Nelson and I start for his Jeep when someone from the other side of the lot calls my name. It’s Fidel, coming from the lobby steps. I consider pretending I don’t hear him, but then he hollers, “I know you can hear me, Reef!”
Sighing, I turn to him and call back. “Can it wait? I’ve got this thing in town, so I really better get going.”
“What? Going out to get wasted with that guy?” Fidel asks with a grin. “Sorry, dude. We need the Opossum Whisperer in A 102.”
“I prefer Opossum Wrangler, thank you very much.” Glancing at Nelson, I say, “Wanna help? It’ll be quicker with another set of hands.”
“Oh, I’ll come, but I’m not touching some rabid giant rat,” Nelson answers.
“You’re coming just so you can laugh at me, aren’t you?”
“You know it,” he says.
As the two of us start toward Fidel, Mateo calls out, “Hey, Reef, have fun with that!”
I flip him the bird over my shoulder as we walk away.
***
“We may have to wait until she’s done eating her Pringles,” I say, as the opossum hisses over her shoulder, then continues digging in the can of crisps again.
She already bit Mr. Vaughn, the genius who lured her into his suite with a trail of mango pieces. He’s sitting on the bed with a towel wrapped around his hand while his wife oscillates between shrieking at him for being ‘an utter idiot’ to shrieking at me to ‘catch that bloody thing’ to shrieking every time the opossum makes the slightest move. So if nothing else, Mrs. Vaughn has a healthy set of lungs.
A small crowd has formed outside around the suite’s patio doors, waiting to see what’s going to happen. Libby is among them, notebook and pen in hand. When she arrived, I told her to stay outside for her own safety, and I may or may not have been giving her a smoldering ‘firefighter doing crowd control’ look. Nelson gave me a ‘what the hell was that?’ face, then smirked and introduced himself to her.
I glance out at them and see the pair peering in through the glass door, chatting. Nelson calls out, “Go get ‘em, Opossum Whisperer!”
Libby covers her mouth, but I know she’s laughing.
I give him a dirty look, then turn back, trying not to think about what she’s writing down on that damn notepad. GlobalLux probably has some sort of policy about handling wildlife, like calling Animal Control instead of doing it themselves, which would probably be the sane thing to do. Except here on the island, Animal Control takes one business day to respond to all wild animal complaints, and since it’s Friday evening, that means someone wouldn’t get here until Tuesday. Mrs. Vaughn would surely die from Excessive Shrieking Syndrome by then, and that wouldn’t be good for our TripAdvisor ratings.
Note to self: make sure to explain that to Libby the first chance you get.
Fidel, who is the only one brave (or stupid) enough to join me in the room, stands on the opposite side of the bed from the little creature. We’re waiting for Justin to bring a cage. Until then, all we can do is watch her nibble away on the crisps. We exchange a ‘well, isn’t this fun on a Friday night?’ look, then Fidel says, “Oh, hey, I keep forgetting that Winnie sent a thank you card for the onsie you got Harrison Junior.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it. It was nothing.”
“No, it wasn’t. It was very thoughtful, and you guessed right, he is a boob man,” Fidel says with a grin.
“How is the little guy?”
“He’s amazing, the other day during his bath—”
Mrs. Vaughn clears her throat. “Excuse me! We’re in the middle of an emergency here. Can we save the chitchat for a time when there isn’t a wild animal poised to attack?”
We both glance at her, then at the opossum, who quite frankly looks like she’d only be a threat if you were a potato-based snack.
Fidel lifts his walkie-talkie to his mouth. “Any E.T.A. on that cage?”
The radio crackles, then I hear Justin’s voice. “Found it. I’m just leaving the shed now.”
Ingrid, our on-site nurse, walks in through the open patio door, medical kit in hand. “I hear we’ve got a biter on our hands.”
“Yes, we bloody well do!” Mrs. Vaughn screeches.
Ingrid peers across the room at the offending biter, then wrinkles her nose up sympathetically at Mr. Vaughn. “Thought you could feed her and maybe get a few photos?”
