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“Most people have.”
Claire leaned forward and rested her elbows on her desk. “Would you mind answering one question for me, Mr….?”
“Hogan. Jack Hogan.”
Mr. Perfect-Posture relaxed his stance just enough to reveal that he was actually made of bones and cartilage like the rest of humanity and wasn’t a concoction of metal and screws. It was a good sign that he wasn’t a robot controlled by a computer a thousand miles away. “Sure. Ask your question,” he said.
“Why would Archie Anderson buy Dolphin Run? For that matter, why is he interested in Heron Point at all?”
Jack Hogan rolled one squared-off shoulder. “Let’s just say his motives are personal. All I know is that he’s going to reopen it.”
“You’re not surprised?”
“Sure. I must admit that when we started investigating your town, I didn’t discover any of the usual incentives that generally pique Mr. Anderson’s interest.”
“You mean he isn’t ordinarily drawn to decaying old fishing resorts that haven’t housed guests in over forty years?”
There was that hint of a smile again. Claire found herself strangely drawn to it and imagining what a full-fledged grin might look like on Jack Hogan’s face.
“Something like that,” he said. “But I only work for the man. I don’t make his investment decisions.”
“What do you do…exactly?” she asked.
“I’m head of security for Anderson Enterprises. It’s my job to scrutinize the community and make whatever adjustments I feel are necessary to insure Mr. Anderson’s safety and well-being once he arrives.”
“Adjustments?” It was a strange word to use. “You don’t think your boss will be safe in Heron Point?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Hogan said. “I haven’t been here long enough to determine whether he will be or not. But Archie Anderson is a very wealthy man as well as a prudent one. He’s well aware that the world is full of opportunists and crackpots. He leaves it up to me to ferret them out and defuse situations before they happen.”
Crackpots? Claire cupped a hand over her mouth. Now would probably not be a good time to laugh at Jack Hogan’s implied image of her town. He saw Heron Point as a hotbed of potential dangers? His boss might suffer from a sunburn while he was here or perhaps break a tooth on a clam shell, but Claire doubted that any more serious problems would occur during his stay.
But, on the other hand, maybe Hogan was right about one observation he’d made. Now that Claire thought about her neighbors, she figured Archie Anderson’s security expert could uncover a few crackpots in Heron Point, though Claire liked to think of them as merely odd. She lowered her hand and gave Hogan her most serious look. “So what exactly do you want from me?” she asked.
“Cooperation. I’ll be checking things out around town, looking at your communications systems, your police protection, medical facilities, the types of businesses you have here. I might run a few background checks on the people who live here.”
Suddenly Mr. Hogan wasn’t the least bit amusing. Claire stood up and came around the desk. “Now, wait a minute….”
He stared down at her from a height advantage made worse by her flat-soled Birkenstock sandals. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
“I’m starting to think so. I won’t have you investigating our citizens, Mr. Hogan. We didn’t ask for you to come here, and—”
He smiled, for the first time showing a line of even, white teeth. “Believe me, Madam Mayor, once Archie Anderson makes his mark on this community, you’ll be glad we did. If anyone can put this little town on the map, it’s Anderson.”
A slow sizzle began deep inside her. How dare Hogan patronize her by telling her how she was going to feel! She took a step closer to him and glared up into a pair of storm-gray eyes that refused to blink.
“We already are on the map, Mr. Hogan,” she said. “Maybe that little dot on the Gulf of Mexico is insignificant to you. Maybe you think we’ve been sitting here for a hundred years waiting for a developer to come in and make an Archie Anderson swan out of this ugly duckling little town, but you’re wrong. You do not have my permission to investigate anyone—”
“I don’t need your permission, Miss…”
“It’s Mrs.” She delivered the correction with an unnecessary and totally self-gratifying hint of defiance to her voice.
“Fine. Mrs. Betancourt. I don’t require your permission or your husband’s to do my job.” He snapped his sunglasses over his eyes. “I happen to be very competent at what I do, and I know all the ways of doing it. I don’t need to sit in this office with your blessing and go through listings of county files to find out who lives here.” His lip twitched up again in the suggestion of a smile. “I was hoping we could work together, however.”
