Читать книгу Jewels On Tiger Island - Catherine Pickren - Страница 3

Fernandina Beach, Florida

First week in September

It was the end of summer, when only a few seagulls hung around to fly and dip into the ocean’s crests to capture some unfortunate fish for the day’s feast. All of the small stores on Centre Street in this small town seemed to be closing their doors for business an hour earlier than usual because the tourist season was coming to a halt, and soon the people on Amelia Island, Florida would be hunkering down for a semblance of “normality”.

Amelia Island, inhabited by eight different flags since the early 1600s, is an island located in Northeast Florida, which lies on the Atlantic Ocean. Fernandina Beach, located on Amelia Island boasts of the Palace Saloon, the oldest saloon in America, built in 1878. Besides fishing, and the paper mills, Fernandina thrives on tourism. Tourists are called “dit-dots,” and they can be spotted immediately by the native-born islanders who have lived and fished here many generations past.

Mary Hancock lived on Amelia Island all of her twenty-seven years. At five feet and nine inches in height, with auburn red hair, brown eyes, and a body women were envious of, Mary knew she was attractive, but she didn’t flaunt her God-given attributes. She had been engaged once. But that engagement was broken and left her broken-hearted after she found out her fiancé went to nightclubs in Jacksonville, Florida three times without her knowledge and had one-night stands with strippers in a night club. She would probably be married to him today if his best friend had not gotten drunk one night and “let the beans spill,” so to speak. Now, she was a freelance writer for a vacation magazine, as well as a contributing editor for the Florida Times Union, located in Jacksonville, Florida.

A man driving a brand new Lexus parked his car in front of the coffee shop on Centre Street, where Mary was sitting. He was probably one of those “dit-dots” who was born with a “silver spoon in his mouth.” The man’s demeanor exuded power and an aura that relayed the message to any onlooker that he was not someone who could be easily fooled. This opinion was further confirmed by Mary when he opened the door of his white Lexus, stepped out onto the hot pavement in his Gucci shoes, khaki slacks and baby-blue polo shirt, and casually lit a cigarette with a monogrammed gold lighter.

Mary couldn’t see the initials on the lighter from the coffee shop from which she was watching this newcomer, but she could surmise he hadn’t been in town long. Being a small island, news travelled quickly when people came and set down “roots,” so this man had not been on the latest gossip news-cycle. He was attractive, though- in his early to mid-thirties with jet-black hair, a square jaw and aquiline nose, brown eyes, very tanned skin, and he stood to be about 6 feet in height. He piqued her interest. Observing that he was crossing the railroad tracks, walking towards Bret’s Restaurant, Mary decided to follow him. She could inconspicuously hang out at the souvenir shop next to the restaurant just to “keep an eye on him” and possibly figure out why this good-looking male specimen would be stopping by here.