“More than that,” Buckhunter says, stopping to wipe at a drip of the robin’s egg blue paint as it runs down his forearm, “I think you need to remind him what he loves about the island and about being a cop. I never heard him say he wanted to be a reality star, but sometimes when you feel like you don’t have much going, you’ll take whatever comes your way.” His stroke on the wall is effortless, and he dips and paints easily, covering at least twice as much ground as Holly does.
She thinks about Buckhunter’s words. Obviously her breakup with Jake is at the heart of Buckhunter’s assessment of the situation, and without Holly and their future together, Jake really doesn’t have much holding him back. Without being tied to her, he has no real reason not to have a fling with Bridget. She knows Buckhunter is right, but she doesn’t know how to remind Jake that he’s not anchor-less and adrift at sea—he’s got the island. He’s got her friendship. He has the support of everyone on Christmas Key.
“But I don’t know how to make him see that.”
“You’ll figure it out. You’re a resourceful gal.” Buckhunter looks at her. He’s got a smear of paint the color of a Tiffany’s jewelry box in his graying blonde goatee. “But while you’re thinking about it, would you mind grabbing me a Diet Coke?” He nods at the cooler behind the front counter.
“I thought you were the bartender.”
“I’m currently off-duty.” Buckhunter reaches over with his paintbrush and dabs it lightly against the tip of his niece’s nose. The paint-covered bristles are cool and wet on her skin.
“Well, you don’t have to paint me—you can just ask for the drink,” she says, ducking to get away from him.
“I did ask for it.” Buckhunter turns back to the wall and gives it another swipe of paint.
Holly laughs to herself as she walks over to the cooler. Fiona passes by the doorway to the salon in her lab coat with Mrs. Agnelli following close on her heels. The room is filled with the sounds of Caribbean jazz and friendly discussion, and the paint fumes are cut by the smell of the ocean through the open windows and doors.
Holly picks out two cans of Diet Coke from the cooler and shakes off the dripping water from the melted ice. She knows Buckhunter’s advice is solid: finding a way to bring Jake back into the fold is the best way to fix this situation. Sharing someone’s private information and embarrassing them doesn’t feel like a good thing to do. It might have seemed like a necessary evil, but that certainly doesn’t make it right.
With a loud grunt, Cap pushes himself up from his kneeling position on the floor. Since meeting Heddie two days before, all she’s been able to do is hunt and peck around on a couple of ancestry websites looking for any mention of Caspar Braun, but she hasn’t turned up anything earth-shattering.
As she watches him now, Holly realizes that she has to treat Cap the same way she treats Jake and the other contestants: she needs to make sure she doesn’t use personal information to simply embarrass him as she tries to gain the upper hand. That would be a mistake—and one that she’d never forgive herself for.
Holly hands Buckhunter his can of soda and pops the top on her own. She takes a long pull and then sets the can on the windowsill so she can get back to painting.
After an evening of painting at Scissors & Ribbons, Holly is awake in her darkened bedroom while Pucci snores peacefully on his dog bed in the corner. She contemplates getting up and working on her shell wall on the lanai, but instead yanks on a mismatched bikini in the dim light from her hallway, covering it up with a sweatshirt and a pair of fleece pajama bottoms.
After a short drive through the night noises of the sleep-covered island, her fingers tucked into the cuffs of her sweatshirt for warmth against the cool winter night, Holly pulls into the driveway of the B&B. She tiptoes through the lobby and onto the pool deck, holding the handle of the door so that it shuts softly on its hinges.
Under the bright winter moon, she sheds her fleece pants and sweatshirt. The cool air raises goosebumps on her bare arms and legs. She dips a toe into the heated pool and shivers; the water isn’t as warm as her bed, and for a second Holly hesitates, looking down at the steam rising off the water in the cold night. The pool is lit from beneath with lights, but two of the clear bulbs have already been replaced with red and green lights for the holidays. Holly stands next to the pool looking at the washes of color that spread through the blue like Christmas-themed oil slicks.
