11. Annie
Eleven
Annie
Rachel called again.
I watched her name flash across the screen until it disappeared.
Captain Pancake watched too.
Then he looked up at me with the grave disappointment of a dog who believed phones should be used exclusively to order food.
“I’m handling it,” I told him.
He yawned.
The back door of Reef Rascal stood open. Beyond it, afternoon light cut across the narrow alley toward the docks.
Ellie had gone outside.
I followed her.
Captain Pancake followed me.
“This is private.”
He accelerated.
Apparently, privacy was no longer available on Pelican Key.
Ellie stood beside the rinse station with the hose running over the purple mermaid tail from the birthday party. Glitter swirled across the concrete in tiny silver rivers.
She had needed air.
She had found underwater costume maintenance.
That felt like Ellie.
I stopped several feet away.
Captain Pancake positioned himself between us and sat down.
Unlicensed mediation.
“Ellie.”
She turned off the hose.
Water dripped from the plastic fin.
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then she asked, “Were you ever going to tell me?”
“I wanted to.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
“No.”
The answer hurt coming out.
It looked like it hurt reaching her too.
“I didn’t have a plan,” I said. “I kept thinking there would be a better moment.”
“You were leaving tomorrow.”
“I know.”
Her expression tightened.
“Sorry. I remember the rule.”
It almost made her smile.
Almost.
She set the hose on the ground.
“I’m not ready to keep talking about us.”
My stomach dropped.
Ellie held my gaze.
“That doesn’t mean I’ll never be ready. It means we already had that conversation, and I can’t do it again while your phone is ringing and strangers are calling the shop.”
As if summoned, the phone inside Reef Rascal rang.
Hank answered.
“No.”
A pause.
“No concert.”
Another pause.
“No private snorkeling with Savannah Brooks.”
He hung up.
The phone rang again immediately.
Ellie looked toward the shop.
“Right now, I need to know what happens next.”
I glanced at my phone.
“Rachel wants me to leave.”
“I heard that part.”
“I told her no.”
“For an hour.”
“Yes.”
“And what happens at the end of the hour?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then answer her.”
“I’d rather talk to you.”
“That’s not romantic right now.”
“I wasn’t trying to be romantic.”
“You’re wearing a woven bracelet and looking emotionally inconvenienced. It’s confusing.”
A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.
Ellie looked down at her own bracelet.
She did not laugh with me.
But she did not take it off.
I answered the phone.
“Hi.”
“Finally,” Rachel said. “Are you still at the shop?”
“Yes.”
“Stay there. I’m turning into the marina.”
I looked toward the road.
“You’re here?”
“I told you I could have a car at the cottage.”
“That did not imply you were inside it.”
“I left Nashville when you missed your third check-in.”
“You flew to Florida because I slept late?”
“You do not sleep late. You ignore sleep with the same commitment you apply to vegetables.”
“That’s unfair.”
“You had nine missed calls.”
“I was busy.”
Rachel went silent.
I closed my eyes.
“Please don’t respond to that.”
“I was already in Key West when you finally answered me,” she said. “I’ll be there in two minutes.”
The call ended.
Ellie raised an eyebrow.
“She was already coming?”
“Apparently.”
“Before anyone recognized you?”
“I missed several calls.”
“That inspires private aviation?”
“Rachel has concerns.”
A black SUV turned into the marina lot.
It was too polished for Pelican Key and too large for the parking spaces. It stopped diagonally across three of them.
The driver’s door opened.
Rachel stepped out wearing cream trousers, a navy blouse, sunglasses, and the expression of a woman who had crossed several states only to discover that the emergency contained glitter.
She opened the rear door and removed a small suitcase.
Captain Pancake abandoned his mediation duties and went to meet her.
Rachel stopped when he sat on her shoe.
She looked down.
“Is this the security team?”
“That’s Captain Pancake,” Ellie said.
“Of course it is.”
Hank appeared in the doorway with a mug in one hand.
“You Rachel?”
She removed her sunglasses.
“How did you know?”
He pointed at the SUV.
“Car costs more than the building.”
“It’s rented.”
“Still.”
Captain Pancake leaned his entire body against Rachel’s leg.
She looked at the pale fur collecting on her trousers.
“Does he do this to everyone?”
“No,” Hank said.
I looked at him.
“Yes, he does,” Ellie said.
Hank sipped his coffee.
“Ruined it.”
Rachel attempted to step away.
Captain Pancake moved with her.
Hank held out the mug.
“Coffee?”
Rachel inspected the contents.
“Is that fresh?”
“Today.”
She accepted it.
“Perfect.”
She took one sip.
Her face remained professionally neutral.
That was how I knew the coffee was terrible.
The shop phone rang again.
Hank went inside.
“Reef Rascal.”
A pause.
“No.”
He hung up.
Rachel looked from the phone to Ellie.
“I’m Rachel Donovan.”
“I worked that out.”
“I’m sorry this reached you the way it did.”
Ellie studied her.
