Summer at Hideaway Key

by Barbara Davis

  Lily watched from the edge of the deck as he jogged down to the shore and, without breaking stride, launched himself into the waves. He disappeared briefly, plunging beneath the glassy blue surface, then bobbed up again seconds later and rolled onto his back, arms and legs extended. He didn’t stay long, wading back to shore just moments later, obviously more interested in cooling off than in taking an actual swim. Lily took a quick step back, but it was too late. Dean had already seen her and was waving. There was nothing to do but wave back and hold up her lunch plate in a lame attempt to explain her presence. I wasn’t spying on you. Really, I wasn’t. I was just out here enjoying the sunshine and eating my turkey sandwich.

  Back inside, Lily dumped the half-eaten remains of her sandwich in the trash and made a beeline for the desk, rummaging around until she found a phone book. She wasn’t ready to dive back into cartons of chipped dishes and souvenir ashtrays, but maybe if she got rid of some of the stuff she’d already sorted she’d have a clearer sense of what still needed to be tackled.

  She had just found the listing for the local Goodwill location when she heard a commotion out on the deck. She glanced up to see Dog, grinning his doggy grin from the open doorway. A moment later, Dean appeared at the top of the steps.

  “Hey, stranger.” His hair was still wet on the ends, and there was a fresh nick on his chin from shaving. “You’ve been pretty scarce since dinner the other night. I thought I’d better make sure I didn’t poison you.”

  Lily’s gaze shifted uncomfortably. She didn’t want to talk about dinner, or why she had ducked out the minute they’d finished eating. “I’ve been keeping my head down.”

  Dean stepped in off the deck, making a quick survey. “I’ll say you have. You can actually move in here now. What did you do with all of it?”

  “A lot of it’s stacked by the front door. It’s household stuff, mostly. I was just looking up the address for the nearest Goodwill.”

  “And what about fun? What have you been doing for fun?”

  Lily rolled her eyes. “Look at this place. I don’t have time for fun.”

  “Haven’t you heard? All work and no play makes Lily a dull girl.”

  “I’m not dull,” Lily snapped defensively. “I’m . . . responsible.”

  “You’re also pale. You need to get out and soak up a little sunshine, see what Hideaway Key has to offer. I can help with that.”

  Lily was ready with a perfectly valid excuse. “I really can’t. I need to get those boxes to Goodwill before they close.”

  “Great. We’ll take the truck and drop them off on the way.”

  Lily eyed him warily. “Why do I feel an ulterior motive coming on?”

  “Come on,” he coaxed boyishly. “I haven’t steered you wrong so far, have I?”

  She had to admit, he hadn’t. “Okay, where are we going?”

  “It’s a secret.”

  “I don’t like secrets.”

  “You’ll like this one, I promise. I’ll run Dog home and load the boxes while you change. Dress cool. And leave the hat at home.”

  Lily still had no idea what Dean was up to when he pulled into the parking lot of the Hideaway Marina.

  “I forgot to ask. You don’t get seasick, do you?”

  Lily lowered her sunglasses. “We’re going on a boat?”

  “If you don’t get seasick, we are.”

  She was still a bit leery as she followed Dean to the ticket window of a small whitewashed shack. She watched him count out a few bills and pass them under the Plexiglas window, then trailed after him down a narrow aluminum dock. Lily smiled when she saw the bright blue letters emblazoned on the hull of the sleek white catamaran. CAPTAIN BUBBA’S DOLPHIN WATCH.

  Bubba looked surprised to see Dean as they boarded, then grinned when he spotted Lily. “What are you doing with this guy? Slumming?”

  Lily nodded in Dean’s direction. “I was bribed, I swear.”

  “Yeah, I figured. Well, welcome aboard the Southern Star. Let me know if he makes a nuisance of himself, and I’ll have him tossed over.”

  Ten minutes later they were skimming over the water, Van Morrison’s “Into the Mystic” piping over the speakers. Lily closed her eyes and tipped her face to the breeze, reveling in lyrics she had probably sung a hundred times but never truly listened to. Smell the sea and feel the sky. Let your soul and spirit fly. Into the mystic. It was perfect. All of it. Absolutely perfect.

