Coco shows up at the Jingle Bell Bistro with Gator and the Killjoys for dinner on the second evening of their visit and demands a seat on the patio.
“We’d like to see the water,” she says to Iris Cafferkey.
“No one else has asked to eat outside tonight,” Iris says, “but I can get a table set up if you give me five minutes.”
Jimmy, Iris’s husband and the bistro’s resident chef, comes out of the kitchen with his apron and cap on. “Coco,” he says in a loud voice, his Irish accent on full display. “What brings you to the island?”
“Hi, Jimmy,” she says, taking a step back so that she won’t be forced into an awkward embrace. “This is Netta and Brice Killjoy, and this is Gator.” Jimmy thrusts out a hand to welcome each of the guests. “And this is Jimmy Cafferkey. He and his wife own the bistro and have lived on the island for—what? About twenty years now?” Coco asks politely.
Iris breezes past them with an armful of linens. “Twenty years in August,” she says. “Emily was just a wee lass when we moved here.” As if on cue, Emily herself emerges from the kitchen with a pitcher of water in her hands. Iris and Jimmy had moved from Dublin to Christmas Key with their daughter, determined to give their youngest child the richest life they could, and to raise a little girl with Down Syndrome in a tropical paradise. So far, they’ve been successful beyond their wildest dreams.
“Hi, Coco,” Emily says. “Holly’s in Europe with her boyfriend.”
“Oh?” Coco’s eyes go wide. “I didn’t know she had a boyfriend.”
“It isn’t Jake,” Emily says, shaking her head and smiling. It’s not a terribly well-kept secret that Emily has a huge crush on the island’s only police officer, though she’d been ridiculously happy for Holly when she and Jake were an item.
“As I mentioned,” Coco says to her guests, turning to Gator and the Killjoys, “my daughter does a passable job of keeping things running around here, but clearly her priorities aren’t always with the island.”
“Now, wait just a second there,” Jimmy says, putting both hands on his aproned waist. “The mayor loves this island more than she loves anything.” His voice is defensive, his stance somewhat hostile. “She deserves a vacation every now and then just like anyone—”
“Your table is ready,” Iris says, sweeping in and breaking up the potential showdown between her husband and Coco. “Follow me, please.”
The group heads out to the patio that looks onto the beach, and as the door swings shut behind them, Jimmy grumbles to himself about Coco and her high-minded ways.
“Dad,” Emily says, putting a hand on her father’s back. “Be nice. She’s Holly’s mom.” Emily is—perhaps above all else—loyal to her oldest friend in every way. “Maybe we don’t like her, but we like Holly.”
Jimmy puffs out an impatient breath, considering the wisdom of his daughter’s words. “Indeed we do, lass.” He watches as Coco and her guests get settled at the white linen covered table outside. “Indeed we do.”
“But if you want to spit in her food,” Emily whispers, leaning in closer, “then I promise I won’t tell anyone.”
Jimmy pulls his daughter in for a tight hug and plants a kiss on top of her blonde head as he roars with laughter. “Maybe I’ll just put a dash of baking soda in everything I make for her—how’s that?”
“That’s a better idea,” Emily agrees, nodding as her dad lets go of her. “I’m going to go and pour water now.”
“You do that,” Jimmy says, watching his daughter with pride. Everything is how they’d always dreamed it would be, and their little island is the perfect paradise. Jimmy narrows his eyes as he watches Coco gesturing with her hands and talking on the patio. There’s no way they can let this woman sweep in and change it all—he won’t let her.
“So they’re here to look at the island? Like, to buy it?” Jake asks, holding his bottle of beer to his lips. The usual crowd has gathered at the Ho Ho Hideaway for a Sunday evening nightcap, and Jimmy Cafferkey is recounting the tale of Coco and her guests at dinner.
“That’s what it looks like. I heard from Fiona that this Gator character is a Native American, but we don’t know anything about these Killjoys.”
“Love the name, by the way,” Millie Bradford says, leaning in to the small group with a cup of coffee in her hands. “Isn’t Killjoy a perfect name for these people?”