“You’re apologizing?”
“I do it when appropriate.”
“Does Savannah?”
Rachel looked at me.
“She’s in development.”
“Good to know.”
“I am standing here,” I said.
Neither of them acknowledged me.
Rachel handed the coffee back to Hank when he reappeared.
“That was excellent.”
He looked into the mug.
“You didn’t drink it.”
“I experienced enough.”
Hank took it without offense.
Rachel turned to Ellie.
“I need to explain what we know.”
Ellie nodded toward the shop.
“Inside.”
We moved into Reef Rascal.
Hank locked the front door and flipped the sign to CLOSED, although three people immediately knocked on the glass.
Captain Pancake barked once.
They stepped back.
Security team.
Rachel placed her phone on the counter.
“There are already several videos from the market. The clearest one shows Savannah and Ellie leaving together.”
“Running from turtle government,” Ellie said.
“That phrase is currently trending locally.”
Ellie stared at her.
“You’re joking.”
“I wish I were.”
Hank folded his arms.
“Mayor’s going to hate that.”
Rachel continued.
“Two photographers are driving down from Miami. A freelance reporter contacted the café and the shop. Someone has identified Ellie through the Reef Rascal website.”
Ellie’s posture changed.
Her shoulders straightened.
The humor disappeared.
“How much did they find?”
“Your name and occupation.”
“Old work history?”
“One archived Johnson & Calder staff page.”
“Photographs?”
“The staff portrait.”
“That photo makes me look like I sell expensive apartments.”
Rachel blinked.
“It’s a very professional photograph.”
“That was the problem.”
I stepped closer.
“Can Sophie get it taken down?”
“Taken down from the original site, possibly. Removed from everywhere it’s already been copied, no.”
“What about her family?”
Ellie asked it before I could.
Rachel looked at her.
“Nothing public has connected them yet.”
“Yet.”
“No.”
Ellie placed both hands flat on the counter.
“Property records?”
“Possibly accessible.”
“Old social accounts?”
“Mostly private.”
“My sister?”
The question was quiet.
Rachel hesitated.
My chest tightened.
“I haven’t seen her mentioned,” Rachel said.
Ellie nodded once.
“Her name was Molly Parker. She died three years ago. I don’t want anyone turning her into part of this.”
“They won’t,” I said.
Ellie looked at me.
I corrected myself.
“I’ll do everything I can to make sure they don’t.”
“That’s different.”
Rachel picked up her phone.
“I’ll tell Sophie. No engagement with anything involving Molly or your parents. We can also contact your former agency and request that they remove the archived profile.”
Ellie nodded.
“Thank you.”
Rachel began typing.
I watched Ellie.
She looked calm.
I knew enough about her now to recognize the difference between calm and controlled.
“You’ve done this before,” Rachel said.
Ellie glanced at her.
“Advertising.”
“You understand media cycles.”
“I understand that telling people not to look at something is an efficient way to make them look harder.”
Rachel paused.
“Yes.”
“And that if we overreact, it becomes a bigger story.”
“Yes.”
“And if Savannah stays here, photographers stay here.”
Rachel looked at me before answering.
“For a while.”
“How long?”
“Could be a day. Could be a week. Longer if there are more photographs or any public confrontation.”
“There won’t be,” I said.
Ellie’s gaze shifted to me.
“You can guarantee that?”
“No.”
“Then don’t.”
I stopped.
Rachel finished her message and put the phone down.
“If Savannah leaves, most of the attention follows her. The island may still get calls. Ellie may still be contacted. But the main story becomes where Savannah goes next.”
“I’ll leave,” I said.
Ellie closed her eyes briefly.
“What?”
“You asked what happens next. I leave. The cameras follow me.”
“You decided that quickly.”
“It’s the obvious answer.”
“To you.”
“I’m not letting photographers camp outside your work.”
“I don’t want them here either.”
“Then we agree.”
“No. You announced a decision.”
Rachel leaned against the counter.
“She has a point.”
I looked at her.
“Whose side are you on?”
“The side where you stop making decisions for other adults and calling it protection.”
“I’m trying to help.”
“You always are,” Rachel said. “It’s occasionally the problem.”
Captain Pancake placed his chin on the counter.
Hank scratched behind his ears.
Ellie looked at Rachel.
“What happens if she refuses to leave?”
“She can refuse. I’m her manager, not a corrections officer.”
“Comforting distinction,” Hank said.
Rachel ignored him.
“But staying means more attention here. It also means Savannah will spend the next several days hiding inside a cottage while Sophie tries to control a story that will keep growing.”
“I don’t have to hide,” I said.
Rachel gave me a look.
“You wore a golf hat to breakfast.”
“It was a good hat.”
“It had a resort logo on it.”
“No one recognized me.”
“Until they did.”
Ellie rubbed her thumb over the yellow thread in her bracelet.
“What do you want?” she asked me.
The question stopped me.
I looked at her.
Not Rachel.
Not Hank.
Not the phones or the road outside.