Buckhunter has crafted nearly all of the furniture in the house from his own found wood, and she runs her hand over the sanded tabletop, thinking of the patient hours he’d spent on his front porch, working on each piece. It still seems strange to her that she's only known Buckhunter as her uncle for the past four or five months, and even stranger that she's been able to accept her beloved grandfather's indiscretions with Buckhunter's late mother as easily as she has. It seems like a miracle to her how quickly they've both come to terms with the situation and forged a new relationship in the shadow of their family secrets.
“I heard from Coco again,” Holly says without preamble. Buckhunter hands over her mug of coffee.
“You want eggs?”
Holly nods. “She's got her lawyer after us, but I haven't responded yet.” She holds the hot ceramic mug between both hands and blows on the coffee before sipping it.
“What does she want?” Buckhunter rolls up the unbuttoned sleeves of his thin flannel shirt, pushing them roughly over his elbow joints so that he can crack eggs into a bowl.
Holly stares at the back of her uncle’s silver-blonde head before she answers. “Ten million dollars.”
He tosses two halves of an eggshell into the stainless steel sink with a low whistle. “So she’s saying this island is worth thirty mill?”
“I think she’s factoring the infrastructure and any potential future earnings into the equation.” Holly reaches for the carton of milk that sits—spout open—on the edge of the table. She pours some into her coffee and, for lack of a spoon, stirs it with her index finger.
“Ten million bucks ain’t chump change. Where are we going to get that kind of money?” Buckhunter tips the bowl of raw eggs into the frying pan on his stove. It sizzles.
“I have no idea.” And she really doesn’t. At this point, the costs of keeping the island running every month are just barely met by the money the B&B pulls in and the rent she collects on the island’s businesses, and they honestly do rely on pensions and retirement funds to keep the wheels of the local economy turning. It’s been her hope that the small steps towards progress they’ve taken will lead to more prosperity and less stress about finances and the future. But this impasse they’ve come to with Coco has her seriously concerned.
“Let’s not panic yet,” Buckhunter advises, grabbing two pieces of thick-cut bread and sticking them into the slots of his toaster. “She can’t force us to buy her out, but she can make our lives more difficult.”
“How? She can’t even outvote us on anything,” Holly reminds him.
“By being a royal pain in our asses, that’s how.”
“Oh, right. I’m pretty used to that already.”
Buckhunter butters the toast and sets it on a plate, expertly scooping a fluffy pile of eggs from the pan and dishing it up for Holly. “Breakfast is served, madam,” he says, sliding it across the table. “Tabasco?”
“Just salt and pepper, please.” She picks up the fork.
“Already in the eggs, but if you want more, it’s in that cupboard,” he says, pointing with a spatula.
Holly gets the salt and pepper and grabs the coffee pot as she walks by, setting it all on the table. Buckhunter joins her with his own breakfast, and they sit together amiably, forking eggs onto their respective pieces of toast and chewing in companionable silence.
“How are things going on the set?” Buckhunter asks, hunched over his plate like a lean, wiry lumberjack. He shovels the last bit of scrambled egg into his mouth with a fork.
Holly shrugs. “I’ve been kind of occupied with trying to keep my job as mayor lately.”
“Huh,” he says, not meeting her gaze as he eats the crust of his bread.
“Every time I go over there I feel…I don’t know—I feel misled or something. It’s not what I thought it would be.”
“Well, when is anything the way we thought it would be?” He says this casually, like it’s not a grand rhetorical question that encompasses all of life’s disappointments and surprises in one smooth, compact nutshell. Holly lets the question sit there between them, its truth so solid that it’s nearly tangible.
The sun sends a shaft of yellow light through the window, warming the scene and capturing it in Holly’s mind like a butterfly trapped under resin. She smiles at this image of her weather-worn uncle, a man who is nearly as much of an enigma to her as he’d been before she knew they were related. It’s nice being in his home, watching him do regular things. It’s nice to be with someone who is family.
Holly reaches across the table for the pot of coffee and refills both of their cups. They drink it in the quiet of a peaceful winter morning.
Holly’s call to the various offices she’s dug up in Germany haven’t yielded any results. She’s left messages for and sent emails to half a dozen different mid-level officials, but by the end of River’s first full day on the island, she’s still turned up absolutely nothing on Caspar Braun. It’s frustrating, but for the time being, she’s shelved the issue in the back of her mind so she can focus on River.
When River awoke that morning at eleven, he and Holly had gone for a long walk on the beach, followed by lunch at Jack Frosty’s. They’d barely been able to eat their grilled cheese sandwiches because everyone who’d seen them sitting at the bar dropped by to greet River and to welcome him back to Christmas Key. Holly had munched on her tangy dill pickle happily as River and Joe Sacamano caught up, and she’d finally dragged him out to her golf cart after Maria Agnelli stopped by to plant a loud kiss on his cheek. They’d laughed happily as Holly steered them through the woods in her bright pink cart, stopping with a click of the brake when she found the perfect Christmas tree to cut down and drag back to her bungalow.
“What do you think of this one?” he says now, holding up a battered wooden sleigh ornament made of popsicle sticks.