  A few miles out, the Southern Star slowed to a crawl. Lily turned to scan the receding coastline, white sands and blue water, lazily swaying palms, like something from a postcard. Bubba’s voice broke in over the speakers, his dry humor and languid Southern drawl a crowd-pleaser as he welcomed his passengers, gave a brief history of Hideaway Key and Florida’s Gulf Coast, then moved on to the various feeding and breaching habits of the bottlenose dolphin.

  They didn’t have long to wait before the first pod made an appearance, breaching in a silvery, slick arc so perfectly timed it seemed to have been choreographed for their benefit. Cheers and applause erupted around them as the dolphins continued to surface, splashing and posing, while children squealed and cameras clicked. Lily stood gripping the railing, basking in the magic and beauty of the moment. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt this way, blissful and alive, as if something that had been bound up for years had suddenly begun to unknot itself.

  She glanced down at Dean’s hand, surprised to find it closed over hers on the railing, but even more surprised that she felt no impulse to pull away.

  “It’s all so beautiful,” she said dreamily. “So perfect.”

  “It is.”

  Something in his voice, a soft, honeyed warmth, let her know he wasn’t talking about the scenery. She turned to him, smiling almost shyly. “Thank you for this—for bringing me today.”

  “You’re welcome.” He paused to push a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Maybe next time you’ll trust me when I suggest something.”

  Lily looked up through her lashes. “That depends on what you suggest.”

  A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, warm and lazy. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

  It was flirting, Lily told herself as she turned to look back over the water, the kind that didn’t have to go anywhere. Harmless, uncomplicated flirting. In two weeks she’d be gone, half a world away, and Hideaway Key would be a memory. So would Dean. Would it really be so terrible? So dangerous? When they both wanted the same thing?

  She was no closer to an answer when the coastline finally came back into view, and Bubba came over the speakers thanking his passengers and reminding them to gather up their belongings. A sudden pang of disappointment caught her off guard. She wasn’t ready for the day to end. She wanted to stay right where she was, to savor this afternoon, and this feeling, for as long as possible. Unfortunately, all good things came to an end, including cruises—and summers.

  Back on dry land, they headed to the Sundowner for drinks. Lily grinned sheepishly at Salty as she ordered one of his infamous Pink Flip-Flops.

  “What can I say? I’m hooked.”

  Salty winked and shot her one of his pirate smiles. “If I didn’t know better I’d say Mr. Landry was starting to rub off on you.”

  “I’m doing my damnedest,” Dean said, chuckling as he wrestled a lime wedge down the neck of his Corona. “Got her out with Bubba this afternoon. I think she might have even gotten a little sun. She looks good, don’t you think? Like a proper tourist.”

  Salty gave Lily’s drink a final shake, then poured the bubble gum–colored liquid into a sugared martini glass and slid it to her across the bar. “Speaking of tourists—from where do you hail, Lily St. Claire? Not from the South, I’m guessing.”

  “Then you’d guess right. I’m from New York. Dean tells me you’re from Miami. He says you were a cop, and now you write mysteries
set here on Hideaway. How fun.”

  Salty nodded sheepishly as he picked up a glass and towel and began drying. “Keeps me off the streets. Well, that and this place.”

  “How’d you get started?”

  “Like everyone else, I guess. Used to play around with it when I was young, then forgot about it for a while. You know how it goes—gotta make a living. Then, when I left the force, I had all this time on my hands. I started playing again. Next thing you know I had a chapter, then five chapters, then a book. Took three years to write that first one. Like I said—keeps me off the streets.”

  Dean scooped a fistful of peanuts from a nearby bowl and popped several into his mouth. “He’s being modest, Lily. He’s actually quite the celebrity. People are always popping in here asking him to sign their books, or to have their picture taken with him.”

  Lily turned wide eyes on Salty. “Is that true?”

  He shrugged, reaching for another glass. “People are fascinated by writers. And the name of my place is right there on the back with my picture, so I’m easy to find.”

  “Was that on purpose? Putting the Sundowner on the back?”

  “It started out as a joke, actually. But my publisher liked the idea of a bar-owning ex-cop writing mysteries.”

