There's Always a Catch: Christmas Key Book One Read online

  “Look,” Holly says over the discussion that erupts at the mention of Facebook. “My intention is not to—”

  “I’ll tell you what, young lady,” Cap says as he walks back down the aisle toward the back door of the B&B. He pauses in the doorway of the dining room, the hand holding his flask stretched out in her direction. “Your intentions do not match up with my intentions on this one.” Cap walks out of the room, leaving a stunned crowd in his wake.

  In the silence that follows, Joe Sacamano stands from his seat. “Clearly our good friend Cap isn’t feeling quite like himself today,” Joe says, nodding at the NBC producers in apology. “And to you, my friends and neighbors, I think what you need to consider is that our young mayor always has the best interest of the island at heart. We might not know what we’re in for with a reality show, but I think we can all agree that no one loves this place more than Holly, and that she wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize Christmas Key.”

  “That’s true,” Maria Agnelli says loudly.

  “I’ll support that,” comes a voice from the side of the room. Jake stands. “I know Holly well enough to know that if this is something she’s willing to do, then there’s a real benefit to the island to be had.” He looks at Holly directly. “I’ll support it.”

  “Thank you,” she mouths to him over the voices in the crowd. She clears her throat and goes on. “Anyway, I’ll be glad to entertain individual discussions, and to talk through your concerns with you. Just drop by my office or give me a call anytime.” A bead of sweat runs down her back as she speaks, and the desire to wrap things up without further ado pushes her to close things out. “This adjourns the village council meeting for August twentieth. Thank you.”

  Without waiting for Heddie to finish writing, or for her neighbors to approach her with comment, Holly makes a beeline for the peace and quiet of her own office.

  “What in the hell got into Cap?” Bonnie asks, following her into the office and dropping a stack of papers on her half of the desk. “That man is three sheets to the wind, and I’ve never seen him drink more than one beer on any given night.”

  “I have no idea,” Holly says, putting her head in her hands. “But he could have picked a better time to turn into the town drunk.”

  “It’s okay, honey. He’s gone now and he’ll probably go sleep it off at his place. We’ll deal with him and his secret past later. Right now you need to put on some lipgloss and go visit with those television people.”

  Holly looks up at Bonnie forlornly. “I should have told everyone before NBC came out here, shouldn’t I?”

  “Oh, sugar…” Bonnie puts a hand on top of Holly’s shiny brown hair and smooths it lovingly. “I think you’re doing things the best way you know how. You’ve got some tough customers out there, but you’ve also got a lot of adventurous old-timers who don’t mind going along for the ride. It’ll work out.”

  Holly rubs her face with both hands. “Thanks, Bon. I guess we’d better finish showing our guests around. We’ve got dinner at the Jingle Bell and then drinks at Jack Frosty’s, and I hope at least a few islanders will drop by to be friendly.”

  When they arrive at the bistro, Jimmy and Iris have everything set up on the patio overlooking the water. About twenty people are waiting outside, sipping Joe Sacamano’s rum and talking excitedly about the possibility of a reality show coming to their island.

  “Holly!” Gen calls, handing her drink to Gwen. “There’s our girl!” Gen rushes over and pulls Holly into a tight embrace. “We’re really proud of you,” she says, holding Holly’s face between her hands. “You’re so gung-ho about this progress business. And what a wonderful opportunity this show could be!”

  “Thank you. That means a lot.” The tension Holly felt at the village council meeting melts a little. There are bound to be some islanders who don’t love the idea of a reality show, but those who support her are mingling at the Jingle Bell Bistro, beaming at her and holding up glasses of rum in a toast. Holly takes the glass that Iris hands to her and raises it in the air before drinking.

