Chapter 11
M aggie stood on the back porch of the Key Lime Garden Inn, watching as Paolo made his way up from the garden.
Her husband balanced a wicker basket overflowing with ripe tomatoes, their skin stretched taut and gleaming in the afternoon sun.
The scent of tomato vines still clung to him, earthy and green.
"The heirlooms did well this year," Paolo called up to her, pride evident in his voice. "We'll have enough for gazpacho all weekend."
Chelsea appeared beside him at the foot of the stairs, helping to sort through the harvest. Her attention suddenly shifted to the driveway, where the sound of crunching gravel announced an arrival. Her shoulders tensed visibly.
"Oh no," Chelsea muttered, nudging Paolo. "Linda St. James is headed this way."
Maggie followed Chelsea's gaze to see Linda storming up the driveway, her designer handbag swinging wildly with each determined step, face set in what Maggie had come to recognize as her "complaint expression."
Chelsea let out a low sigh. "Every time I see Linda approaching like that, I swear I hear that ominous music that plays when Miss Gulch cycles up in The Wizard of Oz to take Toto away." She wiggled her fingers dramatically. "All dark and foreboding."
Paolo stifled a laugh, nearly dropping a tomato. "What do you think it is this time? The breakfast scones too crumbly? Someone parked two inches over the line?"
"Don't joke," Maggie whispered, smoothing down her apron. "Last time she almost convinced a guest to leave a one-star review because a bird chirped too loudly outside her window. Is she wearing makeup"
Chelsea shook her head. “Nope.”
They all straightened as Linda reached the bottom of the garden path, her expression thunderous.
"Maggie!" Linda called out, not bothering with pleasantries. "I need to speak with you about the book club."
Maggie exchanged a quick glance with Paolo, who gave her a subtle, sympathetic nod before busying himself with the tomatoes. Chelsea suddenly found great interest in a nearby flowering bush.
"Of course, Linda," Maggie said, maintaining her innkeeper's smile. "Would you like some iced tea while we chat?"
Linda climbed the stairs with deliberate steps, each one punctuating her irritation. "This isn't a social call. For the past two months, hardly anyone has shown up for the book club meetings. The one I took the initiative to establish at the beginning of the year, if you recall."
"Yes, I remember," Maggie said, gesturing toward the wicker chairs on the porch. "We had such a wonderful turnout initially."
"Well, it's been dismal lately," Linda declared, remaining standing. "And I think you should do something about it."
Maggie blinked. "Me?"
"Yes, you," Linda insisted, adjusting her oversized sunglasses. "You seem to have more influence over the women in the group than I do. Can't you talk to them? Remind them of their commitment?"
Maggie took a deep breath. "Linda, I understand your frustration, but everyone has valid reasons for missing meetings.
My mother's been traveling for the past few weeks—you know how she is once she gets the wanderlust. And Claire's been absolutely swamped at her shop with the summer tourist season. I’m sure things will slow down soon. "
"And what about Rebecca? Jennifer? Susan?" Linda counted off on her manicured fingers. I went to great lengths to get more ladies from the island to join. They showed up for the first three months and then nothing.”
"Rebecca's daughter is rarely around because her job takes her all over the world, so Rebecca tries to spend any free time with her when she's home. As for the others..." Maggie shrugged helplessly.
Linda huffed, her chest expanding dramatically. "Well, it's simply unacceptable. I spend hours selecting the perfect literature, preparing discussion questions, arranging refreshments..."
Below, Chelsea caught Paolo's eye and silently mouthed "Miss Gulch" while making a bicycle pedaling motion with her hands. Paolo nearly choked trying to contain his laughter.
"Perhaps," Maggie offered gently, "we could consider changing the meeting time? Or maybe the frequency? Summer is always difficult with everyone's schedules."
"Change the—?" Linda's voice rose an octave. "The third Thursday of every month at four o'clock has been my book club schedule for twenty years! Even when I ran it in Sarasota!"
Maggie nodded patiently. "I understand tradition, Linda, but sometimes flexibility?—"
"Flexibility leads to chaos," Linda interrupted, her purse now clutched like a shield against her chest. "No, what we need is commitment. Dedication. If people can't honor a simple monthly obligation, what does that say about our community?"