The water ripples and waves in the pool, and the hum of the heater fills the air around her. Without another thought, Holly points the toes of her right foot and steps over the water, arms wrapped tightly around her torso, face scrunched up to keep the water out of her eyes and nose. She slices through the water and plunges for the bottom. When her toes touch, she pushes off and glides back up, cutting the surface with the crown of her head and gasping for air. The frigid water on her already-cold skin has awakened her senses, and she experiences everything in macro: the pool heater is no longer a hum, but a saw-like buzz; the stars aren’t just twinkling, they’re flashing aggressively overhead like lighthouse beacons; the colored pool lights have morphed from watercolor washes of red and green to opaque blotches of crimson and emerald.
Holly loosens her grip on her upper body and lets her arms float around her like cooked spaghetti. She falls backward, her toes slowly lifting from the ground and rising in the water in front of her until she’s lying on her back, her face and breasts bobbing above the water while the rest of her body is cocooned by the heated pool. The air is cold on her face, and from this position, she can see the lights of two of the guest rooms burning from the second floor. They’re Wayne and Leanna’s rooms, if she’s counting from the end correctly. Holly watches the gauzy curtains that cover both windows, but she doesn’t see any movement.
Underwater, the muted sounds of the pool filter and heater lull her into a hypnotic state. Every month feels like the most beautiful month on her island, and every season is her favorite when she’s in the middle of it. But winter—and December—have a special feel that no other time of year can replicate. The Christmas decorations that cover the island all year long are amplified by what the islanders call their “winter weather,” and the feeling of a winter night experienced while swimming under the stars is incomparable. Holly spreads her limbs like she’s making a snow angel, dragging her arms in and out as she slowly treads water on her back.
She’s hashed and re-hashed Buckhunter’s advice all evening, trying to mesh it with the demands that Wayne made during their meeting at the B&B nearly two weeks ago, and she’s still coming up empty-handed. The way she sees it, she’s obligated to help the network throw a party as the show’s finale, but she’s also obligated to keep Jake from looking like a fool. On top of it all, she’s got Cap to contend with, and they’re only ten days away from calling a vote to determine who’ll hold office as mayor for the next term.
Overhead, Aries is visible in the night sky. Holly counts the stars that make up the constellation, watching her own breath as it folds into the steam from the water and drifts away like smoke. She counts the pinpoints of light again, but before she can even finish, she’s got it: she knows what she needs to do to bring Jake back.
In one swift move, Holly swims to the stairs and climbs out, a sheet of lukewarm water running from her wet hair and trailing down her back. She grabs the towel she’s tossed onto the lounge chair and wraps it around her head like a turban. The fleece pants go on over her damp skin, and she zips the sweatshirt over her wet swimsuit hurriedly. It’s late—or maybe it’s early, as it was nearly midnight when she left her house—but Holly knows she needs to go tonight or she risks losing her nerve.
Under the cloak of darkness, she flips the switch on her golf cart and rolls out of the lot, wet head still wrapped in a towel. When she gets to Jake’s house, she cuts the headlamp on her cart and takes the towel off her head, setting her Mets cap on top of her wet, tangled hair instead. Then she zips her sweatshirt all the way up to the chin and pulls the hoody
on over her hat. With a quick glance at the dark houses around Jake’s bungalow, Holly runs to his lanai. She holds her breath as she pauses with one hand on the door handle. Slowly, exhaling as though even the slightest breath will set off an intricate alarm system, she slides open the glass door just as she’d done at Leanna’s request on Thanksgiving morning. Everything is as it had been during her last visit.
Holly slides the door closed behind her and tiptoes through Jake’s kitchen. She’s inside.
Chapter 22
Operation Jake has officially morphed from a mission to undermine to a search and rescue operation. The word has spread across the island that all previous plans to approach the camp site; to infiltrate the B&B and gather intel from Wayne and Leanna’s rooms; or to otherwise bungle the reality show’s operations, were to cease and desist. Carrie-Anne and Ellen had offered to loose the turkeys on the camp site at sunrise, Maria Agnelli had promised to bake cookies laced with castor oil for the producers (which led to much speculation about whether or not she normally adds odd things to her potluck dishes intentionally or as a side effect of senility, as they’d all assumed), and Cap and Wyatt had declared that a controlled fire upwind of the whole operation would produce enough smoke and debris to put the crew off filming for at least a day or two. And while Holly is thrilled with the creative ideas that had been the fruit of their emergency village council meeting, she knows she’s got something even better now.
