At the end of the dock, the mayor was still talking to the boat captain. Their laughter carried up to where Jake stood next to the pink golf cart.
“Good luck to you, Officer!” the boat captain shouted at him. When Jake turned to wave, the captain offered him a sharp salute before turning on the boat’s engine and pulling away from the dock.
“Welcome to Christmas Key,” the mayor said as she walked up the short pier. She looked up at him from under the brim of her baseball cap. “We’re so happy to have you here, Officer Zavaroni—can I call you Jake?”
“Yeah, of course,” he said, extending a hand. She took it eagerly, shaking.
“I’m Holly Baxter.” She pointed at the golf cart. “I see you found my wheels. I’m going to take you to your house so you can drop everything off, and then I thought we might grab some lunch so I can tell you all about Christmas Key. Sound okay?”
“Sure, sounds great,” Jake said, sliding into the cart next to her. “I can’t wait to hear more about the island.”
Holly clicked off the park brake and started rolling. “First of all, thank you for taking this position. I’ve been working hard to bring services to the island, and it’s not always easy to get people to take me seriously. I was kind of surprised when we finally got approval for your position.”
Jake leaned back in his seat as Holly turned the wheel and they left the paved road for a sandy one. “I can’t imagine anyone not taking you seriously,” he said with a half-smile.
Her face clouded over and they drove in silence for a minute. “Really?” Holly finally said, slowing the cart as she turned to look at him. “Is it my flip-flops? Maybe my baseball hat? Because I take my job seriously, and I really resent it when people make assumptions about me based on the fact that I’m young and a woman.” Her eyes flashed fire as she gripped the steering wheel with both hands. “But you know,” she went on, waving a hand at him, “it’s not the first time I’ve encountered someone who felt that way, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. It’s fine—I’ll get over it.”
Jake was still mildly nauseated from the ride across the Gulf, and he was already feeling a few steps behind the mayor as he tried to acquaint himself with his new surroundings. “No, I mean—no,” he said, frowning. “That isn’t what I meant at all.”
Holly’s demeanor visibly changed as she searched his face and saw genuine confusion there. “Oh,” she said. “I’m sorry. I just get defensive when I think someone is underestimating me, and…” She blushed, shaking her head and shrugging at the same time in a way that was both charming and endearing. “This is turning out to be a really awkward first meeting. Can we start over?”
“Okay,” Jake said, looking around at the different colored bungalows that lined the street. Holly pulled into the sandy driveway of a small, tan house with a red-tiled Spanish roof. “It’s probably me anyway; this is kind of a shock to the system.”
Holly stopped in the driveway and turned off her cart. “You’re right. I’ve lived here forever and I think Christmas Key is paradise, but I need to remember that you left behind a whole life in Miami to be with us—it is Miami, right?”
“Yeah.”
“And you’re coming to us not knowing who the heck even lives on this island. It must feel like the middle of nowhere.” Holly stepped out of the cart and pulled one of Jake’s boxes from the back seat.
“Let me get that,” Jake said, taking it from her.
Holly led him up the path to the front door, which was unlocked. Jake watched her back as she let them into the house; her shoulders were lean and strong, and her bare arms were tanned. He wondered if she was always this prickly with strangers or if there was something about him that she found particularly antagonizing.
“Come on in,” Holly said amiably, leading the way into a big, open kitchen. “We’ve got you all set up here, as promised, and I even stocked your fridge with a few things so that you wouldn’t have to worry about groceries right away.”
Jake carried his box in after her, setting it on the edge of the island in the kitchen. The cabinets were oak, and the tile floor was an off-white color that matched the walls. It was simple, but serviceable.
“Thank you,” he said, wiping his forehead with one palm. “What do I owe you?”
“Nothing,” Holly said with a sincere smile. He watched her face, hoping that she wasn’t being overly solicitous just to make up for their rocky start. He could see by the look in her eyes that she really was trying to reboot after the misunderstanding, so he smiled back. “We all pitched in and got you bread and milk and some of the basics as a welcome gift,” she said, tapping the counter with her knuckles nervously. “It was the least we could do.”