Paolo, having composed himself, climbed the stairs with the basket of tomatoes. "Linda, would you like to take some of these home? They're wonderful in a summer salad."
Linda glanced at the basket as if it contained snakes rather than produce.
"No, thank you. I'm watching my nightshades.
" She turned back to Maggie. "I expect you'll speak to everyone before next month's meeting.
We're discussing 'The Age of Innocence,' and I won't be the only one who's read it. Again."
With that, Linda turned on her heel and marched back down the steps, narrowly missing Chelsea, who had to press herself against the railing to avoid collision.
After Linda disappeared around the side of the inn, Chelsea released a breath. "How does she make even book clubs sound threatening?"
Maggie sank into a porch chair. "I don't have the heart to tell her that Claire is thinking of starting her own secret book club. They read romance novels and drink wine."
Paolo set the basket down and squeezed Maggie's shoulder. "Maybe Linda should try romance novels. Might do her some good."
All three of them burst into laughter, the tension of Linda's visit dissolving into the warm afternoon air.
Merritt walked into the kitchen and filled her to-go cup with coffee.
“Morning Iris,” she said feeling especially cheerful.
“Good morning, Merritt. How did you sleep last night?”
“Much better. I think I’m getting used to the bed and the sound of the ocean nearby doesn’t hurt.”
“There’s plenty of breakfast in the dining room, if you’re hungry. I’ve noticed you haven’t eaten much in the mornings. Not a breakfast person?”
Merritt chuckled. “Not at all. As long as I have my coffee, I’m good to go.”
“Well, there are plenty of scones, croissants and items you can take on the go if you’d prefer. What’s the plan for today?”
Just then, Maggie walked into the kitchen. “I’m taking Merritt around the island. She’s getting a personal tour of the place.”
Iris’s eyes lit up. “My goodness, Merritt. Not everyone gets this kind of personal attention,” she teased.
“I do consider myself very lucky.”
Maggie slung her bag over her shoulder and looked at Merritt. “Are you ready?”
Merritt nodded. “Lead the way.”
“Have fun you two,” Iris called out as Merritt and Maggie walked out to the back porch to say goodbye to Paolo.
“We shouldn’t be too long,” Maggie said as she kissed Paolo on the cheek.
“Don’t forget to stop by the Captiva Chronicle. You wouldn’t want Merritt to miss meeting Linda,” he teased.
“Very funny,” Maggie responded as they walked down the driveway and toward the path leading to Andy Rosse Lane.
Maggie led the way as they passed the fire station, post office and Captiva Village Square with various shops.
“I’m always stopping in here for a Starbucks and a piece of jewelry. I’ve done it so many times now, I’ve decided it’s a tradition.”
Merritt smiled. “Don’t let me stop you.”
Maggie laughed. “I think just this once I’ll pass.”
They continued, passing Cantina Captiva and the Beach Stuff store they then stopped at The Bubble Room.
“If you do nothing else while you’re on Captiva Island, you must come here and get a slice of one of their cakes.
I don’t want to ruin the surprise for you.
Trust me, you’ll never forget a Bubble Room cake. ”
They rounded a curve in the path on Andy Rosse Lane. The small village center came into view—a collection of brightly colored buildings with metal roofs and homes with wide verandas, nestled among palms and flowering bushes.
"Island time is real," Merritt commented, seeming to relax as they walked. "I've noticed I've been sleeping better here, despite..." She trailed off again.
"Despite what?" Maggie ventured gently.
Merritt shook her head. "Nothing. Just some baggage I brought with me. Not the kind you can unpack and put in a dresser drawer."
Maggie nodded, understanding in her eyes. "Well, the island's good at helping people sort through that kind of baggage too."
They approached a colorful building with several tables already filled with tourists. A hand-painted sign reading "RC Otters” adorned the front and Maggie waved at a familiar waitress. “Hey, Caroline.”
“Hi, Maggie, looks like another beautiful Captiva Island day.”
Maggie nodded. The scent of fresh bread and coffee wafted through the open windows, and children played with the ring-swing game attached to a pole.
"This is my second favorite place on the island, after the inn," Maggie said.
