Chapter Sixteen

Lacey had assured Clay that he’d never find the place the locals called the SOB, since South of the Border had no sign, no written menu, no bar, no reservations, and very few tables. So they’d agreed to meet in the parking lot of the Super Min and walk to the restaurant.

Problem was, he couldn’t find a damn parking spot. He finally pulled into the lot of the Fourway Motel across the street and, just as he climbed out of his truck, two familiar faces cruised by in a Mustang convertible that slowed down when the driver recognized him.

The G-girls. From behind the wheel, the frosted blonde, Grace, if he remembered correctly, gave him a long, slow once-over. Gloria was in the passenger seat.

“Gotta admit I didn’t think I’d see you here tonight,” Grace called out, turning down her car radio. “Hate to break the news to you, but this is a private party.”

So what? He couldn’t park in the motel lot? “I’m meeting someone,” he said.

Next to her, the other woman leaned forward, her dark eyes much less predatory than her cousin’s. “Don’t tell me Lacey’s going to be here?”

Okay, he wouldn’t.

“She better not be,” Grace said, all playfulness gone from her voice as she answered before Clay could. “Like I said, private party.”

“I’ll move the truck,” he said, not sure what to make of the woman or what she was implying. “No worries.”

Grace narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m not worried about your truck, honey. Believe me.” With that, she hit the accelerator and drove off, disappearing around the corner.

“What the hell was that all about?” he asked out loud.

“That, my friend, is the Wicked Witch of Mimosa Key riding her red broomstick.”

He turned at the sound of Lacey’s voice, and any comeback caught in his throat as he checked her out. And checked her out. Whoa.

She crossed the street, high heels clicking to a rhythm that suddenly matched his heart as he drank in the tight black tank top, short jeans skirt, and some very sexy, strappy sandals with red toes peeking out.

“And you must be the Blistering Hot Witch.” He reached out both hands, drinking in the sight of her. “Dressed to turn heads and break hearts.”

Her reddish blonde curls had been straightened to a sleek and sexy sheen. She wore more makeup than he’d seen her wear before, including something really shiny on her lips that he just wanted to lick.

“This isn’t a business meeting?” There was just enough tease in her voice to make him give in to the urge to put his arms around her and pull her close. When he did, woman’s curves pressed against him top to bottom, and he closed his eyes and inhaled.

“Strawberry.”

“I’m starting to get used to that nickname.”

“I smell it.”

“Not my idea, I have to admit.”

“I like it.” He nuzzled her in and took another whiff, letting his lips brush the ultrasmooth hair. “And this no-curl look is pretty, too.” He inched back, grinning. “Did you get all dolled up for me?”

“I spent the day with my girlfriends at the Ritz and they were all about doing a shopping and beauty day, so I had a little pampering.” She gave him a flirtatious wink. “The strawberry body splash was on the house.”

“Then I love that house.” He took her hand, her fingers silky from all that pampering, and started walking. “It’s a good thing one of us spent the day working since the other was at the spa.”

“I was working,” she insisted, matching his steps. “Resort research. You mentioned that Casa Blanca really could use a good spa. The girls and I were dreaming up ideas. Jocelyn assures me we could make a mint, especially if we go organic. What did you do all day?”

“I did not get a strawberry pampering or”—he leaned down to look at her feet—“a bright red toe job.”

She laughed, a feminine, sexy sound that did stupid things low in his belly. “Then what did you do?”

“Set up a CAD system in my apartment and did the first blueprint for a villa.”

“Oh, really? That’s…” Her voice trailed as her gaze slipped past him to a group of people across the street, and she frowned. “What’s going on tonight?”

“I don’t know, but G and G said it was a private party.”

Her frown deepened as she surveyed the cars in the lot. “Why are all those are town council members going into the back of the Super Min?”

“Big run on milk?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t read about any emergency sessions and, even if there were, they’d be in town hall. What did Grace and Gloria say?”

“Just that whatever it was, it was private. And they seemed surprised you’d be here.”

“Grace Hartgrave is all talk,” she said. “If you came anywhere near her, her husband, Ron, would sit on you and, trust me, you’d be crushed. She’s a lot like her mother, Charity, a major busybody with too many opinions, but Glo, Gloria Vail, her cousin, is pretty cool.”

“She seemed a little more laid-back,” he agreed.

“I always liked Gloria.” Her attention focused in on the group outside the convenience store. “What the heck are they doing?”

“I don’t know, but I’m starving. Let’s—”

“Lacey!” A woman called in a hushed whisper. “Lacey, come here.”

