“Because my alternative was sleeping in Beale’s bunk bed listening to himsnore!”
“Hey!” Beale said, wounded.
“—ergo it’s the employee quarters.” Rafe nodded, like this settled things.
“Just because you sayergodoesn’t mean you’re right, FYI.” I seriously hated when people thought using Latin words made their arguments stronger. “It’s a dilapidated old motel. Did someone book it by accident? Beale, come on. You can’t go along with this. We could be sued, or—”
Beale shrugged nervously and didn’t meet my gaze. “If the guest’s okay with it, Fenn…”
But another thought had occurred to me, and my eyes widened with dawning horror. “If he’s a guest, why’re you putting him in our nonexistent employee quarters? Please tell me you didn’t hire someone to work for Goodmen Outfitters when we can barely afford—”
“Fenn,Fenn. Jesus. You need to stop doubting so much. I think you must get this from your mother, since Lord knows your father never worried about a thing besides his car and his whiskey in all the years I knew him.” He rolled his eyes, and I gritted my teeth. “No, Goodmen Outfitters doesn’t need another employee. We needguests, though. Tourists. Families. Day visitors. We need to get this island back to where it was in its glory days.”
“Which days were those?” I folded my arms over my chest. “Was Kennedy president? Or are we talking pre-Spanish colonial period?”
“For your information, there was a timein my memorywhen Whispering Key wasthevacation destination. Families came and stayed forweeks.” He stared at something above the tree line, sometimethat existed only in his memory. “They had bonfires on the beach. Folks got together every night—tourists and locals alike!—to watch the sunset down at Powder Point. They’d stroll down Godfrey Pass eating ice cream from Luisa Oliveira’s shop and ride the carousel, or watch movies at Godfrey Park. There was music and laughter nearly every damn day.”
I looked at Beale. He looked at me. We both shrugged.
Whispering Key had been a forgotten island for the five years I’d lived here—andwaylonger, based on the look of the place. Godfrey Pass was six miles of road that ran the length of the island and through a town center comprised mostly of empty storefronts and a boarded-up, graffiti-covered carousel. I’d never heard of Luisa Oliveira, and the only places to get ice cream without heading to Publix off island were Omar’s Sundries, and Pickles’, the world’s tiniest grocery store.
I opened my mouth to say something—something cutting about how a lot of things had changed since those good old days, and the past was the past—but I wasn’t atotalheartless bastard. The happy, dreamy look in Big Rafe’s eyes wasn’t one I was used to seeing unless he was talking about some treasure his ancestors had dropped off the coast a couple hundred years before, or how he was gonna buy a stake in some almost-guaranteed mind-blowing get-rich-quick scheme for a low, low price.
So instead of arguing, I nodded once. “All right. So what’s your plan here? You’re trying to get folks to visit the motel? Do some advertising?” I tried not to sound as deeply skeptical as I felt. “Gonna be hard. The beaches are gorgeous, but you know that’s not enough. Tourists need more.” Like running water and furniture that wouldn’t disintegrate under their hands, for a start.
“I’maware, Fenn,” he sighed. “Leave it all to me.”
Words to strike fear in a man’s heart, right there.
“They’re gonna want those shops you talked about, and entertainment, and restaurants, and cafes,” I persisted. “The Concha isn’t gonna cut it no matter how good Lety’s cooking is, you realize. Tourists don’t loveto buy their lunch at the same place they buy live bait, as a general rule.”
“Precisely.” Rafe nodded approvingly, like I’d displayed more intelligence than he’d thought me capable of. “We need small businesses to relocate to Whispering Key. Chefs and bakers, bartenders, artisans. All the kinds of folks who were here before.”
I frowned. I was possibly mildly impressed by his foresight. Against my will, you understand. “So…”
“So, in order to get those people to move here, we have to haveservicesfor them. Like schools—”
“And decent housing. And medical care,” I interjected. “Yeah, okay. I follow you. That’s a fuck of an undertaking, though. Shit, Rafe. And you can’t possibly have people start coming here before—”
“Sure I can. One bite at a time.” He headed back up the steps to the house. “Name’s Mason Bloom. JetSet flight 1443. Arrives at 11:29,” he called over his shoulder. “Don’t be late. Benice. And for God’s sake, change that shirt. You look like a criminal.”
“Rafe? Get back here. Rafe, what have you done?” I demanded. I started for the stairs to follow him, but tripped on a crack in the concrete and landed flat on my back. My wrench went flying, too… and came to land directly on my face.
“Jesus Christ!My eye!” I yelled, pressing my hands to my face.
The only response was the completely unconcerned slamming of the screen door as Rafe went inside.
“Portents in the air,” Beale whispered, wide-eyed. “I’m tellin’ ya.”
And this time, I couldn’t even tell the idiot to shut up, because I felt them, too.
Chapter Two
Mason
“What you needto do is get off your couch and stop overthinking,” my brother said in my ear.
“Micah.” I pulled my third hard-sided black suitcase off the luggage carousel at Sarasota Bradenton International Airport with a little grunt and set it down beside two smaller pieces of the swanky, designer four-piece set I’d spent an arm and two legs on just the week before. “I didn’t call for a big-brother intervention, okay? Safe to say that’sneverwhy I call you.”
