Wild Tropics: Christmas Key Book Two Page 6

  “As always.” Holly smiles. “Oh, hey—what’s Ellen raising money for this month?” Ellen is famous not only for her themed decorating, but for championing as yet unheard of causes. Each month the proceeds of her projects and crafts benefit important efforts like the protection of the Hawksbill turtle nests around the Keys; The Naked Clowns Foundation (“Because who doesn’t love a naked clown?”); and funding educational retreats on metaphysics in Santa Fe.

  “There’s a donkey shelter in Colorado she’s hoping to adopt from. We’re in the process of getting screened to make sure we’re suitable donkey parents.” Carrie-Anne spreads Holly’s change out on the counter and pushes it into piles of like coins: nickels, quarters, dimes, and pennies. She sorts and counts, dumping the piles into the separated drawer of the till. “One salted caramel iced mocha, comin’ up.”

  “Wait—a donkey? And it’s coming here?”

  The sleigh bells on the door jingle as Maria Agnelli totters in. “Did someone say we were getting a donkey?” she asks with delight.

  “A donkey?” Holly turns to Mrs. Agnelli with a frantic look on her face. “Mrs. Agnelli, have you ever heard of such a thing?”

  “I’ve never heard of such a thing as a parrot who roams around an island and does whatever he damn well pleases, but that hasn’t stopped Cap Duncan from taking on a stupid bird as a pet. The old fool,” she mutters, setting her large purse on the counter. She’s referring to Marco, the parrot who considers Cap his master and treats the island like his own personal playground. “I’ve also never heard of a single woman in her thirties letting a hunky cop get away so that she can carry on with a man who lives all the way across the country, but what do I know?”

  Holly takes the salted caramel iced mocha from Carrie-Anne, who shoots her a meaningful look. “Mrs. Agnelli, I just turned thirty,” Holly counters, pulling the wrapper off a straw and poking it through the hole in the lid.

  “Let the girl have her fun, Maria,” Carrie-Anne admonishes. “We’ve already been young, and I’m sure the choices we all made seemed strange to everyone around us.”

  “Says the woman who let a hunky architect slip through her fingers so she could carry on with another divorced woman.”

  Holly’s eyes go wide as sips the coffee through her straw. The ice-cold caffeine shoots through her body, sharpening her senses. Maria Agnelli is as widely known for her ability to speak her mind colorfully as she is for her penchant to ruin any dish she cooks by tossing in a disgustingly inappropriate ingredient or two.

  “Hey, love is love, Maria,” Carrie-Anne says, unapologetic. She gives Mrs. Agnelli the wry smile of a woman who’s used to putting up with unsolicited commentary about her lifestyle.

  “Eh,” Mrs. Agnelli admits, “you’re right. I’ll probably die without ever waking up next to another naked person in my bed, so maybe I’m the one who needs romantic advice.” Holly chokes on her cold coffee. “You got any single lady friends you can fix me up with?”

  Carrie-Anne throws her head back and howls with laughter. The crow’s feet around her eyes deepen, and the silver fillings in her back teeth are visible as she laughs. Holly sputters and coughs.

  “Well, well, well, if it isn’t my feisty opponent,” comes a voice from the doorway. Cap steps over the threshold and into the coffee shop, his large presence nearly blocking the sun behind him. “You mingling with the voters, Mayor?”

  Holly pats herself on the chest and gives a final cough. “Morning, Cap.”

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Cap says. “We need to talk details.” He closes the door and ambles up to the counter. “Hey, Carrie-Anne. Cup of the strong stuff, please.” Cap pulls a wrinkled dollar from the wad of bills he takes from his breast pocket. As always, his shirt is undone just a button or two beyond where it should be, and his white chest hair is curled against his tanned skin.

  “What details?” Holly holds her coffee in front of her body subconsciously—like a barrier between them—and squares her shoulders.

  “You’re acting like a damn fool, Cap Duncan,” Mrs. Agnelli pipes up. “Nobody wants an old fart who doesn’t know his ass from a cannoli running this island.” She narrows her eyes at him. “And I’m helping myself to this, Carrie-Anne.” Mrs. Agnelli takes a bookmark from the pile of Poe items on the counter and holds it in the air as she walks toward the door. “I’ll see you all later.”

