Chapter 12
Twelve
Ali
She’d made it an early evening. The food, the fresh key lime pie, and the Shack Daq had her sleepy and ready to turn in.
Ali had wanted to return the sweatshirt to Henry, but he’d insisted on letting her keep it.
“Please add this to my bill,” she’d tried to insist.
“Free advertising for me. You’re a model, right?”
She’d rolled her eyes. “Yes, a five-foot three-inch model pushing fifty. I rarely get out of bed for under ten thousand dollars.”
“I figured.” Henry had laughed easily.
That was rare, finding a new person with the same sense of humor. But this wasn’t Ali’s first rodeo. She could spot a shameless flirt a mile away. But it was still nice to be flirted with now and then.
Despite the strength of the Shack Daq, it was just the right potion to give Ali a relaxed sleep. With work, Ted, and then her father, she wasn’t sure when she’d slept without a million interruptions. Sure, she had a potty break, but that’s midlife. She had to accept that.
The weather app called for a high in the low seventies and sunshine, but with a possibility of an afternoon thunderstorm.
Ah, Florida. Wasn’t that the forecast every day?
Ali decided her legs were too white for shorts, so she opted for her most comfortable jeans, and this time a plain white t-shirt and her platform Chuck Taylor’s. She had good Chucks and knock around Chucks in her car. She opted for the knock-arounds that she didn’t worry about keeping white.
Something told her that the state of the plot of land they owned had to be rough. Really rough, or why else wouldn’t someone have tried to sell it? If it was anything but scrub or a garbage heap, why hadn’t their dad tried to vacation there?
That alone told her she was about to encounter some sort of real estate albatross.
Ali got in her Jeep, plugged the address in, and did as Waze instructed.
“Turn right on Gulf Boulevard. In 1/8 of a mile, your destination will be on the left.”
“Okay, so I could have walked,” she replied to Waze. Ali and Waze were now best friends after driving around Atlanta during rush hour together.
She traveled a few numbers past the Seashell Shack.
“You’ve reached your destination.”
But it came up on Ali so fast that she went past it. Waze began to get a real attitude about her stopping, turning around, and getting back on track.
“Okay, okay!”
Waze was a crappy best friend.
She pulled into a little grocery parking lot and then turned right to try to get to her target address.
A small oval sign, more weathered than even the Seashell Shack sign, dangled from a post. There was a cartoon turtle, a wave, and the greeting, Welcome to Sea Turtle Resort .
“Okay, well, this has to be it.”
“Like I said,” Waze replied.
Well, that’s what she imagined Waze would say.
Ali pulled into a gravel covered and unkept front parking area. Her Jeep was the only vehicle in the parking lot. Overgrown palm trees, tropical plants of some variety, and— what were they called? Mangrove? They all seemed to be trying to overtake the space. She clicked the fob of her Jeep.
A paint-chipped little office building indicated that this was the right address. She had no idea what she’d find. Or if it was even inhabited.
She walked to the screen door and opened it. Inside were four washers and four dryers. None in rotation at the moment. To the right of that a counter, behind that, another door.
There was a vending machine with what appeared to be ancient food items and dusty beverages.
“Oh, man, this is the lobby at the motel at the end of the world,” she said under her breath.
There was no sign of a manager or a clerk, and she was surprised that there was even this much of a structure here.
She looked at a map on the wall behind the counter.
It was an arc of small cottages arranged in a half circle, each with a cute little name. There was also a hook and key on each image of a cottage.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Ali walked back out of the office. She walked further into the overgrowth, half expecting the swamp thing to come out and grab her.
After navigating a trellis-type entrance, she couldn’t believe her eyes. As the map depicted, there were six cottages in various states of disrepair.
Cottages? On the beach? Did they even have those in Florida anymore? She figured this explained why the was property was in their name. It was a white elephant or something. Maybe they were built out of asbestos?
The cottages were wood-shingled and covered in a variety of peeling paint colors. She spied yellow, red, lime, orange, pink, and blue!
There was a little courtyard that led out toward the ocean. She followed a path of stones partially obscured by sand. As she walked, no fewer than three little geckos skittered to and fro.
It wasn’t long before the overgrown tropical vegetation cleared enough to see the sandy beach. Sea Turtle Resort might be dilapidated, but if it wasn’t on a sinkhole or a haunted graveyard, maybe they could sell it and make quite a bit. The location alone was stunning!
For a moment, Ali was still, quiet. She was pulled into the scene in front of her. She was surprised by how she felt. This felt both new and familiar.
The sound of the waves rolling onto the sand, the caw of a pair of seagulls, and even the wind rustling through the palm fronds behind her entered her heart like music. Or rather, it was some aural frequency tuned to the base of her brain that vibrated down to the middle of her chest.
Her mind quieted, her breath got slower and deeper, and the air in her lungs was there on purpose.
Was it the water? The salty air? The warm wind after so many years of frigid winters?