  “Who wouldn’t? It’s brilliant marketing. I’ve always been intrigued by mystery writers, how you can take something incredibly complicated and make it look so easy. You weave in all these clues, some real and some not, so the reader has no idea what to pay attention to. And then, at the end, when you lay it all out, it’s so perfectly obvious we can’t believe we never saw it coming.”

  Salty grinned. “Literary sleight of hand, my dear. In a good mystery, or any story, really, all the clues are right there under your nose. But only if you pay attention and don’t go into a story thinking you know how it ends. That’s when you miss things, because your brain is only looking for answers in one direction. If you just stay open and let the clues add up, it all falls together at the end.”

  Dean snorted. “Easy for you to say. That last one—Heat in High Places—had me scratching my head to the very last page. Not to mention keeping me up for three straight nights.”

  “Better rest up, then,” Salty said, grinning. “Detective Hank Petri’s next adventure hits the shelves next month, and this time the body belongs to his ex-wife.”

  “Is Detective Petri you?” Lily asked, growing more fascinated by the minute.

  Salty gave a hearty laugh, as if he found the remark amusing. “Not even close. For starters, I don’t have an ex-wife. Or any wife. Oh . . .” He paused, holding up his left hand to wiggle his fingers. “And Petri has all his digits.”

  “Okay, so purely fictional. But how many of your ideas come from actual cases you worked while you were on the force?”

  “A few, but only as seeds. Real life doesn’t lend itself to well-plotted story lines. It would be nice if it did, but cases rarely wrap themselves up all nice and neat in three hundred and fifty pages. In fact, some of them never wrap up at all. So you have to help things along a little. Or a lot.”

  Lily ran a finger around the sugared rim of her glass, suddenly thoughtful. “How do you know when they’re not going to wrap up at all? I mean, how do you know when it’s time to walk away?” She pretended not to feel Dean’s eyes on her as she posed the question. “I was just wondering.”

  “Ah, there’s the tough question. I guess when the trail goes cold. You get to a point where the evidence just runs out. But you’re never quite ready to let it go. Who’s to say you won’t turn a corner tomorrow and find something you missed, something that’s been hiding in plain sight the whole time?”

  Lily was still digesting this when Sheila breezed over, a picture in a lemon yellow scarf and sundress. She threw a tan arm around Lily, dragging her close for a quick hug. “Hey, sugar, you look great. Is that a sunburn?”

  “Dolphin cruise. It was amazing. Aren’t you working today?”

  “I left early. My college girls are back down for the summer, which means I get to knock off early a few days a week. I needed to talk to Salty about the Affair.”

  Lily’s eyebrows shot up. “Affair?”

  “Oh, sorry. The Summer Affair. It’s this big shindig we hold every year to kick off the summer—like a street fair. There’s food and music and fireworks. It’s the biggest thing to hit this town all year. Draws folks from all over the state. I usually set up a booth for breast cancer awareness. The money goes to education and screening. I’m trying to talk Salty into throwing in with me this year. I thought we could do a coupon—a dollar from every Pink Flip-Flop goes to the cause.”

  Behind the bar Salty stood glassy-eyed, his gaze trained on Sheila as he continued to dry the same glass—over and over and over.

  “What do you say?” Sheila hollered across the bar. “Can I count you in?”

  Salty started like a schoolboy caught dozing. “I’m sorry, what?”

  Lily fought to suppress a smile. A moment ago, he’d been a regular magpie, sharing the tricks of his trade with anyone who’d listen. Now, all of a sudden, he couldn’t string three words together. Was it possible this sudden reserve had to do with Sheila’s appearance? She suspected it might.

  Sheila had climbed up on the stool next to Lily’s and was grappling with Dean for the peanut bowl. “I was asking if you’d given any more thought to throwing in with me for the Summer Affair. Have you?”

  “The coupons.” Salty nodded as he filled a fresh bowl of nuts and set them in front of Sheila. “Yeah, sure. Count me in.”

  Sheila beamed her thanks, then called down the bar to Dean. “What about you, handsome? Have you asked this lovely girl to go with you yet?”