"Sandy runs it. As a matter of fact, she owns several of these buildings you see here. Captiva Island Inn is just over there. She’s got the main building and several smaller cottages, each named after a flower.
RC Otters has the best coffee and pastries this side of Miami, and I can say that running a B&B myself. "
As they stepped inside, the café was humming with morning activity. Behind the counter, a tall woman with silver-streaked dark hair was steaming milk, while a shorter woman with freckles and auburn hair arranged pastries in a display case.
"Maggie!" the taller woman called out. "And you must be the mysterious musician we've been hearing about."
Maggie made the introductions. "Merritt, this is Franny," she gestured to the taller woman, "and Cassy," nodding toward the auburn-haired woman. "They've been island fixtures much longer than Paolo and I."
"Going on twenty years," Franny said, wiping her hands on her apron before offering one to Merritt.
"Maggie tells us you're a musician," Cassy said, studying Merritt with interest. "We're always looking for new talent for our live music in here on weekend evenings." She nodded across the street. “Key Lime Bistro has music too. We hire for both places. Are you interested?”
Merritt's cheeks flushed slightly. "I haven't performed much lately. Just playing for myself."
"Well, we'd love to have you play here," Franny said, sliding a plate with two pastries next to the coffees. "On the house. Mango Danish—specialty of the day."
Maggie led Merritt to a small table just inside from the porch. Through the glass, they could see construction across the street—wooden framing for what looked like another small building.
"What's going on over there?" Merritt asked, nodding toward the construction.
"Another expansion," Maggie explained. "They're adding a little music venue and wine bar."
Franny approached their table, coffee pot in hand. "Which is currently behind schedule," she said with an exaggerated sigh. "Contractor says the custom windows are delayed. Then there was an issue with permits."
"Island bureaucracy," Cassy called from behind the counter. "Everything moves at the speed of a sunbathing iguana."
"When do you think it'll be finished?" Merritt asked, taking a sip of her coffee.
"Probably not until after you've left the island. Shame, too. We were hoping to convince you to christen the stage."
"Too bad you'll only be here a couple of weeks," Cassy added, coming over to join them.
Merritt's gaze lingered on the half-built structure. "It sounds wonderful."
"Maybe you'll have to come back for the grand opening," Franny suggested.
Maggie watched something flicker across Merritt's face—a brief consideration that hadn't been there before. "You ladies might have to fight for her. Let’s not forget Isabelle and Gretchen’s new café near the beach. They’ll be opening soon too.”
“She can play both places, Maggie. Isabelle’s place is going to be some Parisian Café thing. We’ll be serving alcohol and evening music. If she’s as good as you say, she’ll be so popular and known as Captiva’s best musician that people will come to the island just to hear her.”
Merritt had to stop the planning going on around her. The conversation was getting out of control. She turned her attention back to her Danish, carefully breaking off a piece. "I haven't really thought beyond these two weeks. There are some things I need to figure out."
"No pressure," Maggie assured her. "The island has a way of helping people make decisions when they're ready." She stood up. "Now, let's continue our tour. There's a lot more to see."
As they left the café, Merritt glanced back once more at the construction site, her expression thoughtful. For the first time since her arrival, she seemed to be considering a future that extended beyond her planned departure date.
Maggie could see Merritt’s discomfort.
“I’m sorry about that. I guess I’ve been bragging about your voice to a few people, and…well, you know how small town islands can be. Word travels quickly around here.”
Merritt shrugged. “It’s okay. People are always curious about someone new.”
Maggie stopped and turned toward Merritt.
“I’m not sure how to say this without it sounding awkward, but I hope before you leave Captiva, you’ll feel comfortable enough to share whatever is on your mind.
I can sense there is something and as a mother and grandmother, I can recognize when my children are hurting.
Whenever they talk it through, usually they feel better.
That might be the case for you as well.”
Merritt looked past Maggie and tried not to cry. “I tell you what. When I’m ready, you’ll be the first one I look for to unload. How’s that?”
Maggie smiled and slipped her arm through Merritt’s. “That sounds good to me. How about we keep going? There’s still lots to see and a beach walk back to the inn. You haven’t seen The Mucky Duck yet.”
Merritt laughed. “I’m not sure what a Mucky Duck looks like, but I’d love to see one. Lead on.”