  Over a lobster boil and dessert, the crew from NBC gets to mingle with more than half of the locals. It’s a good turnout. Holly sits back in her seat, pleased to see everyone laughing and talking with one another. She feels a pang of guilt as she watches her neighbors interacting with their visitors, knowing that she purposely left them in the dark about the reality show. But frankly, it had been easier to prepare without the naysayers banging on her office door while she tried to make the arrangements. Holly knows that some of her neighbors will think she was being secretive, and they don’t like being left out of the decision-making process. But perhaps knowing that she’s been going through a lot—with Coco wanting to sell the island, and finding out that Buckhunter is her uncle—will buy her some leeway.

  Wayne Coates pulls out the chair next to hers and sits down, a glass of rum in one hand. “What a place you have here,” he says, resting one ankle on his bare knee. He leans back and watches everyone. “I don’t want you to worry too much about the people who aren’t on board yet, okay? I think they’ll come around.”

  Holly isn’t sure that they will, but she gives Wayne a look that is all polite agreement.

  “And if they don’t, then we can work around them. It happens,” he says, tapping the bottom of his rum glass on the table cloth and leaving a wet ring there. “Anyway, cheers to a great day.” Wayne lifts his glass and Holly meets it with her own.

  Whether or not they’ll actually choose Christmas Key for the show is out of her control. She’s done everything in her power to make a good impression, and even if the network goes a different direction in the end, having such high-powered guests here for a day has given her yet another chance to showcase the island and to practice whipping it into shape for guests.

  Holly’s phone buzzes on the table at her elbow. It’s River. She covers the phone with one hand and excuses herself, wandering down the steps and onto the sand to take the call.

  “So, how did it go?” he asks immediately. He sounds just as anxious as she’d felt when the helicopter landed earlier in the day.

  Holly walks to the edge of the water. “Cap got drunk and made a scene at the village council meeting, and I forgot that I’d have to spill the beans about Coco wanting to sell the island in front of the people from NBC. But other than that, it went great. We’re having dinner at the Jingle Bell right now.”

  “When will they decide?”

  “Soon, I think. They have one other island to visit on this trip, so I guess we just wait and see.”

  “Sounds like it could be wrapped up here pretty soon,” he says encouragingly. “I’m rooting for you guys. I mean it.”

  “Hey,” she says softly, standing at the edge of the water as a wave washes over her ankles. “I wish you were still here. It’s a beautiful night, and the water is still warm.” Her heart jumps into her throat as she says the words, hoping that it’s the right time to remind River where they left things.

  “Yeah, me too,” he says, his voice husky. “I’d love to see you in all your glory, showing off the island. Then I’d take you for a walk under the stars to celebrate.”

  They’re both quiet. Holly looks up at the moon. They’re on opposite sides of the country, but it might as well be opposite sides of the world.

  “I should get back to the NBC crew. They’re flying to Miami after dinner, so we need to wrap things up here.” Holly turns toward the bistro, watching everyone on the patio from her spot at the water’s edge. A string of Edison bulbs hangs from the railing around the patio, casting a soft light on the people gathered at the tables. “Can I call you later?”

  “Mayor, you can call me any time.”

  Holly giggles. “Then I’ll have my people call your people.”

  “And I’ll make sure they put you right through.”

  “You do that, slugger.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  “I’ll be damned, but almost everyone I talk to see
ms to have come around, Holly Jean Baxter.” Bonnie is out of breath and wearing her Hawaiian print sun visor over her red hair. She’s joined Holly, Mrs. Agnelli, and the triplets for their weekly morning walk the following Thursday, and she spares no opportunity to remind them that this is a completely uncivilized thing to be doing at such an early hour.

  “Oh?” Holly reaches down to pat Pucci as they power walk across the sand. She’s trying not to get her hopes up about the reality show. It’s been a week since the NBC producers visited and Wayne Coates still hasn’t given her a definite answer yet.

  “Yep. Everyone except Cap is acting like it might fun to have a camera around filming our ugly mugs as we go about our daily business.”

  “That was quite a scene Cap put on at the meeting,” Gwen says. “I’ve never seen him like that.”

  “He’s just worried that some of the ladies he’s been avoiding will track him down and put the screws to him,” Maria Agnelli says, pumping her arms furiously like she always does on their beach walks.