  Carrie-Anne waves at Mrs. Agnelli, but returns her attention to Cap and Holly as the bells on the door jingle.

  “When is the next village council meeting? I think we should run our separate campaigns and promote our individual platforms until the meeting, and then we should talk to our constituents from the stage.”

  The words stage, platforms, and constituents ring in Holly’s ears. It’s a little early for her to be having a face-off with Cap, and she hasn’t had enough caffeine yet to talk politics. “The next meeting is November sixteenth,” she says, jiggling the melting ice in her plastic coffee cup. “And what platforms are you referring to?”

  “Well, mine is ‘Just Say No to Progress,’ and I’d assume yours is simply the opposite.”

  “Right. Yes.” Holly hadn’t really declared a platform when she’d taken office initially, but her focus has always been on progress, so she figures this isn’t the time to change tracks and start talking about something totally different. “Progress is my middle name,” she says, her tone taking on an edge of defiance.

  “Pardon me for butting in here,” Carrie-Anne says, passing Cap a steaming paper cup of black coffee. “But what’s your objection to progress, Cap? Holly isn’t doing anything that won’t benefit us in the long run, so what dog do you have in this fight?”

  Cap lowers his head, looking at the women from under his thick, wiry eyebrows. “That’s my personal business, Ms. Martinez. I don’t like things the way they’re going, so I have a right to step up to the podium and try to change them.”

  Carrie-Anne shrugs, lips pursed. “Doesn’t sound like much of an argument to me, Mr. Duncan.” She turns her back on them and starts taking apart the espresso machine to rinse out the metal filter. “But you got a right, so I suppose we’ll be hearing you out on the sixteenth.”

  “Suppose you will.” Cap holds up his cup of coffee in a parting toast. “Can we call a vote at that meeting, or will we have to wait for the next one?”

  Holly inhales through her nose, trying to summon a measure of calmness and patience that she isn’t really feeling. “I looked at the island’s bylaws, and it clearly states that candidates need to campaign for a full thirty days after declaring their intent. Since the third Wednesday of December isn’t until the twenty-first, we’ll have to do it then. We can call a vote at that meeting.”

  Cap grunts and takes a drink of his coffee. “Waiting that long won’t help me get this damn television show off the island, but it’s a start. Fine—December twenty-first it is. And put me on the schedule for the meeting this month so I can say my piece, will you?”

  Holly gives him a curt nod. Cap lumbers out the door and back onto Main Street, coffee in hand. The sleigh bells hit the wood frame of the entrance with a distorted jingle as he shuts the door with a bit more gusto than is necessary.

  “Is he gone?” Ellen Jankowitz says from the small back room of the coffee shop. She pokes her dark, curly head out and looks around. “That man is a menace when he’s drinking. He keeps offering to take me to the Ho Ho and show me what kind of fun I’m missing by swearing off men.”

  Carrie-Anne gags as she slides the clean filter back onto the espresso machine. “Let’s make that Exhibit A in the case for swearing off men,” she says, shaking her head in disbelief.

  Ellen comes out of the back room and straightens the coffee cups and lids behind the counter. “How come we never saw this side of Cap before?”

  “Because he was never drinking before,” Holly says. “At least not like this.”

  “It’s weird,” Ellen says. “He’s got a real Jekyll-and-Hyde thing going
on. Remember all his ranting and raving at the meeting this summer? I’m dying to know what deep, dark secret he’s so desperate to keep.”

  “Who knows.” Holly sips her coffee. Now that Cap is gone, the adrenaline rush that comes from a good confrontation is pumping through her body on overdrive and making her hands and legs shake. She takes a deep breath and tries to steady herself.

  “Hon, you don’t look so good.” Ellen comes out from behind the counter and holds out a sun-freckled hand covered in delicate gold rings; a tangle of gold chain bracelets is wrapped around her wrist. “Wanna sit?”

  “I should get to the B&B,” she says. “Bonnie’ll be waiting for me.”

  “Sure, sure,” Ellen says soothingly. “You get on over to work.”

  At the door, Holly pauses. “Hey, Heddie?” she calls.

