A Holiday Romance Read Online Free PDF Page B

men—crowded close, each as tanned as Kraft paper.
    “She’s a youngster,” said a large, sharp-eyed man. He wore a black toupee above thick gray sideburns and matching gnarly eyebrows.
    “Myrna saw you arrive,” announced one of the women as she pushed herself into the room. The others followed when Alice politely stepped aside. “And so did the Pool Sharks.”
    “But we were taking our siestas.”
    “Late afternoon, until the sun drops.”
    “Most everyone does.”
    “Except the Pool Sharks, led by Arthur Banyon. He’s a lizard. He basks in the sun.”
    The man in a Panama hat snorted. “Sure, but he’s seventy and he’d pass for a hundred.”
    “She doesn’t care about Arthur,” said a secondwoman, who was small but forceful, in a T-shirt that advertised Cuervo Gold.
    Alice was amused. The older women on Osprey Island didn’t wear tequila shirts. Maybe Joe D’s Crab Shack, if they were characters.
    The woman eyed Alice blatantly. “Where ya from, honey?”
    She clutched the lapel of the white robe. “Maine.”
    “Maine!” The answer set off a buzz. “All that way.”
    “Are you related to the Raffertys?” one of them asked. “What happened to the Raffertys?”
    The first man gestured for silence. “Introductions first.” He pumped Alice’s hand. “This gang here is known as the Cocktail Shakers, rivals to the Sharks. I’m Walter St. Gregory. This is my wife, Mags.” The woman with the Lucille Ball curls. “Forgive us for barging in so early. We should have waited, but the gals were impatient.”
    Mags nodded. “We were expecting the Raffertys.”
    “Sorry. It’s just me.” Through the Holidays Away agency, Alice had swapped vacation homes with a man named Sean Rafferty, who was a state trooper from Massachusetts. He’d written in one of his e-mails that the condo belonged to his retired parents, who used it for vacations. “I don’t actually know the Raffertys. I’m staying here on a house swap.”
    The group was taken aback. “A swap! My goodness,” Mags said.
    “I’ve heard of them,” said the woman in the tequila shirt. She pursed her lips, which made her narrow face look even narrower. “Then where are the Raffertys?”
    “At my house. On Osprey Island. But it’s not the Raffertys, it’s only their son.”
    “That doesn’t sound like the Raffertys. They always have their grandson from California come to visit while he’s on summer vacation. What did you say your name was?”
    “Alice Potter. The, um, Prince Montez management is fully informed. I have the keys and a letter of agreement.”
    The third woman patted Alice’s arm. “I’m Mary Grace Malone. Alice is such a sweet, old-fashioned name and I can see it fits you. Don’t mind Harrie. She was a private investigator for thirty-eight years. Nothing happens in the resort without her getting the details.”
    Harrie winked. “Harriet Humbert, at your service. If you need a clue.”
    Alice laughed. “I…well, I probably do.”
    “You’ll learn your way around soon enough,” she sympathized.
    “What did you call this place?” Alice asked. “Some nickname?”
    “Wrinkle Resort,” said Walter, spreading expansive hands to encompass his elderly cohorts. “You can see why.”
    Alice gulped. The median age was as she’d suspected. “Are there any younger people around?”
    “Sure, up at the hotel,” Harrie said. She wiggled her narrow hips. “Every night, at the club and the bars.”
    Walter scowled. “We get a bunch of families, too, especially with the new water park. Hellions, most of ’em. Between them and the Pool Sharks, you’ll want to avoid the pools in the peak hours.”
    “Oh,” Alice said.
    “Look at her.” Mags pinched Alice’s cheek. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. There’s plenty going on for the young singles, too. Anytime you want, get yourself allgussied up and Wally will drive you up to the disco in his golf cart.”
    Alice imagined making an entrance on the arm of the large