“Don’t push me, Mr. Hogan,” she said. “I normally get along with everyone, but you could turn out to be the exception.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He pulled back the sleeve of his jacket and glanced at his watch. “I’m due at the realty office in a few minutes.”
“Don’t let me keep you.”
“I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”
“It’s a small town.”
He turned away from her and walked toward the exit. He was no sooner out the door than Patty Barnes clutched her hands to her chest and said, “Wow. What a hottie.”
Lucy, starry-eyed and grinning, nodded her head in agreement.
Claire scowled at them. “Ladies, please! Shouldn’t you be at the realty office dotting some i’s on that contract?”
Her voice grabbed their attention as if she’d wakened them from a trance. They hurried out of the office. And Claire picked up the phone again. Only now she’d forgotten who she’d intended to call.
THE GREEN DOOR CAFÉ was known for its sweet raspberry iced tea, conch fritters and fried grouper. And to the locals, for its eccentric, good-hearted, clairvoyant waitress, Petula Deering. Aunt Pet claimed to be able to read minds and see into the future, which sometimes annoyed the heck out of Claire. It also scared her half to death, because, on occasion, Aunt Pet got lucky and guessed right.
Her wild platinum hair tamed into a single long braid, Aunt Pet floated over to Claire’s table in her ankle-length, earth-toned caftan. The beads on her wrists jingled delicately as she deposited a chicken-salad platter in front of her niece. Claire recommended the seafood specialties at the Green Door Café to everyone she met, but since she was allergic to shellfish, she had to take her own word for its delectability.
Petula scanned the usual midweek clientele in the café and said, “Good, everybody’s been served.” She sat at the table across from Claire, spilled a few grains of salt on the vinyl tablecloth and attempted to stand the shaker on one of its hexagonal edges. Pretending to be absorbed in her task, she said, “I heard all about your visitor this morning, Claire. Including that he works for Archie Anderson, and that he’s handsome as the dickens.”
Claire scooped a mixture of raisins and chicken onto her fork. “I don’t know if that last part’s accurate…or particularly important.”
The shaker stood at lopsided attention, balanced on one single speck of salt. “He’s not handsome?”
“I didn’t say that. He’s, well, moderately good-looking I guess.” Claire lifted the fork to her mouth. “Frankly, Aunt Pet, I had a hard time seeing past his overbearing attitude.”
Petula sat back and studied her niece in that way she had when she was drawing conclusions based on biased and often inaccurate information. “If I know you, Claire, you probably gave him as good as you got.”
Claire took a sip of iced tea. “I tried. Hogan can do whatever he wants at Dolphin Run, but I can’t let him think he can come into town and order everyone else around.”
“True, but did you let him think that you were available?”
Claire dropped her fork on the side of her plate. “What? Of course not. Why would I let him think that?”
Petula righted the salt shaker and twirled it around in her hands. “Because you are available, and because Patty Barnes said she didn’t see a wedding ring on his finger.”
Claire scoffed. “Patty was staring so hard at the man she would have noticed if he had a freckle on that finger.”
Petula poked at a wrinkle in the tablecloth. “Well, he is the first new guy in town since Sam Jenkins moved in to open the bicycle rental shop.”
“Sam Jenkins is nineteen years old, Aunt Pet.” Determined to steer this conversation in another direction, Claire said, “Besides, I’m not interested in any new men in the community for the reason you’re suggesting.”
Petula wasn’t about to be silenced, not when she was on a soapbox. “I just think it’s time you considered getting married again, sweetie.”
Oh, here we go. Another lecture on my pitifully deficient social life. Defending herself on this subject again, Claire said, “You’re a fine one to talk. You’ve been dating Finn Sweeney for how long? Something like six years?”
“Finn and I have been involved for six years, but I would hardly call it dating.”
“I agree. Your relationship with Finn has gone far beyond that. So, if you want someone to get married, why not you and Finn?”