  Lily felt a flash of panic. “Oh no, we’re just . . . He just . . .”

  Sheila sat looking at them both, a hand on her hip. “He’s going. You’re going. Everyone in Hideaway Key is going. So why not go together?”

  “Oh no, really. I’m sure he’s already got—”

  “No, I don’t,” Dean said, effectively cutting her off. “I think it’s a great idea, actually. You’ll need a tour guide, and I know where all the best funnel cake stands are.”

  “Well, then,” Sheila cooed, smiling one of her wide white smiles, “that’s all settled. No need to thank me, either of you—unless someone wants to buy me a drink?”

  NINETEEN

  The morning sky was awash in streaks of lavender and silver, the sea mirror-smooth at low tide. Lily skirted a small tidal pool, careful to keep the rolled cuffs of her jeans dry. Shivering, she tugged the long sleeves of her T-shirt down over her hands. She hadn’t expected the breeze to be quite so chilly or the sand to be so cold. Still, it felt good to be up with the sun, to wander the shore before the stars faded and the world stirred to life.

  She was surprised to have awakened so early. It had turned out to be a rather long night, and a pleasant one at that. They’d ended up staying for dinner, or some semblance of it—plate after plate of appetizers that kept appearing and then disappearing, shared among an ever-changing group of faces. Sheila had stayed. Rhona had shown up next, thankfully saying nothing about their lunch date. A short time later, Bubba and Drew had joined them, fresh from an anniversary dinner at La Petite Marmite that had apparently left them both hungry and bored to death.

  It was a mixed bag of personalities, but somehow it all worked. Lily enjoyed watching the dynamics—the witty couples’ banter between Bubba and Drew, Rhona’s colorful and inexhaustible supply of anecdotes, and the thinly veiled attraction quietly simmering between Salty and Sheila. Maybe something would finally come to a head on that front while they were working on the coupon deal for the Affair. Lily hoped so. If anyone deserved to be happy it was Sheila.

  Lily grimaced at the thought of the Affair, wishing she’d been quick enough to sidestep Sheila’s blatant attempt at matc
hmaking. If anything was to come of this flirtation with Dean—and she wasn’t saying anything would—she wanted to be the one calling the shots. When it came to matters of the heart, Sheila’s philosophy was quite different from her own. Sheila believed in driving with the top down and the music full blast. Lily believed in driving with the emergency brake on.

  It wasn’t that Dean wasn’t a nice guy—he was. Fun to be with, and definitely easy on the eyes. But he was also the first to admit he rarely did anything without an ulterior motive, and she was fairly certain his motives had to do with getting his hands on Sand Pearl Cottage. Which was why the smartest thing she could do was keep the brakes on. Besides, she didn’t have time for romance, summer or any other kind. It was going to take every waking moment to clear out the rest of the cottage before she had to leave.

  The truth was her concerns weren’t so much about Lily-Mae’s effects as they were about learning the rest of her story. All the way home last night, and then again this morning, Salty’s words had been tumbling around in her head . . . all the clues are right there under your nose. But only if you’re paying attention, and don’t go into a story thinking you know how it ends. That’s when you miss things, because your brain is only looking for answers in one direction.

  Was that what she’d been doing with Lily-Mae? Looking for answers in only one direction? She paused at the shoreline to stare out over the water, a pair of terns squabbling over breakfast at her feet. Maybe she had. All this time, she’d been working backward, operating on other people’s assumptions—her mother’s and Rhona’s. Was it possible she’d been so busy trying to disprove their beliefs that she’d forgotten about trying to prove anything else? Maybe what she needed was a fresh perspective, or better still, no perspective at all.

  Back at the cottage, she made coffee, swapped her soggy jeans for dry ones, and immediately set to work. She was surprised at the progress she was able to make in only a few hours. The work felt easier somehow, less claustrophobic now that she had room to unpack things and examine them fully. Not that the bulk of what she’d found required much examination. Most of it was unremarkable, castoffs that might have been unearthed in any basement or attic—cameras, clocks, the occasional chipped vase. But she had come across a few items of interest, small keepsakes her aunt had collected over the years and had cared enough to hang on to.