Kiki Lowenstein Books 1-3 & Cara Mia Delgatto Books 1-3: The Perfect Series for Crafters, Pet Lovers, and Readers Who Like Upbeat Books!

by Joanna Campbell Slan

  Something had held me back.

  The fact that my grandfather owned property on Jupiter Island had come as a surprise to me. The widow Fingersmith had left it to my grandfather in her will, as a way of thanking Poppy for taking care of her. Or so Poppy had told me. His eyes had gotten all shifty when he told me his version of how he came to own pricey JI property. When he got to the part about serving in the Navy with Mrs. Fingersmith’s son, my grandfather had acted evasive.

  I had a hunch there was more to the story. But I’d filed my curiosity away in a place reserved for “to be continued,” and on a whim, I made the drive to Jupiter Island.

  One look was all it took. I saw Seaspray and fell madly in love. To me, the place was—and is—perfect. A tiny white cottage with clapboard siding. Pecky cypress paneling in the kitchen. Two bedrooms with adjoining baths and a laundry room in between. Stairs leading to a second floor room. An upstairs full bath. And a view of the ocean from every room in the house.

  Best of all, Seaspray is secluded.

  The house is nearly invisible from the road. The first owner had gone a little nuts, planting trees and shrubs on the one-acre lot. The second let the plants run riot. So did Poppy. Overgrown foliage obscures the tiny cottage. From the beach side, the dunes keep the house a secret. I love the cozy feeling of having no visible neighbors.

  Downtown Stuart is twenty minutes away from my place on Jupiter Island. I don’t mind the drive, but to make life easier, I keep a change of clothes and toilette articles in my “old” apartment above the store. That’s where I tucked my new dress into a closet. I didn’t even need to try it on. I knew it would fit. After wearing other garments by Lilly Pulitzer, I knew how her sizes ran. MJ’s suggestion had been a good one; I planned to wear the dress when I went out with Jason.

  We’d met because he was overseeing the crew working on the new Fill Up and Go gas station that would replace Poppy’s old Gas E Bait. Jason’s a good-looking man built like a weight-lifter. But he’s also eight years younger than I am. Sure he’s sweet. Considerate. Protective. Smart but not brilliant. And kind. There’s a lot to like about him.

  “But he’s too, too young for me,” I muttered to myself.

  I had told my friends as much last week right after he invited me out for dinner.

  In her typically opinionated way, MJ had said, “Don’t be ridiculous. Women live longer. We stay young longer. You’re a youthful thirty-eight. He’s an old soul.”

  “It’s not his soul that worries me. He has other body parts that have a lot of get up and go,” I grumbled.

  “To the marriage of true minds, let me not admit impediments.” Skye shook her spoon at me. A drop of yogurt landed on the table. The fragrance of strawberries perfumed the air.

  “Huh?” Using my napkin, I wiped up the mess.

  “Shakespeare.” She sighed. “I’ve been reading his sonnets to educate myself.”

  A pause suggested she was debating how much to share. Finally, she gave in and added, “I dropped out of high school after my freshman year. Sid helped me go online and find a list of what people read for college prep.”

  I struggled not to react. MJ’s mouth quivered, too. We both wanted to tell Skye she was being silly. She has absolutely no reason to feel self-conscious about her lack of education. None. Skye is wicked smart. She’s a crafting genius. People love her, because she’s so authentic.

  “If you’re right for each other,” Skye continued, “you’re right for each other, no matter what stands in your way.”

  “I don’t think we’re right for each other.”

  “Why not?” Skye persisted. Her pretty face puckered up with curiosity. Skye’s such a romantic. I hated to burst her bubble, but she asked and so I answered, “It’s not that I have a daddy complex or anything like that, but I enjoy older men. Worldly men.”

  “Captain Nathan Davidson fills the bill admirably,” said Skye, with a brisk salute. “Lou tells me he’s really interested in you. When was the last time you two went out?”

  “Last weekend. We have a date for this Friday night.” I liked the police captain. He was smart, kind, and incredibly masculine. But something held me back. I couldn’t put my finger on it, and Nathan had been blunt. He wanted to take our relationship to the next level.