  “For what?” Holly asks.

  “Child support,” Mrs. Agnelli says.

  Bonnie hoots, slapping her thigh. “You don’t say!”

  “Oh, Mrs. Agnelli, I don’t know about that. I don’t think Cap’s ever even had a girlfriend.” Holly is mildly scandalized at the thought of Cap with scads of abandoned kids floating around out there.

  “You never know. It could be that.” Mrs. Agnelli makes a face.

  “I think he was a pirate,” Glen offers. “I’m pretty sure he’s wanted for robbing yachts at gunpoint—”

  “Sword point,” Gen interjects, holding up a finger.

  “Probably,” Glen says.

  “Come on, y’all. It’s nothing like that,” Bonnie insists. “Cap was never a pirate—he just likes to let people think he was. The real reason he doesn’t want to be on camera can’t be all that exciting. It’s just Cap.”

  “Humph.” Mrs. Agnelli watches Pucci in the distance as he chases after a tennis ball that Holly’s thrown for him.

  “It might not even matter,” Holly reminds them. “I still haven’t heard back from NBC. They could just as easily go a totally different direction and then none of us will end up on camera.”

  The women end their walk with coffee at Mistletoe Morning Brew, where Pucci lays on the pavement outside so he can watch the slow-moving traffic go by. Several islanders stop by the table to chat and ask Holly if she’s heard anything about Wild Tropics, and she promises to spread the word as soon as it comes her way.

  “Hey, sugar,” Bonnie says that afternoon as they fill out an estimate for the wedding party that includes lodging, flowers, a catered dinner, cake, an open bar, decorations on the beach, and Joe Sacamano playing his guitar at the reception. They’re listening to Garth Brooks on the CD player (Bonnie’s choice), and both women have kicked off their shoes.

  “Yeah?” Holly doesn’t look up from the form she’s filling out.

  “Might wanna check your email.” Bonnie tosses a dog biscuit at Pucci.

  Holly tosses her sharpened pencil onto a pile of printer paper on the corner of her desk. She clicks on her inbox: mail from Wayne Coates. Holly squeals, stamping her bare feet on the rough sisal rug under her desk chair. “Oh my God, Bon—this is it. I’m scared to open it.”

  “We’re going to be living in suspense forever if you don’t. Just read it.”

  Holly,

  Super excited to extend the offer to you…we’d really like to come to Christmas Key this fall and film Wild Tropics. Your island is the perfect backdrop for the show, and we’re looking forward to working with all of the locals. Please let me know at your earliest convenience if you’re still on board and we’ll start talking details.

  Best,

  Wayne

  This is it. Opportunity. Visibility. Tourism. Salvation. Holly isn’t even sure who she wants to call first. Definitely not Coco. She’ll talk to River later that night to share the good news. Jake can hear about it right along with everyone else. She hurries over to Pucci’s dog bed to find the flip-flops that she kicked off there, and grabs her Yankees hat from the hook by the door.

  It’s only as she’s nearly sprinting down Main Street that she realizes where her legs are taking her: to Jack Frosty’s, because the first person she wants to tell is Buckhunter.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  The way it’s mapped out now, the crew will arrive on Halloween, and they’ll prep for a week before the reality show competitors arrive. Shooting will go on right up until Christmas, and then they’ll clear out to do their editing and behind-the-scenes work, with a window in early February to come back and do any re-shoots they might need. Holly’s already informally calculated the possible revenue the island might see from the show, from the chunk of cash that the network is paying for their time at the B&B, to the meals and incidentals that the crew will need to pay for during their stay. And that doesn’t even take into consideration the long-term positive exposure the island will get. Even if her neighbors don’t fully see the whole picture when it comes to Wild Tropics, Holly does. And she likes what she sees.

  As it turns out, most of the islanders are willing to humor Holly on this one—and several are even excited about their star turns in a major network production. It’s been fun hearing everyone talk about how their friends and family off the island will get to see them on national television, and it’s been good to have help as Holly starts planning the things they’ll need to do to get the island looking sharp for the show. Bonnie likes to joke that Mrs. Agnelli is ready to give the reality show competitors a run for their money in an effort to get camera time, and Holly isn’t sure that she’s wrong.