“You’ve seen this before, then?” Mr. Vaughn asks sheepishly.
Mrs. Vaughn cuts in before Ingrid can answer. “Is it really necessary to point that out? He already knows he’s a bloody idiot who’s ruined our vacation!”
Ingrid tilts her head to the side. “It’s not necessarily ruined. Are you up-to-date on your tetanus shot?”
He looks blankly at his wife, who rolls her eyes and nods. “Yes, he is.”
“Good.” Ingrid nods. “In that case, we’ll get him cleaned up and you two can get back to having a good time.” She gestures for Mr. Vaughn to follow her. “Let’s head into the loo so I can have a look.”
I glance over my shoulder at Fidel. “Say, why don’t you take Mrs. Vaughn over to the pool bar for a cocktail?”
Fidel gives her a warm smile. “Would you like to do that? No sense in staying here in harm’s way.”
Mrs. Vaughn glares at the opossum again, then nods and follows him out the doors muttering, “Not sure why I got married at all, really. He’s probably going to die of rabies, the daft man.”
I let out a sigh of relief, now that the shrieker and the bleeder are out of the room. Staring down at the little creature, I say, “Well, it’s just you and me now. You almost done with those crisps?”
She looks up at me as though trying to decide whether I’m competition for the food or not. In my right hand, I’m holding a large towel I grabbed out of the bathroom. I could throw it over her if she tries to attack, but otherwise, my plan is to wait for Justin.
I crouch down a little, keeping a safe distance. “I’m not going to take your food, I promise. But I am going to put you in a cage and drive you up the mountain to a very lovely nature sanctuary. There are no crisps there, so you should probably enjoy those last few, but there’s a lot of fruit and…other things that’ll be better for you.” I rub the back of my neck while she stares at me, nibbling away at the crisp she’s holding. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll meet the opossum of your dreams there…”
Outside, I hear a cart pull up, and a moment later, Justin walks in with the cage. He hands it to me, slaps me on the back, and says, “Good luck, Opossum Whisperer.”
“Wrangler,” I correct him.
When he’s gone, I open the cage and set it on the floor, then say to the animal, “Here. I’ll even put in a towel so it’s a cozy ride.”
Folding the towel in half, I tuck it in the kennel, and put a trail of peanuts from the middle of the cage out toward her. She’s no longer interested in the can, so I’m pretty sure she’s finished her dinner.
“How about some dessert?” Standing slowly, I wait to see if she’ll go for the food. She must be full, though, because she doesn’t even sniff around with her little pink nose, but just watches me.
Damn.
“We’re going to have to do this the hard way, aren’t we?”
I put my arms out to the sides and make a low growling sound, taking a couple of menacing steps toward her. She freezes, faints, then falls over onto her side.
I quickly walk over, pick her up with one hand, and hold her up to the smattering of people out on the patio, who start cheering. I smile at them, feeling quite satisfied at managing to avoid some violent altercation ending with Ingrid bandaging me up.
Placing the opossum in the kennel, I pet her little head and say, “Sorry about that, but I promise it’s for the best.”
I shut the cage, then go check on Mr. Vaughn.
Knocking on the bathroom door, I open it and poke my head in. “I got the opossum, and Mrs. Vaughn has gone for a cocktail. How’s it going in here?�
�
Ingrid continues working on his hand without looking up and says, “No need for stitches, so he can go join his wife in a few minutes.”
Mr. Vaughn lets out a sigh of relief. “Thanks, both of you. I’m really sorry about all of this. I had one too many margaritas this afternoon, and suddenly, feeding the wildlife seemed like a good idea.”
I give him an understanding smile. “That’s all right. It could happen to anyone. Enjoy the rest of your stay.”
With that, I pick up the cage and walk out of the room to the waiting crowd. Libby looks gobsmacked, and I grin inwardly at how impressive that must have been.
Then she wrinkles her nose at me and says, “What did you do to that poor thing? Did you scare her to death?”
“No,” I say, taken aback. “She just fainted. That’s their first response to a threat.”
“She fainted?”
