The Edge of Paradise: Christmas Key Book Three

by Stephanie Taylor

  “No, it looks like he just sent it to you.” Holly unlocks her phone to double-check. No messages.

  “He says the end of his driveway is all dug up,” Bonnie reads the message aloud. “And he also wants me to tell you that he caught the little munchkins out alone on White Christmas Way and—”

  There’s a loud knock at the B&B’s office door; it’s Jake. He’s got one hand on the top of Mexi’s dark, curly head, and the other on top of Mori’s. He looks perturbed, and the boys look chagrined.

  “These two,” he says, putting his hands on the back of the boys’ necks. “These two were out roaming the streets with a wagon full of coconuts.”

  “Coconuts?” Bonnie says, standing up and walking over to the boys. She bends forward, both hands on her knees. “What are you two rabble-rousers doing with a wagon load of coconuts?”

  “Mek-thee wanted to use them for bowling,” Mori explains, turning his head to look at his brother.

  “Nuh-uh!” Mexi says, shoving Mori so that his shoulder hits the doorjamb. “You wanted to see if we could break that window again!”

  “Whoooooaaaa.” Holly jumps to her feet. “Nobody is breaking any more windows—understood?” The impishness of their coconut hoarding has suddenly gotten a whole lot less cute. “Where are your parents?” she asks the boys. They shrug in unison. “Jake?” Holly looks up at him. “Do you know where they are?”

  “Calista just started a massage and Millie won’t interrupt her, and Vance is nowhere to be found.”

  “He’s jogging,” Mexi finally admits. “He told us to eat cereal and stay inside.”

  “But here you are.” Holly puts both hands on her hips and looks at Bonnie. “Can you watch them for a few minutes?”

  “Coupla rapscallions like this?” Bonnie puckers her lips and shakes her head at the boys. “I raised three of ‘em. This job is right up my alley.” Her face breaks into a wide smile as she waves the boys in. “Sit. You—there. And you,” she motions to the other boy, “there. I’ll get you paper and pens, and I want you both to start writing a letter to Santa Claus.”

  “But why?” Mori wails. “It’s only March.”

  “You think Santa stops watching kids just because it isn’t December?” Bonnie asks him, a look of shock on her face. “No sir, he does not. And you’d better start writing him an apology right now for the nonsense y’all are trying to pull. No way is he going to be pleased to hear about you wanting to break windows with coconuts.” She thrusts a piece of paper and a pen at each boy. “Now get crackin’.”

  Holly and Jake exchange an amused look as the boys bend over their papers and start writing in big, blocky, six-year-old handwriting.

  “Be back in a few,” Holly says to Bonnie as she and Jake duck out of the office.

  Jake’s cart is parked at the curb and they slide into it without a word. “Let’s run over to their house,” he says. “I’m guessing Vance is back from running and he’s going to wonder where his kids are.”

  They drive the short distance in silence. Holly holds on to the edge of her seat as Jake bumps over the sandy road, taking curves at full speed.

  Sure enough, when they get to the pink bungalow on White Christmas Way, a sweaty, confused Vance is standing in the driveway.

  “Have you seen the boys?” he asks frantically, jogging up to the passenger side of the cart. He puts both hands on the edge of the roof and peers in at Holly and Jake. “I went for a run, and when I got back they were gone.”

  “They’re at the B&B,” Holly says, swinging her legs around and forcing Vance to take a step back. Jake puts the cart in park and gets out of the driver’s side. “Bonnie’s watching them for a few minutes.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Vance says. He’s standing in the grass, and sweat rings the underarms of his dark t-shirt. “They weren’t supposed to leave the house, and I…I don’t know.” He looks up at the blue sky and then closes his eyes for a minute. “Calista is going to kill me,” he says when he opens his eyes again. “She really is.”

  “Let’s just talk about what happens next,” Jake says. “Because when I picked them up they had a wagon full of coconuts they’d collected, and their plan was to throw them at windows or use them to bowl in people’s lawns. I think they had their eyes on Maggie Sutter’s plastic flamingo collection for their first strike.”