  Joe Sacamano is having a jam session at the Ho Ho that Saturday evening, and from her lanai, Holly can see the headlamps of golf carts as they pass by her property in the darkness on their way to the bar. She told Bonnie and Fiona that she wasn’t sure she was up for a night out, but it’s really because she doesn’t feel like squaring off with Cap again in public. She’s been chasing her tail for days wondering what he could possibly have in his past that would make him so violently opposed to the reality show, but she’s come up with nothing. His drunken dressing-down at the meeting had humiliated her, sure, but more than that it left her wondering who he really was. The funny, jovial, faux-pirate she’s known all her life feels like a totally different person from this new Cap, and he’d lashed out at her as a reminder that spending a few years off the island as a college student didn’t amount to a real-world education. She got his message loud and clear, and now there’s been nothing but radio silence from him since the village council meeting.

  Holly is sitting on her lanai, lights off, a sweaty glass of iced tea at her elbow. She runs her finger through the little pool of water it leaves on her glass table top, scooting the iced tea to the side. In the distance, the music from the Ho Ho fills the night air, the sound of laughter rolling down the beach like waves. No doubt Joe is mixing drinks with his special Christmas Key rum, her neighbors loosening up as the sultry summer night settles in around them. It feels strange to be purposely avoiding a gathering of the people she’s always seen as her family. Holly picks up the glass and sips her watered-down tea.

  With the island prospectus on her nightstand, she’s been falling asleep at night with her grandfather’s words echoing in her head: From far and wide come people who want to share in this paradise. With them, they bring their histories, their passions, their gifts. They also bring agendas and desires that may or may not align with your own. Find ways to harness what works with your vision for development, and ignore what doesn’t. You have no other choice.

  The screen of her phone lights up in the dark as a message appears.

  Did you get the package?

  It’s River. She frowns at the phone.

  No…what package?

  I sent you something in the mail last week. I was sure you’d have it by now. You got big Saturday night plans?

 
; No big plans tonight. Just sitting on my lanai. How about you?

  Ahh, the lanai. I have fond memories of the lanai. I’ve got nothing tonight. I bet you could scare up a drink at the Ho Ho or something…

  You’re right, she responds. I can and I probably should. I did get an invite…okay, you convinced me—I’ll go. Can I text you tomorrow?

  Absolutely. Have fun.

  Holly carries her glass into the kitchen. She has a Coldplay CD on the stereo, and Pucci is sprawled out on his side on the cool tile floor, his eyes shut as Holly steps over his body.

  “Hey, Pooch,” she says, tickling his golden fur with her toes. “What are you doing there, old man?” Pucci opens one eye lazily, glances at her, shuts it again. Holly’s canvas bag is on the couch where she left it when she got home from the B&B the day before. She’d hurriedly stuffed a few things from her desk into the bag—including her mail—and headed home for a Friday night jog on the beach to clear her head.

  “Pooch, I totally forgot about my mail,” she says, running a hand over his silky ear. “I’ve been a little preoccupied, don’t you think?” Pucci opens his eye again and stares at her in silent confirmation. He’s spent so much time on Buckhunter’s porch lately that she feels like she’s sharing custody of her dog. “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy, dude,” she says soothingly.

  Holly turns her bag upside down and dumps out the contents on the overstuffed, canvas-covered couch. Bills from various vendors flutter onto the rug under her feet, and a thick packet from her lawyer lands on her bare knee. She’ll deal with that later. At the bottom of the bag is a lumpy manila envelope with her name and address written in block letters; it falls on the coffee table, nearly knocking over a fat candle in a hurricane lamp. There it is: the package from River.

  She stares at the words he’s written with a blue Sharpie pen. It makes her happy to think that just days before, he’d bent over this same envelope and carefully addressed it to her. She rips into the package, pulling out a folded note.