  “How about Jay Boehner?” MJ leaned closer. “He’s one hot father-figure. Major league eye candy, if you ask me. Rich, too.”

  “She’s right. What a hunk,” said Skye. “Reminds me of Cary Grant. I love the way he dresses, too. Sort of old-school elegant. Nice manners.”

  “Have you heard from him lately?” MJ asked.

  “No.” I bit back a sigh of disappointment. “You’re right. Jay Boehner reminds me of Cary Grant, too. He’s exactly the kind of man I had in mind. Too bad he doesn’t seem all that interested in me.”

  “Valentine’s Day is right around the corner,” said MJ. “If I were you, I wouldn’t dump any of the three of them. Not yet. At least wait and see what they give you.”

  Skye rolled her eyes.

  Mentally, I did, too.

  9

  The back door squealed open, and Honora McAfee arrived in a fluster. Her straw boater tilted perilously to one side as she lugged a slow cooker toward the counter. Skye jumped up to help our friend with her burden, while MJ close the door behind our friend.

  “EveLynn should have helped you with that.” I shook my head as I took the slow cooker from Skye and set it on the counter. Honora’s adult daughter, EveLynn, has Asperger’s Syndrome. Okay, so she’s not wired to think of other people. I get that. But Honora should have insisted that she offer assistance. At seventy-six, Honora is too old to take a chance on falling. From the off-balance way she lurched into the back room, a face-plant seemed pre-ordained.

  “I’m fine!” she protested. The scent of lavender followed her like a shadow. “A little stiff this morning. That’s all.”

  “What’s in the slow cooker?” Skye asked.

  “Tex Mex Spaghetti Squash,” said Honora. “Found the recipe online and couldn’t resist. Unfortunately, EveLynn won’t try anything new. Every Wednesday is pasta night, and I tried to explain that this was exactly like pasta—”

  “Except it isn’t,” I said.

  “A fine point.” Honora waved away my objection. “Rather than waste the leftovers, I brought them here. That child is going to drive me into an early grave.” After removing her hat, setting the hatpin in the antique pin cushion that MJ had found expressly for this purpose, Honora patted the knob of gray hair at the back of her neck. “Well, now, I’m glad we’re all here because I have something I wish to discuss. Let me pour myself a cup of tea. Anyone else want one?”

  Skye asked for a second cup of tea. I poured coffee for me and for MJ while Honora bustled around with the kettle. While the water heated, she took a seat and perked up at our willing audience. “There’s a yearly contest held by one of the prominent vendors of miniature items. It’s called the Creatin’ Contest. I’d like to enter this year, but I need your permission, Cara, darling, to work on the project here at the store.”

  There had to be more to her question. I’ve never thought of myself as a whip-cracking overseer, so why was she asking my permission so formally?

  Honora continued, “Before he had his accident, Sid suggested we start a store blog. If I enter this contest, I could share my plans for the project, any problems I encounter, and how I solve them. I believe my efforts would be of interest to miniaturists around the globe. Since we have such a lovely online store, we might even be able to attract new customers as a result. Of course, you could also display the finished product in the front window.”

  I leaned back and thought about what she was proposing.

  “As for the theme,” Honora said, “I’ve never seen a dollhouse that reflects the sensibilities of the Treasure Coast. This part of our peninsula is special. Really special. We aren’t as commercialized as Sanibel or the Gulf coast. Nor do we have as much of the surfe
r culture as Daytona Beach. We’re not as Latin as Miami. Nor as tourist-trap-ish as Orlando. Or as funky as the Keys. That said, we have our own style here, don’t we? So many of my neighbors live off what they catch. They go fishing once a week. They eat Key Limes, lemons, oranges, and tangerines that grow on trees in pots in their yards. We all share any extras. In fact, when someone comes back from the Keys with ice coolers full of lobster, we all sit down and have a feast.”

  Seeing what she meant, I nodded. “How about the murals? I’ve never seen murals like we have down here. Wherever you turn, they are a part of the landscape.”