  Heddie is still sitting at the bistro table, sipping coffee, holding her book open. “Yes?”

  “Did you hear what Cap said? About the meeting on the sixteenth?” As the village council secretary, Heddie is in charge of both the meeting schedule and the meeting minutes.

  “I heard,” she says, giving an icy German stare that Holly knows is meant for Cap.

  “Can you put him on the agenda? Both of us, actually.”

  “Of course. Consider it done.” Heddie turns back to her book.

  “I guess I need to go and work on my platform now. Bye, ladies,” Holly says, walking out the door in a daze.

  “Poor girl.” Carrie-Anne watches her go. “She’s got her hands full with this reality show business—she doesn’t need this.”

  “And then there’s Coco,” Ellen adds. “Don’t forget that uppity mother of hers.”

  Carrie-Anne tsk-tsks, shaking her head. “She should really take Jake back. No one should have to go through all of this alone.”

  “Not our business,” Ellen says, holding up both hands in surrender. “I’ve made the mistake of meddling in my own kids’ love lives, and I’m not doing it here.”

  “True,” Carrie-Anne acquiesces. A golf cart with Christmas ornaments dangling around the perimeter of the roof drives down Main Street slowly and Glen waves at them as she passes by the huge picture window at the front of the shop. Carrie-Anne waves back. “I guess all’s fair in love and war.”

  “And politics,” Heddie adds, not looking up from her book. “All’s fair in love, war, and politics.”

  Chapter 8

  It’s been a full week since the Mistletoe Morning Brew face-off with Cap. Holly is resolutely refusing to openly campaign for herself, but Cap hasn’t missed an opportunity to stump and to make declarations on every street corner and during every happy hour where there are voters in attendance. It’s been maddening for Holly to re-route her trips around the island and to skip evening gatherings at the Ho Ho and Jack Frosty’s just to avoid him, but for her own sanity, it’s worth it.

  “Thanks for driving me,” Jake says, looking around at the scenery as Holly shuttles him over to the Wild Tropics campsite. Rather than delivering the contestants to the dock the way every other boat that visits the island does, the NBC crew has insisted on a boat that can anchor on the north side of the island, far from any sign of civilization. Wayne and Leanna have invited Holly to join the crew as the contestants wade through the shallow waters and up to shore, and she’s agreed to park her hot pink golf cart well out of view in order to keep up the illusion that they’re landing on an uninhabited island.

  “Good, you’re early,” Leanna says, clipboard in hand. She buzzes around, pointing people this way and that, shouting instructions through a megaphone so that she can be heard over the roar of the ocean. “Did you leave everything at home?” Leanna asks Jake, letting the megaphone fall to her side. Her long legs have browned in the Florida sun over the past couple of weeks, and she’s wearing a pair of shorts and a white tank top with a sun hat.

  “Left it all: keys, money, cell phone, I.D.”

  “Watch,” Leanna says, pointing at Jake’s wrist.

  “Oh. Right. Can you take this, Holly?” Jake unfastens the watch and hands it to her. “So how are they going to react to me already being here?”

  Leanna scans the horizon, squinting. “We’re having the other eleven contestants brought in on three boats. They’ll be mixed in with equipment, so when everyone is busy getting unloaded and acquainted, we’ll bring you out of a tent to join them. No one will care who came in on which boat, so everyone will assume you were on a different boat than they were.”

  “Sounds foolproof.”

  Leanna shrugs. “It’ll work. And we eliminate four people within the first forty-eight hours, so they’ll all be focused on winning competitions and staying on the island.” She shuffles through the papers on her clipboard. “Here’s a list of the first hurdles you need to clear—I need this back before the boats get here. You’re in that tent right there,” she says, pointing at a tent with the canvas flap tied back. “Why don’t you go in and read this over for a few minutes.”

  Holly follows Jake into the tent and sits next to him on the edge of the cot. “Is that a list of the competitions?”

  “I think so,” he says, scanning the stapled pages. “Looks like the first thing we’ll be doing is getting paired up with tent partners, and then tonight there’s a team scavenger hunt as the sun is setting.”