They’ve pillaged the storage room that Holly keeps at the B&B, dragging home a big plastic tub full of Frank and Jeanie Baxter’s holiday decorations. Each ornament holds a special place in Holly’s heart, and it takes real willpower to resist the urge she feels to cradle every one in her hands and to recount to River all the different memories that come flooding back to her.
There are the red and white pipe-cleaners that she and Emily used to twist into candy canes at her grandmother’s kitchen table, and the strings of beads she made as a teenager, sitting on the floor and listening to the Psychedelic Furs in her bedroom. There’s the collection of gold paper stars with glitter that her grandfather had taken with him on a trip and gotten laminated, and a small angel made of copper wires she remembers getting as a gift from Alfie Agnelli, Maria’s late husband. There are so many memories in this box of ornaments that Holly doesn’t even know where to begin, and so she doesn’t begin at all—she keeps them tucked in close to her heart, smiling at each one as she takes it from the box.
“Do you always put your tree up this early?” River asks, fluffing out the stiff fabric of an angel’s ivory-colored skirt.
“You think December thirteenth is early?”
“I just thought you might get tired of Christmas decorations at some point.”
“Bite your tongue, man!” Holly shouts in mock-horror. “The smell of a pine tree in the house is one of my favorite things all year. I’d keep it up for three months if it didn’t start dropping needles after the first two weeks.”
“I do admire your commitment to the holidays,” River says, walking over to the white-painted bookshelf where she keeps her family photos, books, and CDs. He takes a string of mini-lights and lays them gently across the tops of the books, winding them through knickknacks and picture frames.
“It’s a lifestyle, that’s for sure,” Holly says distractedly, pulling her ringing phone from her back pocket. “Hello?” she says. “Yes, this is Holly Baxter.” River keeps his back to her, plugging the mini-lights into an outlet on the wall so that the festive bulbs illuminate the bookshelf.
Holly takes her phone out to the lanai along
with a pen and a pad of paper. The man on the other end of the line speaks in clipped English, his accent heavy as wet wool.
“You’re sure?” she asks him.
“Quite. I’ve been researching this topic for many years.”
“Huh.” Holly holds the pen over the paper, ready to write something, though she isn’t sure what it is she needs to note.
“If you give me an email address I will happily send you more information.”
Holly gives him her email address and thanks him for his time.
Inside the house, River has finished wrapping her tree in gold tinsel. He’s on his knees, double-checking the screws at the base of the tree that hold it in its stand. Holly drops the notepad on her coffee table with a loud slap.
“Important news?” River asks mildly, looking up at her.
“I’m not even sure what to think right now.” Holly paces around the room. “I feel like I’m spinning plates, and I’m constantly turning my attention from one plate to another to make sure none of them fall and shatter.”
“So which plate is this?”
“This is the Cap plate.”
“As compared to the reality show plate and the Coco plate?”
“Right.” Holly stops pacing and admires River’s work. “That tree looks really good.”
He stands and steps back to look at the tree. “I thought so. Now we just need some presents to put under it.”
Presents are the last things on Holly’s mind—she still has ten days to think about gifts. “Hey, would you mind if we changed our evening plans?” she asks suddenly, picking up a snow globe that has a Santa wearing swim trunks inside.
“You’re so grateful for all of my decorating that you want to skip dinner and yet another viewing of Christmas Vacation and go right to dessert?” River asks with a smirk, putting his arms around Holly and pulling her in close. He jokingly tips her back like he’s going to dip her.
“Actually,” she says, placing both hands on his chest and pushing him away gently. “I need to go and talk to Heddie.”
“Oh.” River’s face falls. “Sure—of course.”
“I’m sorry. I won’t be long—I promise. But she knows more about this Cap situation than I do…”
“No need to explain.” River holds up a hand. “Do you want me to come, or should I stay here and take Pucci for another walk on the beach?”
“Pucci would love that,” Holly says gratefully. As she’s talking, she’s already grabbing her striped canvas purse and slipping her feet into her tennis shoes without bothering to lace them up. “Where’s my hat?” She spins around, looking at the couch and under the coffee table.
“Which one?”
“Mets, of course.”
“You left it on the table in the other room,” River says, his back to her as he surveys the tree. He’s holding a red ornament in his hand, searching for a branch to hang it on. “I’ll see you when you get back.”
Holly stands on her tiptoes and places a kiss on River’s cheek. “We’ll eat dinner together later, okay?”
Holly is on the porch with her Mets hat on her head before River can even reply.
“Heddie!” Holly pounds on the window of Scissors & Ribbons with her fist. “Heddie!” The women in the salon turn their heads, curiosity on their lined faces. Heddie frowns. “I’m coming in!”
“Are you okay, sweetie?” Millie Bradford asks when she meets Holly at the doorway to the salon.
“I’m fine. Thanks, Millie.” Holly is out of breath. “I just need to talk to Heddie.”
