, the city could sell the power to other cities on the grid…but all these improvements could also signal a sale of a whole other kind.
Unforgettable Heroes II Boxed Set Page 125
