Holly’s laughter bubbled up again. “Let’s not get carried away there, Officer Zavaroni.”
“True—I’d better taste it first.” He made a face like he was gagging on poison.
“Hey, are you sure you should drive?” Holly stopped in the doorway and looked at the beer Jake had set on the coffee table. “What if you run into a sand dune in your obviously impaired state, and then we have to call Joe Sacamano and Jimmy Cafferkey to dig us out? How will we explain our island’s first and only cop driving his golf cart around drunk?”
Jake watched her face, weighing her words. “Right,” he said, pointing at her with his index finger and looking around the room. “I only had a couple of sips there in the kitchen, but I see your point.”
Holly waited a beat before pulling open the door. “I’m kidding, Jake. I watched you take, like, two drinks. You’re fine.”
“Are you sure?” He slipped his feet into a pair of flip-flops and followed her out onto the front step. “I really do want to get off on the right foot here, and this is a really small town. What if you spread the word that I’m a drooling drunk who plows through the streets of Christmas Key with my eyes at half-mast? No one here will ever trust me.”
Holly would have laughed again, but Jake’s face was serious. “Number one, I won’t spread gossip about you—I promise.” She was close enough for Jake to see the flecks of blue-green in her irises as she looked up into his eyes. “And number two, I trust you, and everyone else will, too.”
Jake stared down at her, waiting a beat before answering. “Then I guess I’m already off on the right foot here.”
Chapter Ten
“What are we supposed to do?” Bonnie asked, staring at the giant turtle in the middle of Main Street. “Shoo!” she said loudly. “Go on, sugar—go back to the water!” She waved her hand at the unblinking turtle who sat there sunning himself at midday like an alligator on the banks of a swamp.
Cap Duncan had come out of his cigar shop to watch the commotion, and now he stood on the sidewalk, laughing loudly every time one of his neighbors tried to coax the turtle to move. There were four abandoned golf carts parked at varying angles in the street, and Cap finally stepped off the curb and walked between them, hands in his pockets as he casually approached the crowd.
Marco the parrot held fast to Cap’s shoulder with his talons, watching the giant turtle in the street as he made squawking and kissing noises just like Bonnie was doing.
“Looks like we’ve got ourselves another island pet,” Cap said, shuffling to a stop next to Heddie Lang-Mueller.
“We have enough island pets,” Heddie said, her thick German accent clipping her words brusquely. “That damn bird of yours thinks he belongs to all of us.”
“Technically he does, Heddie. But I’d be willing to go out on a limb and say that he likes me best, don’t you buddy?” Cap turned his head towards Marco, talking in a soothing voice. In response, Marco reached out and took the end of Cap’s nose in his beak. His bite was gentle, but it still startled Cap.
“Ouch!” Cap said, swatting at the bird. “You damn fool!” Marco instantly took flight, flapping his colorful wings as he tore up the street.
“I guess if he likes you best and that’s the way he treats you, then it kind of explains the way he treats the rest of us!” Ray Bradford ambled over to Cap and slapped him on the shoulder amiably. Cap pinched his nose between his weathered fingers to quell the pain.
“Huh,” Heddie huffed, raising an eyebrow at Cap to let him know exactly who she thought the damn fool in this situation was.
Jake had pulled up behind the cart closest to North Star Cigars and climbed out, where he was now observing the whole scene from a few feet away.
“Looks like we’ve got an interloper,” Jake said loudly, joining the small group.
“It’s a loggerhead,” Cap added helpfully. “Seen plenty of them during the time I spent on the water.”
“Oh, he’s adorable!” Holly said. She walked out the front door of the B&B and stepped off the sidewalk and into the street. “Hi, there, buddy,” she said, kneeling in front of him.
“He isn’t fast, but he’s big.” Cap watched as Holly eyed the turtle from a foot away. “Some of ‘em can end up weighing 250 pounds or more.”
“This one looks pretty big,” Bonnie agreed, taking a step back. “How are we going to move him?”
At that moment, all heads swiveled toward Jake.
