by Laura Moore
Lily felt heat stain her cheeks.
Simone leaned forward in her chair and poked George in the side. “Quit it, Hunt. Or I’ll turn into a jealous shrew, and then Lily will be really embarrassed.”
George grabbed Simone’s hand and pressed his lips to her palm. “Never fear, love. Lily knows I, uh, admire her brains even more than her beauty. Right, kiddo?”
Lily rolled her eyes. “Especially when you want to sweet-talk me, George.”
“Ah, but I’m only doing it with your best interests at heart. Simone’s right. You can’t ignore family, Lily. Or your roots. This assignment is a wonderful chance to make up for lost time, and in the bargain do some valuable research on your hometown’s reef system. And you’ll be making a lovely old girl so very happy.”
“Just how long did you and my grandmother talk for, George?” she asked suspiciously.
George merely grinned.
Lily looked at him and Simone. The stint in Coral Beach wouldn’t last long. She’d be able to visit Granny May and then leave, with her suddenly troubled conscience clear. Resigned, Lily sighed. “Okay, I’ll do it.”
George’s whoop of triumph startled a laugh out of both women. With a wide smile, he raised his mug, as if toasting Lily. “Knew we could count on you, Dr. Banyon.”
Simone leaned back in her chair. She, too, smiled. “Thanks, Lily. As soon as you’re done in Coral Beach, we’ll get you to Lucaya without delay. I promise. Now,” she continued briskly, “we’ve got a lot to do before you leave Thursday morning. Let’s get cracking.”
CHAPTER THREE
Forty-eight hours later, Lily was thirty thousand feet in the air, heading toward Miami far too quickly for her peace of mind. The airplane was packed, full of snow-birds getting an early jump on the season. Karen Masur, the photographer who’d been assigned to work with Lily, was sitting in the adjacent seat. She was flipping through an airline magazine as she listened to music on her Walkman. With the plane filled to capacity, Lily’s other assistant, John Granger, had been assigned a seat at the very rear of the plane, by the toilets. A more fitting location for him, Lily couldn’t imagine.
Karen had recently been promoted from volunteer to staff photographer. While Karen’s lack of field experience was a potential drawback, Lily knew that at least Karen was a talented photographer, keen to learn, and willing to work. Lily far preferred dealing with a novice to putting up with a first-class jerk. That was the nicest way to describe John Granger.
When Simone had informed her that she would be giving Lily John Granger as a research assistant, Lily had blurted, “Simone, that’s not giving, that’s foisting.”
“Lily, I’m sorry, really I am.” For the first time that morning, Simone had looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I wish I could send Craig with you, but he’s developed a middle-ear infection. He can’t dive until the doctor gives his A-OK. Besides, it’ll be more useful if, as soon as Craig’s ear heals, he heads to Lucaya and begins the prep for your reef regeneration study.”
“We understand your, uh—” George had paused to clear his throat. “—reluctance to take John with you, Lily. But you’ve done a great job training the other graduate students. Look at how far Craig has come.”
“Craig actually wants to use his brains,” was her heated reply. “Whereas the only thing John wants to exercise is in his pe—”
“John’s been significantly more restrained ever since your little conversation with him, Lily—for which we’re all extremely grateful,” Simone interrupted. “You know the data collecting will go much faster if you’ve got help, and when he chooses to, John does decent work. It’s only right to give him the opportunity.”
“And you’ve already proved how adept you are at dealing with a ‘personality’ like Granger,” George added.
Though George was managing to keep a straight face, Lily could see the effort was hard-won. “Very funny, George. Maybe your next assistant will be an opportunistic ass grabber.” She gave a sunny smile at his appalled expression.
Simone had coughed loudly, the sound awfully close to a strangled laugh. “I promise you I’ll talk with John before the three of you leave on Thursday. Now, I know you have a ton of stuff to do. I’ll get Rachel to make copies of everything we’ve received on the coral reef advisory committee. And George will contact the guy from the Parks Department, let him know you’re coming. Have a great time, Lily, and don’t forget to send us postcards.”
