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Claire waved goodbye and disappeared among a gaggle of giggling girls, shaking Allie out of her reverie.
“Okay, first stop, The Bistro,” Mimi said, back in control of the wheel.
The nice thing about growing up in a small town was that things rarely changed. Yes, an occasional strip mall might pop up, or a new seafood joint might give the few restaurants in town some competition, but somehow, Whispering Bay had managed to avoid the fate of most north Florida beach towns. With no condos or vacation resorts to attract tourists, it was a sleepy hollow of ten thousand residents, a middle class bedroom community comprised of almost equal parts young families and retirees.
The downside to small town living meant no Starbucks. But that was fine with Allie because Whispering Bay had something better.
The Bistro by the Beach, owned by Frida Hampton, another Bunco pal of Mimi’s, was a cute little coffee house located just a few miles from the senior center and a major meeting place for the town’s citizens. Brightly colored murals depicting ocean life (painted by Frida’s husband, Ed, a local artist) covered the walls. Ed’s studio was located upstairs and in the last few years he’d become something of a local sensation, prompting tourists to come not just for the caffeine, but the artwork, as well. The coffee was strong, the muffins were fresh, and it had a first rate view of the water. Deputy Rusty was there, along with a dozen or so regulars and the usual handful of tourists from nearby Seaside.
Rusty smirked at Allie in acknowledgement, then gave Mimi a deferential nod. Although cerebrally Allie knew that Zeke was Whispering Bay’s Chief of Police, she couldn’t help the sudden wave of pride that washed over her. If you’d told her twenty years ago, when she was ten and Zeke was sixteen, that her pot smoking, juvenile delinquent brother would one day be The Law in this town she would have spit up her Fruit Loops from laughing so hard.
Kitty Burke Pappas met them by the counter. Her brown hair was pulled back in a low ponytail and her makeup was impeccable. She wore an apricot sheath dress that fit her perfectly and complimented her lightly freckled skin. She wasn’t a great beauty, but there was something about the way she carried herself that made Allie feel like a total slouch next to her. She’d wish she’d had more than five minutes to pull herself together this morning.
Allie order the biggest café latte on the menu. “Thanks for talking to your husband for me. Even though it didn’t work out, I really appreciate it.”
“I can’t believe Steve is being so stubborn.” Kitty shook her head. “Men,” she said in a way that made Allie smile. “But we’re not done yet. I want you to meet some friends of mine that might be able to help.” She led Allie to a table in the back of the restaurant where four seniors were in the middle of a lively discussion. Allie immediately recognized one of the women as Buela’s old friend, Viola Pantini.
There were three types of senior citizens living in Florida. There were the natives, those born and bred Floridians who’d lived here all their lives. The Snow Birds who came from up north for the winter to avoid the cold. And the Retirees, those who decided to live out their golden years in the Sunshine state.
Viola was a native. Kitty reached out and placed a hand on the older lady’s arm in a gesture of affection. “Allie, I’d like you to meet the executive board of the Gray Flamingos.”
“Executive flock,” corrected a woman wearing a visor with a Tampa Bay Rays logo. Her accent, however, hinted at a previous Boston Red Sox affiliation. Definitely not a native.
Viola stood and hugged Allie. “Sweetie! I haven’t seen you in ages. You look fabulous! How’s the writing going?” She turned to the other members of the table and went through a swift round of introductions. “Allie was Barbara Alvarez’s granddaughter. She’s the one who wrote the Perky the Duck article.”
The table erupted in murmurs of appreciation.
“I love that article,” said the woman with the Rays visor, whose name was Betty. “How is Perky, anyway?”
Allie plastered the well-worn smile she used whenever Perky came up in a conversation. “Thank you, and Perky is still alive and well and living at the Tallahassee Junior Museum.”
Betty nodded. “Good to hear.” She looked Allie up and down. “So, you’re the chief’s sister, huh?” She let out a predatory growl. “Good looking man, if you ask me.”
Okay, that was definitely weird.
“Uh, yep, Zeke’s my older brother.” Not sure what else to say, Allie turned to an attractive older man who’d been introduced as Gus Pappas. “Any relation to Steve Pappas?”
“My nephew. But I don’t hold much influence over his business decisions. If Kitty here can’t convince him to let you investigate that old building, then no one can.”
“Yes, apparently the whole thing is up to his grumpy foreman,” Allie said.
Gus smiled sympathetically. “We heard you got kicked out of the senior center last night.”
“What? How did you hear that?”
“Got one of those police scanners,” said the last member of the table, a gentleman with an impressive set of eyebrows who’d been introduced as Roger Van Cleave. “Also heard how your license was suspended.” He tsked. “Same thing happened to my grandniece. Of course, she’s barely eighteen and doesn’t know any better.”
Allie smiled weakly.
“Kitty called me this morning and said you had an urgent situation,” Viola said, her blue eyes curious. “So I called an emergency meeting of the flock.”
Allie reached into her tote and pulled out a copy of the email from Concerned Citizen, then passed it around the table. “Do any of you know who might have written this?”
All four seniors began talking at once.
“A ghost?” Betty said. “That’s why you broke into the building?”
“Who’s this Concerned Citizen?” Gus asked.
