suspiciously, then shook her head. “Nah, she’d never do something that stupid.”
“You’re right, she wouldn’t,” Patti said, like they weren’t talking about her in the third person.
Lacey refused to take the bait, though.
“ ’Course not, Pat,” Charity continued. “Lacey wouldn’t do anything
stupid
with that old house from her grandfather, who was one of our daddy’s
dearest friends
and, of course, one of
the founders of Mimosa Key
.” She practically breathed fire on the last words. “Or did you forget that your grandparents were pioneers who had a vision for this place? A vision, Lacey. And it included some ironclad rules of the road. Do you know what they are?”
Lacey shifted from one foot to the other, the pressure of being late for a ten o’clock meeting in Barefoot Bay almost as weighty as her curiosity, and a growing concern. What was the issue here? “Not sure where you’re going with this, Charity, but I would really appreciate if you’d free the gas pump so I’m not late for my meeting.”
“With an architect?” Charity prompted.
She looked from one to the other, knowing that a lie would be discovered and the truth would be broadcast to the next thirty customers. “Yes.”
“Uh-huh.” Charity nodded, slowly, her lips curled in an “I knew it” smirk. “My Gracie said she met an architect in the Pelican last night, and when she and Glo left, you all but fell into his lap.”
“Not exactly.” She pointed to the register. “Please?”
Patti, a much bigger woman than her sister, worked her girth around the counter to give Lacey a hard look. “He said he might be building an inn of some kind.”
Lacey just stared at her, saying nothing, reality dawning. Grace and Ron Hartgrave owned the Fourway Motel, and no one in the extended family run by these two matriarchs would like the competition. But they couldn’t stop it.
Could they?
She cleared her throat and met Patti’s beady gaze. “Nothing is set in concrete,” she said. “I’m looking at all the possibilities.” Damn, she wanted to have more conviction than that, but these two, they were not to be messed with.
“Well, look at this possibility.” Charity whipped out a binder and slapped it on the counter.
The Building Code and Bylaws of Mimosa Key
was typed across the top. Literally typed. By a typewriter. Probably before Lacey was born.
Charity flipped open the cover and pointed to a page already marked with a bright pink Post-it note. “Says right here that no structure that contains more than five bedrooms can be built on Mimosa Key.”
Lacey almost choked. “That code was written in the 1950s, Charity. It—”
“Still holds true,” Patti interjected. “You don’t see any six-bedroom houses on this island.”
“Which is the problem,” Lacey shot back.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if we would let some people build big houses, we could be the next Jupiter Island or take some of the money that gets poured into Naples’ real estate. Mimosa Key is ripe for big money, and I can’t imagine who on the town council would be opposed to having more tourist dollars on this island.”
They both stared at her, but it was Charity whose eyes narrowed. “So it’s true. You’re trying to ruin this island.”
She fought an exasperated sigh. “No, Charity. I’mlooking for ways to expand it, make it better, bring in jobs, and—”
“We don’t need any more jobs,” Patti insisted. “We want it just like it is, young lady.”
“Oh, now I’m young. A minute ago I was too old for the man I was talking to last night.”
“Don’t you get snippy,” Charity warned.
“That’s right,” Patti chimed in. “Because your Granny Dot and her dear Theodore would roll over in their graves if they knew what you were planning to do with that beautiful old home they built for you when they founded this island.”
She
didn’t even know what she was planning to do, how could Granny?
“And that home is
“You’re right, she wouldn’t,” Patti said, like they weren’t talking about her in the third person.
Lacey refused to take the bait, though.
“ ’Course not, Pat,” Charity continued. “Lacey wouldn’t do anything
stupid
with that old house from her grandfather, who was one of our daddy’s
dearest friends
and, of course, one of
the founders of Mimosa Key
.” She practically breathed fire on the last words. “Or did you forget that your grandparents were pioneers who had a vision for this place? A vision, Lacey. And it included some ironclad rules of the road. Do you know what they are?”
Lacey shifted from one foot to the other, the pressure of being late for a ten o’clock meeting in Barefoot Bay almost as weighty as her curiosity, and a growing concern. What was the issue here? “Not sure where you’re going with this, Charity, but I would really appreciate if you’d free the gas pump so I’m not late for my meeting.”
“With an architect?” Charity prompted.
She looked from one to the other, knowing that a lie would be discovered and the truth would be broadcast to the next thirty customers. “Yes.”
“Uh-huh.” Charity nodded, slowly, her lips curled in an “I knew it” smirk. “My Gracie said she met an architect in the Pelican last night, and when she and Glo left, you all but fell into his lap.”
“Not exactly.” She pointed to the register. “Please?”
Patti, a much bigger woman than her sister, worked her girth around the counter to give Lacey a hard look. “He said he might be building an inn of some kind.”
Lacey just stared at her, saying nothing, reality dawning. Grace and Ron Hartgrave owned the Fourway Motel, and no one in the extended family run by these two matriarchs would like the competition. But they couldn’t stop it.
Could they?
She cleared her throat and met Patti’s beady gaze. “Nothing is set in concrete,” she said. “I’m looking at all the possibilities.” Damn, she wanted to have more conviction than that, but these two, they were not to be messed with.
“Well, look at this possibility.” Charity whipped out a binder and slapped it on the counter.
The Building Code and Bylaws of Mimosa Key
was typed across the top. Literally typed. By a typewriter. Probably before Lacey was born.
Charity flipped open the cover and pointed to a page already marked with a bright pink Post-it note. “Says right here that no structure that contains more than five bedrooms can be built on Mimosa Key.”
Lacey almost choked. “That code was written in the 1950s, Charity. It—”
“Still holds true,” Patti interjected. “You don’t see any six-bedroom houses on this island.”
“Which is the problem,” Lacey shot back.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if we would let some people build big houses, we could be the next Jupiter Island or take some of the money that gets poured into Naples’ real estate. Mimosa Key is ripe for big money, and I can’t imagine who on the town council would be opposed to having more tourist dollars on this island.”
They both stared at her, but it was Charity whose eyes narrowed. “So it’s true. You’re trying to ruin this island.”
She fought an exasperated sigh. “No, Charity. I’mlooking for ways to expand it, make it better, bring in jobs, and—”
“We don’t need any more jobs,” Patti insisted. “We want it just like it is, young lady.”
“Oh, now I’m young. A minute ago I was too old for the man I was talking to last night.”
“Don’t you get snippy,” Charity warned.
“That’s right,” Patti chimed in. “Because your Granny Dot and her dear Theodore would roll over in their graves if they knew what you were planning to do with that beautiful old home they built for you when they founded this island.”
She
didn’t even know what she was planning to do, how could Granny?
“And that home is
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