  “Do you think the other people get a heads-up on what the schedule looks like?” Holly asks, picking at her cuticles and trying to sound uninterested. “I mean, is it fair if you know what’s happening ahead of time?” Beyond the flap of the tent, Leanna and Wayne are huddled at the edge of the water with a cameraman and another crew member. Holly watches them as they point down the beach and talk animatedly.

  “Probably not.” Jake runs a finger down the page as he reads.

  “Do you think they’re trying to help you win?”

  “No. I don’t think so.” Jake flips the pages over and tosses them onto the cot. “I think they want me to stay in the game, but I’m not supposed to let anyone know that. I don’t think it’s going to be super-cushy or anything, but I feel like I might get a few advantages.”

  Holly picks up the stapled schedule and glances at it.

  “You all done with that?” Wayne is at the opening of the tent, one hand held out to take the schedule.

  Holly gives him a close-mouthed smile and hands over the papers.

  “First boat’s approaching. Holly, why don’t you come out and blend in with the crew?” Wayne walks away as he’s asking the question, no doubt assuming that Holly is following his directions like the rest of his crew would. She stands.

  “So.” Holly looks down at Jake. For the first time since she’d seen his pleased smile on Halloween night, a flicker of uncertainty crosses his face. He rests both elbows on his knees as he sits on the cot, his gaze faraway. He looks like a little boy whose mother is about to leave him at summer camp. “You’ll be okay, right?”

  The hesitance on his face melts into mild annoyance. “Of course. It’s not like I’m leaving home or anything. I’m still here, I’m just sleeping on the beach for a couple of weeks.”

  “Maybe more,” Holly reminds him.

  The little boy at camp face comes back. “Dammit.”

  “What?” Holly reaches out a hand and sets it on his shoulder.

  “I’ve never been good at breaking with routine. And I was always the kid who got homesick after a few days at my grandparents’ house and wanted to go home. What am I doing, Hol? I hate stuff like this.”

  “Heyyyy,” she says soothingly, running her hand up his neck and onto the back of his head. She trails her fingers through his short, dark hair without even thinking about the intimacy of it. “You’re going to be great. I’m rooting for you.”

  Jake looks up at her as she stands next to him and their eyes meet in the dim tent. Her hand is still in his hair. “Yeah?” he asks, voice raspy. In the silence that follows, Jake sets his hand on her bare thigh—gently, hesitantly. “Even now that…”<
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  Holly is about to answer his open-ended question when Wayne pokes his head in. “Holly, we’ve got a game plan here—let’s roll.” The smile on Wayne’s face does nothing to mask his irritation at having to come back and fetch her.

  “Sorry. I’m coming.” She gives Jake’s head a casual scruff, but the playfulness of this move doesn’t jibe with the seriousness still hanging in the air between them.

  Holly steps away from Jake and follows Wayne out of the tent without looking back.

  As planned, three different boats speed toward the shoreline at staggered intervals. The captains cut their engines and drift up to shallower waters, dropping contestants and equipment into the smaller boats the crew have paddled out to meet them. The set-up—while entirely unnecessary, given the fact that Christmas Key has a perfectly good working dock—does make it seem as though the contestants are being dropped off in the middle of a barren paradise.

  The first boat yields four contestants and several black boxes of camera equipment. The second boat drops three more competitors, a man who steps into the smaller boat with several garment bags in his arms, and a huge wooden crate with ‘PASTA & RICE’ stamped on the side in black stencil. The third boat delivers four tattooed contestants. One of the men is wearing a ripped and shredded t-shirt that reveals a giant Confederate flag tattoo emblazoned across his torso.

  “Chuck Cortwell.” Confederate Flag Guy steps forward on the sand after climbing out of the small boat and sticks a hand out to shake Holly’s. She pauses, uncertain; no one has prepped her about what to say to the contestants. Her only plan is to blend into the crowd of crew members like she belongs there.

  “Nice to meet you,” Holly says, deciding on the spot that she won’t give her name or too much info to anyone.

  “Hi, Chuck,” Leanna says smoothly, stepping in and offering her hand. “You made it.”

  “Sure did.” He eyes Holly again, looking her up and down. “Do I get to pick which filly I’ll be sharing a tent with?”