“Oh. Wow.” Jake ran a hand over his forehead and across the close-cropped hair on his scalp. “I’ve never done animal control duty. Let’s see…” He watched the turtle for a minute; the tortoise looked back at him with baleful eyes, but didn’t budge.
“We could offer him a snack?” Bonnie suggested, still bent over at the waist as she watched Holly kneeling by the turtle.
“We could try seafood,” Jake said. “Clams or something?” He wasn’t sure what sea turtles ate, but it seemed like a reasonable guess. “I do know you aren’t supposed to turn a turtle around.”
“Why not?” Ray Bradford asked, squinting in the bright sunlight.
“They’re usually on a mission, and trying to turn them around is fruitless. The minute we’re done, he’ll just go back the way he came.” Jake shrugged.
“I had no idea!” Bonnie said, fanning herself with one dainty hand. “I’m so impressed to have an officer on the island who knows a thing or two about wildlife,” she said, smiling so that her teeth glinted in the sunlight. “Aren’t you impressed, sugar?” she asked Holly.
“Yeah,” Holly said, amused. “I’m tickled pink.”
“I think we should try a combination of seafood, and just pushing him gently from behind with our hands,” Jake said decisively. “Ray? Cap? You guys want to help me out?” Both of the men shrugged and positioned themselves behind the unmoving turtle. “Now, does anyone have a crab leg or an oyster or two handy?” Jake looked around at everyone else.
“We might have something in the B&B’s kitchen,” Holly said, standing up. “I’ll run and check.”
She was back a few minutes later with a can of sardines in one hand, and a jar of clam juice in the other. Holly held both up for Jake’s inspection.
“Well, unless you’re going to put a straw in the clam juice and try to lure him to you for a sip, I think we should go with the sardines.”
“Why on earth do we have sardines and clam juice in the B&B’s kitchen?” Bonnie asked, wrinkling her nose with distaste.
“I’m guessing the clam juice is to make a Bloody Mary, but the sardines must be something we bought for a dinner or to put in our hurricane stockpile.”
“Yuck. I sure hope we never have a hurricane that leaves us eating whatever is left in the back of the B&B’s pantry.” Bonnie stepped away as Holly hooked her finger through the metal ring on the lid of the sardine can and peeled back the metal.
“Here you go,” she said, turning her head away from the smell and handing the can to Jake.
“Okay, men,” Jake said authoritatively. “I’m going to offer him a sardine, and you guys get ready to guide him in my direction.”
“We’re quite a ways from the beach, Officer,” Cap said, his face dubious. “This could take all day—or longer.”
Jake stood up. He looked momentarily defeated. “You’re right. Okay.” He sighed, holding the open can of fish. “How about we lure him to my golf cart, then the three of us lift him gently onto the back seat. We can drive him over to the beach, set him on the sand, and repeat the same thing with the sardines as we lead him to the ocean.”
Ray scratched his head, looking from the oversized turtle to the golf cart. “That could work,” he decided. “Yeah, I can see that working. Let’s try it.”
Ray and Cap heave-hoed from behind as Jake squatted in front of the turtle with a limp sardine in his hand. The women looked on.
“Come on, little dude,” Jake said softly, looking into the turtle’s eyes. “Let’s get you to the water so you can swim to Texas
.”
“I think he’s going to Cuba,” Cap grunted. “This sucker won’t move. Reminds me of Castro.”
“Let’s hope he isn’t planning on sitting here for the next fifty years,” Ray said, his hands splayed on the back of the turtle’s large shell.
Finally, after watching Jake with the sardines for a couple of minutes, the turtle started to move. His slow steps across the paved road were met with silence from the onlookers; no one wanted to startle him and make him freeze.
“That’s right, Fidel,” Bonnie whispered loudly, cupping her hands around her red-lipsticked mouth. “You can do this.”
Holly rolled her eyes. “If you name him, he might stay, Bon.”
“Lord knows we can always use another man on the island.” She lifted her right shoulder twice, making over-the-top bedroom eyes at Holly as a joke.
“I think you’re out of luck here, Ms. Lane,” Cap said, pushing the turtle gently as it made its way to Jake. “The male loggerheads have long tails. This one’s got a shorty—I think you’re looking at some female competition here.”
