An Unlikely Match. Cynthia Thomason

“Didn’t you leave the cats at the hotel?”

      “Heck no, Claire. I figured Bonnie would forget to feed them. I didn’t want them living on scraps.”

      Claire sighed. This was an interesting philosophy from a man who lived every day of his life on handouts. But everyone in town knew about the glass jar with the slit in the lid that Curtis kept in his wagon. A hand-printed sign on the side said For Curtis’s Cats, and most folks in Heron Point dropped a few coins in the slot whenever they passed by.

      “Let’s not tell Jack about the cats just now,” she said. “You and I can come back later and get them in my car.”

      But it was too late. The black Escalade bounced over the rough terrain and stopped in front of them. Jack leaned out the window and said something about seeing at least a half-dozen cats wandering around the boathouse.

      “That ain’t so, Claire,” Curtis said under his breath. “It’s only four cats. The way that man exaggerates, it’s no wonder his blood pressure is sky-high.”

      CLAIRE PUT THIRTY DOLLARS along with the bill for three teas and three lemon-cake slices inside the plastic folder and handed it to the waitress at the Heron Point Hotel. She looked at her watch. Four o’clock. The crowd at the hotel had picked up in the last hour. That was typical of a Friday afternoon when tourists began arriving on the island. Soon the town’s limited parking spaces would be filled with cars, RVs and motorcycles.

      “Is everybody done?” Claire said to Bella and Jane, who was licking the last of her frosting off the fork.

      “That was delicious, Claire,” Bella said, her eyes bright with sobriety at least so far today. “There’s nothing I like better than true English tea.”

      Except for maybe true Irish whiskey, Claire thought. She was grateful that after firing Bella and reminding her again about her questionable backyard crop, her relationship with the older woman was still intact. Truly, Bella didn’t need to work. She’d lived in Heron Point for over half a century. Her hundred-year-old cottage was paid for, and her late husband’s social-security income was more than sufficient to meet her limited needs. And just this morning she’d agreed to volunteer with Ingrid in the library for a couple of hours each morning. It was the perfect solution, in Claire’s opinion. Even if Bella was slightly hungover, she wouldn’t be responsible for anyone’s life or safety.

      “I’m glad you liked it,” Claire said. “How about you, Jane? Are you glad you came with us?”

      “Yes, it was fun.” Jane skipped ahead of the women, hurried through the hotel lobby and out the front exit. When Claire and Bella parted, Claire wound through the Friday-afternoon crowd and caught up with her daughter and a group of her friends on the sidewalk. “Can I spend the night at Alison’s?” Jane asked.

      “I don’t see why not,” Claire said. “But before we decide, I have to go back to the town hall and make sure everything’s okay, and then I have to see if SueAnn can stay at the shop until nine tonight.” In Heron Point, it was prudent to stay open late on Fridays and Saturdays when the tourists were in town.

      She took Jane’s hand and they headed toward the office. It had been a busy day. The tour of Dolphin Run had been cut short once Claire and Jack had discovered Curtis and his cats. It had taken some doing, but Claire had finally convinced Jack to bring Curtis and his menagerie back to town. She’d returned to the mayor’s office for a while and then worked at Wear It Again until it was time to do crossing-guard duty and meet Bella for tea. Claire didn’t know where Jack had spent the rest of the afternoon. He’d only told her he was going back to the inn to continue his exploration.

      But she knew where he was now.

      Jane tugged on Claire’s hand. “Look, Mommy, isn’t that the man who came to our house last night?”

      “Yes, honey, it is.” Jack was in front of the town hall talking with Gail and Lou, one of the department’s service aides. Jack seemed absorbed in scrutinizing the details of one of the green-and-white golf carts used by Heron Point law enforcement. Claire hushed Jane and stood off to the side to listen to the conversation.

      “So this is what the police regularly use?” Jack said. “A pair of golf carts?”

      “They’re all we need,” Lou said, with the authoritative voice he’d used for decades in a Florida classroom. Like many of Heron Point’s residents, he’d come to the town to retire, but had decided to take the service aide position to fill his hours.

      Gail, a recent graduate of Florida State University’s criminal justice department, nodded enthusiastically. “See, we mounted these red and blue lights on top of the carts so people know they’re official.” She reached inside the cart, flicked a switch and the lights came to life.

      Claire remained behind a crowd of people where she wouldn’t be seen by her officers or Jack.

      Jack folded his arms over his chest and gave the rotating lights appropriate interest. “You can’t mean you actually pursue criminals in these things.”

      Lou frowned just a bit, causing his bushy white eyebrows to meet in the center of his forehead. “We sure do. You can do that in a town where there are as many golf carts as cars. And where the crime rate is low.”

      “Have you ever caught anybody?”

      Lou puffed his chest out with pride. “People in this town know that these carts mean business. If they see the lights, they pull over.” He motioned for Gail to turn off the blinkers. “You want to take her for a spin?” he asked Jack.