Lacey turned, and they both spied a petite woman ducking behind a van in the Fourway parking lot. “Speaking of Gloria,” she said. “What the…”

The woman looked terrified, gesturing wildly for Lacey to come closer while she looked left and right as if she would be caught any second. Lacey headed toward her and Clay followed, curious and on alert.

“What are you doing, Glo?” Lacey asked.

The other woman reached out and pulled Lacey closer, her big brown eyes wide. “Probably getting myself disowned, that’s what. Listen, Lacey, I have to tell you something.”

“What’s up?”

“You are about to get screwed, that’s what’s up. And my family—my cousin and my aunt, especially—are holding the screwdriver. I hate that they’re doing this to you, and behind your back, like cowards.”

“What are they doing?” Lacey asked.

The woman looked pained, like she’d already said enough. “You just need to…” Gloria blew out a breath, then took another look around. “They’re in the back of the Super Min having a totally off-the-books secret town council meeting. Well, not really a meeting, because then it wouldn’t be off the books.”

“To do what?” Lacey asked.

“To make sure you don’t build a B and B, for one thing. A couple other people are getting stopped from building, too, but your plans are front and center.”

“Why?” Clay asked. “What’s the basis for the opposition?”

“Competition,” she said. “My cousin and her husband, Ron, don’t want any competition for the Fourway, and Aunt Charity wants Mimosa Key to stay firmly in the 1950s where, as you know, it is.”

“Which is just stupid,” Lacey said.

“Well, not to her. My Aunt Charity gets all kinds of tax revenue through all these loopholes. She’s doctored up that bylaw book so bad it’s like a novel she’s written.” The woman practically spat in disgust. “I’m the only one in the family who doesn’t own a business, since I just work at Beachside Beauty, but I talk to a lot of people and they’re sick of my aunt’s hold on this place. She knows it, she’s scared, and she’s trying to make the town council work for her.”

“What can she make them do?” Lacey asked.

“Tonight, she’s making them read the bylaws and understand how it applies to zoning, then convincing them they need to have an emergency zoning meeting tomorrow that will uphold the five-bedroom maximum. The Fourway Motel, of course, is exempted because it existed before zoning regulations went into effect, and therefore remains the only hotel or motel on the island. There’s a few long-term rentals, but not enough to make a dent in Charity or her kids’ business.”

Lacey looked at Clay, concern in her eyes. “What can we do?”

“Crash the meeting,” he said.

“You have to,” Glo agreed. “You have to get in there and fight my Aunt Charity or she is going to make all kinds of promises to the council that you can’t possibly counter.”

Clay snorted, understanding immediately. “Graft and corruption are the lifeblood of the building industry, I’m sorry to say. She wouldn’t be the first business owner to throw money, booze, or votes at the people who make zoning decisions.”

“So we just walk in and say she can’t?” Lacey shook her head. “You don’t know Charity Grambling.”

“I know this business,” he said. “If we go in there and point out the discrepancies in the bylaw book—”

“How can we do that tonight? We don’t have that book.”

Clay gave her arm a squeeze. “I have a copy in my truck. I got it out of the Mimosa Key Library right after our first meeting. If the one she has doesn’t match what was on record, that’ll take some of the teeth out of her bite.”

Glo beamed at him. “That’s exactly what you need to do. But Lacey has to do the talking because this is Mimosa Key and strangers count for nothing.”

“I will.” Lacey reached over and gave Glo a quick hug. “Thanks for this.” Then she turned to Clay. “Guess we better get those bylaws and kick some town council ass.”

As they walked away, he put his arm around her shoulder and nestled her closer. “I like your new attitude, Strawberry. Is it the shoes?”

“And the company.”

Lacey didn’t let go of Clay’s hand all the way back to the truck. She had no idea how to kick town council ass, but when he looked at her like that, she was ready to use these heels for more than making him notice her legs.

So what if the good ol’ boys and girls of Mimosa Key were not her favorite people? Not all of the current town council members were in that clique. She and Clay would have to focus on the newer members and hope for the best. Surely she’d baked for some of them over the past few years. Didn’t that count for something?

“All you need to remember, Lacey,” Clay said as they crossed the Fourway Motel parking lot after retrieving his copy of the bylaws, “is that we have one single objective.”

“To build?”

He laughed softly. “We are so far from building it isn’t funny. There are about six thousand pieces of paper we need first, and the most important one from this group is a zoning permit. But we aren’t ready to get that yet.”

“Will we be by tomorrow?”

“No,” he said, making her heart slip a little.

“But if they call an emergency meeting—”

“Page fourteen, section three.” He held up the binder. “Nothing can be decided in an emergency session of the council that impacts the bylaws without a written notice that is posted a full two weeks in advance.”