The turtle took another step in Jake’s direction, and he took a half-step backwards, inching them farther along.
“So it’s Fidella the female turtle?” Bonnie asked, patting her hair.
“‘Fraid so,” Cap said.
“That’s okay. Us girls gotta stick together anyhow.” Bonnie smiled down at the turtle.
Finally, after about twenty minutes of fits and starts with the sardine treats, the men lifted the turtle gently and set her on the backseat of Jake’s cart.
“Got your first suspect in the back of your cruiser, Officer,” Ray Bradford said, nodding at the turtle and wiping his forehead with the handkerchief he’d pulled from his pants pocket. “Looks like a real feisty one.”
They all watched as the turtle pulled her head and legs inside her shell, closing herself in out of fear.
“Let’s get her to the beach,” Jake said, hopping into the driver’s seat. Cap got into the back next to the turtle and positioned himself so that he could make sure she didn’t fall, and Ray slid into the front seat next to Jake.
It took another hour and a half to get the turtle to the edge of the water, and the men were all drenched in sweat by the time they watched her slip into the ocean, her legs paddling against the incoming waves as she swam away.
Jake stood there for a few minutes, feeling oddly choked up. The situation itself was amusing: a turtle blocking the one paved street on a small island, and a police officer and two retired men spending the afternoon gently convincing her to go back to the water. It beat the hell out of responding to a domestic violence call and finding a bruised and bloody woman clutching a crying baby in a dirty diaper, and it was a huge improvement on a work day spent tracking down a shipment of potentially lethal heroin laced with an unknown substance. Jake stared at the water as he realized what a stark opposition it was to watching his partner get shot to death by an angry cousin with a semi-automatic weapon.
“Well, buddy, you’ve survived your first real situation as Christmas Key’s own Five-O. Operation Turtle Rescue was a success.” Ray clapped Jake on the shoulder, leaving his hand there for a minute. “You joining us at the Ho Ho Hideaway this evening?”
Jake blinked a few times, bringing himself back from the memories of drug houses and overpopulated neighborhoods run down by crime. “Yeah,” he said, nodding. “I think I will.”
Chapter Eleven
Jake woke up to the ringing phone on his nightstand. 7:02.
“Guess where your father and I are?” came his mother’s unmistakable voice.
Jake rubbed his eyes and sat up. The sheet fell from his upper body, just covering him from the waist down.
“Church, would be my guess,” Jake said, considering the day of the week. His mother had always been a staunch Catholic, and while his father would have preferred to spend Sundays watching ballgames in a t-shirt, Mrs. Zavaroni had insisted that her family attend Sunday services.
“Key West,” she said excitedly. “We’re in Key West!”
“Wow.” Jake swung his feet out of bed and planted them on the floor. “What are you guys doing?”
“Coming to see you! It was a surprise—that’s why I didn’t tell you!” Jake could hear his father in the background, grumbling about the early hour.
“You guys are coming here? Today?” He stood and stretched, twisting open the slats of his blinds. It was a bright September morning.
“We’ll be there around ten o’clock,” she said. “Can you pick us up at the dock?”
“Of course,” Jake said. “Are you staying?”
“Do you have room at your house?”
“My second bedroom has no furniture,” Jake said. “But I can probably get you a room at the B&B. How many nights do you want to stay?”
“I’d like to stay forever, but your father says two nights.”
Jake laughed and sat on the edge of his unmade bed. “Your grandkids need you in Miami, Mama,” he said. “But you can come visit me anytime.”
“We’ll be there soon,” she promised.
After ending the call, Jake stared through the blinds at the morning sky. He looked up at the few clouds drifting past his window, wondering what his parents would think of Christmas Key. It was certainly different than being a police officer in Liberty City, and he worried that his mother would be less proud of him if she knew that his new job basically entailed rescuing turtles and planning for possible disasters. His father wouldn’t say much—he never did—but as Jake looked across the room at his new uniform (which he’d laid carefully over the back of a chair), he knew the black shorts and black police t-shirt were less impressive and less imposing than the full uniform he’d worn in Miami.
