Sunshine Beach by Wendy Wax Page A

midway between the deep and shallow ends. “I used to give water skiing lessons out in the Gulf on weekends.”
    Maddie followed his gaze out over the low wall to the beach and the body of water beyond.
    â€œThe kids would run on and off the beach all day.” An almost shy smile twisted Franklin’s lips. “The teenagers used to hang out over there under that stand of palms.” He nodded toward the clump of cabbage palms on the edge of the low wall, but his eyes were far away. “I kissed Renée there for the very first time.”
    Maddie’s heart twisted at the affection in his voice. Once she’d believed she and Steve were in it for the long haul.
    He led them past the listing covered patio that ran the length of the building to the double glass entrance doors. There he pulled a large ring of keys from his pocket and fit one into the lock. After a bit of jiggling he managed to push open the door.
    What once must have been a bright sunlit space was dark and dank, smelling of ancient wet towels and bathing suits trapped in an airless space for far too long. Nikki gagged. A hand flew to her throat. She wasn’t the only one swallowing hard in an effort to hold on to breakfast. Trying to breathe through her mouth, Maddie took in the long rectangular space. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling and clung to pretty much every available surface and fixture while dust bunnies (a far-too-delicate term given their size) covered the baseboards and climbed the corners.
    â€œThe terrazzo’s not too bad,” Avery said eyeing the gouged and filthy mottled floor.
    â€œI’m assuming from your tone that’s a good thing?” Nikki said.
    â€œWell, it can be repaired and refinished. And it is original.” Avery did a 360 taking in the decor.
    Ancient rattan sofas and chairs with shredded vinyl cushions were arranged around brightly colored coffee tables. Mushroom-shaped table lamps and multiarmed floor lamps wore coats of dust. A Ping-Pong table sagged in front of the beachside plate glass. Old wooden card tables and chairs overlooked the covered porch and pool.
    â€œIt’s like a midcentury time capsule,” Avery said. “Deirdre would have a field day with this place.” She swallowed and turned away.
    â€œThose doors lead back to the locker rooms and sauna and massage rooms,” John said pointing to the two openings in the back wall. “You can access them from outside, too, so you didn’t have to go through the lobby.”
    A front desk took up the L near the entrance. Behind it a built-in wooden cubby still held keys on dangling plastic holders. A large sun-shaped clock with faded multicolored rays hung on the equally faded turquoise wall, its large black hands stuck at 12:05. A soda fountain straight out of
Happy Days
occupied the opposite corner complete with chrome stools with ripped vinyl seats, a mirrored back wall, and a vintage Coca-Cola sign. The Realtor ran a hand over the gold-flecked Formica countertop, then slid open the round-edged commercial cooler behind the fountain. “This was always stocked with ice cream sandwiches. It was kind of a help yourself on the honor system.
    â€œThe kitchen’s through there.” He opened the door to a small but utilitarian kitchen. “The dining room is this way.”
    A space too short to be called a hallway opened to the glass-walled dining room, which sat maybe sixty. Here thetables were white Formica and the low-backed chairs were wicker with vinyl cushions that had once been bright lime and yellow. The lone interior wall and the corners between the sections of glass were papered in what looked like a lattice pattern, no doubt intended to give the room a gazebo-like feel. That paper now hung in strips; the plasterboard behind it was blotched with almost as many water stains as the sagging roof.
    John inhaled slowly, and from the beatific smile on his long face it was clear the scent in his