They stood there in the kitchen, a silence falling over them that carried the threat of impending awkwardness.
“So when you say you all pitched in, you mean…”
“Oh, um, me, Bonnie, who is my assistant at the B&B that I run here,” she ticks people off on her fingers. “The triplets—they run the giftshop-slash-grocery store on Main Street—and a few other people.”
“And exactly how many people am I actually vowing to serve and protect on Christmas Key?”
“Approximately one hundred, give or take. It kind of depends on which season it is.”
“So just a few less than the five million I was assigned to in Miami,” he teased.
“Yeah, just a few.” Holly leaned against the island with one hip, folding her arms across her chest like she didn’t know what else to do with them. “And I’d be willing to bet that the citizens on your new watch drive a little slower and party a little less than the ones you’re used to.”
“So no drug dealing?” Jake leaned against the wall behind him, putting his hands in his pockets.
“Well, I’m sure Mrs. Agnelli shares her Maalox with Millie Bradford every now and again. And maybe Joe Sacamano slips Cap Duncan a few of his Advil after a particularly wild night at the Ho Ho Hideaway.”
“The Ho Ho Hideaway?” Jake laughed. “I already saw North Star Cigars and Mistletoe…wait, what was it?”
“Mistletoe Morning Brew,” Holly confirmed.
“Right. So, am I picking up on a theme here?”
“Lord, I hope so.” Holly pushed away from the island and walked to the front door. “If not, then that means I’m falling down on the job. I’m going to have to hire a bunch of elves in pointy-toed slippers to greet the boats as they pull up to shore.”
“Maybe you could trade in those elves for some Santa’s helpers in little red velvety dresses and black boots,” he suggested.
Holly walked through the open doorway and turned back to Jake with a huge grin. “Oh, all right, Zavaroni. I see where your mind is.”
Jake felt nothing but relief: the initial weirdness between them had quickly melted into a tentative kinship. There was a shared sense of humor between them, and Jake could feel it growing. “I was just teasing,” he said, hoping that he hadn’t come off like a ladies’ man on the make with that crack.
“I’m sure there was a kernel of truth to that joke.”
“Like a Freudian slip?”
“Exactly.” Holly motioned for him to grab the rest of his boxes from her golf cart. “But let me clear one thing up for you right now: the beaches of Christmas Key are about the furthest thing from Spring Break in Panama City that you can imagine.”
Jake paused, another heavy box in his arms. “So knee-length swimsuits, then?”
Holly nodded, a satisfied smirk on her face. “Knee-length swimsuits and flowered bathing caps.”
Jake huffed, his laugh stifled by the weight of the box.
“Now let’s get you unloaded, Officer. There’s a fried grouper sandwich and a cold beer waiting for us at the restaurant on the other side of the island.”
“Let’s not keep that beer waiting any longer than we have to,” Jake said as he pulled his suitcases off the back of her golf cart. “That would seem unneighborly, and I don’t want to mak
e a bad first impression.”
Chapter Seven
“This guy is supposed to protect us from danger?” Mrs. Agnelli asked dubiously, one arthritic thumb hooked in Jake’s direction. “He isn’t dressed like a cop. Where’s his gun?” Holly had helped Jake get all his belongings into the house, then driven him directly over to the Jingle Bell Bistro for the grouper sandwich and beer she’d promised him.
With such a small population, news of Jake’s arrival had spread rapidly and with great fervor across the island. This meant that the small bistro was far busier than it usually was at mid-afternoon on a Friday. Curious locals eavesdropped openly, dragging spoons through bowls that had long been emptied of clam chowder. They watched Jake and Holly with interest, everyone hoping to be the first to get the scoop on the new police officer in town.
“This is Officer Jake Zavaroni,” Holly said, holding out a hand in Jake’s direction. “Officer Zavaroni, this is Maria Agnelli.”
“Huh.” Mrs. Agnelli placed the crooked fingers of her left hand on the edge of the small, square table that sat between Holly and Jake. She made a fist with her other hand and rested it on her bony hip. “Zavaroni. You’re Italian?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jake said, standing up politely and pushing his chair back so that he could properly greet the elderly woman. “Born in New Jersey, raised in Miami.”
