It was adorable and horrifying at the same time.
I, myself, had zero delusions about where I fit in the Goodman hierarchy. I was an employee, for sure, since I helped run Goodmen Outfitters’ one and only tour boat, running tours from the mainland. And I was family when I needed to get roped into shit, like impromptu Jeep repair. But beyond that?
“What in the name of Jacob Godfrey’s ghost do I care if the pool’s fixed?”I demanded, pulling my sweat-soaked T-shirt away from my chest. “I’d much rather have Rafe fix the plumbing.”In fact, I’d much rather see him tear the place down and start over.
Beale shrugged. “The motel was nice once. I’ve seen pictures. Mid-century architecture and all that.”
“Yeah?” I peered through the trees again, trying to see what he saw, but I couldn’t get there. Like many of the buildings on the key, the motel had been built in 1940-something, around the time the Berlin Wall was being constructed, and had approximately the same level of charm. Faded blue and yellow letters on a white sign spelled out “The Five Star Resort” atop a rusting steel pole in the front parking lot. Eight of the thirty-two rooms had a view of the Gulf of Mexico, and those rooms were the first to flood every time there was a bad storm, since the door locks caved at the first sign of a breeze. Every mattress in the place was older than I was, and the decor was pictured in the dictionary next to the worddingy.
Beale rubbed at the back of his neck. “He tries, you know? My dad.”
Typical Beale.
I considered an appropriate response to this.
I wanted to say, “Tries to dowhat, Beale?”because if it didn’t involve pouring endless hours into researching shipwrecks and lost treasures, or pouring endlessdollars—dollars he didn’t have—into funding every treasure hunter with a decoder ring and the map off a cereal box, or deluding tourists with talk of all the Whispering Key ghosts, or trolling the internet for the next big get-rich-quick scheme, I didn’t believe Big Rafe tried very hard at much.
But then again, who the hell knew what Big Rafe was trying to do? He wasneverforthcoming about his plans, not to his sons and sure as heck not tome. Everything was shrouded in secrecy. When he’d announced that Goodmen Outfitters was facing bankruptcy last Christmas due to his own financial mismanagement, all of us had been shocked, and my youngest cousin, Gage, had been so pissed, he’d gone back to Southwestern Florida Tech three weeks early. When Big Rafe had decided to run for mayor the month after that, he’d informed the family by standing up at the council meeting and declaring his candidacy. Young Rafe had been so upset, he’d walked out.
But I didn’t say those things to Beale. Instead, I said, “Maybehe tries, but your dad is three sandwiches shy of a picnic. He’s been muttering and smiling to himself for weeks, and whenever anyone asks, he says it’s ‘secret mayor business.’” I rolled my eyes. “Whatever the fuckthatmeans, right?”
“Wow.” Beale coughed. “Yeah, that’s…yeah. Who’s to say, really?”
I narrowed my eyes and silently watched Beale focus his attention first on the tree overhanging the driveway, and then on the toes of his boots. He darted a glance up at me, and his whole face flushed when he saw that I was looking at him.
Aha. Now we were getting somewhere.
“What?” he demanded.
“You tell me.”
“Nothing to tell! I know nothing,” he insisted. “Why would anyone tell me anything? Young Rafe’s the oldest and most responsible. Gage is the… the smartest. You’re the best at fixing things. I’m just… me.”
I made a noncommittal noise. Beale was brilliant at a lot of things, whether he saw it or not. Plus, he was thenicestGoodman. Rafe and Gage were so pissed off, they likely weren’t talking to their dad, and every evil mastermind needed a sidekick, right?
I tilted my head and said nothing.
Beale shot a glance in my direction and kept running his mouth to fill the silence. “I mean, I definitelywouldkeep a secret. I’m capable of keeping secrets. I don’t blab.”
I frowned and tilted my head in the other direction.
Beale swallowed convulsively. “I don’t, Fenn! Especially when it’s important! Especially when lives are at stake.”
I blinked.Lives were at stake?
“Especially when the whole fate of the island rests in the hands of the Goodman family,” Beale whispered. He pressed his lips together in a bid to stop the flow of information.
I nodded slowly. “Of course. You’d be a silentfortress, wouldn’t you? Especially if your dad had found a totally legal means of obtaining money…?”
“Yes!” Beale agreed, relieved. “Yes! Like a grant! Or an investor! Or both!” His face crumpled. “Shit.” He glanced guiltily at the house.
But I didn’t care about Big Rafe’s possible reaction to Beale spilling the beans. I was too stunned by Beale’s words. “A grant? A grant forwhat,Beale? And aninvestor? For the motel? Who invests in rubble?”
Beale’s eyes widened and mine narrowed further.
“Wait, not an investor for the motel? What, then? The business? Theisland?”
Beale shrugged helplessly.
