More Than This Page 6

  “So they’re here to look at the island? Like, to buy it?” Jake asks, holding his bottle of beer to his lips. The usual crowd has gathered at the Ho Ho Hideaway for a Sunday evening nightcap, and Jimmy Cafferkey is recounting the tale of Coco and her guests at dinner.

  “That’s what it looks like. I heard from Fiona that this Gator character is a Native American, but we don’t know anything about these Killjoys.”

  “Love the name, by the way,” Millie Bradford says, leaning in to the small group with a cup of coffee in her hands. “Isn’t Killjoy a perfect name for these people?”

  “Indeed,” Jimmy agrees. “What’s with the coffee, Millie? Couldn’t get Sacamano to pour you a real drink?”

  Millie glances down at the mug of cooled coffee in her hand. “No, I just want to be alert. Ray isn’t feeling well, and I don’t want to go home and fall asleep—he might need me.”

  “What’s going on with the old dog?” Wyatt Bender asks as he joins the crowd. “He seen the doc yet?”

  “He saw Fiona,” Millie confirms. “She ran a few tests, but there’s nothing conclusive yet.”

  “Well, let us know if there’s anything we can do to help,” Jimmy says to her, putting an arm around Millie’s shoulders. “In the meantime, let’s keep our eyes on Coco and keep our ears to the ground. Has anyone let Holly know what’s going on around here?”

  “Fiona and Bonnie have tried,” Wyatt says. “But from what I hear, they haven’t been able to reach her.”

  “That’s odd. I can’t imagine her being out of reach on purpose.” Millie frowns and swirls the coffee and cream around in her mug. “I hope she’s okay.”

  “I’m sure she is,” Jimmy Cafferkey says, his arm still around Millie’s shoulders. He gives her a gentle shake. “You just take care of that old husband of yours, and we’ll work on tracking down the mayor.”

  “Maybe we should set up one of those group chat thingamabobs,” Maria Agnelli says, materializing at Jimmy’s elbow. At just under five feet tall, Mrs. Agnelli is a pocket-sized pistol full of sass and vinegar. “Keep each other posted on what we know.”

  Millie pulls her phone out of her pocket. “How do we do that?”

  Cell phones are pulled from pockets and purses. The devices have more apps and capabilities than an island full of Baby Boomers knows what to do with, and everyone is quickly engrossed in punching buttons and trying to figure things out.

  “No idea,” Wyatt says, shrugging as he looks at his home screen.

  “I’ve got you.” Jake slides his own phone from the deep cargo pocket of his black shorts. He opens up a text and quickly taps in the names of everyone present. “I’ll add Bonnie and Fiona, too,” he says, creating the group chat in seconds. “And Buckhunter.”

  “Good idea,” Millie agrees, staring at her phone as she waits for something to happen.

  “There we go,” Jake says. He types the word “hi” to start the group chat and hits send. “Voila—we’re in a group chat. Now whoever hears from Holly first should send a message out to all of us.”

  “And any news on Coco and what she’s up to can be shared this way, too.” Jimmy holds up his phone and gives it a shake. “And Millie, if you need anything from us or if Ray gets worse, just shoot us a message.”

  “Perfect. We have a plan.” Jake drains his bottle of beer and swallows. “And on that note, I’m going to call it a night. See you all tomorrow.” He holds up the empty bottle in parting, setting it on the bar as he passes Joe Sacamano.

  “Night, Officer Zavaroni,” Millie says, waving at him.

  Jake’s police cart is in the lot next to the rustic looking bar, and he slides behind the wheel in the darkness, looking at the light of the moon as it dances on the ocean. The palm tree next to the Ho Ho is wound with twinkling Christmas lights, and the sound of music from the bar is in the air. Jake thinks about the ever-changing dynamics of the island, and about the very real and present threat that Coco poses. What will happen to everyone if she convinces Holly and Buckhunter to part with Christmas Key? Depending on the circumstances, they might all be able to stay, but would it ever be the same?