“Indeed,” Jimmy agrees. “What’s with the coffee, Millie? Couldn’t get Sacamano to pour you a real drink?”
Millie glances down at the mug of cooled coffee in her hand. “No, I just want to be alert. Ray isn’t feeling well, and I don’t want to go home and fall asleep—he might need me.”
“What’s going on with the old dog?” Wyatt Bender asks as he joins the crowd. “He seen the doc yet?”
“He saw Fiona,” Millie confirms. “She ran a few tests, but there’s nothing conclusive yet.”
“Well, let us know if there’s anything we can do to help,” Jimmy says to her, putting an arm around Millie’s shoulders. “In the meantime, let’s keep our eyes on Coco and keep our ears to the ground. Has anyone let Holly know what’s going on around here?”
“Fiona and Bonnie have tried,” Wyatt says. “But from what I hear, they haven’t been able to reach her.”
“That’s odd. I can’t imagine her being out of reach on purpose.” Millie frowns and swirls the coffee and cream around in her mug. “I hope she’s okay.”
“I’m sure she is,” Jimmy Cafferkey says, his arm still around Millie’s shoulders. He gives her a gentle shake. “You just take care of that old husband of yours, and we’ll work on tracking down the mayor.”
“Maybe we should set up one of those group chat thingamabobs,” Maria Agnelli says, materializing at Jimmy’s elbow. At just under five feet tall, Mrs. Agnelli is a pocket-sized pistol full of sass and vinegar. “Keep each other posted on what we know.”
Millie pulls her phone out of her pocket. “How do we do that?”
Cell phones are pulled from pockets and purses. The devices have more apps and capabilities than an island full of Baby Boomers knows what to do with, and everyone is quickly engrossed in punching buttons and trying to figure things out.
“No idea,” Wyatt says, shrugging as he looks at his home screen.
“I’ve got you.” Jake slides his own phone from the deep cargo pocket of his black shorts. He opens up a text and quickly taps in the names of everyone present. “I’ll add Bonnie and Fiona, too,” he says, creating the group chat in seconds. “And Buckhunter.”
“Good idea,” Millie agrees, staring at her phone as she waits for something to happen.
“There we go,” Jake says. He types the word “hi” to start the group chat and hits send. “Voila—we’re in a group chat. Now whoever hears from Holly first should send a message out to all of us.”
“And any news on Coco and what she’s up to can be shared this way, too.” Jimmy holds up his phone and gives it a shake. “And Millie, if you need anything from us or if Ray gets worse, just shoot us a message.”
“Perfect. We have a plan.” Jake drains his bottle of beer and swallows. “And on that note, I’m going to call it a night. See you all tomorrow.” He holds up the empty bottle in parting, setting it on the bar as he passes Joe Sacamano.
“Night, Officer Zavaroni,” Millie says, waving at him.
Jake’s police cart is in the lot next to the rustic looking bar, and he slides behind the wheel in the darkness, looking at the light of the moon as it dances on the ocean. The palm tree next to the Ho Ho is wound with twinkling Christmas lights, and the sound of music from the bar is in the air. Jake thinks about the ever-changing dynamics of the island, and about the very real and present threat that Coco poses. What will happen to everyone if she convinces Holly and Buckhunter to part with Christmas Key? Depending on the circumstances, they might all be able to stay, but would it ever be the same?
The Holly Jake knows wouldn’t even consider letting go of her beloved island—after all, she’d chosen Christmas Key over him when he’d proposed to her the year before—but the Holly he knows wouldn’t normally consider disappearing for three weeks and going totally incommunicado. Everything is up in the air, and the untethered feeling that’s filled Jake for months is almost overwhelming. When his short-lived fling with Bridget had ended with her miscarriage and departure from the island, Jake had sincerely hoped that things would get back to normal. But now, as he sits here on the firm seat of his cart, wheel gripped in both hands, he’s starting to wonder what normal even looks like. Is normal an island owned by the Killjoys? Is it him, forever alone and just waiting to see what Holly’s next move will be? Or is it Christmas Key without Holly?
Jake exhales and runs a hand through his dark hair. A wave crashes loudly on the shore and he turns on his cart to drive home.