  Holly wants to find the whole thing funny, but she can’t. Not yet anyway. “Listen, Vance. We need to figure something out to occupy these guys. Do we know if your mom is coming down?”

  Vance gives a fast nod. “Yep, yep. She’s coming—at least for a visit. She says it’s a lot to ask of her to give up her life in Toronto and just move down here, but she’s willing to come and check things out.”

  “So that’s a start,” Holly says. “But even if she does stay, we need to—” Holly stops, remembering how defensive the Guys had been when they’d discussed the boys before. “It would be a good idea if we talked about ways we can better accommodate a young family,” she says, taking a different tack. “With some structured activities or something.” Holly has no idea what this will look like, but she does know that if the boys get anywhere near Ellen and Carrie-Anne’s shop with a coconut and the intent to hurl it, the whole island is going to quickly jump ship from Holly’s idealistic “we accept everyone” mentality and become decidedly anti-kid.

  Vance claps his big hands together and holds the palms in front of his chest like he’s praying. “Yes. Let’s do this. We need to,” he agrees. “This is turning out to be way harder than I thought it would be.”

  “I’m going to do a little thinking,” Holly promises. She reaches out a hand and puts it on Vance’s forearm reassuringly. “And you and Calista do the same. Let’s see if we can’t put our heads together and come up with a plan to make sure these boys are busy and accounted for, huh?”

  “You got it,” Vance says, smiling at them both gratefully. “I’ll go to the B&B now and get the boys,” he says, tipping his head in the direction of the spare cart he and Calista had bought from Hal Pillory, who’d finally been ready to let his late wife’s golf cart go. “Thank you—both of you,” Vance says, holding up a hand in farewell as he jogs over to the cart and hops into it.

  “So you just put it all out there, right in front of everyone at the village council meeting?” Bonnie takes the umbrella out of her drink and lays it on the bar at the Ho Ho Hideaway. “How did that go?”

  “About the way you’d expect,” Holly says, elbows spread wide as she leans forward on the bar, nose just inches from the shot glass that Joe Sacamano’s placed in front of her. “Everyone thought it was bold and brave—except for Jake, who thought it was shallow and manipulative.”

  “Oh, pshaw, honey,” Bonnie says, lifting her drink to her red-painted lips. “Of course he thinks that. You turned up the heat underneath his bigoted girlfriend, and now he has to make a move.”

  “The mayor was ballsy—that’s what she was,” Joe Sacamano says. “And don’t let her tell you any differently.” He passes through the middle of their conversation as he pours Jimmy Cafferkey a drink and then walks it over to his table.

  “Yeah, well…” Holly trails off. She runs a finger around the rim of her shot glass. “We’ve argued on and off for the past couple months.” She thinks of the various disagreements they’ve batted back and forth all over the island lately. “But the weird thing is that whenever something comes up where we need to pull together as mayor and police officer, we immediately put it all aside and work as a team.”

  “Because you’re both adults,” Bonnie says, nodding at Holly wisely. “You know that your relationship shouldn’t stand in the way of the needs of everyone on this island, and they never will.” She sets her glass on the bar with a clink.

  “I don’t know.” Holly looks around. The Wednesday night crowd at the Ho Ho is thin, but the women have agreed on a celebratory drink to mark Bonnie’s return to the island, and after the near miss with the twins and the coconuts that afte
rnoon, Holly’s in no mood to turn down alcohol.

  “Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.” Wyatt Bender saunters over to the bar in his Wranglers and a crisp shirt with pearl buttons. He takes off his cowboy hat and holds it over his heart. “Miss Bonnie Lane, back on Christmas Key with her tail between her legs.”

  Bonnie sits up straight on her bar stool and holds the stem of her glass between her polished fingers the way a proper British lady might hold the handle of a tea cup. “There’s no tail between this girl’s legs,” she says to Wyatt, looking him up and down with an impervious gaze.

  “And yet you show up at my favorite watering hole on a Wednesday night when you know Joe will play our favorite song at some point. I can only imagine it’s because you’ve missed being in these arms.” Wyatt wraps his arms around his own shoulders and sways like he’s on the dance floor.