And that was that. The only good thing about having to organize a project virtually overnight—creating and ticking off checklists for the equipment needed for the study, then packing it and all the diving gear for express shipment to Coral Beach—was that Lily had been too busy to think about just where she was headed.
She still hadn’t so much as glanced at the file Simone’s secretary, Rachel, had handed her. She was stalling. But now, with two more hours of flight time ahead of them, the manila folder was screaming for her attention from the depths of her leather shoulder bag. For the umpteenth time Lily wished this were all some bad dream from which she’d awaken and find herself safe and sound in a rented cottage on the outskirts of Lucaya.
Reluctantly, Lily bent forward and withdrew the folder from her bag. She opened the folder to the first page and stiffened with a gasp.
“Hey, Lily, what’s the matter?” Karen asked, shifting in her seat.
Lily didn’t reply, could only stare, horrified, at the topmost name on the sheet. Shuddering, she squeezed her eyes shut.
“Hey,” Karen said again. “Are you okay?”
Lily opened her eyes, but seconds passed before she could focus properly. Dazedly she noted that Karen had pulled her earphones down. They hung around her neck, along with her assorted collection of silver chains and pooka shells.
Karen shook her forearm lightly. “Should I call the flight attendant? Lily,” she said, fingers squeezing more urgently, “come on, speak to me; you’re freaking me out.” At that, she stretched upward, her index finger aiming for the little rectangular button that would summon the flight attendant.
Before she could press it, Lily stirred. “I’m all right, Karen. Really.” Her voice was the weak croak of a dying frog.
“You sure? To tell you the truth, you look, well, kind of green.”
“It must be the turbulence,” Lily mumbled. She shut her eyes again, refusing to look down at the paper clenched between her fingers. From her side of the armrest, she felt as well as heard Karen’s snort of disbelief.
“Yeah, right. There’s been hardly a bump since take-off. But maybe it’s because you’ve been reading—that sometimes makes people really queasy.”
Truer words had never been spoken. “Yes, that must be it.” She swallowed. “But I’m feeling better now.”
“Oh,” she said, then added, “Glad to hear it.” Resettling the earphones over her head, she went back to her magazine.
A pathetic hope consumed Lily. It was possible she’d been hallucinating, the delusions brought on by her imminent return to Coral Beach. Screwing up her courage, she peeked at the printed list of committee members one more time.
No, fate was definitely not smiling upon her. There it was, Sean McDermott, mayor.
And he was heading the advisory panel.
Mayor. How and when had that happened? Why hadn’t anyone mentioned it to her? True, her mother had hit the social jackpot with husband number four and was now living in Palm Beach, spending her days at the tennis club, her evenings at whatever charity ball was written on her social calendar. But that didn’t mean her mother was out of the loop. She and Dana McDermott, Sean’s mother, still called each other daily; Kaye would definitely know that Sean was mayor of Coral Beach.
But Lily communicated with her mother as little as possible, never asking questions or volunteering any information, rarely venturing beyond monosyllabic responses. Lily’s calls were made strictly from a sense of duty, to let her mother know where she could be reached in case of emergency. Given the
brevity of their long-distance conversations, it would have been difficult for Kaye Alcott to introduce that particularly newsworthy bit of information.
But what about the rest of her family? Her half brothers, Ned and Mike, lived outside Orlando. They’d always idolized Sean. And Granny May was, as ever, best friends with Sean’s own grandmother. They certainly might have mentioned something, at least in passing.
In spite of the fact that Lily had turned her back on her hometown, the news that Sean was mayor made her feel vastly out of touch, disoriented. She could hardly have been more shocked if she’d learned that Sean had been elected president of the United States. Actually, that’d be preferable, far easier to swallow. Because then he wouldn’t be chairing the committee to which she was supposed to report.
With sudden longing, Lily looked at the long red handle of the emergency exit.
