An Unlikely Match

The old-timer had been so explicit about the location of Mayor Betancourt’s home that Jack was able to drive directly to it. And while he should have been grateful for the detailed directions, Jack’s instincts had gone on alert. In Heron Point even the homeless population knew exactly where the town’s leading official resided.

Jack had never lived in a small town, but his gut feelings and training had instilled in him that in this time of heightened awareness of threats, even the most provincial of citizens ought to put security at a priority level. Obviously Mayor Betancourt and the people of Heron Point didn’t.

And then there was the mayor’s shop, called Wear It Again. Jack had seen it when he’d taken his first exploratory walk down the main historic avenue of century-old buildings. The business sat amid other unique shops and galleries. The window displayed a collection of clothing from celebrities as well as vintage garments that had obviously survived a couple of generations. Also in the window was a sign stating the proprietor’s name as well as her phone number so she could be contacted in case of an emergency. The mayor’s phone number was prominently posted in a shop window! Didn’t the woman ever get a crank call?

Ah, well, maybe not. This wasn’t Manhattan after all.

Jack abandoned his musings about the shortcomings of Heron Point when he drove toward a row of wood-planked cottages running to the edge of the water. All the buildings were painted pink. The one nearest the road, the office, was larger than the others and bore the sign that identified the units as the Pink Ladies. The section of the property that bordered the road was ablaze with multicolored flowers from white to pink to shades of lavender and violet. The rest of the property was brilliant with hibiscus trees and bougainvillea—from pale to shocking pink.

A woman came out on the wraparound porch when Jack pulled into the gravel parking area in front of the office. She resembled the grandmother almost any child could wish for. So much that, with her curly white hair, wire-rimmed glasses and cotton print dress covered by an apron, she might have stepped out of a fairy tale. “Are you Claire’s friend?” she called to him.

He stepped out of the SUV. “Yes, she recommended this place to me. You must be Mrs. Poole.”

The woman nodded while pointing a spatula at the Escalade. “Is that your vehicle?”

Thinking the answer obvious and the question irrelevant, Jack smiled.

“It’s too large for our parking lot.”

Jack leaned around the back of the SUV to be sure he’d cleared the roadway. “No, it isn’t. It fits.”

“Oh, it fits,” the woman said, “but it hides my flowers. As you can see, these are all bedding plants, low to the ground. My landscaping is one of the finer features of the Pink Ladies. With your giant automobile parked there, no one driving by can see them.”

Jack compared his vehicle to the other two cars in the lot. One was a pink Dodge Neon. He guessed who that car belonged to. The other was a cream-colored Volkswagen convertible. The top was down, making the vehicle as diminutive as possible. He leaned against the Escalade, stared at the world’s sweetest-looking grandma, and wondered if he was actually going to be denied accommodations because of the size of his car. “I promise I won’t be here often,” he said. “I’ll be gone from morning till night.”

Mrs. Poole narrowed her eyes in thought. “Oh, that will help.” She pointed beyond her property to a vacant stretch of rocky beach. “Would you mind parking there when you’re home? Neither Billy nor Lou will ticket you. And if they do, you can just tell Claire.”

Deciding he didn’t want to tangle with local law officials, Jack came up with a more sensible solution. “Can’t I just park closer to my room?”

“Heavens no. I covered over the asphalt when I bought this place ten years ago. Turned it into a grassy courtyard.” She gazed lovingly down a stone walkway that led to the entrances of the six cottages and a couple of vintage tile-top cement tables and benches. “Isn’t it nice? You’ll appreciate the uninterrupted view when you see our sunrises.”

Resigned to carting his two suitcases, briefcase and computer equipment along Mrs. Poole’s garden path, Jack prepared himself for her answer to his next question. “Which unit is mine?”

Predictably she said, “The one at the end. A gentleman needs his privacy.”

“I thought so.” He walked around the SUV and opened the door to the cargo space. “Can I at least take my things in before moving it?”

“I suppose that will be all right.” She stuck her hand in her apron pocket and pulled out a key that hung from a pink rabbit’s foot. “Here you go. Once you’re settled, come back up here to register. I’ll require a week’s rent in advance, even if you do know Claire.”

Jack took the key and resisted an urge to salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Poole went inside her house, and Jack carried his first load past five whimsical cottages that looked like they’d come from the same enchanted forest as their fairy-tale proprietress. Once on the small front porch of his unit, he turned the key in the lock of the glossy white door. But before going inside, he removed the key from its ridiculous bunny foot and attached it to the sensible black metal chain he’d gotten with the rental car.

Then he stepped inside and was assailed with linens and pillows and all manner of things pink and ruffled. And each item had been fluffed and flounced as if the sole reason the Pink Ladies existed was to embarrass a man. But the cottage was impeccably clean, a condition that Jack noted with more enthusiasm than he did its unsuitability. And it was comfortable and spacious with enough amenities to meet his needs.

“You’ll get used to it, Jack,” he said as he walked around the galley kitchen and pulled pretty little quilted things from every appliance. When he was finished, he stuffed the covers into a drawer and spoke to the toaster and blender and tea kettle. “Sorry, ladies, but as long as I’m here, we’re living in the buff.”