“You memorized the bylaws?” She couldn’t believe it. “I’ve never even looked at them.”

“You should. They’re fascinating and totally old school. Of course I read the bylaws regarding building. Oh, and there is no such thing as a secret council meeting. In fact, according to page four, section five-A, if all five members of the town council are in a room together, any citizen of Mimosa Key has the right to call order and take notes, then publish those notes in the Mimosa Gazette the next day.”

“Seriously?” She slowed her step, looking up at him, knowing there was awe on her face and not caring.

“What?” He laughed. “Did you think I wasn’t a legit architect just because I didn’t take some stinkin’ exams? I’m doing my job. Although I like when you look at me like that. It’s hot.”

“Yeah? So are you.”

He took the time to share a sexy smile with her. “Hold that thought for later. Now we have to concentrate on our goal.”

“And you still haven’t told me what it is.”

“Buy two more weeks. If they want to call an emergency meeting tomorrow, they can. But our little book here says that they can’t do anything in that meeting except set an agenda for another meeting two weeks later. We need those two weeks to find a loophole in the law that lets us build whatever we want. Which”—he squeezed her arm and reached for the door—“I think I’ve found.”

“Really?”

He didn’t answer because about ten sets of eyes greeted them on the other side of the door. The small group sat in an informal circle of chairs, as innocent as a church meeting but with a lot more guilt on their faces.

“Lacey!” Charity stood up, her arms planted on her narrow hips, her long nails crimson like blood drops against ill-fitting white pants. “This is a private meeting.”

“No such thing,” Lacey said, her voice cracking as she felt the weight of so many gazes on her. For a moment she had a flash of walking into the kitchen to greet her mother and getting a different version of the same comment every day.

You’re wearing that to school?

And then she’d start to back down. Change her clothes. Question her decision. Doubt herself.

She cleared her throat. “I came to take notes that will be published in the next issue of the Gazette.”

“What?” Three people asked the question at the same time.

She glanced around to do a quick count of council members in the gathering. Sam Lennox, the mayor; George Masterson, one of his cronies; a woman named Paula, who was a former neighbor of Lacey’s; and that new guy with the heavy New York accent. That was four. Only four?

“Would you care to explain that, Lacey?” asked Sam Lennox, a fairly reasonable mayor despite Charity’s claim to have him in her back pocket.

But Lacey was still doing the math. If there were only four present, the plan wouldn’t work. They couldn’t threaten to take notes and publish them. They couldn’t—

Her gaze fell on the face of Nora Alvarez, who headed up the Fourway Motel cleaning crew. Yes! She had been voted onto the council last month, no doubt through strings Charity and Grace pulled.

“It’s in the bylaws,” she said authoritatively. “It’s on page…”

“Four,” Clay supplied.

“Section…”

“Five-A,” he finished.

Lacey threw him a grateful look. “I’m a citizen and resident of Mimosa Key and I have the right and privilege to attend any function where all five members of the town council are present and take notes.” She beamed a smile right at Charity. “Our forefathers and -mothers were so smart and careful like that.”

“I don’t remember seeing that rule,” Nora said, sliding a look to Charity.

Mayor Lennox stood. “Actually, Lacey’s right. Come on in, Lacey. And bring your friend.”

“This is Clay Walker. He’s the architect I’ve hired to rebuild my property in Barefoot Bay.” Just saying the words made it real and right. They’d never signed a contract, but Lacey didn’t care.

They took two empty chairs slightly outside of the main circle of people and, after an awkward moment and some very dirty looks from Charity, talk continued.

Lacey tried to focus, but found herself returning the glances of her neighbors. Glo avoided eye contact altogether, but Gracie stared her down, and so did several others.

Charity remained standing as she spoke, her back to Lacey and Clay. “As I was saying before we were so rudely interrupted, in light of recent events we should have a brief meeting—”

“Excuse me, Charity.” Lacey interrupted and Charity turned very slowly, her dark eyes tapering.

“Yes, Miss Armstrong?” she asked with the exaggerated patience of a kindergarten teacher who doesn’t want questions. “Would you like the full spelling of my name for your report in the paper?”

“What recent events are you referring to?”

“The hurricane. Do you remember it?”

Several people laughed, but not the dark-haired young man whose name Lacey didn’t remember. “Aren’t you the one who rode it out in your bathtub with your little girl?” he asked, that nasal Bronx sounding so out of place here.

“I am,” Lacey said.

A few more mumbles and Charity’s back grew stiffer. “May I continue? As I was saying, we need to have an emergency town council meeting tomorrow to review the existing zoning restrictions as they will apply to multiple new buildings that are proposed to—”

“Excuse me, Charity.”