  The Holly Jake knows wouldn’t even consider letting go of her beloved island—after all, she’d chosen Christmas Key over him when he’d proposed to her the year before—but the Holly he knows wouldn’t normally consider disappearing for three weeks and going totally incommunicado. Everything is up in the air, and the untethered feeling that’s filled Jake for months is almost overwhelming. When his short-lived fling with Bridget had ended with her miscarriage and departure from the island, Jake had sincerely hoped that things would get back to normal. But now, as he sits here on the firm seat of his cart, wheel gripped in both hands, he’s starting to wonder what normal even looks like. Is normal an island owned by the Killjoys? Is it him, forever alone and just waiting to see what Holly’s next move will be? Or is it Christmas Key without Holly?

  Jake exhales and runs a hand through his dark hair. A wave crashes loudly on the shore and he turns on his cart to drive home.

  11

  Holly tucks her cosmetic bag into the side pocket of her small duffel bag on Wednesday and turns around in a circle. Her other black boot is missing, and the last time she’d seen it was the day River tugged the new boots off after their trip to the modeling agency and pushed her back onto the bed.

  She gets on her hands and knees now and lifts the duvet cover. The boot is wedged under the iron frame of the bed.

  “You ready, superstar?” River asks, poking his head into the doorway.

  Holly rolls her eyes. “Just about. So wait—what’s the travel plan?”

  “Train from Paddington Station to Swindon,” River says, pulling a folded up piece of paper from his pocket. “And then we’re meeting a taxi for the ride into…Fairford.”

  “And that’s where the house is?” Holly yanks the boot out from under the bed and sits back on the floor so that she can pull both boots on over her black stretch pants.

  “Mmmhmm.” River is squinting at the paper with the instructions for their trip. “Says to take the taxi into town and then call when we get there. We’re staying over tonight and then shooting all day tomorrow, and then they’ll ship us back to London.”

  “Has it occurred to you yet,” Holly says, tugging at her boot, “that this whole thing is insane?”

  River folds the paper up and shoves it back into his pocket with a smirk. “What whole thing? Going out to some country house to have our pictures taken?”

  “No,” Holly says, zipping the boot over her right calf. “Saying yes to everything. We could end up on a boat to Africa, or in a hot air balloon over Italy.”

  “Oh, I wish!” River says, folding his arms across his chest. “That’s the beauty of saying yes, Mayor. You give life a chance to take you places instead of trying to cram the whole of life into the little box you’ve created for it.”

  Holly reaches for the edge of the bed and pulls herself up, smoothing the long, sky blue shirt she’s wearing over her hips. “Is that what you think I do? Cram life into a box?”

  River shrugs and leans into the doorframe. “Kind of. Sometimes. Maybe.”

  Holly stands there for a second, looking at him in a different light. “I never knew you felt that way about me.”

  “I don’t ‘feel that way’ about you—it’s just an observation. You like things to be a certain way, and when they’re not, you resist. You don’t like change. You don’t like to relinquish control.”

  “Does anyone?” she asks defensively.

  River steps forward to take Holly’s packed duffel bag. “Some people. The ones who sell everything they own and sail around the world for a year. The people who choose joy and adventure over knowing what’s around every bend.”

  “But why is one way right and the other way wrong?” Holly follows him down the stairs, holding onto the railing as she walks carefully in her new boots.

  “I never said it was,” River says mildly. “I’m
just telling you what I see.”

  At the door to the apartment, Holly pauses and waits. River sets her bag next to his own and turns to her.

  “Some people would think that living on a tiny island and trying to turn it into something bigger and better than what it is is pretty exciting,” Holly says.

  “I’m not going to argue with that.” River reaches out his hands and puts them on her waist, pulling her in closer. “All I’m saying is that there’s adventure beyond the shores of Christmas Key, and if you never say yes, you never get to see what’s out there.” He bends forward and kisses her on the lips.

  “I said yes to this trip, didn’t I?” she asks, her mood mellowed by the touch of his hands and lips.

