scowled at them. “Ladies, please! Shouldn’t you be at the realty office dotting some i’s on that contract?”
Her voice grabbed their attention as if she’d wakened them from a trance. They hurried out of the office. And Claire picked up the phone again. Only now she’d forgotten who she’d intended to call.
THE GREEN DOOR CAFÉ was known for its sweet raspberry iced tea, conch fritters and fried grouper. And to the locals, for its eccentric, good-hearted, clairvoyant waitress, Petula Deering. Aunt Pet claimed to be able to read minds and see into the future, which sometimes annoyed the heck out of Claire. It also scared her half to death, because, on occasion, Aunt Pet got lucky and guessed right.
Her wild platinum hair tamed into a single long braid, Aunt Pet floated over to Claire’s table in her ankle-length, earth-toned caftan. The beads on her wrists jingled delicately as she deposited a chicken-salad platter in front of her niece. Claire recommended the seafood specialties at the Green Door Café to everyone she met, but since she was allergic to shellfish, she had to take her own word for its delectability.
Petula scanned the usual midweek clientele in the café and said, “Good, everybody’s been served.” She sat at the table across from Claire, spilled a few grains of salt on the vinyl tablecloth and attempted to stand the shaker on one of its hexagonal edges. Pretending to be absorbed in her task, she said, “I heard all about your visitor this morning, Claire. Including that he works for Archie Anderson, and that he’s handsome as the dickens.”
Claire scooped a mixture of raisins and chicken onto her fork. “I don’t know if that last part’s accurate…or particularly important.”
The shaker stood at lopsided attention, balanced on one single speck of salt. “He’s not handsome?”
“I didn’t say that. He’s, well, moderately good-looking I guess.” Claire lifted the fork to her mouth. “Frankly, Aunt Pet, I had a hard time seeing past his overbearing attitude.”
Petula sat back and studied her niece in that way she had when she was drawing conclusions based on biased and often inaccurate information. “If I know you, Claire, you probably gave him as good as you got.”
Claire took a sip of iced tea. “I tried. Hogan can do whatever he wants at Dolphin Run, but I can’t let him think he can come into town and order everyone else around.”
“True, but did you let him think that you were available?”
Claire dropped her fork on the side of her plate. “What? Of course not. Why would I let him think that?”
Petula righted the salt shaker and twirled it around in her hands. “Because you are available, and because Patty Barnes said she didn’t see a wedding ring on his finger.”
Claire scoffed. “Patty was staring so hard at the man she would have noticed if he had a freckle on that finger.”
Petula poked at a wrinkle in the tablecloth. “Well, he is the first new guy in town since Sam Jenkins moved in to open the bicycle rental shop.”
“Sam Jenkins is nineteen years old, Aunt Pet.” Determined to steer this conversation in another direction, Claire said, “Besides, I’m not interested in any new men in the community for the reason you’re suggesting.”
Petula wasn’t about to be silenced, not when she was on a soapbox. “I just think it’s time you considered getting married again, sweetie.”
Oh, here we go. Another lecture on my pitifully deficient social life. Defending herself on this subject again, Claire said, “You’re a fine one to talk. You’ve been dating Finn Sweeney for how long? Something like six years?”
“Finn and I have been involved for six years, but I would hardly call it dating.”
“I agree. Your relationship with Finn has gone far beyond that. So, if you want someone to get married, why not you and Finn?”
A little furrow developed between Pet’s eyes, as much distress as she ever showed. “I don’t believe in marriage, you know that.”
“You believed in it three times,” Claire couldn’t resist pointing out.
“Which is why I don’t believe in it now.” She reached across the table and laid one finger on the back of Claire’s hand. “But you do.”
“Yes, I do, and I was married once and took my vows seriously. Roman was everything I ever needed or wanted in a man. I have no interest in compromising his memory by attaching myself to the first man…” She stopped, took a deep breath and looked away from Pet’s penetrating gaze. Jack Hogan wouldn’t be the first man Claire had avoided. She’d left Miami partly to get away from men in her social circle who’d begun asking her out soon after Roman had died. “Why are we talking about this?” she asked.
“Because I think you need to,” Pet said. She glanced out the window to the street one floor below the second-story café. “And because I think the man in question is about to come up to the restaurant.”
“What?” Claire leaned over to get a view to the sidewalk, but a tin vase of plastic flowers sat in the way. “How do you know it’s him? You haven’t even seen him.”
“It’s not my psychic abilities if that’s what you’re suggesting,” Pet said. “The guy who just opened the door downstairs is wearing a sports jacket. There haven’t been any cold winds through my bedroom this week, so I know nobody died.” She shrugged. “Who else could it be?”
Just then Jack Hogan pushed open the entrance and walked into the Green Door Café.
“You say one word about your pathetic widowed niece, and I’ll never forgive you,” Claire warned.
“All I’m going to do is look the man over.” Petula made a V of two fingers and pointed them at Claire’s face. “I can tell a lot by just peeking into somebody’s eyes like I’m doing to you now.” She grinned like a contented cat and stood. “So, ’scuse me, honey. I’ve got a customer to wait on.”
CHAPTER TWO
NOTHING ABOUT AUNT PET should have surprised Claire at this point. She’d been close to her aunt all her life. She’d loved her, admired her, and when Claire had been cracking the books at the University of Florida and sending out too many résumés to count, she’d even envied her aunt’s free-spirited approach to living.
For as long as Claire could remember, Aunt Pet had flitted from job to job, claiming each was merely a way to support herself for a time, instead of a stepping stone to a secure future. That sort of seat-of-the-pants approach to life had been alien to Claire, an honors grad from a highly respected school of business who had her sights set on a lucrative and responsible career.
Still, despite having experienced Pet’s propensity for the unexpected in the past, Claire couldn’t help shuddering when her aunt walked right up to Jack Hogan, gave him a boisterous welcome and offered to take him to a table by the window. There had always been a “seat yourself” policy at the Green Door Café, which was clearly stated on the chalkboard inside the front entrance, and which Pet blatantly ignored now.
She set a menu in front of Hogan as he settled into a chair directly facing Claire at the next table. Without scoping out his surroundings
