The desk clerk at the Seafarer Motel looked at Lizzie Quinlan and then pointedly at the cat carrier she’d placed on the counter at the reception desk.
“Sorry, Miss, uh, Quinlan. But we don’t allow cats.”
Lizzie’s eyes narrowed. “Dweezil is not just a cat. She’s a certified emotional therapy support pet.” She slapped an envelope on the counter. “Here’s her registration from the California secretary of state’s office.”
The clerk ignored the envelope. “Ma’am? This is Georgia. And it’s management policy. No cats, no dogs, no ferrets. No pets of any kind.”
“Policy?” Lizzie shrieked. “Is your policy posted on your website? Is it posted on the property? I don’t see any signs.”
Brooke stepped up to the counter to intercede. “Can you recommend any of the other local hotels that do accept pets? It’s just two nights.”
He shook his head and pointed out the lobby’s plate glass window, where knots of gaudily costumed adults dressed up in pirate garb strolled past on the sidewalk. “I guess you could try the Happy Wanderer. Myrtice, the owner, is a crazy cat lady. But you know, it’s Buccaneer Ball weekend, and every hotel in town has been booked for months. We’re all pretty slammed.”
Dweezil yowled her annoyance.
“What the hell is a Buccaneer Ball?” Lizzie asked.
Brooke slapped her forehead. “I’d totally forgotten that was this weekend. It’s a local festival. A big tourism draw. Grown men and women dress up as pirates and wenches and take turns invading each other. There’s even a big parade.”
Lizzie gave Brooke a winning smile. “Maybe I could stay with you. As you say, it’s only two nights.”
“I’m so sorry,” Brooke said. “I have a tiny two-bedroom cottage, and I share it with my three-year-old son.”
“A kid? Never mind. I don’t do kids,” Lizzie said quickly.
“And Mom is already sleeping on my sofa,” Brooke added.
Lizzie’s shoulders sagged as she gathered up the cat carrier and her rolling suitcase. “I guess it’s Shellhaven and Talisa, then,” she said, heading for the door.
“I’ll call Louette and let her know to expect an overnight guest,” Brooke said.
***
C. D. took Lizzie’s suitcase and stowed it in the bow locker. “Y’all having some kind of a convention over on the island? This is the third boatload I’ve had today.”
“Third?” Brooke asked. “I know Felicia and Varina were going over this morning, but who else have you taken to Talisa today?”
“That other lawyer fella,” C. D. said, casting off the lines and easing the boat away from the pier. “Louette called me first thing this morning to tell me to pick him up. Wasn’t even daylight.”
“Lawyer? You mean Gabe Wynant?”
“Yup,” C. D. said. He gestured toward Lizzie, who was clutching the pet carrier with both hands. Inside, despite having shared a tranquilizer with her owner, Dweezil yowled loudly and pitched herself against the carrier’s sides. “A cat, huh?”
“Good guess,” Lizzie said coldly.
C. D. stretched his neck to see inside the carrier. “Wow. That’s one pretty kitty. Never seen one like that before.”
“She’s a Maine coon cat,” Lizzie said, preening just a little. “She was actually cover kitten of the July 2015 issue ofCat Fancier.”
“Have to check that out,” C. D. said as the boat puttered away from the city dock.
Lizzie looked over at Brooke. “Wynant. Is he the lawyer who’s making Josephine’s new will?”
“That’s right,” Brooke said. “He was my boss at the law firm I worked at in Savannah.”
“Why don’t you just draw up the will yourself?” Lizzie asked.
“I thought the same thing, but Brooke can’t do it because of me being involved in the trust,” Marie explained. “It’s a conflict of interest.”