  “This veered off in a direction that I really hadn’t intended.” River pulls away from her. “Listen, I think you’re nervous about this photo shoot thing, and you really don’t need to be. We have nothing to lose. And I know leaving the island for three weeks is way outside of your comfort zone, but all I’m saying is that it’s a good thing. Either you’ll fall in love with the world and want to see more, or you’ll go back home knowing that you never need to leave again.”

  Holly stands in the marble foyer with the bags at her feet. Maybe River is right: her nerves are getting the better of her. After all, she’s totally out of her element here, and in the past few days she’s been robbed, offered a job as a model, and has agreed to give up contact with anyone from home until she gets back there.

  She nods, forcing herself to look him in the eye. “You’re right,” Holly finally says. “Adventure. Life. See where the wind takes us. Got it.”

  River laughs. “Well, that’s the condensed version, but yeah.” He stoops to pick up their bags. “You ready to catch this train?”

  Holly runs a hand through her hair and sighs. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  They shut the door tightly and give it a tug to make sure it’s locked, then River steps to the curb and flags down the first taxi they see.

  The ride from Swindon to Fairford takes about twenty minutes, and Holly watches the countryside roll by through the window in the backseat.

  “First time in the Cotswolds?” the driver asks, making eye contact with her in the rearview mirror as he rolls to a stop in the village of Fairford.

  “Yep, first time,” she says.

  “This is the High Street here,” the driver says, stopping the meter. “If you want to call your people now, then this would be a good place to meet them. Town’s not very big at all.”

  River pats his pocket and then looks at Holly sheepishly. “No phones,” they say at the same time.

  “Here, borrow mine,” the driver says, passing an iPhone over the seat. River takes it and dials the number he’s been given.

  Five minutes later, River and Holly are standing on the curb with their bags when a Mercedes screeches to a stop in front of them. “Hop in!” a woman with a British accent, a huge mane of red hair, and an abundance of freckles says. Her window is down, and the radio is cranked up high, dance music pulsing from the speakers.

  The driver’s name is Allison and the house they’re staying in is tucked down a quiet lane behind a school.

  “We’ve got a big spread in the kitchen,” Allison says over her shoulder as the wind blows through her hair. “Everyone is here already, and we’re ready to start doing some set-up. You two have a room at the back of the house on the second floor. It’s a lovely property—just lovely,” she assures them, waving one hand around as she talks. “We just pop down this lane here,” Allison says, swinging the car onto a narrow path that’s lined with what look like cannon balls, “and then past the gardens here we find a hidden drive.” As she narrates their every move, Holly takes a deep breath and reaches for her purse.

  The rain clouds have broken up and rays of sunlight pierce the grounds, making the wet grass glisten in the afternoon light. The house is built of solid stone with trails of ivy clawing at its walls, and a tall hedge has been cut into an archway.

  “That gate leads down to the river,” Allison says, following Holly’s gaze to the arch. “We’ll do some shots down there as well—probably in the boathouse.”

  River is out of the car and gathering their bags while Holly looks around. The gravel crunches beneath her feet. This place is so different from Christmas Key, so far from everything she knows. There’s a surreal moment where Holly contemplates grabbing her bag from River and demanding a ride back to the High Street so that she can catch a ride to Swindon, hop on the train, and head back to London. When she gets there, she’ll pack her bags, catch another cab to Heathrow, and be on her way to Miami in no time.

  “Hey,” River says softly, coming up next to her as she inhales the fresh air. “You okay?” He looks concerned.

  The moment passes for Holly and she remembers that she’s here by choice. She wanted to leave the island and have a European adventure with River, and she agreed to his insane idea to say yes to everything. So here they are, posing as models in some tiny English village while she’s got no way to contact anyone at home. Holly breathes in and out until her heart rate slows.

  “I’m fine,” she says with a weak smile, trying to muster some enthusiasm. River takes her hand and leads her through the heavy oak front door with its iron handle and knocker.

  “Hello?” he calls out, ducking through the short doorway.

