Page 8 of Key West Homecoming

“Thank you.”

Emma turned and started back down the path. At the gate, she stopped and looked over her shoulder.

“Mr. Kelleher,” she said, “one more thing. Whatever’s in that letter, I’d hold on to it. And I wouldn’t call that number.”

He didn’t ask why. He just nodded once.

As she continued to walk toward her car, Emma realized she’d told Jake Kelleher more than she meant to.

CHAPTER 3

Tess Lawrence had been polishing the same spot on the bar for the better part of two minutes while she tried to decide how to bring it up. For Tess, two minutes was an impressive amount of restraint. Unfortunately, there was nobody around to appreciate it.

Monday afternoons at Margarita Max's were like that. The lunch crowd had already gone back to work, and it would be another few hours before people started wandering in for drinks before sunset. For now, the place was quiet, except for the hum of the ceiling fans and Lloyd, who sat at the far end of the bar in the same seat he'd been claiming for years.

At the register, Tess’s sister Leah had the linen invoice spread out, her reading glasses on and the expression of a woman who had found something unexpected and shocking.

“They’ve charged us for eighty bar towels.”

“Is that a lot?”

“Tess, be serious with me for one minute.”

“I don’t know what a normal number of bar towels is. Nobody does.”

“It’s twice what we use in a month, and I’ve now found it three months running,” Leah said, “which means somebody in that company has been quietly making a boat payment on us since February.”

“See, this is why we keep you,” Tess said, putting the cloth down. “Speaking of ideas.”

“I wasn’t speaking of ideas.”

“You were leading up to them.”

“I was speaking of towels.”

Tess came down the bar to pitch her idea once more.

“Sunday afternoons,” she said. “Three till six. One guy with a guitar, no amp, no cover, and we put out the small tables. Nothing loud, just something so the room isn’t dead between the lunch people and the dinner people.”

Leah took her glasses off, which she did when she wasn’t reading something.

“Who’s the guy?”

“Joey’s cousin. Or Joey, Joey would do it for tips and a plate of food.”

“It’s not a terrible idea.”

Their partner, Connie, who had been running Margarita Max’s for years, came out of the back room with a case of tonic on her hip. She set the box down on a table at the end of the bar.

“Connie,” Tess said. “Sunday afternoons, music, three until six.”

Connie straightened up and looked at her. “No,” she said.

“You haven’t heard the whole thing.”

“I heard it in March, I heard it in April, and now I’ve heard it in May.” Connie picked up her towel. “The answer’s the same one I gave you before.”

“Can I have a reason this time?”