  “You need to get your wits about you, cowboy. I think the only time I was ever in those arms,” Bonnie nods at Wyatt’s thin, muscular appendages, “was one cold night at Christmas time when we both drank too much and stumbled onto the dance floor.” She turns back to the bar and takes another drink.

  “The lady cuts into my soul like a hot knife through butter,” Wyatt says, turning to Holly like he’s imploring someone to see his side of things. Holly shrugs and picks up her shot glass.

  “There’ll be no knives in anyone’s butter tonight, Wyatt Bender,” Bonnie says, looking more tired than usual. “I’m just happy to be home. Clearwater didn’t suit me in the least. And even though a real lady never goes into the details of her romantic life, I will say that I learned a lesson about not running off with a man who spends his weekends in breeches and an eyepatch.”

  “Noted.” Wyatt winks at Bonnie. “No men in breeches and eyepatches.”

  “But I am glad you missed me,” Bonnie says. She tilts her head, giving Wyatt a glance out of the corner of her eye. “I’m sure there was no one around to put up with your bellyaching and nonsense while I was gone.”

  “Just Cap.” Wyatt pats the bar top to get Joe’s attention. “Budweiser, if you don’t mind, Joe. And Miss Lane has already requested the pleasure of my company on the dance floor whenever you get around to playing some Steely Dan.”

  “The hell I have,” Bonnie laughs. Her words are fierce, but her tone is teasing.

  The lights are low inside the open-air bar, and it’s still early enough for the sun’s last rays to bounce off the sand and sea and burn brightly inside the Ho Ho. Holly turns on her bar stool and squints out at the water. A few more of her neighbors have joined them, and she lifts her shot glass at Ray and Millie and then knocks back the vanilla rum in one go.

  It won’t be long before Joe gets everyone served and takes out his guitar. If Bonnie and Wyatt want Steely Dan, he’ll play Steely Dan. And if he does, Holly knows they’ll dance—no matter what Bonnie says now, they always do.

  Hell, if Joe gives her one more shot of vanilla rum, maybe she’ll even join them.

  Chapter 27

  Holly’s got a stale donut clamped between her lips as she walks around the B&B office. It’s after eight o’clock on a warm, early April evening, and she’s long since sent Bonnie home. But there are emails to answer and Facebook posts to respond to, so she’s turned up the satellite radio on her computer, found a station that’s playing R.E.M. all evening, and dug half a donut out of a waxy white bag from Mistletoe Morning Brew that she’d brought into the office the day before.

  Pucci is passed out on his bed in the corner. He’s making jerky running motions like he’s dreaming about an epic jog on the beach. With the sun completely set, the giant window that looks out onto Main Street is dark. Holly can see her own reflection in the window as she dances around the office, singing the words to “Losing My Religion” around the donut she’s still got wedged in her mouth.

  The window rattles loudly as a fist pounds against it from outside. Startled, Holly spits out the donut. It hits the floor and rolls over to Pucci, where it comes to a stop next to his nose. At the same time that Holly spits out the donut, she accidentally inhales a bite, and the chunk lodges in her windpipe.

  The front door of the B&B flies open and footsteps come pounding down the hall. It’s Jake. “Hey, are you okay? Are you choking?”

  Holly nods and thumps her own chest.

  “Come here,” Jake says. He turns her around and holds her arms out to the sides so he can put his hands under her sternum. With a smooth pull of his fists, he dislodges the donut that’s blocking Holly’s windpipe. She spits it onto the floor.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Holly coughs. She’s bent at the waist, trying to catch her breath. “You almost killed me!”

  “Don’t think I haven’t been tempted lately,” Jake says. “But I probably fantasized about something sexier than death by donut.”

  Holly pats her chest as her breathing returns to normal. “There are sexy and unsexy ways to kill someone?”

  Jake rolls his eyes. “Whatever. You’re welcome.”

  “Anyway,” she says sternly. “You’re knocking on my window at night because…?”

  “Because I saw you in here and it’s after eight. Because we haven’t talked since that day a couple of weeks ago when I caught the twins hoarding coconuts for an ambush.”