But his parents were coming. He’d only been gone a week and a half, and they were already surprising him with a visit. It had been a pretty easy transition so far, Jake thought, stretching out on his bed and pulling the sheets up to his shoulders. Since arriving on the island, he hadn’t had a single nightmare about the shooting. And he’d successfully put even more distance between himself and Natalie, which was a good thing. As he drifted back into a dozing state, Jake smiled to himself; he couldn’t wait to show his parents around the island.
*
Jake parked his golf cart at the curb in front of the B&B. “Let’s get you checked in,” he said to his parents, pulling the park break on his cart.
“But it’s not even eleven,” Mrs. Zavaroni said, consulting the delicate gold watch she’d worn on her wrist for more than thirty years. “Isn’t check-in later?”
“Not for you,” Jake said, climbing out of the cart. From the backseat, his father grunted unintelligibly.
“What do you think, Dad?” he asked, reaching for the bags his parents had brought. “It looked kind of like a deserted island as it came into view, right?”
“Looks like the island where Santa Claus stores his mistress for the off-season,” Mr. Zavaroni said. He looked up and down the street at the names of the shops and at the Christmas decorations that Jake had quickly learned were permanent, year-round fixtures.
“Hi!” Holly called out, stepping through the front door of the B&B. “Welcome!”
“I think that’s her,” Mr. Zavaroni said to his son, his voice low. “Looks like a real tart in that short dress.”
“Dad,” Jake said.
“What? I’m just saying an old geezer like Santa wouldn’t mind visiting a ricky-ticky place like this if he had a lady like that waiting for him here.”
“Why now?” Jake hissed at him, watching as his mother greeted Holly on the wide front steps of the B&B. “My whole life you barely say nine words, and now you’ve suddenly become a social commentator.”
“Eh,” Mr. Zavaroni shrugged. “I got cooped up on that boat ride. I’m working off my pent-up energy. Give me five minutes and it’ll be gone.”
“And this must be your dad,” Holly said, walking around the cart
to join Jake and Mr. Zavaroni in the street. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
Mr. Zavaroni looked her up and down once. “Nice place. Very Christmasy.”
“Thank you,” Holly said, putting her hands in the pockets of her sundress. “We like it.”
“You run this hotel?” Mr. Zavaroni pointed a stubby finger at the front of the B&B, looking up at the two floors above the lobby.
“Actually, I own it.” She smiled proudly.
“And most of the island,” Jake added. “Holly Baxter is our mayor, Dad. She kind of runs everything.”
“Really?” Mr. Zavaroni’s black eyebrows shot up toward his receding salt-and-pepper hairline. “Are you married?”
“Antonio,” Mrs. Zavaroni said sharply from the other side of the golf cart. She snapped her fingers the way you might snap at a dog to make it stop nosing around the kitchen trash can.
“What? I’m just wondering,” he said with a face of pure innocence. “A man can’t wonder?” Mrs. Zavaroni pursed her lips disapprovingly at her husband.
“Let’s get you up to your room,” Jake said, lifting both of their bags and leading the way into the B&B’s lobby.
Once his parents were safely ensconced in their room, Jake leaned on the front desk in the lobby, propping himself up with both elbows.
“Sorry,” he said, looking at the faint scratches on the well-worn desktop. “My parents are…unique.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Holly assured him. “They’re charming.”
“Antonio Zavaroni has been called many things,” Jake said, smiling, “and I’m pretty sure that ‘charming’ has never been one of them.”
“Well, I thought he was funny. Shorter than I would have expected, but funny.”
“Yeah, they’re both pretty short. My brother and sisters and I are all taller than they are—we used to joke around that we were all adopted. My mother hated that.” He smiled at the memory of them teasing his mom until she got so flustered that she promised to tell them each the gory details of their births to make them stop. Naturally, they’d fled the room.
“Honestly, I thought they were cute. And you’ll know what it means to have a mother you need to apologize for after you meet mine.” Holly picked up two stray pens and set them in the cup on the desk. She straightened the notepads next to the phone, and slipped a piece of paper into a small wooden inbox by the computer.
Jake's Story: A Christmas Key Novella Page 5