A little furrow developed between Pet’s eyes, as much distress as she ever showed. “I don’t believe in marriage, you know that.”
“You believed in it three times,” Claire couldn’t resist pointing out.
“Which is why I don’t believe in it now.” She reached across the table and laid one finger on the back of Claire’s hand. “But you do.”
“Yes, I do, and I was married once and took my vows seriously. Roman was everything I ever needed or wanted in a man. I have no interest in compromising his memory by attaching myself to the first man…” She stopped, took a deep breath and looked away from Pet’s penetrating gaze. Jack Hogan wouldn’t be the first man Claire had avoided. She’d left Miami partly to get away from men in her social circle who’d begun asking her out soon after Roman had died. “Why are we talking about this?” she asked.
“Because I think you need to,” Pet said. She glanced out the window to the street one floor below the second-story café. “And because I think the man in question is about to come up to the restaurant.”
“What?” Claire leaned over to get a view to the sidewalk, but a tin vase of plastic flowers sat in the way. “How do you know it’s him? You haven’t even seen him.”
“It’s not my psychic abilities if that’s what you’re suggesting,” Pet said. “The guy who just opened the door downstairs is wearing a sports jacket. There haven’t been any cold winds through my bedroom this week, so I know nobody died.” She shrugged. “Who else could it be?”
Just then Jack Hogan pushed open the entrance and walked into the Green Door Café.
“You say one word about your pathetic widowed niece, and I’ll never forgive you,” Claire warned.
“All I’m going to do is look the man over.” Petula made a V of two fingers and pointed them at Claire’s face. “I can tell a lot by just peeking into somebody’s eyes like I’m doing to you now.” She grinned like a contented cat and stood. “So, ’scuse me, honey. I’ve got a customer to wait on.”
CHAPTER TWO
NOTHING ABOUT AUNT PET should have surprised Claire at this point. She’d been close to her aunt all her life. She’d loved her, admired her, and when Claire had been cracking the books at the University of Florida and sending out too many résumés to count, she’d even envied her aunt’s free-spirited approach to living.
For as long as Claire could remember, Aunt Pet had flitted from job to job, claiming each was merely a way to support herself for a time, instead of a stepping stone to a secure future. That sort of seat-of-the-pants approach to life had been alien to Claire, an honors grad from a highly respected school of business who had her sights set on a lucrative and responsible career.
Still, despite having experienced Pet’s propensity for the unexpected in the past, Claire couldn’t help shuddering when her aunt walked right up to Jack Hogan, gave him a boisterous welcome and offered to take him to a table by the window. There had always been a “seat yourself” policy at the Green Door Café, which was clearly stated on the chalkboard inside the front entrance, and which Pet blatantly ignored now.
She set a menu in front of Hogan as he settled into a chair directly facing Claire at the next table. Without scoping out his surroundings first, he unbuttoned his jacket and loosened the knot in his tie. He still looked as stiff as a surfboard compared to the half-dozen other customers who were hanging out in work clothes or baggy shorts and tank tops, but he seemed less like an automaton than he had in Claire’s office.
“What’s good?” he asked Pet while studying the menu.
“Oh, honey, nothing bad comes out of our kitchen.” She smirked. “On the other hand, there’s nothing to write home about either. So I’d suggest you close your eyes and point your finger. It’ll land on something edible.”
He emitted a little sound that could almost be mistaken for a chuckle, and looked up.
Claire blinked, tried to look away, but it was too late. She was caught in a deep gray gaze that refused to let go.
And then Hogan actually relaxed, propping his elbow on the back of the chair. “I see the mayor eats here,” he said. “That’s a good recommendation. What’s she having?”
“You know my niece?” Pet said innocently and with as much enthusiasm as if the revelation were deserving of a headline in the Heron Point Tattler.
Hogan stared at both women as if trying to reconcile them to the same gene pool. “We met this morning.”
Pet peered at Claire from under a raised eyebrow but spoke to Hogan. “Don’t order lunch based on my niece’s preferences. She’s a grazer. Show him what you’re having, Claire.”
