Wild Tropics: Christmas Key Book Two

by Stephanie Taylor

  “Because you have enough on your plate this morning.”

  “So it looks like they’re wrapping up this week, huh? They want to do the party on Friday the twenty-third—oh my God, that’s the day after tomorrow!” Holly flings the paper onto her keyboard.

  “I already called Joe to get the Ho Ho set up, just like they asked us to,” Bonnie says in a soothing tone. “And I invited all of the family members they wanted to have on hand.”

  Bonnie reaches across the giant desk that Holly’s created by pushing together two smaller white wicker desks and plucks the piece of paper off the keyboard. “Says here they need a few holiday items, and they want some tropical foliage on hand…listen, sugar.” Bonnie sets the paper on the edge of the desk gently. “I’ll deal with the things they want, you just deal with this election stuff, okay?”

  Holly nods. Her stomach kinks up as she consults her tank watch. “I’ve also got River stuff to deal with.”

  “Bad stuff?”

  “I’m not sure,” Holly says, pulling her feet out from under her and putting her sandals back on. “It’s been an awkward visit because I’ve had so much going on. He feels kind of…distant.”

  “Not to sound rude, sugar, but I think it’s you.”

  Holly laughs, taken aback. “You think it’s me?”

  “I mean,” Bonnie says, rolling her eyes when she realizes what she’s just said. “I mean I think it’s all in your head. You’ve got a lot on your mind, and I’m sure you’re just imagining that things are different between you two.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “Honey, I know I’m right. I saw that boy the other night at the decorating of the sign, and I tell you, mmm, mmm, mmm.” Bonnie looks out the window dreamily. “He is one smitten kitten.”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.” Holly pushes away from her desk and stands up. “But do I look okay? I want to at least be presentable when I have to hand over my gavel and all my dignity.”

  “Come on, girl, you’ll be fine out there,” Bonnie reassures her. “Now go get ‘em, sugar.”

  “Thank you all for coming,” Holly says. “I’d like to call the village council meeting for December twenty-first to order now.”

  The crystal chandelier hanging in the B&B’s dining room has been polished, and the light from the windows catches the bits of glass, sending dancing sparks onto the four walls of the large room. The carpet is freshly vacuumed, and a small table with platters of barely touched pastries sits near the entrance. Every seat is filled, and the crowd hangs visibly on Holly’s words.

  “After more than a month of campaigning, it’s finally time to make our contribution to democracy by casting our votes.” Holly puts her weight on the podium, lifting her leg behind her and dangling her black sandal from her left foot nervously. She looks out at the room full of familiar faces and a sense of calm falls over her. She puts her foot back on the ground.

  She’d told Bonnie a bit of a white lie when she said her back hurt because of River hogging the bed. She’d never even put her head on the pillow the night before, instead pacing her bungalow, her heart heavy with conflict and confusion.

  “You know us both as candidates, friends, and neighbors,” Holly says to the crowd. “You know what we stand for, and now you get to choose who you’d like to have as mayor of our fair island.”

  Heddie sits to the right of the podium, wearing a French twist, a lemon yellow cable-knit sweater, and a pearl necklace at her throat. Cap sits to the left, his usual khaki cargo shorts and loose, unbuttoned shirt replaced by long pants and a fully-buttoned dress shirt. From their posture and their unwillingness to look at one another, it’s obvious that Cap knows who told Holly about Caspar Braun, and that Heddie fears what Holly has done or will do with that information.

  And she’s certainly given some thought—some deep, soul-searching thought—as to how she should proceed with Cap. But in the end, after much contemplation, she’s decided that it’s best to simply do nothing. The man who’d called her from Berlin had done as promised, forwarding several scanned documents by email and answering all of Holly’s follow-up questions. There’s enough there to do any amount of damage to Cap’s shroud of secrecy if she wants to, but Holly has pondered, prayed, and consulted her grandfather’s carefully typed notes about island life, and in doing so, she’s come to the conclusion that outing Cap isn’t her place, nor is it in the spirit of kinship that the island was built on.