I nod. “It’s an adaptation to predators. She’ll be out for a bit, and when she wakes up, we’ll release her at a nature sanctuary on the other side of the island.”
Nelson’s head swivels toward me. “Hold up. You don’t mean ‘we’ as in us, do you? Because we’ve got plans, dude, and that’ll take hours.”
Shrugging, I say, “I’d rather drop her off myself. You know, make sure she’s okay.”
“Seriously?” Nelson says, groaning. Looking at Libby, he says, “More often than not this guy ruins my night with his Superman routine.”
I roll my eyes, pretending to mind him telling Libby I’m a bit of hero around here. Pointing to the rigid opossum whose eyes and mouth are open, I say, “Sorry, Nelson, but I’d kind of like to be the one to free her, you know. I mean, I did scare her into…that.”
Libby stares up at me, and I swear to God, her eyelashes are fluttering.
Nelson glances back and forth between us, then says, “Sure thing. Nothing I like more after a long week at the bank than a drive up the mountain instead of hitting the pub.”
“Thanks, man.” Turning to Libby, I say, “I used to call Animal Control in these situations, but it takes them a full business day to come out here, so…”
She nods and looks in the cage. “They’re kind of cute, aren’t they?”
“Yeah, they are.” Not nearly as cute as you, though. Clearing my throat, I glance at Nelson. “We should get going so we can be on our way down the mountain before dark.”
Nelson’s shoulders drop as he spins his key ring around one finger. “Yeah, okay. Nice to meet you, Libby.”
“You too,” she says with a smile.
“Have a good night,” I say, giving her a little nod as I walk past, careful to inhale her perfume on the way by.
***
“So, you going tell me about what you and that redhead have going, or what?” Nelson says as he winds his way around a curve.
Instead of answering, I take a long swig of beer. Yeah, I know it’s illegal in most places, but I’m not driving and he’s not drinking, and island life is a lot more relaxed than most places.
Nelson chuckles and shakes his head at my silence. “I knew you two had a vibe.”
“No vibe. Definitely zero vibage,” I say, a little too forcefully to be in any way convincing.
“Really? Because you were totally swaggering,” he says, then puts on a Texan accent. “Well, little lady, I’m here to wrestle down this here wild animal. You stay back. This ain’t no place for a delicate thing like you.”
“Ha ha. Very funny.” I look out the passenger window, avoiding his gaze. There’s no point in talking about whatever isn’t going on between Libby and me. It’s a dead-end and I know it. “She’s a business analyst from GlobalLux. They sent her to check out the resort and see if they should make an offer.”
When I glance over, Nelson’s mouth is hanging open. “Shit, man. I totally read that wrong. Sorry.”
“Easy mistake. She’s hot as hell, so I can see why you’d assume,” I say, lifting the beer back up to my lips.
“Are you actually thinking of selling? I thought you’d fight to the end,” he says, weaving around a slow rental car filled with some elderly tourists.
“This might be the end,” I say, feeling my gut tighten at the thought. “Emma’s quitting school and coming home to try to save me the money.”
“I bet you’re thrilled about that.”
“Oh yeah, what’s there not to be thrilled about? She’s going to abandon two years’ and thousands of dollars’ worth of education with only six months left. I’m sure you can imagine the conversations we’ve had about it.”
“Yes, but when Emma’s mind is made up…”
“There’s no chance of changing it.”
We’re both quiet for a moment, then he says, “You caught up on your loan payments. That ought to buy you some more time.”
Nodding, I say, “I hope so, man. Things could still work out. I actually cut a deal with Libby. If she thinks she can find a way for me to turn things around on my own, she’s going to give me all her recommendations and tell her boss not to pursue the deal.”
Nelson raises one eyebrow. “And how exactly did you get her to agree to that?”
“Played hard to get,” I say with a grin. “Works every time.”
“Do you think you can trust her?” he asks.
“I better be able to, because if not…” My voice trails off.
“You’re totally screwed?”
“Yup.”