  “So are paddleboards, kayaks, fishermen, and surfers,” said Skye. “But we’re not like Daytona, because our surfers work during the day. The folks around here keep their day jobs and surf when they can.”

  “There’s the way we all love our sea turtles,” agreed MJ. “Even the burliest man at the Elks Club goes all giddy when he talks about seeing hatchlings crawl out of the sand. There’s a magic to our coastline. I’ve watched perfect strangers stop to chat about pelicans or sandpipers.”

  “We work to live here,” I said, “unlike some places where you live there only because you work there. There’s a rhythm to our lives.”

  “That changes with hurricane season,” said Skye. “When a storm heads this way, everyone pitches in, nailing up plywood, starting generators, and sharing resources like D batteries.”

  “Don’t even talk to me about D batteries,” said Honora. “The last time we had a storm scare I couldn’t buy D batteries anywhere! They were snapped up right away.”

  MJ and Skye nodded in agreement.

  “My goal is to be ‘green’ by incorporating as many locally sourced materials as possible,” Honora said. “All of us care so much about the environment. Living here, we get a first-hand glimpse of how waste impacts our ecosystem. MJ, I was wondering if you could give me guidance about vintage Florida pieces representative of the Treasure Coast. Skye, I know how good you are at crafts. I’ll probably need help making some of the furnishings and decorating the place. I’d like to use a lot of sea shells and local botanicals. Of course,” and Honora looked at me shrewdly, “all of this is contingent upon Cara’s approval. What do you say, Cara, darling?”

  “Go for it.”

  10

  On that particular day, the back door was magically transformed into a revolving door, of sorts. Shortly after Honora announced her grand plans, Poppy arrived.

  “Guess who was rip-roaring ready to git back to work?” my grandfather asked, as he cocked an eyebrow and held open the door.

  “Sid!” We all squealed with joy.

  It was good to see Sid, although it saddened me to watch him struggle along on his crutches. MJ and Skye both jumped up to hug him. Honora waited her turn before bestowing a kiss on his cheek. Jack about went nuts, trying to get out of his crate so he could lick Sid’s hand. I waited until everyone else had settled down before giving him a hug and peck on the forehead.

  Poppy guided the pale young man to a chair while I grabbed Jack. Once he was in Sid’s lap, the love fest began between boy and dog. Watching them brought a smile to all our faces, but worry hung over us, like a brewing thunderstorm.

  Sid was incredibly pale. Dark circles rimmed his eyes. In a word, he looked feeble. Long days in a hospital bed had not been good for his health. After making light conversation with all my employees, I beckoned to my grandfather. “Poppy? Do you have a moment? I’ve got questions about Seaspray. Will you come into my office so we can talk?”

  “Be right back,” I told the others.

  After closing the door behind us, I asked Poppy, “How’s Sid really doing? He looks awful. Just awful! I didn’t expect you to bring him in so early.”

  Poppy put his feet up on my desk. Normally, I would have barked at him to take his shoes down, but I wanted to encourage my grandfather to get chatty and Poppy is usually economical with words. Chewing on his lower lip, he said, “That boy’s got a lot of healing to do. Clumsy as all get out. You’d have to expect that. Broken arm. Broken bones in his foot. He’s lucky to be alive.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  My grandfather removed his red St. Louis Cardinals baseball cap and scratched his crown. “You probably ain’t heard that his no-good mother ain’t been by to see him once. Not even once! As for that old bird that hit him, she’s all lawyered up. I heard that through the grapevine over at the deli.”

  Pumpernickel’s Deli was where Skye worked. The little restaurant across the street was one of the area’s favorite places for a quick bite. Everyone stopped by sooner or later. When they did, the good food loosened their lips.

  I wasn’t surprised to hear that the woman who’d hit Sid had gotten counsel. She probably shouldn’t have been driving at all, especially not on a rainy night when it’s hard to see clearly. After making a right turn on red at an intersection, she’d sent Sid flying through the air. She’d driven away, but others had seen the accident and called for help. Sid had landed against a Bank of America building, hitting his head hard. His bicycle had been crushed into a wad of metal the size of a can of peas. All in all, he’d been lucky to survive.