  “The ballots you picked up on your way in are marked with two names: Holly Baxter and Cap Duncan, and I’ll ask you to—”

  “Wait,” Cap says loudly, standing up. “Before we vote,” he turns to Holly, “may I speak?”

  They stare at one another for a long moment before Holly moves aside. She folds her hands in front of her, standing straight as she watches Cap step up to the podium. His white hair is combed neatly into a low ponytail, and he’s removed his gold hoop earring for the meeting. There’s something almost heartbreaking about watching him simultaneously disguise himself in the uniform worthy of a mayor, and reveal himself with what she knows he’s about to say.

  “Take your pens and pencils,” Cap says, holding his index finger in the air. “And cross off the name ‘Cap Duncan’ on your ballots, please.”

  Next to Holly, Heddie has stopped taking meeting minutes, so stunned is she by the anticipation. Holly can only imagine what she must be feeling.

  “Instead, you may write ‘Caspar Braun’ in its place. That’s B-R-A-U-N.” The crowd whispers feverishly, people elbowing one another and asking whether or not they’re hearing Cap correctly. “That’s me: Caspar Braun. However, you cannot vote for me at all, because I’m not an American citizen.” At this, mayhem breaks out in the dining room. No one even pretends to whisper as they grab onto one another and openly discuss this revelation.

  But there’s only so much to say about the fact that Cap isn’t an American citizen, and once this has been established and confirmed by the islanders with better hearing, everyone turns their attention back to him.

  “I was born in 1944 to Ilse Braun, an unmarried woman who was an amateur ballroom dancing champion in Europe.”

  Holly glances over at Heddie, who is listening, chin raised proudly. In her eyes is the unmistakable glint of support. And maybe love, though Holly isn’t sure whether it’s love for the Cap who’s up at the podium now, or love for the man Heddie had once talked books with, dancing the evenings away in his strong arms.

  “According to the history books, Ilse died without ever having children. But this is wrong,” Cap says, eyeing them all carefully. “I was born to Ilse and Franz Müller, a member of the Wehrmacht—the Nazi armed forces. The year after I was born,” he says, and then stops. He puts his index finger to his lips, as if to hold his secret in just a moment longer. Holly is tempted to stand beside him as he speaks—not to touch him or to offer physical support, but merely to be present—but he goes on. “The year after I was born, Ilse’s sister, Ava Braun, married Adolf Hitler.”

  Maria Agnelli stands up and starts fanning her wrinkled face with her ballot. She’s gone white and is moaning quietly, hand clutching her chest like she might faint.

  This time the crowd doesn’t break into chatter, it forms a collective gasp, mouths dropping open all across the room. There are hands placed instinctively over time-weakened hearts, brows furrowed and folded in consternation, and looks of dismay from the front of the room to the back, from one side to the other.

  “I’ve spent my life running from my past, and now I stand before you, ready to own up to something that isn’t even my fault.”

  The crowd is still. On their faces are lifetimes of experience, decades of prejudices and understandings borne of the firsthand knowledge of what war means. Some of the older islanders remember a time when Hitler’s dark reign colored the world, and others can easily recall the sentiments of friends and family who lived through WWII. Several of the Jewish islanders sit, arms folded, faces guarded. It is a mo
ment of uncertainty amongst a group of people who have always moved forward with absolute certainty, and Holly knows she will never forget it.

  Heddie stands up, pushing her chair back slowly and quietly across the carpeted dining room floor. She pulls herself to her full height, hands at her sides. Without a word from her lips, her body language says it all: she stands with Cap as a fellow countrywoman and as a friend. Holly feels her own shoulders straighten. Out in the sea of faces, she spots River—he’s near the back, looking uneasy, but he gives Holly a small nod.

  “I was raised by a kind couple when the war ended,” Cap continues. “My mother didn’t wish to have a child with a Nazi soldier, and she gave me up. I never saw her again.” Cap’s voice is ragged, the story of his life spoken aloud for the first time in years. “But no matter how completely my past was erased from my daily life, I could never get over the fact of who I was—who I really was—and so I left. I packed my bags at eighteen and found my way to the water.”