“And your parents are from the old country then?” she demanded, taking the hand he offered and holding it in her own.
“My grandparents are from Calabria,” he said.
A huge grin crowded out the concerned frown on Maria Agnelli’s face. “Ah! Ragazzo prezioso!” Mrs. Agnelli shouted, taking both of her hands and reaching up for Jake’s face. In order to allow her to put both palms on his cheeks, Jake had to bend forward at the waist. “My people are from Campania—we’re neighbors!”
“Come sta, signora?” Jake asked her, accepting a kiss on both cheeks from Mrs. Agnelli.
“And he speaks Italian,” Mrs. Agnelli said as an aside, looking at Holly. “Now I feel safe.” She put one hand on Holly’s shoulder; even seated, Holly was almost eye-level with petite Mrs. Agnelli. “This was a good choice for our island’s first police officer.” She beamed up at Jake and then turned back to face Holly. “And now you’ve got someone here your own age to play with,” she said in a stage whisper.
“I wish I could take the credit, Mrs. Agnelli, but Ft. Lauderdale interviewed him and took into consideration our wish list for an officer,” Holly said, ignoring the innuendo.
Mrs. Agnelli looked Jake up and down with open admiration. “I can see what was at the top of your wish list, Mayor.”
Jake’s eyes darted around the dining room to see who was listening. Naturally, everyone was.
“I need you both at the chapel in two weeks. Friday afternoon, fourteen days from today. Four o’clock.”
Holly glanced at Jake; he looked back at her expectantly. “What’s happening on Friday in two weeks, Mrs. Agnelli?” Holly asked.
“I’m having a wake. There’ll be plenty of food and wine—just bring yourselves.”
“A wake?” Holly’s voice rose with alarm. “Who died?”
“No one, yet,” Mrs. Agnelli said, switching her small purse from the crook of one arm to the wrist of her other.
“Then who is the wake for?” Holly’s eyes narrowed.
“For me,” Mrs. Agnelli said slowly, looking at Holly like she was a dolt. “It’s my wake. Wear black and plan to say something nice about me when it’s your turn to speak.”
Jake and Holly both stared at her, mouths slightly agape. Jake was still standing, and he reached out a hand towards Mrs. Agnelli.
“Are you unwell?” he asked delicately.
“No,” Mrs. Agnelli said, making a face like she’d just bitten into a lemon. “I’m fine, for now. But in two weeks? Who knows.” She turned both palms to the ceiling.
Jake looked at Holly quizzically, but she simply shrugged. “Okay, we’ll be there,” Holly assured her. “I mean, I shouldn’t speak for Officer Zavaroni, but I’ll be there.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Jake said, picking up on Holly’s cues to play along.
“Fabulous. Arrivederci, young people!” Mrs. Agnelli tottered off, one hand raised in the air like a backward wave as she made her way to the door of the Jingle Bell Bistro.
Jake and Holly took a beat as he sat down again, spreading his napkin over his lap and looking around at the other patrons. Everyone busied themselves with sweaty glasses of ice water and the pushing around of empty plates.
“Is this normal?” he asked, trying to suppress a smirk.
“Ah, Jake. Newcomer, youngster, uninitiated one,” Holly said wisely, lifting her menu from the table. “This is not normal for most towns, I would imagine, but it’s par for the course around here.”
Jake lifted up his own menu and perused the lunch offerings. “Got it,” he said, nodding. “A wake for the undead. Two weeks from today. Four p.m. I’ll be there.”
Holly lifted her water in the air like a toast, a wedge of lemon knocking around with the ice in her glass. “Welcome to Christmas Key, Officer Zavaroni. I think you’re going to do just fine.”
Chapter Eight
“Young man!” called a booming voice from behind Jake. “I hear your big delivery is coming today.”
Jake turned around to see a tall, jovial-looking man in a short-sleeved button up shirt and flat-front trousers. On his feet he wore clean, white tennis shoes, and his hair—nearly as white as the shoes—was combed neatly into place with some sort of gel or cream.