  At the emergency room, they’d phoned his stepmother and gotten a recorded answer. As a result, Sid had given them my name and number. I made a mad dash to Jupiter Medical Center.

  When Amberlee finally returned my call, well after the crisis was over, I couldn’t hear her for the music in the background.

  “So? What do you expect me to do about it? He’s not mine, you know.”

  I had literally gnashed my teeth, an action I’d read about but never performed. The dentist later confirmed that I’d chipped a back molar rather than snap at her. Instead, I’d responded in a perfectly civil tone. “I understand he isn’t yours. However, you were married to Harvey Heckman for twelve years. Sid’s only eighteen. You’ve known him since he was six. Surely you feel some—”

  She cut me off. “Look, I gotta go. I’ve got company.”

  I learned later that she still claimed Sid on her taxes as a dependent.

  “That no good she-cat had Harvey tied up in knots,” said my grandfather as he worried the edge of the baseball cap. “Getting him to leave her all his money. That fool.”

  “MJ says that Amberlee promised Harvey she’d look after his son. I guess he wanted to believe her. Especially when he learned he had Stage 4 lung cancer.”

  “All that asbestos. He worked on boats his whole life. That’s how come he could leave her with so much money; it was a settlement. Harvey was smart as they come. That’s where Sid gets his brains. They tell me Harvey could do anything with a boat. Anything. He understood exactly what adjustments to make in how they was built. All a matter of math, I ‘spect.” Poppy turned bleary eyes to me. “Men like that, you call ‘em geeks, right? What with those plastic pen protectors in their pockets? One look at Amberlee with her fancy ways and old Harvey took on water. She swamped his boat. That was it.”

  “How much does Sid owe the hospital?”

  “A passel of money for his deductible. And you ain’t heard the worst of it yet.”

  “Hit me with it. Give it to me all at once. Don’t hold anything back.”

  Poppy’s feet clattered to the floor. He leaned across the desk to whisper, “That kid’s gonna need all sorts of therapy. That break in his arm? It’ll have an effect on how he does computer work. Moving around that moose?”

  “Mouse.”

  “Mouse? That’s the gizmo he uses? The doctor says it’ll be hard for him to get back to normal. He’s also gonna need physical therapy for his foot. That fool woman crushed it good. Once that surgical boot comes off, he’ll need help flexing his toes. They’re gonna be stiff as all get out. Gotta get it mobile again or he’ll limp for the rest of his life.”

  “Is that it? The worst of it?”

  “Nope. Thanks to that there blow to his head, he’ll probably be moody. Might have trouble remembering stuff
. Could have personality changes. And get this. Yesterday, I stopped by the trailer to pick up his computer? So he could have it at my place? That tin box he called home was wide open and empty. Those other kids done moved out.”

  “Why were you looking for his computer? It should have been there with him at the hospital. He had it with him when he left the store the night he was hit.”

  “Yup, but he told me this morning that he ain’t got it.”

  “Let me get this straight,” I said. “You’re telling me that we don’t know where Sid’s computer is.”

  “Right, and his brain is addled. I ain’t completely sure he can tell us what happened to it.”

  How on earth was Sid going to live without his computer? It was more than a portal for entertainment. To him, it was his virtual workplace. I’d hired him to computerize my business. That involved creating a website, a shopping cart, and moving all our accounting onto QuickBooks.

  Then it hit me: Did the thief have access to my financial records?

  Surely not. They’d have to get past Sid’s password.

  But what if his friends were as talented with computers as he was? Then a password wouldn’t provide much, if any, protection at all.

  11

  “Sid,” I pulled up a chair next to him at the table in the back room. “Do you have any idea where your computer is?”

  “In my backpack.”

  “All right, and where’s your backpack?” I did my best not to sound as panicky as I felt.

  “Next to my, um, desk.” He frowned and winced. Although most of his bruises were fading, the ER doc had sewn up his lip with two stitches. Talking was difficult, and the grimace had been painful. Moving carefully, he rotated in the chair and tried to look over at his desk, which was next to where MJ sat working on a delivery ticket.