“Today’s the day, sugar!” Bonnie calls out as Holly breezes into the B&B’s office and hangs her bag on the hook by the door. She takes off her Mets cap and sets it on top of the filing cabinet.
“I know—I can’t believe he’s finally coming back,” Holly says, dropping into her chair and lifting her sandaled feet off the floor. In one fluid motion, she sets her heels on the edge of the desk and laces her hands across her stomach. “I feel dizzy—I think I’m coming down with something.”
“It’s just the butterflies in your belly, you lovesick girl-child.” Bonnie gives her a knowing look. “Did you shave your legs?”
“I always do.”
“Above the knee?” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.
An impish grin spreads across Holly’s face. “Yep. And I got Millie to give me a pedicure, even though she’s not quite ready to open for business.” She wiggles her bright red toes so that Bonnie can see.
“So I guess we won’t see you for dinner tonight?”
“Probably not. But with any luck, you might see us tomorrow.”
River’s boat is scheduled to dock around three, and Holly has a romantic dinner for two planned on her lanai. She’s already put in an order with Iris and Jimmy, and they’ll have her lobster dinner for two boxed up and ready to go when she swings by later. As a special treat, Holly asked the triplets to order in a special bottle of Champagne Collet, and it’s cooling in her fridge next to the bowl of passionfruit and guava that she’s cut up for dessert.
“Ooooh, you devil!” Bonnie holds a flyer in one hand, and she reaches across the desk and uses it to swat Holly’s bare calf. “You two kids have fun now, you hear?”
“That’s the plan,” Holly says, swinging her legs around and setting her feet back on the ground. She opens her laptop and hits the power button. “I guess I should do something around here to keep myself occupied until three, huh?”
“We’ve got a few irons in the fire we can check on. Want to work on January?”
The women pull up their calendars on their respective desktops and open the working documents they share to coordinate their plans for the upcoming months.
“Did you ever hear back from the Coast Guard?” Holly taps at her keyboard, pulling up her email.
“Sure did, sugar. They granted us a Special Local Regulation and Safety Zone for January 27th through the 30th. The only problem is that no one else can enter or anchor freely without permission during that time.” Bonnie gets out of her chair and walks over to the giant whiteboard. She picks up a marker and uncaps it.
“That’s fine. In fact,” Holly says, turning around in her chair to look at her assistant, “it’s preferable. With so many new people visiting, I think we want to have some sort of regulation of traffic.”
Bonnie stands in front of the board, the felt tip of her marker poised to write. Her face melts into a dreamy gaze. “Just think of all of those men dressed as pirates with their eye patches and tight breeches, swashbuckling around with swords dangling from their belts…”
“That does sound a lot like a pirate festival,” Holly says. She turns back to her laptop with a smirk.
“It’s a brilliant idea—one of your best,” Bonnie says encouragingly, snapping out of her mental montage of men in tights and buccaneer hats. She finally sets the pen against the board and drags it across the words ‘Coast Guard confirmation’ with a flourish, effectively crossing it off the list of things to do.
“I needed something brilliant to redeem me after the live turkey debacle, and after the reality show that’s trying to turn my ex-boyfriend into a Stepford Wife and marry him off to a human Barbie.”
“You’re still letting this nonsense rattle you, doll,” Bonnie says, capping the marker and sitting down in her own chair across from Holly’s. “You’ve done nothing wrong here, and Cap saying you have doesn’t make it so.”
Holly looks up from her laptop screen and meets Bonnie’s gaze. “But it isn’t just Cap saying it—now it’s fact.”
“No, no, no.” Bonnie shakes her head firmly, not a single red hair moving out of place as she does. “We have no idea what kind of positive outcome this show will have for the island. You’re just stuck in the middle of it right now, and all you can see is Jake. Pull back—pull way, way back—and remember that we’re going to be on television, sugar—and you got us there. We’re going to become a household name no matter what happens with Officer Hotpants and this trollop.”