  Holly makes a face as she reaches down to pick up the soggy, choked-on donut chunk off the floor; Pucci’s already woken up and eaten the bigger piece that landed near his bed.

  “Okay, I’m listening,” she says, brushing her hands together and sitting in her chair. She puts her feet up on the edge of her desk and reaches over to turn down the music with a click of her mouse.

  Jake throws both hands up in the air and makes an exasperated sound. “Well,” he says. “You win.”

  “I win what?”

  “Bridget’s leaving.”

  “Why does that mean I’ve won?”

  “Because you got what you wanted.”

  “I guess I did.” Holly leans back and laces her fingers together, resting them on her stomach. “But I want to be clear: I wanted her off the island because she’s narrow-minded, not because she’s your girlfriend.”

  “Was. She was my girlfriend.”

  Holly lets this sink in. “I’m sorry.”

  “Right.” Jake is watching her face, waiting for her to look away first. “I’m sure you are.”

  Holly sits up straight again and puts her feet on the floor. “You being unhappy doesn’t bring me any joy. I am sorry for that. But I’m not sorry for trying to keep this island free of the kind of nonsense that floats around out there,” she says, flinging an arm out to indicate the mainland and the rest of the world. “And I’m not sorry about bringing new people here and changing things up.”

  Jake rolls his head around on his neck like the conversation is making him tense. “I get it, Holly. Again—you win. But I have to go back to what I said last time we talked: I don’t think this island is big enough for both of us.” Jake looks her straight in the eye again. “I think I should leave. At least for a while.”

  The office is silent. Pucci gives a satisfied huff in the corner, and the chime of Holly’s email inbox bleeps in the quiet room. “Don’t go,” she says softly. “I mean it.”

  “How are we going to be on this island together after everything that’s happened in the past year?”

  Holly stands up and reaches for Jake’s hand. He pulls back. “Jake. We’ll figure it out,” she pleads. “This place wouldn’t be the same without you.” They stare at one another wordlessly. “I mean that.”

  Jake is about to say something when a movement and some noise on the sidewalk outside the B&B’s office window gets their attention. They squint at the darkened glass. Beams of light flash around, illuminating the sidewalk and the faces of their neighbors.

  “What’s going on out there?” Jake makes a beeline for the door as he’s talking. Holly follows him, her hair flying behind her as they rush through the lobby and o
ut onto the sidewalk.

  Outside, Vance is frantically waving a flashlight around. The Bradfords, the Cafferkeys, and Cap Duncan are aiming their own beams of light at the darkened storefronts and toward the dock at the end of the street. The stars aren’t as bright as they usually are, and the air feels still and unyielding.

  “What’s up?” Jake asks, putting himself in the middle of the fray. Holly hangs back, wishing she’d grabbed her shoes from under her desk.

  “It’s Mori,” Vance says in a panic. “We put the boys to bed early, and when Calista went to check on them, he was gone. Mexi said he climbed out the window.”

  “Out the window?” Jake frowns. “Man, these kids are daredevils.” He looks up and down the dark street. The only sounds are of shuffling feet as Ray and Cap look around for the missing boy. Buckhunter comes out the front of Jack Frosty’s, a spatula still in his hand from the grill.

  “Let me get my shoes and a flashlight,” Holly says, ready to join in. “Then we can split up and canvass the island.”

  “I think that’s a good idea,” Jake agrees. He takes the few steps over to his parked golf cart and opens the metal box on the back. From it, he pulls a long-handled flashlight, two walkie-talkies, and an electric megaphone. “Cap, take the other walkie-talkie,” Jake orders, switching it on and handing it over. “I’ve got this one. Ray, use the megaphone like this,” he says, pushing a button and showing Ray how to shout into it. “And Holly, keep your cell on you. Go with Vance, okay?”

  Holly nods. “I’ll be right back,” she promises, her breath catching in her throat. In under two minutes, she’s got her Converse on her feet, her Yankees cap on her head, and her cell phone in the back pocket of her cargo pants. “I’m ready,” she says to Vance, rushing down the front steps of the B&B and catching up to the boys’ dad. “Let’s take the west side of the island—I know the forested area like the back of my hand.”