Liz looked out the emporium’s window and saw a few clouds rolling in from the ocean. She crossed her fingers. “Maybe the calypso band scheduled for the afternoon will know the song?”
“You’re right!”
Liz and Aunt Amelia opened the doors. Everyone was at their stations. A buoyant, upbeat crowd filled the emporium, exceeding their expectations. Liz and her great-aunt gave each other a fist bump. They’d done it.
* * * *
An hour later, Liz spied her father coming out of Kate’s shop, Books & Browsery by the Sea, with a vintage golf club bag in one hand and a book in the other. He held up the book, Go for Broke! by Arnold Palmer. “Your best friend wouldn’t let me leave without a book. She even gave the book a stern talking-to, saying, ‘You’d better teach him all your tricks. He needs a little help with his swing.’”
Kate and Fenton played together at Spessard Holland Golf Course in Melbourne Beach. Of course, there was no contest. Kate always whipped his butt, big-time.
“So, what do you think?” Liz opened her arms to encompass the emporium.
“You and Aunt Amelia should feel very proud of yourselves.”
“Thanks, Pops.”
“Speaking of Pops, I just ran into Ryan. He was asking about you, said you’d promised to help him cut the cheese. Then he laughed for about five minutes.”
“He’s too much. Why is he helping with your case? We’ve never needed anyone to help us before.”
“This one is out of my expertise, and Ryan has an excellent reputation as an arson investigator.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll play nice if Ryan will. I know he knows about Travis. I can tell.”
Minna touched Liz on the shoulder. “Sorry to interrupt, but Francie is at the table outside, and I need to use the restroom. Do you mind manning the cash register? It’s been crazy busy.”
“Of course.” Minna scurried away, and Liz said to her father, “You’d better go find Aunt Amelia. She might need to be told to sit down and rest.”
They walked together toward Home Arts by the Sea.
She asked, “Have you seen any protesters against the demolition of Castlemara?”
“Not protestors holding signs or boycotting the Indialantic, but a lot of them handing out petitions from Francie and the rest of the historical society. I promised to look into it next week to see if I can help them.”
Liz gave his arm a squeeze. “Did I ever tell you that you’re my hero?”
He smiled down at her. “I think I’ve heard that a few times. Don’t build a person up too much, you might not like what happens when they fall.”
“Ha. That applies to anyone but you, Dad.”
Chapter 16
Liz showed up at Deli-casies by the Sea at eleven thirty. Thankfully, Pops was standing next to Ryan in front of the wine-and-cheese tasting table. Behind the barista counter was a huge stainless-steel coffee and espresso machine where one of Pops’s part-timers, Ashley, a senior at Melbourne Beach High School, worked the levers and nozzles like a pro, the top of her auburn hair lost in the fog of steamed milk and coffee vapor.
On the east side of the shop was a long, double-sided refrigerated case displaying a plethora of sliced meats, cold salads, cheeses, and a dozen types of olives. With each purchase of Pops’s legendary homemade hummus, customers had a choice of a container of fresh minced garlic, olive tapenade, or roasted red-and-yellow peppers to mix into their hummus. On TGIF Fridays, Pops stayed open until seven and offered a raw bar of fresh local clams and oysters, cooked lobster, and in-season crab, along with discount prices on craft beer and wine. Exotic vinegars, oils, jars of roasted peppers, and artichoke hearts filled a shelf against the wall. Scattered around the shop were wooden fruit crates turned on their sides, stacked with boxes of crackers, cheese straws, and imported cookies. Liz sniffed the intoxicating air. Betty was right. Living at the Indialantic was like living in your own ecosystem, everything at your fingertips.
Pops called out, “Liz! What do you think?”
She looked at Ryan and grudgingly gave him credit for putting out an amazing display on the marble-topped table that usually stood against the back wall as a condiment bar. She was tempted to taste each small square of cheese. The wine did nothing for her, except remind her of Travis; it was as if she now had an allergy to alcohol. “It looks amazing, Pops. Do you need me to taste anything to make sure it’s up to snuff?”
Ryan put his hands on his hips. “Thought you didn’t drink?”
“I don’t. I’m talking about the cheese.”
He gave her a questioning look, and she could tell that he’d softened his stance with her. What had changed?
Ryan handed her an apron printed with Deli-casies by the Sea, next to a drawing of a lobster, a wheel of cheese, and a bottle of wine. She put the apron on and said, “Okay, what do you need me to do?”
“Just look beautiful,” Ryan said.
Huh? What was his deal? Was that a compliment or a dis? A ploy to get her to collaborate with him on her father’s case, or did it have something to do with Pops being nearby? She didn’t have time to dissect the situation, though, because a line had formed in front of the table, snaking its way out the entrance to the shop.
Sometime around three, when Liz, Pops, and Ryan were still serving the crowds, they heard calypso music and the distinctive voice of Amelia Eden Holt, doing a hackneyed version of “Don’t Rain on My Parade.” The upbeat tempo from the band stayed