SIXTEEN
A Little Flattery (and a Plate of Drop Doughnuts) Will Get You Everywhere…
Libby
It’s been two days since I saw Harrison, the Impressive Opossum Wrangler. I keep hoping I’ll run into him so I can ask how things went when he and his friend dropped her off at the nature sanctuary. Truth be told, I kind of wanted them to invite me along. But only because it would have been nice to see more of the island, and not because I want to spend some time with a certain sensitive, caring, sculpted resort owner.
It’s now Monday morning, and I’m making my early morning commute to the office via a relaxing stroll through the tropical gardens to the main building, which is much nicer than my normal twenty-minute bus ride through rush hour back home.
One of the gardeners, an older gentleman in a wide-brimmed hat, looks up from the flower bed he’s weeding and smiles. “Good morning!”
“Good morning,” I answer, returning his friendly wave. Yes, this is a lovely commute. He’s the third person to say hello to me already. It occurs to me that I hope he’ll be as happy working for GlobalLux as he is for the Banks family. My gut twists when the answer pops into my mind.
I spent most of the weekend crunching numbers and trying not to think about Rosy pleading for my help, because every time I think of her, I’m filled with a sense of dread. The future for an independent Paradise Bay is not looking so good, and even though the math involved is completely objective, my feelings somehow aren’t.
When I walk through the open-air lobby and into the back offices, I’m greeted by a mouth-watering aroma. I inhale deeply, trying to figure how what it is. Freshly baked pastry, maybe, or…oh, doughnuts! I spy a plate of them on Rosy’s desk as I pass by her office toward my broom closet.
“Good morning, Rosy,” I say, giving her a small wave as I continue on.
“Oh, there you are! Good morning, Libby,” Rosy says cheerfully. “I made you a special Caribbean treat.”
I stop short and turn, eying the doughnuts hopefully.
She stands, picks up the plate, and walks over to me. “I woke up early, so I thought, ‘Why not make Libby some Benaventean drop doughnuts? She’s been here for almost three whole weeks, and she’s hasn’t tried one.’”
I hesitate, wondering if maybe this is some sort of trick — like maybe they’re filled with some sort of truth serum custard or…oh! just straight up poison. That’s probably her game. She’s going to kill me, then put some sunglasses and a huge hat on me and prop me up in a sea
t on one of the catamarans like that dead guy on Weekend at Bernie’s (oh right, Bernie). Everyone will be partying around me, and she’ll distract them with some dirty dolphins port-side so she can dump my body in the sea off the starboard-side.
“What? Are you gluten-free or something?” she asks.
“No, I just don’t want to eat alone,” I answer with what I hope is a convincingly warm smile. “Let’s each have one.”
I select one, then wait to put it in my mouth until she pops one in hers.
The second I bite into the scrumptious treat, I moan in delight. Honestly, if this does contain poison, it wouldn’t be the worst way to go. The sumptuous textures of a crunchy outside and a pillowy soft inside dance across my tongue. “Mmm, is there some orange…and nutmeg in this?”
“That’s an old family secret,” she says with a wink. “But I could be persuaded to share it with someone willing to save our resort.” Rosy nudges my stomach a little with the plate of doughnuts. “Here. Take them. They’re all yours.”
I stare at the offering, feeling a little concerned that I’m letting myself be bought for a plate of sweets. They’re almost delicious enough that it would be worth it, but still, a moment on the lips, a lifetime of…not having a career or being able to pay the bills.
“Go on, Libby. No strings attached, I promise,” she says, giving me an apologetic look. “I wanted to make up for being sort of uncooperative before.”
Sort of? That’s like saying ABBA songs are sort of catchy-slash-awesome. “Thanks, this is really thoughtful of you,” I say, taking the plate and starting down the hall.
“Oh, I have you set up in here today.” Rosy points toward Harrison’s office. “He never uses the damn thing, so someone might as well.”
Moments later, I’m seated in a proper office chair (instead of a wobbly folding metal one) at a real desk (instead of an out-of-commission room service cart) in a wonderfully air-conditioned office. I pop another doughnut in my mouth, then flip through the stack of files Rosy had waiting for me.
The Honeymooner Page 14
