"Mom, you're getting close to the school..."
At those words, Claire Betancour glanced at her nine-year-old daughter sitting in the back seat and eased her foot off the accelerator so that the speedometer of the Lexus would drop to twenty-five kilometers per hour as they approached the flashing school zone light.
"Thank you, Chise! You're an excellent co-pilot," Claire observed.
"You were going too fast, weren't you, Mom?"
"Of course not," she protested spontaneously. Catching her daughter's suspicious gaze in the rearview mirror, she added,
"Okay, just a little bit... I remind you, we're running late."
Still, would it have been appropriate for a police officer to ticket the mayor of Blue Herons Auxiliary for speeding in a school zone? Leaning forward, Chise suddenly exclaimed:
"Look, Mom! That looks like Mrs. Hutchinson!"
"Oh no, not again..." Claire groaned. It was the second time in two weeks that the designated crossing guard hadn't shown up for duty. And the second time that the most civic-minded citizen of Blue Heron Island had taken it upon herself to ensure the children's safety in front of the elementary school.
Claire slowed to a stop next to the impromptu traffic officer, whose arms were waving a bit too dramatically to guide the schoolchildren. Rolling down her window, she said:
"Good morning, Katie. I assume Bella didn't show up this morning?"
"Good guess!" Katie replied. "Honestly, Claire, something needs to be done. It's unacceptable that our kids are left at the mercy of traffic and that we can't rely on someone competent to supervise. I can't just step in every time Bella Martingale's nursing a hangover and—"
Realizing that little Chise was catching every word of her tirade, Mrs. Hutchinson stopped short. As for Claire, she thought Katie was being a bit dramatic. At that moment, within the school zone, aside from her Lexus, there were only two other cars in sight. Not exactly a traffic jam, even though it was technically rush hour. Still, Missy had a point. Even though the elementary school had only seventy-seven students, the municipality was obligated to provide official crossing support.
"I'll go speak with Bella," Claire promised.
"Are you going to fire her?" Missy asked. Claire hesitated. She had real affection for Bella. But if Bella was no longer capable of doing her job...
"Yes," she replied, heavy-hearted. "I'll ask Aunt Petula to handle school pickup this afternoon. I hope I can sort it all out over the weekend."
"And what about now?" Katie said with growing impatience. "I have to open my gallery in ten minutes."
"Go ahead. I'll take over," Claire said. Pulling up to the curb, she got out of the car and opened the door for her daughter, who stepped out wearing her vest and carrying her backpack.
"Have a good day, sweetheart," Claire said. "I won't be picking you up after school. You'll walk home with Aunt Petula."
Chise looked up at her mother with golden eyes—eyes that were so much like her father's, and all the Betancour men. Beautiful Latin eyes, the very ones that had first charmed Roman. The little girl asked:
"Is Mrs. Martingale drunk again?"
"No, I'm sure she's not," her mother said quickly.
Just the day before, Bella had sworn she hadn't touched a drop of alcohol in over a month—since the start of the school year. Still, it was entirely possible she was under the influence of something else... Claire had recently asked her to tear out the marijuana plants she was growing in her backyard, but hadn't followed up to make sure she'd complied. Clearly, her leniency had been abused. She would have to relieve Bella of her duties and cut her modest salary.
Claire watched the last few late students enter the old rectory that had been converted into a school. The one-story building had housed the island's pastors for over a century. Then, in the 1980s, after the death of the last pastor, the islanders decided they no longer needed a resident reverend, and the rectory became home to the Blue Heron Island elementary school. Seven certified teachers, a principal, and a school counselor no longer had to commute fifty kilometers each day to the mainland.
Sunday services were now held in the island's small wooden chapel, led by volunteers. The arrangement seemed to suit everyone—those who were devout and those who valued spirituality over religion.
Back in her car, Claire headed downtown. She'd have just enough time to stop by her office on Island Avenue and glance at her schedule before heading to her shop, also located on the island's main boulevard.
Along the way, Claire waved at almost everyone she passed—familiar faces all. The island's population was eclectic, but aside from the weekend tourist rush, it was calm and serene, making it a lovely place to live. This peaceful haven was where Claire had chosen to retreat after her husband's death three years earlier. She had left Miami without a second thought and was quickly embraced by the locals, who urged her to run for mayor. Now, Blue Heron Island was truly her home.
When Claire parked in her reserved spot in front of Town Hall, she immediately noticed an unusual buzz in the air. Two women were waiting outside the door: Patty Barnes, the island's real estate agent, and her loyal assistant, Lucy Gaynor.
"Quick!" said Patty, tapping on the car window. "There's news. Big news!"
Clearly, Patty was too excited to form a complete sentence. This had to be something major.
Getting out of the car, Claire asked:
"What happened?" At that, Lucy nudged her colleague with her elbow to encourage her.
"Tell her, Pat!" she said. Beaming, Patty Barnes proudly announced:
"We sold the Dolphin Enclosure. Can you believe it? The sale agreement was signed last night!"
The Dolphin Enclosure? Claire had to dig into her memory.
"Oh, you mean that old hotel on the island's north coast?"
"Exactly!" Patty exclaimed. "The heirs have been trying to sell it for years. They're thrilled!"
And apparently, their excitement was shared! Claire was aware of the hotel's existence but had never ventured beyond the over-two-meter-tall wrought-iron gate that enclosed the property. The Dolphin Enclosure stood like a crumbling, silent sentinel on the northern edge of the island. It was a lingering relic of a glorious past—the 1950s and 60s—when wealthy and influential mainlanders vacationed on the idyllic island, far from the world's chaos.
Grabbing her handbag from the backseat, Claire headed for the entrance of Town Hall with Patty and Lucy by her side. The building was the island's only official government structure.