Claire stepped into her office, which also served as the meeting room. To the left, behind a pair of swinging doors, one of the island's four police representatives was sitting at a worktable, phone in hand.
"Hi, Gail," Claire called.
"Hello, Claire."
Patty and Lucy immediately passed through the swinging doors to announce the big news to Gail. Another municipal employee, Ingrid Olson, poked her head through a doorway leading to the public library.
"What's going on?" asked the elderly woman with gray hair.
"The dolphin enclosure was just sold," Claire replied.
Pointing to the back office, where the volume was steadily rising, she added, "If you'd like, Patty can fill you in on all the details."
Claire sat at her desk and opened her planner. At 9 a.m., an electrician was scheduled to come fix a faulty power outlet. She also had a meeting with a contractor who was seeking a permit to expand the marina at the island's entrance. In the meantime, she had to return calls to a dozen people demanding that she resolve various management issues, such as installing a stop sign at an intersection or handling complaints about pets causing a nuisance.
"The buyer's name is Adelson," Patty was explaining. "He's a very wealthy man. The deal closed quickly, and he's buying without a mortgage. One of his agents handled the transaction."
Unable to suppress the excitement in the air, Claire sighed and picked up her phone. After all, wasn't it natural for her fellow citizens to take an interest in the sale of the dolphin enclosure? It was the largest property on the island. Besides, every time the possibility of a new resident arose, a certain frenzy gripped the population. And they always got louder, Claire thought, half amused, half annoyed, glancing toward the swinging doors.
"He's sending a representative this morning with a certified check for the full amount," Patty continued. "I need to get back to the agency—I wouldn't miss this for anything…"
As Patty and Lucy were about to leave the mayor's office, they nearly bumped into a man entering from the opposite direction. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a sleek black suit that accentuated his muscular build. The women stepped aside, stunned, as the man nodded in thanks, removed his sunglasses, and walked confidently toward the mayor's desk.
"He looks like Rorcford," murmured Lucy.
"Who?" asked Patty, frowning.
"The news anchor!" her colleague replied dreamily. "The one all the women in the region swoon over!"
Out of courtesy, Claire smiled at the distinguished stranger as he approached. Who could he be? she wondered, intrigued. No one dressed that formally on the island. The man looked like a secret agent… Good heavens, was the island under federal investigation?
The mysterious man stopped at her desk, glanced at the metal plaque bearing Claire's name and title, then fixed his gaze on her and asked:
"Are you Claire Betancour, the mayor of the island?"
Realizing she was still holding the phone and that the line had been busy for too long, Claire quickly hung up. To compose herself, she grabbed a pen and confirmed:
"Yes, that's me."
Was he surprised—or disappointed—to find a woman in charge of the island? Impossible to tell. His face betrayed nothing. Claire extended her hand, and they shook.
"How can I help you?" she asked pleasantly.
"My employer just purchased a property on the island," he informed her.
"Oh! He's the one finalizing the deal," Patty whispered none too discreetly.
The two women hadn't moved since the stranger's arrival.
"I'm the head of the advance team," he continued.
"The advance team?" Claire repeated, feigning innocence to keep from laughing at the odd term.
"I'm here to prepare for his arrival," the man explained, folding his arms. "Don't you know who my employer is?"
"They mentioned the name Adelson to me…"
"That's right. I work for J. Adelson."
Claire dropped her pen.
"The famous Adelson?" she said.
"Yes. The one who owns several five-star hotels in Manhattan, as well as sports stadiums in various states," he confirmed.
This time, he was the one suppressing a smile.
Leaning forward, Claire asked in a confidential tone:
"May I ask you a question, Mr…?"
"Hogan. Jack Hogan."
At these words, he seemed to relax—just enough to prove he was indeed made of flesh and blood, and not a robot controlled by a computer from thousands of miles away.
"Of course. I'm listening."
"What could possibly have led Adelson to invest on the island?"
"Personal reasons," his interlocutor dodged. "All I know is that he plans to reopen the dolphin enclosure."
"Between us, doesn't this purchase surprise you?" Claire pressed.
"Honestly, I don't see the appeal this island holds for Mr. Adelson. It doesn't fit his usual profile."
"Generally, he's not drawn to old fishing ports that haven't been visited by the jet set in over forty years, right?"
Once again, he seemed close to smiling. What would his face look like if he ever truly let go and smiled? Claire wondered, oddly disturbed by the question.
"Indeed," he said. "However, I'm not the one in charge of his investments."