  People are still listening curiously, a wash of emotions on their faces like a wave that’s crashed for some and is still cresting for others. Some look stunned to hear that Cap isn’t just a surly, cigar-hawking former pirate—as they’d always assumed—and others are clearly not sure what to make of a man with ties so close to Nazi Germany.

  “I traveled the world until I wasn’t Caspar Braun anymore. I sailed and lived by the tides until I was no one but Cap Duncan—not a German, not an American, not anything but a man who loved the water. And then I came here.”

  Holly looks at Heddie; there are tears in the older woman’s eyes. The majority of the people sitting in this B&B—living on a tiny island in the Gulf of Mexico completely by choice—are there because life and circumstance have deposited them there. Recognition ripples through the crowd as people begin to see themselves in Cap’s story. Heddie left behind a star-studded career as a German film actress to live alone on an American island, and no one really knows who or what pushed her to move to paradise; Iris and Jimmy Cafferkey had abandoned busy lives as attorneys in Dublin to raise their young daughter with Down Syndrome there; Fiona fled a terrible relationship in Chicago by accepting a two-year appointment to the tiny island via a government program to place doctors in underserved areas. Holly’s eyes roam across all these familiar faces as she thinks of their individual stories.

  “And I think we know that secrets can drive a man to take extreme measures. Not one of us relishes the idea of having that which we find abhorrent about ourselves flapping around in the breeze like a flag for all to see.” Cap looks at Buckhunter and then tips his head at Holly, reminding the crowd without words of that summer’s revelation about Frank Baxter’s marital indiscretions. Frank’s desire to keep his little family safe and protected from his own secrets had driven him to purchase Christmas Key in the first place.

  “So, if you will, I would ask you to please remember that I am still Cap Duncan, man of the world.” Cap places one hand on his heart; his face is sincere. “I am not perfect. I drink too much. I say the wrong things, and I’m a crotchety, confirmed bachelor. But I am not, nor have I ever been, a fan or friend of the Nazis. And while I am German—this is true—I am every bit as much of an islander as the rest of you.” Cap looks down at the podium, the pause between his words stretching to the point that Holly nearly steps forward to take over. Cap looks up again. “Finally, I would ask you to forgive my drinking and rabble-rousing when it comes to this election. Holly is—and always has been—this island’s true mayor.”

  Without hesitation, the room erupts in applause. Holly can’t hold back her tears as her fellow islanders rise to their feet. Some move quickly, others slowly on aging hips or with the help of canes, but after a minute or so, everyone is standing, their eyes shining as they look at Cap with the neighborly affection that Holly has come to expect from her friends. Maria Agnelli still looks shaken, but she reaches forward with a thin, liver-spotted hand, taking the steps from the front row up to where Cap stands, her hand outstretched the whole way. When she reaches him, she wraps her arm around his waist, and he tucks her petite, fragile frame under his arm gently, a grin spreading across his face.

  Several more people come forward to shake Cap’s hand. Firm nods of understanding are exchanged, and there are very few dry eyes in the room. Holly waits until everyone else has had their moment with Cap before she steps forward, unsure about what she should say.

  “Hey, kid,” he says, putting out one arm. Holly hugs him, her cheek pressed against his crisp button-up shirt. Rather than the usual sweet scent of cigars, Cap smells like soap and a light, musky cologne. “I clean up all right, don’t I?”

  Holly nods, her arms still wrapped around him. “I’m proud of you, Cap,” she says. There’s an apology on her lips, but something stops her. Maybe it’s the knowledge that things have ended well for both of them, or (and she’s much less inclined to entertain this thought) maybe she really isn’t that sorry after all. Cap’s been an admitted adversary for her these past months, and the competitive part of her knows that she did what she had to do in order to keep their collective train from jumping the tracks. So she hugs him more tightly, but she doesn’t apologize.

  “Congratulations, Mayor,” he says, releasing her. Holly stands behind the podium in the nearly empty room, her eyes scanning the chairs for River. She finds him near the door, back against the wall as he waits.

  “Want to grab a drink?” Cap asks shyly, his back to Holly as he faces Heddie. “I’ll be drinking lemonade, but I wouldn’t mind some company.” His hands are clasped behind his back like a schoolboy speaking to a prim and proper nun.

