“Seems to me Deputy Duke gets a lot of latitude.”
“He’s helpful. You know that.” Roz wore a mischievous little smile. “And I think he secretly likes being a source.”
“Mm-hmm.” Alden turned north on the road closest to the beach, lined with beach emporiums and hotels—a mix of kitschy mid-century properties and more recent high-rises, resorts and swank boutique establishments.
Comet Cove was named for the two famous comets that buzzed Earth in 1910. The community was sleepy for a long time, as the old-timers tell it, though the inlet made it attractive to fishing and pleasure boats. During the moon-shot days of the 1960s, whose epicenter was a few towns north in Cape Canaveral, there was a population boom. The town leaned in to its spacey identity. More hotels sprouted, too.
Just in the past decade, celebrities began to discover the scenic town, carving out a haven for themselves. Their wealthy publisher joined the invasion and started The Beacon to compete with the Comet Cove Courier, luring Alden from his tabloid job earlier this year to pursue the glitterati.
The biggest testament to the influx of stars was in the houses along the beach. The character of the road changed as they drove north into more exclusive residential neighborhoods. The few remaining bungalows and groovy wooden surf shacks were being leveled in favor of ritzy stucco palaces with gated driveways.
Enolia Honeywood’s house was one of these. A tall hedge flanked the gate. Beyond the black vertical bars, a wall covered with a vine dripping with hot-pink bougainvillea flowers hid the house.
Alden pulled up to the gate and pressed a button on the intercom mounted on a post next to the driveway.
A minute later, a man’s voice replied. “Yes?”
“Alden Knox and Roz Melander from The Courier-Beacon to see Ms. Honeywood,” Alden said.
“She’s expecting you.” A buzz sounded, and the gate slowly slid aside.
“Kai didn’t seem all that upset that Enolia didn’t want us to bring a photographer,” Roz noted as Alden drove them in.
“Can you blame him? She seemed to enjoy putting him on the spot.” Alden navigated around the wall, which turned out to be part of a detached three-car garage. He pulled up in front of a huge, modern two-story house the soft pink of strawberry ice cream. “Besides, I can always take a few photos with my phone.”
“If she’ll let you.”
“She’ll let me.” Alden grinned and turned off the car, and they got out.
“Planning on trading up, are you?” Roz teased him as they headed to the grand front door. It faced a generous lawn with islands of lush tropical landscaping, enclosed by the hedge along the road.
“Never.” He leaned in and kissed her neck, reveled in her sigh, and pressed the doorbell.
It rang with a profound ding-dong. The door opened to reveal Craig, Enolia’s nerdy assistant from the signing. Why was he here?
To wrangle us, Alden thought.
“Have you sufficiently recovered?” Alden asked Craig, still in his bow tie, the brown fringe around his bald pate neatly trimmed.
A wrinkle briefly formed in Craig’s brow. “Recovered from the signing? That was a perfect crowd.”
“But a not so perfect situation.”
Craig adjusted his spectacles. “The important thing is to move forward and present a happy front. Enolia is the happy front. She is the reader experience.”
I thought books were the reader experience, Alden thought as he and Roz followed Craig through an airy foyer that opened into a two-story living area. Two columns painted with large green leaves and flowering vines supported the high ceiling. A wall of windows and sliding glass doors looked out on a swimming pool and, beyond it, palm trees and the sparkling blue ocean.
Fat, cushy white furniture lay about on a sand-colored travertine floor, interspersed with three modern floor lamps—white shades mounted atop wooden tripods of different sizes. A round wooden coffee table sat on a kaleidoscopic rug in front of the couch.
A white custom shelf unit took up most of one wall. At its center was a closed cabinet painted with colorful flowers—hiding a TV, maybe? Below it, an electric fireplace blazed with imposter flames, throwing no heat. The staggered shelves’ contents alternated between showy pieces of strategically lit glass art, a few personal photos, and books, most of them Enolia’s. Her art tastes ran to bold paintings of flowers, much like the TV cabinet. Colorful but surprisingly boring.
“Have a seat. I’ll be back in a moment.” Craig moved off toward a showroom kitchen that was partially visible through a wide doorway.
“If I sit on that couch, I’ll fall asleep.” Roz eyed it hungrily just the same.
“It does look cozy.” Alden raised a flirty eyebrow, and Roz shot him one of her Can’t you be responsible for five minutes? looks. He laughed.
She plopped down at one end of it anyway and beckoned him over. “I want to sit next to you, not Craig,” she whispered as he settled in beside her and pulled out his phone, revving up the recording app.