"What exactly is your role with Mr. Adelson?" Claire inquired.
"I'm the Head of Security for Adelson Enterprises. My job is to comb through the community benefitting from Adelson's investments and, if necessary, make a few 'adjustments' to ensure my employer's complete safety and comfort."
"Do you believe he's in danger on Blue Heron Island?" Claire asked, surprised.
"I don't know," Hogan replied. "I haven't been on the island long enough to answer. Adelson is a man as cautious as he is wealthy. He knows the world is full of opportunities—and lunatics. He's tasked me with identifying threats and neutralizing any conflicts before they arise."
Claire rested her chin on her hands. No, it wouldn't have been appropriate to burst out laughing, she thought. And yet, Jack Hogan's impression of the island was hilarious. Her haven, her sanctuary, a den of dangerous individuals? Adelson must have spent too much time in the sun if he feared an assault on Blue Heron Island.
Still, it was true the island's population included its fair share of oddballs… Maybe those were the ones who had alarmed Adelson's security chief…
"What do you want from me?" Claire asked.
"Your cooperation. I need to inspect the island's communication systems, the effectiveness of its police force, its medical infrastructure, and its commercial activities. I may also have to conduct background checks on certain residents."
This time, Jack Hogan's words were anything but amusing. Claire sprang to her feet and came around the desk to face him.
"Hold on a minute…" she began. He sized her up from his six-foot-one height, and Claire regretted wearing flat sandals that day.
"Is something bothering you?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied firmly. "I won't allow you to conduct investigations on my citizens, Mr. Hogan. No one asked you to come here, so—"
For the first time, a genuine smile lit up his face, revealing a row of perfect white teeth.
"Believe me, Madame Mayor," he interrupted, "you won't regret that Adelson has tied his name to your island. Thanks to him, it will now appear on the map."
Such condescension! A ripple of anger coursed through Claire. Staring him straight in the eyes—stormy gray eyes that held hers without blinking—she said:
"We're already on the map. This little Gulf Coast island may seem insignificant to you. But if you think its people are waiting for a messiah to bring wealth and prosperity, you're mistaken. You have no right to investigate the citizens of—"
"I don't need your permission, Miss…"
"Madam," she corrected with disdain.
"Madam Betancour," he resumed. "Know that I don't require your authorization or your husband's to carry out my mission." Replacing his sunglasses, he added:
"I'm very good at what I do. And I can manage just fine without access to your computers' data. I regret your lack of cooperation, but that won't stop me from working or using my own methods."
"Don't misunderstand me, Mr. Hogan. Generally speaking, I'm a cooperative person. You're the exception that proves the rule."
"I'm sorry to hear that," he replied, glancing at his watch. "I have an appointment at the real estate agency in five minutes."
"I wouldn't want to keep you."
"I'm sure we'll see each other again."
"Undoubtedly. We live on a small island with just one town."
No sooner had he left than Patty exclaimed, hand over her heart:
"Wow! I've never seen a man so sexy." Lucy, a dreamy smile on her face, nodded in agreement.
"Ladies, please!" Claire snapped. "Shouldn't you be at the agency to greet him?"
The reminder snapped them out of their trance, and the two women hurried to the door. Claire picked up her phone… Now, who had she meant to call?
The Blue Shore Café was famous for its raspberry iced tea, conch fritters, and fried grouper. Locals also flocked there for the warm welcome of Petula Deering, the eccentric yet big-hearted waitress—and part-time psychic. She claimed to read minds and see the future, which never failed to irritate Claire. Still, she had to admit that some of her aunt's predictions—one or two, at least—had turned out to be true.
With her platinum blonde hair braided down her back, Aunt Petula walked briskly to Claire's table. Today, she was wearing a long ochre caftan. Her bangles jingled cheerfully as she set down a chicken and currant salad in front of her niece. Claire always recommended the seafood dishes at the Blue Shore, though she couldn't eat them herself due to a food allergy.
Petula scanned the room: midweek, only the usual patrons were there.
"Well! Everyone's been served," she declared.
With that observation, she sat down across from Claire and, after spilling a few grains of salt on the lagoon-blue tablecloth, tried to balance the salt shaker on one of its corners. Pretending to concentrate on the task, she continued:
"I've heard all about your morning visitor—including the fact that he works for Adelson and that he's as handsome as the devil."
Claire speared a piece of chicken and a currant before replying:
"I fail to see the relevance of your last comment."
Petula smiled. The salt shaker was teetering, held up by a single grain of salt.