Holly snorts. “Did you just call her a ‘trollop’?”
“I did,” Bonnie says matter-of-factly, sliding her pink-and-yellow reading glasses back onto her face. “But that’s just my personal opinion of a young lady who sells herself by putting on a bikini and frolicking with men on a television show.”
Holly taps the eraser of a freshly-sharpened pencil against her front teeth. “I don’t know. Fiona still hasn’t been able to find out anything about her. For all I know, she’s a perfectly nice girl from a good family. And maybe she really likes Jake. Who am I to say this is wrong?”
“Honey, your gut says it’s wrong, and that’s good enough for me.” Bonnie nods curtly, looking at the calendar on her screen again. “You don’t need to know anything about this girl, just do what you think is best to help Jake, and the rest will sort itself out.” The desk phone rings next to Bonnie’s computer and she puts her hand on the receiver. “And remember: it don’t rain every time the pig squeals.”
Holly sets the pencil on her desk. “Meaning?”
The phone rings one more time before Bonnie answers it, and she levels her gaze at Holly across the top of their computer screens. “It means not everything that happens turns into a full-blown storm. But if you get ready for one every time you hear a pig squeal, you’ll always be running for shelter.”
The hum of the motor fills the air as the boat nears the dock. Holly is standing on her tiptoes in the sand, one hand shielding her eyes as she scans the ferry for River’s face. The ferryman cuts the engine altogether as he slips into place, then Jerrod, the boat hand, jumps onto the dock with a length of rope in his strong hands. His muscles flex as he pulls the bow and stern lines tightly, wrapping them around the dock cleats in snug figure-eights.
With a racing heart, Holly stands, hands pressed together. The bi-weekly delivery of groceries is on this ferry, and Jerrod quickly unloads the bags and boxes, setting them in a growing pile on the dock.
“Hey, Holly,” Jerrod says, giving her a sloppy salute. He’s got tan lines on his thighs that Holly can see every time he bends over
and his shorts ride up.
“What’s the news from the mainland?” she asks casually, her eyes trained on the boat.
“College kids are out for winter break and Key West is a zoo,” Jerrod says, flipping his hair with a toss of the head. “I hate it.” He’s only about five years out of college himself, but he already sounds like the crazy old guy in the neighborhood who doesn’t like kids running across his lawn.
“Damn teenagers,” Holly growls. She’s joking, but he nods and gives her a thumbs-up as he steps back onto the boat.
“You’ve got two big boxes here,” Jerrod shouts, jockeying as he tries to scoot two tall items to the lip of the ferry. “They’ve got FRAGILE stamped on the sides, and they’re heavy as all get out.”
“Let me help you.” Holly steps up to the edge of the boat. She’s momentarily forgotten that she’s there for a much more important shipment than groceries and fragile boxes, and with some finagling, she and Jerrod get the two big boxes onto the dock next to the food delivery.
“What the heck are these?” Jerrod asks, wiping his brow.
“I think they’re the chairs and shampoo bowls for our new salon.” Holly tips her head about forty-five degrees to the left and reads the words written vertically in French on the side of the boxes. The phrase shampooing chaise are all she has to go on, but the rudimentary French she’s still got knocking around in her head nearly a decade after college help her to decipher at least that much.
“Oh, and I’ve got your livestock here,” Jerrod says, disappearing into the boat. A cold rush of fear washes over Holly as she wonders if she accidentally ordered live chickens or pigs with this order of food, but when he steps out again, Jerrod’s got a taupe-colored donkey on a rope following him. The donkey has the big, dark eyes of a deer, and its nose and belly are white. It stands at the edge of the boat and stares at Holly like a nervous child being introduced to its new foster parents for the first time. Jerrod holds a clipboard in one hand, the end of the rope in the other. He consults the clipboard. “Says I was to bring you the grocery delivery, as usual, and one donkey.” Jerrod gives a sharp laugh. “Says her name is Madonna.”
Wild Tropics: Christmas Key Book Two Page 18