This interruption got a sigh of disgust that Ashley would envy. “What is it, Lacey?”

Next to her, Clay gave a little nudge with the binder he held. Taking his cue, Lacey stood. “You can’t have an emergency town council meeting that affects zoning without two weeks’ written notice.”

Charity stared at her, then tilted her head. “You’re wrong.”

“I’m right,” Lacey replied. “I have the bylaws right here.”

Charity reached under her seat and pulled out her heavily tagged binder. “Trust me, I know them. My father wrote them.”

“With my grandfather,” Lacey reminded them. She took the book from Clay, letting their fingers brush, which gave her a surprising kick of confidence. “I’d ask you to please look at…”

“Page fourteen, section three,” Clay prompted.

A few people chuckled, but not Charity. She flipped open her book and ruffled pages with slightly shaky hands.

“There is no section three on page fourteen, Lacey. Perhaps you have an outdated version.”

Was that possible? Did the library have an old version and she was about to look like a total fool? “I-I…”

“This book was notarized last year as the latest version of bylaws,” Clay said, standing next to Lacey. “I was shown the paperwork by a lady by the name of Marian.”

“Marian the Librarian,” someone said. “She’s never wrong.”

Under thick powder blush, pink circles of frustration darkened Charity’s cheeks. “Well, my version, which isn’t notarized but is quite accurate, contains no such pronouncements, Lacey, and I—”

“Let me see it,” Sam said, reaching for her book.

She held it. “No, Sam, this has been in my family for years. Only Vails and Gramblings handle this. It’s like a Bible to us.”

“Then open it and let me see it, Charity,” Sam said. “And Lacey, bring that book here.”

Lacey went forward, holding the binder open on page fourteen, her finger on section three, her heart hammering with every step. God, if Clay was wrong…

“Nice shoes, Lacey,” Grace said as she passed. “You know what they’re called, don’t you?”

Lacey ignored her.

“Fuck-me pumps,” Grace whispered under her breath, getting a laugh from the two people around her.

Sam took her book and placed it next to Charity’s, frowning. For a long, quiet minute, no one said a word. Then Sam looked up and handed the book back to Lacey.

“This is for official record,” he said to Nora. “So, as the secretary, I want you to note that for some reason these bylaws don’t match. However, we will err on the side of caution and post a two-week notice before holding a zoning meeting.”

A small murmur of voices filled the room as Lacey turned to give Clay a victorious smile.

“But in the interest of fairness and expediency,” he added, “we’ll meet tomorrow to set the agenda for that meeting. The town council can approve an agenda and if a citizen fails to get on that agenda, they can wait up to a year for the next zoning meeting.”

A year? “How do I get on?” Lacey asked.

George Masterson stepped forward. “Any property owner who wants to have a structure approved that requires rezoning will have to appear at that meeting with preliminary plans detailed enough for the council to agree to put them on the agenda two weeks later.”

Preliminary plans by tomorrow? Lacey swallowed. “How detailed?”

“Very detailed,” Charity said.

“Define ‘very.’” Everyone turned when Clay spoke, including Lacey. He stood now, and, like a lion ambling across the plains, he walked to the center of the circle, in complete control.

And poor Charity was his prey.

“Because, ma’am, if you’ll turn to page twenty-five, section eight, and read real carefully and slow…” Clay drawled out the last word enough to send a little flutter through Lacey and maybe a slight sigh among a few other females in the crowd. “You’ll see that getting on a zoning meeting agenda requires the property owner only to give a verbal description of the proposed structure, a timeline for building, a general budget estimate, and a declaration of intent to improve quality of life on Mimosa Key.”

That was all? Lacey could have kissed him.

Charity, on the other hand, looked like she wanted to sucker-punch him. “That’s correct, young man. And anyone”—she lifted a brow in Lacey’s direction—“anyone who thinks they can cavalierly change the status quo of this island will find that last little item very hard to get by my, er, this council.”

“What the heck do you mean?” Sam asked Charity.

“I mean, Sam, that quality of life is subjective and I expect this town council to recognize that fact no matter what smoke and mirrors and ridiculous promises Lacey or this tattooed man think they can throw at us tomorrow.”

Clay bit back a smile. “We’re up for that challenge, ma’am.” He took the book from Sam’s hand and nodded to Lacey for them to leave. “We have some work to do, Lacey.”

He reached for her hand to walk her out. As they passed by Grace, Clay leaned down and whispered, “Actually, they’re called fuck-me-senseless shoes. They’re my favorite.”