they’d spied from the ride in couldn’t be seen from here. Their greeting committee consisted of a small group of chickens and one supervisory rooster, which took one look at them and continued pecking away at the ground.
“How did chickens get on this island?” Nicole asked as Hudson handed her out of the boat.
“They’re all over the Keys,” Maddie said, not even needing to pull out a guidebook for this one. “It started back with the Cubans and their cockfighting. It was illegal, so when the feds came to investigate, they let their birds loose and pretended they were pets. More than a few of them managed to reproduce.”
They gathered in the shade of a stand of palm trees, trying to maintain as much distance as possible from the band of chickens.
“Is anyone home? I mean, are you sure the owner’s here?” Avery asked.
“Yes,” Hudson said. “At least he was when I left. Why don’t we go ahead and stack everything here in the shade. I’m sure someone will be down soon.”
It was after six P.M. and a relatively mild eighty degrees, but the humidity turned the air hot and sticky. By the time they’d unloaded, even Deirdre, who normally looked cool and collected in every situation, was sweating. “This island could use a bellman.”
“Things are pretty laid-back down here,” Hudson said. “You really don’t need much more than shorts, T-shirts, a bathing suit, and a pair of flip-flops.”
“Which would be why people don’t normally bring that much stuff with them,” Avery said, eyeing Deirdre’s pile of matching designer luggage, now stacked halfway up the base of a palm tree.
The buzz of insects, the rustle of palm fronds in the salty breeze, and an occasional cluck of a chicken were the only sounds that disturbed the quiet. Maddie couldn’t remember the last time she’d experienced this kind of silence—or even if she ever had.
They were milling about in the shade when they heard the soft thud of footsteps approaching. A young man with exceptionally dark hair and a strong face appeared in the clearing. He wore khaki cargo shorts and a crisp white polo. Somewhere in his early thirties, he was taller, younger, and way better looking than Hervé Villechaize, who’d played Tattoo and opened each
Fantasy Island
episode. The first words out of his mouth were not “De plane! De plane!”
“Hello,” he said with a nod and a smile. “I’m Thomas. Thanks for coming.”
• • •
Avery stepped forward, shook the proffered hand, and made the introductions.
“We’re thrilled to have the opportunity to work on your island.”
He flashed another smile. “I’m really glad the network sent you, but I’m afraid the island’s not mine. It belongs to my father.”
They watched him expectantly. There was something familiar about his chiseled face and broad-shouldered build, but Avery couldn’t quite figure out why or call up a name.
“Is your father here?”
“Absolutely.” His smile dimmed. “If you come with me I’ll introduce you.” He turned to Hudson. “Would you put their luggage on . . . I mean, in their . . . rooms?” He and Hudson exchanged a furtive glance that didn’t do anything for Avery’s comfort level.
The path was too narrow to walk abreast, so they followed in single file through the jungle-like overgrowth.
“Next job I’m definitely bringing a machete,” Nicole muttered. She swatted at her bare arm. “And a case of bug spray.”
They came into a clearing, which was dominated by the large two-story structure they’d spotted from the water. The front of the house faced inland. Broad stone steps led up to an expansive raised porch that encircled the first floor. Ceiling fans spun lazily above several rickety rocking chairs. A small wing protruded to the left. A stone chimney rose from the right. The house was topped by a metal roof.
Close up, the house was far larger than they’d been able to discern from the water and in far worse
“How did chickens get on this island?” Nicole asked as Hudson handed her out of the boat.
“They’re all over the Keys,” Maddie said, not even needing to pull out a guidebook for this one. “It started back with the Cubans and their cockfighting. It was illegal, so when the feds came to investigate, they let their birds loose and pretended they were pets. More than a few of them managed to reproduce.”
They gathered in the shade of a stand of palm trees, trying to maintain as much distance as possible from the band of chickens.
“Is anyone home? I mean, are you sure the owner’s here?” Avery asked.
“Yes,” Hudson said. “At least he was when I left. Why don’t we go ahead and stack everything here in the shade. I’m sure someone will be down soon.”
It was after six P.M. and a relatively mild eighty degrees, but the humidity turned the air hot and sticky. By the time they’d unloaded, even Deirdre, who normally looked cool and collected in every situation, was sweating. “This island could use a bellman.”
“Things are pretty laid-back down here,” Hudson said. “You really don’t need much more than shorts, T-shirts, a bathing suit, and a pair of flip-flops.”
“Which would be why people don’t normally bring that much stuff with them,” Avery said, eyeing Deirdre’s pile of matching designer luggage, now stacked halfway up the base of a palm tree.
The buzz of insects, the rustle of palm fronds in the salty breeze, and an occasional cluck of a chicken were the only sounds that disturbed the quiet. Maddie couldn’t remember the last time she’d experienced this kind of silence—or even if she ever had.
They were milling about in the shade when they heard the soft thud of footsteps approaching. A young man with exceptionally dark hair and a strong face appeared in the clearing. He wore khaki cargo shorts and a crisp white polo. Somewhere in his early thirties, he was taller, younger, and way better looking than Hervé Villechaize, who’d played Tattoo and opened each
Fantasy Island
episode. The first words out of his mouth were not “De plane! De plane!”
“Hello,” he said with a nod and a smile. “I’m Thomas. Thanks for coming.”
• • •
Avery stepped forward, shook the proffered hand, and made the introductions.
“We’re thrilled to have the opportunity to work on your island.”
He flashed another smile. “I’m really glad the network sent you, but I’m afraid the island’s not mine. It belongs to my father.”
They watched him expectantly. There was something familiar about his chiseled face and broad-shouldered build, but Avery couldn’t quite figure out why or call up a name.
“Is your father here?”
“Absolutely.” His smile dimmed. “If you come with me I’ll introduce you.” He turned to Hudson. “Would you put their luggage on . . . I mean, in their . . . rooms?” He and Hudson exchanged a furtive glance that didn’t do anything for Avery’s comfort level.
The path was too narrow to walk abreast, so they followed in single file through the jungle-like overgrowth.
“Next job I’m definitely bringing a machete,” Nicole muttered. She swatted at her bare arm. “And a case of bug spray.”
They came into a clearing, which was dominated by the large two-story structure they’d spotted from the water. The front of the house faced inland. Broad stone steps led up to an expansive raised porch that encircled the first floor. Ceiling fans spun lazily above several rickety rocking chairs. A small wing protruded to the left. A stone chimney rose from the right. The house was topped by a metal roof.
Close up, the house was far larger than they’d been able to discern from the water and in far worse
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