CLAIRE WAS AT HERON POINT Elementary School a half hour early the next morning. She dropped Jane at the door, parked her car and assumed the duties of crossing guard until all students were safely in the building. She would return in the afternoon to perform the same function and then she would have the weekend to find a suitable replacement for Bella Martingale. Calling Bella the night before to tell her she’d lost her position hadn’t been easy, but Bella had taken the news as well as could be expected. Claire supposed it had helped when she’d invited her for tea at the Heron Point Hotel for this afternoon. Just because the mayor had to fire someone didn’t mean she couldn’t still be her friend.

Once her guard duties were accomplished, Claire drove to the town hall, but before going inside, she walked the two blocks to Heron Point Realty. Archie Anderson’s latest acquisition, and the man he’d sent to oversee the property transfer, had kept her awake much of the night. Just exactly what did Anderson intend to do with Dolphin Run? And what part would Jack Hogan’s security expertise play in his plan? Claire figured the best place to search for answers was the realty office. Besides having witnessed the transaction, Patty Barnes and Lucy Gaynor generally had their eyes and ears trained on the latest happenings on the island. If anyone knew what Hogan was planning to do, they would.

Lucy was seated at her desk when Claire stepped inside the office. The younger woman removed her rhinestone glasses, tucked a loose strand of streaked black hair back into a glittery clip at her temple, and said, “Oh, hi, Claire. What’s up?”

“My curiosity, I guess,” Claire said. “I was wondering if you were in the office when Mr. Hogan closed on the Dolphin Run property yesterday.”

Lucy’s eyes became almost dreamy. “Sure was. Patty and I sat right here while he signed the papers. He had a power of attorney from Archie Anderson and everything.”

As if her private radar were tuned in, Patty came out of a back office. “Did I hear my name connected with one Jack Hogan? Or is it only wishful thinking?”

Claire smiled. “No. Lucy and I were mentioning you. I’m here on a sort of snooping expedition. I’m curious about what Anderson is planning to do with Dolphin Run and how Mr. Hogan’s role might shake things up around here.” Claire pulled up a chair and sat across the desk from Lucy. “Did either of you hear anything?”

As if Claire didn’t exist, both women’s eyes snapped to the front door. The next voice Claire heard was Jack Hogan’s.

“If you want to know what’s going on, Mayor, maybe you should get your information from the horse’s mouth.”

She spun around and stared at the man who’d shed his sports jacket for a golf shirt. He carried a steaming foam cup in one hand and a paper grocery sack in the other.

“Fortunately for you,” Jack said as he set his cup on the desk, “the horse just showed up to finalize one last detail. And I’m the same horse who tried to engage you in conversation yesterday as I recall.”

Realizing her mouth was gaping open, Claire clamped her jaw closed. Determined that Hogan would not see that his unexpected appearance had rattled her, she reminded herself that she was skilled at hiding her reactions to unexpected events. Her years in the public-relations spotlight for Miami city government had taught her how to be cool in the hottest of water. So she smiled. “If you’re referring to that few minutes we had in my office, I wouldn’t exactly call it a conversation. It was more of an ultimatum as I interpreted it.”

“I’ll work on my people skills,” Hogan said and then turned his attention to Lucy, who remained transfixed, her eyes unblinking. “Good morning, Lucy,” he said. “Did you find that gate key?”

Awakened from her trance, Lucy yanked open the lap drawer of her desk. “I did even better than that.” She dangled a set of keys in front of him. “I found this whole set. These will open every door on the place, right, Patty?”

“That’s right.” The Realtor spoke to Claire. “We had to call Mr. Eisenring at the retirement home to see if he could remember where he’d put the keys when the Holcombs closed up Dolphin Run. Thank goodness he’s still alive and recalled where they were.”

Hogan took the keys from Lucy’s hand. “Great. I think I’ll drive out there and have a look around.” He gave Claire a pointed stare, a kind of top-to-bottom appraisal. Trying to ignore the flutter his attention brought to the pit of her stomach, she concentrated on the reason for his interest. Did he find her designer capri pants and flowered shirt too unofficial? Her open-toed sandals too casual for a city leader? Too bad if he did. Claire had a complete business wardrobe in mothballs, and she didn’t care if she ever wore a tailored jacket or pantyhose again.

“You look like you’re dressed for an adventure, Mrs. Betancourt,” he said. “How’d you like to go exploring with me out at Dolphin Run?”

Patty and Lucy both gasped.

Claire waved off his offer. “Thanks, but I couldn’t.”

“Too much town business, I guess,” he said.

“Right. A full docket.” She stood up and headed toward the door. “In fact, I have to get to my office right away.”

Hogan slipped the keys into his pocket, picked up his coffee cup and followed her. “I’ll walk you out.” He nodded to Lucy and Patty and fell into step behind her. “It’ll give me the chance to thank you for last night.”

Snickers trailed after them and Claire imagined the story Patty and Lucy were concocting.

As if sensing her distress, Hogan added loudly, “What I mean is, thanks for pointing me to that little dollhouse of Mrs. Poole’s.”

Once out on the sidewalk, Claire said, “You have a nice day now, Mr. Hogan.”

He put the bag he’d been carrying into the back seat of his vehicle. “I thought you wanted information, Mayor.”