Fine. I’ll bring out the big guns. “You do want to win that contest, don’t you?”
Her nostrils flare. Her eyes narrow. But she nods at me before digging into her purse for her medication. I’m not sure what kinds of meds she’s on, but the way she reaches for them in stressful situations, my money was on anxiety.
The pilot agrees to my terms, including a hefty $500 tip, and gets us in the air.
Carolina’s nervousness eases up slightly, maybe from the pills, and she leans toward the window. “Oooh, the Pier is so beautiful from this height.”
I point to the domed baseball stadium. “And there’s Tropicana Field, where we’ll see the Tampa Bay Rays play tomorrow night.”
I catch the pilot’s eye and give him the signal to head toward Tampa. Carolina is too busy oohing and ah-ing over the sights to realize we’re landing on Davis Islands. The pilot pulls to a stop, then a few minutes later, we’re standing on the tarmac.
“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?” I grin.
She snorts. “Fine. You were right. It was no big deal.”
The pilot hands us an envelope, wishes us luck, and heads into the terminal.
Carolina opens the clue. “‘To a pirate, every year, a city leader gives up a key. If you know where she works, the next clue you’ll see.’”
I shake my head. “Who makes up these rhyme time riddles? And pirates?”
It’s Carolina’s turn to grin. “Oh, that would be the Gasparilla Invasion. And that’s the Mayor of Tampa who gives up the key to the city. Where does she work? The Tampa Municipal Office Building.”
“I’m impressed.”
She lifts a shoulder and heads toward the terminal. “Don’t be. You’re not the only one who has random facts floating around their heads.”
I follow after her and think I might just be a little bit in love.
???
Fifteen minutes and one rideshare later, we’re in the lobby of the Municipal Office Building. Security takes down our information but doesn’t give us any clues.
“You think we just wander around until someone hands us an envelope?” Carolina asks me.
I shake my head. “Maybe the clue for the clue is in the clue?”
Carolina laughs. “When my brain stops exploding, I’m sure that will make sense.”
I pull out the clue and read through it again. “Do you think it has something to do with pirates?”
“Good point,” Carolina takes off, then stops in front of a vast mural.
“What is this?”
“It’s a mural,” Carolina rolls her eyes, then winks at me. “It’s called ‘The Story of Tampa’ that depicts 200 vignettes, portraits, and images of Tampa history.”
“That’s pretty impressive recall.”
She bites her lip, then points to a card that says the same thing she just recited. We both break out in giggles. Like one of Faylor’s slumber parties where none of the girls sleep. I can’t help myself around her.
“And that history includes,” I point to the center where an envelope is waiting. “Pirates.”
Carolina gently removes the tape from the clue and opens the envelope. “‘Thank goodness the Creamsicle days are dead and gone. You’ll need to walk the plank to get your next one.’”
I frown at the clue. “Creamsicle?”
“You didn’t grow up here,” Carolina pulls out her phone and shows me a picture of hideous football uniforms. “The Tampa Bay Buccaneers once wore orange and white uniforms. They looked like creamsicles. I think our next clue is Raymond James Stadium. Their home field.”