Claire smiled stiffly. “I’m sure Mr. Hogan has seen lettuce before, Aunt Pet.”
“I have, but rarely on my plate.” He turned his attention back to Pet. “I’ll just have the fried grouper sandwich, fries, and an iced coffee.”
“Good choice. I’ll hold the lettuce.” She took the menu and headed for the kitchen.
And Jack Hogan continued to give Claire an uncomfortably personal appraisal. She took another bite of salad and chewed, but suddenly her jaw muscles felt tight. She washed down the lettuce with a swallow of raspberry iced tea. “Is there something you want?” she said when Hogan still hadn’t looked away. “You’re sitting by a window with an incredible view of the Gulf of Mexico. Surely you can find something more appealing to look at than my unappetizing lunch.”
Obviously appeasing her, he passed a quick glance out the window and then leaned forward and focused on her again. “Actually I was kind of hoping you’d ask me to join you. Other than those two ladies over at the realty office, you’re my only friend in town.”
If she’d had a mouthful of food, Claire was certain she would have choked on it. “You think we’re friends?” she said. “I probably should make myself clear. Our friendship, if in fact there is one, is directly affected by how many of my neighbors you’ve bothered already today.”
Hogan stood up, came around the table and sat opposite her. “Good, because you were the one and only person I bothered this morning. But we still have a lot of daylight, so who knows? I can squeeze in a fair amount of antagonizing before the end of the day.”
Claire didn’t doubt it. He was bothering her in a way she hadn’t experienced in a long time. She resisted the urge to squirm in her seat.
Pet appeared with a tall mug of cool coffee and set it in front of Hogan. “Oh, good,” she said. “You two are talking. I know I hate to eat alone.”
Claire seized the opportunity to ask for her check.
“Sure thing, hon,” Pet said. “As soon as I get a minute.”
There were a total of eight people in the restaurant, all of them served but Hogan. How swamped could she be?
Pet stabbed her pencil into a wave of coarse white hair at her temple. “Do you still want me to monitor the crosswalk at school this afternoon?”
“If you don’t mind,” Claire said. “And Jane will be riding home with you if that’s okay.”
“Of course.” And then, as if an explanation were necessary, which it wasn’t, she spoke to Hogan. “Jane is Claire’s daughter. Adorable child. Smart, clever.” She pointed her finger between herself and Claire. “She keeps the two of us on our toes.”
Hogan nodded as he stirred a packet of sugar into his coffee. About as much of a reaction as anyone could expect in Claire’s opinion, considering he didn’t know Jane and couldn’t care less.
“My check, Pet,” Claire said, pointing to the small stack of orders banded to the back of her aunt’s restaurant pad. “I can see it right there.”
Pet snapped the paper out of the rubber band. “Oh, right. You have to go so soon?”
“My shop doesn’t run itself.” Claire took the check and stood up. “Have a nice lunch, Mr. Hogan.” She gave him her best mayoral smile, the one she used to calm downtown shopkeepers when the teenagers were a little rambunctious on a Friday night. “Try kicking back a bit. It’s what we do best in Heron Point.”
“Maybe I’ll give it a shot,” he said.
Claire didn’t believe him. Other than loosening his tie, she didn’t think he knew how.
JACK FINISHED HIS SANDWICH and left the Green Door Café. Folks in shorts and T-shirts ambled by him on the sidewalk. Some had video cameras tucked into the palms of their hands. Jack supposed there was enough scenic shoreline on this remote speck of west Florida coast to merit a vacation video, though he’d never been inclined to preserve his travels in that way. Despite having seen much of the world, he’d rarely traveled for the fun of it. And he wasn’t in Heron Point for enjoyment either, although that interlude with the mayor just now still had him smiling. He had a job to do, and to Jack Hogan, every assignment was important.
The day had turned warm and unpleasantly muggy. He took off his jacket, hooked it over his shoulder with one finger and pulled his cell phone from the pocket. He punched in the first number on his saved list.