If only they provided parachutes on these flights.
Sean pressed the power button on his cell phone the instant the airline steward informed the passengers that it was safe once more to operate their cell phones. It rang immediately.
“McDermott,” he answered.
“Sean, it’s me.” Though tinny, Evelyn’s voice conveyed an extra urgency this morning. “Where have you been?”
“Circling. There was a storm front we had to bypass, then every plane in the region wanted to land simultaneously. Sky traffic’s become as bad as Route One. What’s up, Evelyn?”
“It’s a zoo here, been like this the entire morning. The press meeting’s canceled, of course . . . which is about the best news I can give you right now.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Yes. For starters, there was a head-on collision on the western curve approaching the bridge into town. The car that sustained the most damage had a mother and three kids in it. They’re alive, but one of the children was pinned for about an hour. Rescue workers had to saw through the metal to get him out.”
“Jesus. Which hospital?” Sean fished a pen from the inside pocket of his suit.
“Saint Francis. Family’s name is Ritter, mother is Sue, children are Tabitha, Hank, and Jake. Hank’s the one who was trapped.” Evelyn paused so Sean could scribble down the information, then continued. “Sean, both Pete Ferrucci and Jack Gehring were interviewed live on the community TV station this morning. Topic of the day is how you vetoed the plan to widen the bridge.”
“That proposal was nothing more than a scam to line Jack Gehring’s pockets,” Sean replied. Gehring ran the largest construction company in the county. He had amassed a fortune in contracts by underbidding the competition, to the point where practically every major building project had Gehring’s name on it. “Ferrucci and Gehring are just making noise,” he reassured his secretary. “The police department hired safety experts to look at the Bellemer Bridge proposal. Their conclusion was that widening the bridge would only encourage people to drive faster. Besides, Evelyn, you said the accident happened at the curve approaching the bridge.”
“I don’t think Ferrucci, Gehring, or any of their cronies care about petty details like that. They’re having a field day.”
He cursed silently. “Well, I’ll deal with the town council members after I’ve visited the hospital.”
“No, sorry, Sean, you’ll have to deal with the waste management services first,” Evelyn informed him. “This morning at eight, the head of the union announced a general strike. Effective immediately.”
“What? We went over the contract with a magnifying glass. Every item was okayed.”
“That was then, this is now.”
Exasperated, Sean rubbed his face with his hand, and then spoke directly into the mouthpiece. “Call the union rep; tell him I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
He was still talking as he exited the plane.
CHAPTER FOUR
Today was one of those days when all of Evelyn Roemer’s organizational efforts were blown to smithereens. Sean’s carefully planned schedule was transformed into a mad dash, with him racing from one disaster to the next. The only truly good news came early, when he visited St. Francis Hospital. Hank Ritter, the little boy who’d been trapped beneath crumpled metal in the car crash, was miraculously unharmed. The doctors were keeping him overnight at the hospital for routine observation only. When the nurse on duty ushered Sean into Hank’s room, he was sitting up in bed, slurping chocolate pudding and watching a cartoon program on Nickelodeon. Sean got a casual, “Hi,” and a, “Yeah, I’m okay,” from him before he switched his attention back to the TV show. Sean left Hank’s room considerably lighter of heart.
Mrs. Ritter and her other two children had been exceptionally lucky, too. The kids suffered a few bruises and Mrs. Ritter was sporting an egg-size lump on her left temple. The police had already interviewed both Mrs. Ritter and the other driver, and made a preliminary examination of the crash site. From the angle of the crash, it looked as if both drivers had taken the curve too wide, making a collision unavoidable.
There was also a strong suspicion that Mrs. Ritter had been driving one-handed—sheer, reckless folly. When the police examined the wrecked car, they discovered her cell phone still on, lying underneath the accelerator. They’d confirmed that the automobile lacked any type of hands-free device designed for cell phones.