“Well, come on in.” Millie steps aside and waves her in. The smell of paint has diminished in the week since they painted the salon, and the two chairs and rinsing bowls that had come over on the boat with River and Madonkey are set up under a series of shelves that are stocked with shampoo bottles and folded towels. “We’re unpacking the shampoos and conditioners right now, and I’m expecting my cash register and credit card machine to arrive on the next boat. As soon as I get it all set up we’ll be ready to go.”
Heddie is bent over a box of shampoo bottles; they’re lined up and nestled inside the cardboard box like rows of white eggs. “It looks good, yes?” Heddie asks, standing up straight as she looks around the salon. She puts her thin hands on the small of her back. “Before we know it, we’ll be an island of gorgeous women with perfect hair.”
“We’ll look like tourists instead of natives,” Iris Cafferkey adds. She’s sitting behind a table on one side of the salon, sorting bottles of bright nail polish and marking items off on a list with a sharp pencil.
“This is coming together really fast,” Holly says with admiration. The overhead lights give everything a soft glow, and there are framed pictures lined up on the floor waiting to be hung.
“You should let me do a wash and blow-out on you, Holly!” Millie cries, clapping her hands together. The rings on her fingers clink as they make contact. “Your gentleman friend is here, and there’s nothing like fresh hair to make a man want to run his hands through it.” Mille walks over to one of the black leather shampoo chairs and pats it firmly. “Sit.”
“That would be amazing, but I actually left my gentleman friend at home,” Holly says, “and I promised him I’d be right back after I talked to Heddie.”
“Are you sure?” Millie asks, disappointed. “I’ve got some coconut-lime detangler that I’m dying to try out on someone…”
“Can I make an appointment for the day you open? I’m pretty sure I need a trim anyway,” Holly says, holding up the ends of her long, chestnut hair as proof.
“Of course.” Millie walks behind the front counter, choosing a pencil from the black cup next to her computer. “I’ll call you with a time as soon as I have the first day figured out,” she says, pulling a small business card from a holder on the desk. “I’ll just write you down for a cut and dry.” She scribbles on the back of the card and hands it to Holly. “There you go.”
“I can’t wait. I feel more chic already.” The business card is decorated with a pair of shiny scissors and a glittery red-and-white striped ribbon. Holly smiles at the Christmas theme.
“I assume you want to speak with me outside,” Heddie says, materializing next to Holly. “I’ve been bent over boxes here for a while, so I could use a walk anyway. Should we go down to the dock?”
“Let’s,” Holly says, holding up the business card to Millie. “I’m putting this on my calendar as soon as you call with a time, Millie.”
Millie waves at them as they step out of the salon and into the lobby of Poinsettia Plaza.
It’s nearly six o’clock, and the last rays of the pink-orange winter sun are reaching into the sky behind the trees to the west. Holly breathes in the salty air and looks up at the holiday garlands on Main Street as they pass beneath them. The faux evergreen boughs are a deep emerald green against the evening sky, and the holiday lights all up and down the street have already kicked on for the night. The lights are still on inside Mistletoe Morning Brew across the street, and as they pass Northstar Cigars, they can see Cap moving around behind the counter, stocking cigars and taking inventory.
“So, you’ve got something you wish to talk about?” Heddie asks, gazing ahead at the dock in the distance.
“I got a call back from the Department of War Research in Berlin.”
“So then you’ve found Caspar Braun.” Heddie looks at the street before stepping down off the sidewalk and into the sand that leads to the dock.
“I’m not sure what to do with this, Heddie.”
“What do you think is the right thing to do?” Heddie asks, lifting her chin slightly as they step onto the dock. They walk side-by-side toward the infinity of the dark horizon.
Holly thinks about what she now knows, turning this new fact over in her mind. “I don’t know,” she finally admits.
“Then I advise you to do nothing yet. The information was merely to help you understand where Cap is coming from, not to help you destroy a man.”
“I do. It just bears repeating. This is an incredibly delicate topic for Germans—and for Cap. It is not something to take lightly.”
They stop at the edge of the long dock, listening to the water as it laps against the weathered pillars beneath their feet.
“I understand,” Holly says in a near whisper.
“I knew you would. And I think you should know that your grandparents would be proud. This island wouldn’t work the way it does without you.”
“Thanks, Heddie. I needed to hear that.”
They both look to the water as the brightest stars begin to appear in the still-dusky sky. Holly imagines her grandparents looking down at her from amongst the stars, winking their approval. And as long as she has their approval, she knows she can never go wrong.
Chapter 24
The contestants have fallen away like dried leaves in autumn. When Holly pulls up to the sand dune off December Drive and parks her cart on Friday morning, she already knows from Leanna’s early-morning text that they’re down to the final three contestants. She’s been summoned to visit so they can talk about plans for the final wrap show, and now she steels herself, shoving her phone into the back pocket of her white Levi’s and kicking her Birkenstocks off before she hits the sand.
The mini tent camp has been pared down to just four tents. At this point, each contestant has his or her own sleeping quarters, with an extra tent available for the producers to use as a de facto on-site office. Holly is about to walk over to the camp fire when Leanna pops her head out of the office tent and motions for Holly to join her.
Wild Tropics: Christmas Key Book Two Page 20