  “Hello yourself,” says a tiny brunette with what looks like a gun holster around her waist. But instead of weaponry, her belt is filled with make-up brushes, hairbrushes, and a clear spray bottle full of liquid. “Oh, don’t mind me,” she says. She’s clearly American, this little spitfire who tosses her hair to one side and winks up at them both. “I’m not always fully armed and loaded.” She points at the belt that Holly’s staring at. “I’m Sarah, by the way.” She thrusts a hand out to shake River’s and Holly’s hands in turn. “Thrilled to have some fellow expats on the crew.”

  “Where are you from?” River asks as he drops his duffel bag next to the stairs in the entryway.

  “Washington,” Sarah says. “As in state, not D.C.—that always throws people.”

  “Doesn’t throw me at all,” River says with a huge grin. “I’m from Oregon.”

  “Neighbors!” Sarah’s face lights up like someone’s just flipped a switch. Something about Sarah’s bubbly attitude and the flirtatious thrust of her chest in River’s direction is off-putting. Holly bristles.

  “Seattle?” River asks.

  “Mmhmm.” Sarah nods at him eagerly. “And you—Portland?”

  “Lucky guess,” River says, pointing a finger at her. “Since that’s the only major city in the state.” They laugh together and Holly clears her throat.

  “And what about you, Holly?” Sarah asks with slightly less enthusiasm.

  “Christmas Key—just past Key West. I’m the mayor,” she adds unnecessarily, as if this will impress a tiny, cute girl who’s left home and is traveling the world with an arsenal of beauty gadgets dangling from a belt around her waist.

  “Oh, cool. I love Florida,” Sarah says. She looks at Holly like she’s waiting for more. From the room right off the entryway, male voices debate the lighting in various accents, and the pop and flash of bulbs and lights fills the foyer with background noise.

  “You know, I’d love to put my stuff somewhere and take about five minutes—do you know which room is ours?” Holly asks, putting special emphasis on the word ours. She has no idea why her defenses are up already with Sarah, who seems perfectly nice, but something about her youthful exuberance and neighborly camaraderie with River has set Holly’s teeth on edge.

  “Oh, yeah. Upstairs,” Sarah says, pointing at the staircase, “last room at the end of the hall—it has the bathroom attached to it.”

  Holly nods her thanks and grabs both her own and River’s bags.

  “I’m just going to say hello and offer to help—I’ll be right up,” River says to her, already following Sarah into the kitche
n.

  At this point, Holly doesn’t really care. Her bad mood has blossomed into a full-blooming cherry tree in spring time, filling her with floating pink petals of discontent. She has no idea why this whole adventure has her feeling the way it does, but she wishes with all her heart in this moment that she’d never taken Louella’s business card at the airport, and she wishes even more that she’d never told River about the whole thing.

  The stairs take a sharp turn and drop her on a landing that’s filled with doors. She counts six bedrooms and a bathroom on her way to the end of the hall, one wall of which is a built-in bookcase that’s completely filled with books. A skylight overhead casts a patch of light on the carpet beneath her feet.

  The room next to the one she and River will share has its door ajar. It’s got a single bed and a desk, and on the desk sits a computer monitor, its screen glowing enticingly. Holly’s heart picks up its pace again and she tosses their bags carelessly into the room she’ll share with River and rushes back to the computer. It’s on. She looks around, peering into the other cracked doors. The voices are all coming from downstairs, and she can hear laughter and conversation from the kitchen below her.

  It feels wrong and she knows it flies in the face of her agreement with River, but Holly tiptoes into the room anyway. There are no bags on the bed and no sign that anyone has picked this room, so Holly shuts the door quietly and pulls out the desk chair. The keyboard slides out from under the lip of the desk. Someone has logged into the computer already, giving her free access to the internet. In under thirty seconds, Holly is logged into her email.

  12

  The boat pulls up to the dock around four o’clock on Tuesday, and once again Bonnie and Fiona are watching from the coffee shop.

  “This is insane,” Bonnie says, looking through the window as three people disembark with the boat’s captain. “We should be out there saying hello.”