After Sean had checked on the rest of the Ritter family, he arranged to meet with the police chief and the head of the Department of Transportation to see what additional measures could be taken to improve safety on the bridge. From the hospital, he then hightailed it over to the other end of town, where the Sanitation Department’s office was located. It took an hour and a half of heated wrangling over workmen’s comp and pension benefits—issues Sean and the union’s spokesman had previously agreed upon—before he was able to walk away with the promise that the town’s garbage men would return to work and stay there until the town board could vote on the proposed changes.
Sean had never stared into as many blank-eyed faces before. Throughout the high school civics talk, he felt as if he were speaking to the kids in a foreign language, one they had no intention of learning. Scrambling for a way to reach his audience, he ad-libbed, tossing out anecdotes about his own years at Coral Beach High. He confessed that as a teenager his decision to run for student government had been little more than a wily excuse to approach the best-looking girls. But what ultimately hooked his interest in student government was the startling discovery that the kids at school, all so different— jocks, nerds, preppies, and brains—could unite behind a common cause.
During his senior year, when he’d been president of the student council, Coral Beach High raised seven thousand dollars to aid Florida’s hurricane victims. Wouldn’t that be something to feel good about? Sean asked his teenage audience.
The response he received was as rousing as a herd of cows chewing their cud. Except this group was blowing big pink bubbles with their gum.
The question and answer period, too, turned out to be a joke. The teens’ main preoccupations: his salary and whether he got driven around town in a chauffeured limo. When they learned he was willing to work for peanuts and that he drove an eight-year-old convertible, he might as well have stamped a big fat L on his forehead. He was weak-kneed with relief when at last the principal mounted the auditorium steps and thanked Sean for his electrifying speech.
While Sean was politically seasoned enough to put the morning’s snafus behind him, and not worry overmuch that the apathetic bunch he’d just talked to represented America’s future voters, it was the high school principal’s long-winded enthusiasm, telling Sean how much of an inspiration he was for these kids, that truly set Sean’s teeth on edge. And made him even later for the final meeting of the day, the coral reef advisory panel.
Sean’s office suite was empty when he returned, Evelyn doubtless waiting in the conference room with the other committee members. The aqua blue folder that contained all the relevant information Evelyn had compiled was on the middle of his desk where h
e wouldn’t miss it. He grabbed it and strode down the hall, the folder open in his hands. His eyes skimmed the list, double-checking everyone’s name.
The vibrant Day-Glo orange of the highlighter Evelyn had selected was as shocking as the name she’d used it on.
Dr. Lily Banyon, Center for Marine Studies, Gloucester.
So fitting, so ironic, it was just what Lily herself would have done: try her damnedest to knock him flat on his ass. The jolt caused by reading Lily’s name with George Hunt’s name neatly crossed out in thin, red marker, sent Sean tripping over the threshold, entering the conference room with the exaggerated clumsiness of a clown entertaining the spectators beneath the big tent.
He recovered just before he careened into a chair. He stood, gripping the chair’s wooden frame for support. His mind reeled as he searched the faces in the conference room. The wave of relief that flooded him when he realized Lily wasn’t there would at any other moment have been laughable. Someone spoke, asking if he was okay, a reasonable question given his bizarre entrance. Sean managed to pull himself together and reply before turning away. He’d spotted Evelyn at the other end of the room.
Thanks to Evelyn’s excellent shorthand, she’d been designated the committee’s secretary, responsible for recording the minutes. True to form, she was all set to go, the rectangular yellow legal pad tucked under her arm, her bony fingers wrapped around an assortment of pens, Day-Glo orange among them. Sean scowled.
“Hi,” Evelyn said. “I just called in an order for cookies and coffee, a double espresso for you. You look like you’re in serious need of one,” she clucked. “It should be here any minute now. Almost everyone’s here,” she added, looking around. “Except for—”
Sean’s hand wrapped around her elbow, and he pulled her further away from the nearest cluster of committee members. “What’s going on, Evelyn?” he demanded in a low hiss.