She longed to take her shoes off and sink into the sand, as though it were the missing element of her biology. The entire experience made her feel…what was it? Grounded?
Ali didn’t have time to process this before a voice floated over the sound of the waves.
“Don’t forget to exhale.”
The voice was also familiar. Had she heard it before?
Was it in her head? She did as the voice instructed and exhaled.
“Happens to me every day. Easy to gasp at the sight.”
This wasn’t in Ali’s head. She turned to find a woman about her height, maybe in her seventies, standing a few feet behind her, hands on hips, head tilted to the side.
She had white hair piled in a chaotic nest on top of her head. She wore cargo shorts that stopped just below her knee, but the portion of her legs that they did reveal was tanned and toned. She wore a t-shirt that had the logo of the Sea Turtle Resort on the front and a chambray shirt over that. In her hand was a toolbox. And in her eyes, mirth. They were blue, inquisitive, and surrounded by gorgeous laugh lines—and those eyes were searching hers.
“Hello, I’m Didi, the uh, the manager here. I don’t have any reservation arrivals listed for today, though Jorge and I have been a little scatterbrained lately. No worries if you’re checking in today. I can get Key Lime ready for you. It’s open and the closest to the beach.”
“Ah, no, I’m not checking in. I’m here to assess the situation.”
“Ah, the situation is sun and sand, as always.”
“Uh, no,” Ali said, “with the manager. I need the situation—or rather, I have questions about that.”
“Oh well, that situation is, Jorge and I are getting on, and I must stop him from trying to vacuum the pool until his hip surgery fully heals. So, I apologize for being at Sixes and Sevens. You didn’t talk to Karen Ort, did you? We did our best, but?—”
“I, no, I’m not a guest. My name is Ali Harris, and it appears I own this place.”
The woman took a sharp intake of air, and then lifted her hand to her mouth. It was her turn to be bowled over, it appeared. Didi blinked as if she wasn’t sure if she was seeing things. She dropped the metal toolbox to the ground. It landed with a loud metallic clang.
Ali was slightly worried she’d caused Didi to have a stroke or something
“I think it’s your turn to exhale.” Ali stepped forward and put a gentle hand on the woman’s arm. Is she okay?
Didi did as Ali instructed and exhaled. She shook her head and blinked. “Oh, wow, goodness, the ugh, management company, uh, they didn’t tell us that. Well, it’s just a surprise. I’d have prepared. We’d have done more, ugh, well, just…the laundry isn’t even up to speed, Ali.” The older woman appeared to be out of breath.
Did I come on too strong? Why is she so upset? Ali tried to bring the temperature down on the surprisingly fraught exchange.
“Honestly, I’m not here to grade the place or check-in. I’m here to figure out how this place wound up in my name and my sisters’ names.”
“Well, three on a deed, that’s not unusual, is it?” Didi continued to search Ali’s face.
Ali got a little self-conscious. Do I have broccoli in my teeth or something?
“What’s unusual is that we had no idea we owned it, and it appears we have for a long time.” She probably shouldn’t spill these details to this stranger, but the woman was safe to talk to. Ali knew immediately.
“Really, well, uh, we just run it. I mean, we’re not in charge in charge, so I can’t help you there. In fact, never met the owners. Until now.”
Ali shook her head. That didn’t make sense.
“Who pays you? What’s the name of the company?”
“Oh, Jorge handles that. We just manage the cottages, six of them here, and of course, the Inn.”
“The Inn?”
“Yes, Sea Turtle is a resort property that includes that building right there. Six hotel rooms, each can accommodate a family of four! And the penthouse! Though, we’re empty right now. No new calls these last two weeks because, uh…well, I have phone issues.”
“Your phone is off.”
“You figured that out, eh? I wish I had.”
Ali hesitated. Should I keep sharing? Is this woman’s job in jeopardy now that I’ve arrived? She plowed ahead, hoping she wasn’t some sort of Ebenezer Scrooge in this current scenario. She should have realized that a change in management or ownership or whatever was happening here would worry the staff. Ali felt bad for being so blunt in her first encounter with this nice lady.
“We—that is, my attorney—called for two weeks. The phone is disconnected.”
“Yeah, we just, uh, realized. It slipped through the cracks. I’m so sorry. Payment is on the way.”
“Yeah, out of service.” Ali bent down and picked up the toolbox. It was heavy. This little elderly lady shouldn’t be hauling it around, she decided.
“Let’s go in and have a spot of lemonade,” Didi said, recovered somewhat. “We seem to have a lot to talk about.”
“Yes. Good, yes. I have questions.”
They turned from the water and back toward the cottages.
The woman seemed a tad bit shaky the first few steps but got her bearings and was soon confidently leading Ali back to the office building she had first explored.
The questions piled up in Ali’s head by the dozens, and soon, the question of how Didi knew there were three Kelly sisters was replaced by ten others.
It would take more than one cold glass of lemonade to sort this out.