That Thing You Do (Whispering Bay Romance Book 1) (Volume 1) (6 page)

T
he 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.

“That’s the million dollar question,” Allie said.

Viola frowned. “You really have no idea who wrote this?”

“I was kind of hoping one of you would
know.”

“If it had been someone from our group, I’m sure the rest of us would have heard about it,” Viola said. “There’s about fifty of us active Flamingoes, but honestly, I just don’t see any of us writing this anonymously.”

Roger glanced around the restaurant. “Who else have you shown this to?” he asked in a hushed voice.

“Just the four of you, and my sister-in-law Mimi. And
Rusty Newton and Tom Donalan, who’s in
charge of the building
.” Allie used her fingers to make air quotation marks on that last part.

“It’s imperative that you don’t show this to anyone else,” Roger warned.

“What do you care who she shows this to?” Gus asked Roger.

 “Roger’s right,” Betty said. “We shouldn’t show this to anyone. This ghost is probably trying to warn us and we
don’t want to start a panic in town.”

“What kind of panic?” Allie asked.

Betty looked at her as if she were an idiot. “Ever hear of the end of the world?”

Viola and Gus moaned.

“Betty,
enough
with the end of the world stuff,” Gus said.

“Just because the Aztec calendar thing didn’t pan out doesn’t mean the world isn’t coming to an end soon. If there’s a ghost haunting
the senior center then it’s someone we all knew. Someone who’s trying to come back from the dead to tell us something. Now, I ask you, what’s so important to come back to warn people about
except
the end of the world? All I can say, is that if the apocalypse is around the corner then I need to know pronto.”

“Betty Jean Collins, you already have a garage full of generators and enough bottled
water for the entire town! What more do you need?” Viola asked.

“
That
was in preparation for this year’s hurricane season. Which didn’t go the way those forecasters thought it would. We barely got enough rainfall this past summer, and hardly any high winds. Hell, my electricity didn’t even go out once.”

“You sound disappointed we didn’t have a major disaster,” Gus said.

“Of course
I’m not disappointed,” Betty grumbled. “But a dozen generators and a few hundred cases of bottled water aren’t going to be nearly enough if the apocalypse is coming. Don’t want to get caught with my pants down.”

“Yeah, nobody wants to see that,” Roger muttered.

Allie tried to hide her smile. She should probably keep her mouth shut, but she couldn’t help myself. “Um, if the world is
going to end, then what does it matter?”

Betty threw her arms up in the air. “That’s the problem with your generation! Always flying by the seat of your pants. If the world is coming to an end, I need to be ready.”

“If the world is coming to an end, then I need to go to Confession,” Gus said. He caught Allie’s gaze and winked.

She giggled, but Betty scowled, so Allie quickly
wiped her expression clean.

Viola leaned over and whispered in her ear, “If you haven’t figured it out by now, Betty Jean is one of those preppers.”

“How can we help?” Gus asked, making Allie smile at him in gratitude. Talking about the end of the world was all good and fine, but she had business to take care of.

“Have any of you ever seen or heard anything strange while in the
senior center? Anything that would make you think it was haunted?”

“The buildings been closed up since summer,” Viola said. “Up to then I’m probably the one who’s spent the most time there. I used to teach seniors yoga, you know,” she added proudly, “but I never came across anything strange.”
Sigh.
This wasn’t the news Allie had hoped to hear.

“Well, can I ask a favor then? Would you
hold on to this copy of the email and pass it around to the rest of your group? Maybe one of them might have heard something and just didn’t think it was important enough to share.”

Betty and Roger began to protest, but Viola silenced them. “How are we going to help Allie solve this mystery if we keep the email to ourselves?”

Roger frowned and Betty mumbled something about not blaming
her if the whole thing blew up in their faces.

“You got this through your email?” Viola said, ignoring them. “Then send me the original through an attachment and I’ll forward it on. We communicate strictly through email or texting. Much faster that way.”

Now why hadn’t Allie thought of that? “Email, it is.” Viola gave her the email address and Allie used her smart phone to forward
her the letter.

Viola pulled her phone from her purse. “Got it!” Her thumbs flew through the tiny keypad. A few seconds later the rest of the group’s phones began pinging. She winked at Allie. “Just because we’re retired doesn’t mean we’re technically challenged. If I hear anything from one of the Flamingoes, I’ll send you a text.”

Mimi walked up to the table. “Sorry to interrupt,
but I’ve got to get Allie to her car before it gets demolished by a wrecking ball.”

Allie thanked them and said her goodbyes. Hopefully, with any luck, one of the Gray Flamingos would know who had sent the email. She stepped outside to get in the van, when her gaze zeroed in on the shop next door to The Bistro, causing her to come to a halt. This had to be Lauren Donalan’s retro shop.

A sign made of white washed drift wood stenciled in bright pink and lime green letters highlighted the store’s name,
Can Buy Me Love
(Lily Pulitzer meets The Beatles!). She took a few seconds to peer through the glass window. A trio of mannequins dressed like something out of a Partridge Family nightmare formed the store’s front end display.

Once again, Allie was struck by how odd it
seemed that Lauren would own this kind of place. But then, she really hadn’t known the former Mrs. Tom Donalan all that well in high school.

She was about to step inside the van, when Roger Van Cleave dashed out the door. He discreetly slipped her a piece of paper. “Didn’t want to give you this in front of the others, but call that number. I promise, you
won’t
be sorry.”

He disappeared
back inside the restaurant before Allie could think of a response. She climbed into the back seat of the mini-van and stared down at the scribbled number.
Good Grief
. Was Eyebrows making a move on her?

“What did sweet old Mr. Van Cleave want?” Mimi asked.

“I think he just hit on me.”

Mimi met her gaze in the rearview mirror. “Seriously?”

Kitty turned around to face her
and said gravely, “You’ll have to let him down gently. He’s very fragile. His wife passed away last year.” Allie wished she knew Kitty well enough to know if she was joking. The twinkle in her brown eyes said she was.

“Okay, so he’s probably not hitting on me,” Allie said, feeling foolish.

Mimi and Kitty laughed, then Mimi put the car in motion.

“Mr. Van Cleave is a cool old
guy,” Kitty said. “You should call him. He used to be a journalist, I think. Maybe he has some advice for you or something.”

Or something
. If Roger Van Cleave didn’t have any direct knowledge about the ghost, then Allie wasn’t sure how he could help her, but she slipped the paper into her purse anyway. She’d call him later, just to be polite.  

Mimi and Kitty began gabbing about their
Bunco group which gave Allie an opportunity to check her cell phone for messages.