  “I would enjoy that—yes,” Heddie says after a brief internal deliberation. She picks up her notebook from the table and slips her purse over the crook of her elbow. “It’s been a long time since we talked books.” Heddie shoots him a dubious look, then walks down the aisle without waiting to see if he’ll follow.

  Cap grins. “Yes, yes it has,” he says, almost to himself. Hands still clasped behind his back, he follows Heddie’s long, lean figure down the aisle and out the door.

  “Typical village council meeting?” River asks from his spot by the door. The dining room has emptied out, and Holly sighs, looking at the rows of chairs left behind. People had stopped to pick through the pastries on their way out (she’d noticed Maria Agnelli slipping a few into her handbag) and now she needs to clean up the room.

  “Pretty much.” Holly switches off the microphone on the podium. “Just another day in the life around here.”

  “Want some help with all of this?” River’s eyes sweep the room.

  Holly makes a split-second decision. “Nah, let’s go to the beach. I’ve got a hankering for a picnic and a make-out session on a blanket with my favorite baseball player.” She walks over to the bank of lights to hit the switches on their way out.

  “So Jeter finally showed up?”

  “It was A-Rod,” Holly reminds him. “And no, he never showed.” She shoots him a saucy look. “But I guess you’ll do in a pinch.”

  Holly pulls the French doors to the dining room closed gently as they leave the darkened room. Having the election and the strife between her and Cap behind her is a relief, and she feels a lightness in her heart as she takes River’s hand and leads him through the B&B’s lobby and out to the beach.

  Their retreating figures are reflected in the glass panes of the doors as they go.

  Chapter 27

  The reality show’s wrap party feels like a bookend to the whole production. It’s the day before Christmas Eve, and a dedicated group of islanders have gathered at the Ho Ho early in the morning to decorate the open bar the way that Leanna and Wayne have requested. People have turned up in jeans and work clothes to pitch in, cups of Mistletoe Morning Brew coffee in hand, and Maria Agnelli is there with a tray of homemade cinnamon rolls that everyone is pretending to eat. There’s a rumor going around that she’s used powdered curry instead of cinnamon, and Bonnie has caref
ully relocated the tray of breakfast rolls to the table closest to the open doorway.

  As Holly steps over the strings of Edison bulbs that she and Joe Sacamano have spread across the open floor of the Ho Ho Hideaway, she thinks back to the hot, sultry Halloween night the islanders spent in this same bar with the crew of the show. This is the very spot where Jake had signed up to compete on Wild Tropics. Without knowing it, Halloween had been the night he’d sold his soul for a little bit of fame.

  Holly is lost in thought for a minute as she stares out at the ocean, the gray sky hanging low over the navy blue waves that roll angrily toward shore. A small storm is brewing out in the Gulf, and it suits Holly’s mood. It won’t turn into a wind-whipper of tropical storm proportions, but it should put a bit of a damper on the party anyway, and this pleases her.

  Bonnie and Millie are walking around with six-foot lengths of gold tinsel draped around their necks the way tailors wear their measuring tape. Bonnie points at the next pillar that she wants to wrap in tinsel.

  “Grab the tacks, Millie!” she calls out. Millie searches through a fishing tackle box that’s filled with string, glue, nails, small tools, and—ostensibly—thumb tacks. She comes up empty-handed.

  “Hey,” Fiona says, coming up behind Holly and pinching her on the waist. Holly pulls her arm back sharply. “Whoa, girl,” Fiona says. She takes a step back.

  “Sorry,” Holly says, averting her gaze. “You surprised me. I’m just jumpy today.”

  “I can see that.” Fiona’s eyes narrow with concern. “Anything I can do?”

  “Occupy River,” she says under her breath, assessing the knot in the string of lights that she’s planning on hanging from one corner of the bar to the other. If all goes as planned, she’ll have strings of lights hanging from every corner of the room and meeting in the center, illuminating the dance floor in a soft haze.

  “You want me to take your man off your hands?” Fiona chuckles.