Private Investigations.” Her voice cracked on the name. “How can I help you?”
He walked deeper into the office, the smile still present. With his thick dark hair, high forehead and angular cheekbones, he looked almost exotic. She’d heard his given first name was Alejandro but that he’d started calling himself Alex after he emigrated from Cuba with his parents when he was a child. The name had stuck. An accent hadn’t. He sounded quintessentially American.
He studied her. “I know you from somewhere.”
She would have been flattered if she hadn’t been stopping by his restaurant regularly for nearly a year. The Daybreak Café operated from 7:00 a.m. to 2:00 p.m. daily, serving both American and Cuban specialties for breakfast and lunch.
“I’m a fan of the Cuban sandwiches at your restaurant,” she said. “I get one for takeout a few times a month.”
He snapped his fingers. “That must be it. I didn’t know they let you leave school for lunch, though.”
“Excuse me?”
“You go to Key West High, right?” he asked.
He thought she was in high school? She felt her face flame. “I graduated from there a long time ago. I’m twenty-five.”
“Really?” His eyes widened. They were such a dark brown they were almost black. “I never would have guessed it.”
She stood up to her full height of five feet two, taller if you took into account the heels of her chunky sandals. “I look younger.”
“You look great,” he said, his smile widening.
She hoped she wasn’t blushing. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-five.”
“Well, then, you look younger, too,” she said. “I wouldn’t have guessed any older than twenty-nine.”
He laughed. “I’m Alex Suarez, by the way.”
As if she didn’t know.
“Kayla Fryburger.” She waited for him to make a crack about her name. Almost everybody did.
“Okay, Kayla,” he said, “now that we’ve established you’re out of high school—”
“Years out of high school,” she interrupted.
“Many, many years out of high school,” he said with the smile still in place. “That must mean you’re not just helping out over the holidays?”
“I work here,” she verified. “I’m Unc— I mean, Mr. Dexter’s assistant.”
“Is that right?” He nodded. In light-colored slacks and an off-white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he appeared cool and confident. If he bottled some of that confidence and sold it, she’d be first in line.
“It is.” She tried to remember what Uncle Carl said to potential clients. “Tell me what brings you here today.”
“I’d like to tell both you and Carl,” Alex said. “He’s a friend of mine. Is he around?”
It figured Alex knew her uncle. The local business community wasn’t terribly extensive. But apparently Key West was big enough that the man she’d been swooning over for years hadn’t noticed her. “No, I’m sorry. He’s in Chicago until December 27.”
Alex grimaced and sucked in a breath. “That’s not good news. I need to hire somebody today.”
Kayla’s heartbeat sped up. “You can hire me.”
He looked dubious. “I thought you assisted.”
“That’s right.” Assisting was all she’d ever done. “But I can do more than assist. I can take on a case. That’s why I’m here in the office. I’m ready and willful. Uh, I meant ready and willing.”
She shut up. She sounded like a total amateur, which she was. It would be best if he didn’t know that, though.
Alex scratched his smoothly shaved jaw. “Perhaps I should tell you why I’m here and we can go from there.”
“Sounds good.” She tried to contain the excitement coursing through her. “Go ahead.”
“Can we sit down?” he asked.
“Sure. Come this way.” She led him to her uncle’s office and got behind the big desk. Uncle Carl was a large man, more than a foot taller than she was. The desk seemed to swallow her so that she felt like a little girl playing house.
To compensate, she said in her most professional voice, “Please proceed.”
“Have you seen this?” He was holding a rolled-up newspaper, which he unfolded and handed to her.
It was a copy of the Key West Sun. The headline above the fold read “Baring It All.” The story was about a councilman proposing a referendum to allow nude sunbathing along a narrow strip of beach, a move championed by naturists who embraced the anything-goes Key West culture.
“I have seen it and I’m for it.” Kayla grimaced as it occurred to her how he could misconstrue her support. “Not that I would sunbathe naked. I mean, I would if nobody was around. It’s not like I’m a prude or anything. Although I’m not an exhibitionist. Not that I’m saying these people are.”
She had to press her lips together to stop her stream of words. Why couldn’t she stop talking?
“Not that story.” He leaned across the desk and pointed to a photo below the fold. “That.”
She’d seen the life-size fiberglass Santa that was pictured at the intersection of Duval Street and U.S. 1. He held a fistful of money in one hand. In his other was a sign that said “’Tis the Season to Spend in Key West.” Someone had painted the statue’s face white and added black rings around its eyes and red streaks trickling from its mouth. “Zombie Santa,” the caption read.
Kayla giggled, covering her mouth to stop it from becoming an unladylike guffaw.
“That reaction is exactly why I’m here,” Alex said. “As a representative of the Key West Merchants Association, I’m authorized to hire a private investigator to save our group from further embarrassment. So far a prankster has dressed Santa like the Grinch and now a zombie.”
“Somebody has a sense of humor,” she said.
“The Merchants Association doesn’t think it’s funny,” he said. “They’re taking this very seriously.”
“Then why not just retire the statue?” Kayla asked.
“That was my suggestion,” Alex said. “But it’s not the way these things work. The group paid a local artist a pretty penny to create that statue. Santa has a lot of fans.”
“But it’s so...” Kayla’s voice trailed off for fear of insulting him.
“Crass?” he supplied.