“Ray Bradford,” the man said, extending a hand. “Pleased to meet you, and even more pleased to have you here to tame the wild beasts and keep the savages away from our fair isle.”
“Jake Zavaroni,” Jake said, returning Ray Bradford’s hearty handshake. They stood on the sidewalk outside of Mistletoe Morning Brew, the sun already warming the island as it climbed from behind the palm trees to the east. “Yeah, I’m pretty excited to get my cruiser today,” Jake said, taking a step back and putting both hands on his hips as he smiled at Ray.
“As you should be, chap,” Ray said. “But there’s no boat on the horizon that I can see.” Ray scanned the waters beyond Main Street and the dock. “So I reckon they won’t be here for at least another hour or so. Can I buy a fella a cup of coffee while he waits?”
Jake was eager to get his official police golf cart and the uniform and tools that the department was shipping over to Christmas Key, but with another hour or more to kill, there wasn’t much else for him to do besides accept a cup of coffee from his new friend.
“Sure. Coffee sounds great,” Jake said, following him into the shop. He’d been on the island for less than seventy-two hours, and had spent most of it unpacking and getting his new house sorted. Other than the lunch he’d had with Holly at the bistro on Friday, he’d already walked the beaches, gone to a Saturday night gathering at the Ho Ho Hideaway with a bunch of the locals, and made two trips to the Tinsel & Tidings gift and grocery store to purchase a few things he’d forgotten to bring.
Inside the coffee shop, Jake was greeted by a woman behind the counter wearing a curly ponytail with a long ribbon tied around it. She wore a man’s white t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up almost to the shoulder, and even from behind the counter he could see her blue jeans with the ankles cuffed.
“Mornin’ Ray,” she sang out happily, her hands busy as she brewed coffee and moved things around. “And this must be our very own member of the FHP right here in the flesh,” she said with a friendly smile, turning off the espresso machine.
‘Jailhouse Rock’ blasted from the speakers in the shop, and on one wall were huge posters of Sandy and Danny and Rizzo from Grease. The other side of the shop was covered with life-size black-and-white photos of 1950s teenagers at a sock hop. Jake took it all in.
“Actually, I’m Miami-Dade, ma’am, not Florida Highway Patrol. But Monroe County hired me to come out here and
work with you all, and I’m pleased to be here.”
The woman set the coffee pot in her hands down on the counter and wiped her palms on the front of her jeans before offering Jake a hand to shake. “Carrie-Anne Martinez,” she said, looking him in the eye. “My wife and I run this shop; we’ve been on Christmas Key for about twelve years now. You’re in for a real treat.”
“I can already tell,” Jake said. He nodded at the posters on the wall. “I had no idea this place was a 50s-themed coffee shop. I was under the impression that everything around here was all about Christmas.”
“Just the names, kiddo.” Carrie-Anne picked up her coffee pot again and turned on the sink behind the counter to fill it. “But this shop isn’t actually a 50s diner or anything. We pick a new theme every month—something fun, usually music, book, or movie-related—and then we decorate the shop to fit. A portion of our sales every month go towards the charity of Ellen’s choice.”
“Ellen?” Jake asked, watching Carrie-Anne juggle three different coffee orders as she talked. She pulled a can of whipped cream from a mini-fridge behind the counter and topped one drink with a puff.
“My wife,” she said, setting the drink on the counter. “Heddie! Your drink is up!” she shouted over Jake’s head.
“Right. Got it.” Jake stepped aside as a tall, serene older woman picked up her coffee order from the counter.
“There’s a lot to get, Officer, but you’ll catch on. I promise.” Carrie-Anne winked at him. “So what can I pour for you men on this fine morning?”
“Decaf for me,” Ray Bradford said, sliding his wallet out of his back pocket. “Millie’s got me off the caffeine,” he explained.
Jake scanned the board of hand-written items behind the counter. “I’ll take a white chocolate mocha, please.”
Jake's Story: A Christmas Key Novella Page 3