Page 27 of Captiva Café

As she followed Millie back to the front desk to review the reservation calendar in detail, Maggie couldn't help but wonder what other surprises the coming months might bring. Between her mother's internet fame, the flood of new guests, and the strain on her small staff, challenges certainly awaited.

But as she'd told her team, they would face those challenges together. And perhaps, in the midst of the chaos, they might find unexpected moments of grace, connection, and even joy.

After all, wasn't that what the Key Lime Garden Inn was really about?

CHAPTER 9

The artifacts lay carefully arranged on a clean white cloth. Dr. Eleanor Reyes adjusted her glasses, bending closer to examine the tarnished Spanish coin. Her hands, steady and precise, held a magnifying loupe over the surface, her eyes narrowed in concentration.

Isabelle stood against the far wall, arms crossed, deliberately giving the professor space. Gretchen sat perched on the edge of a folding chair, leg bouncing with barely contained energy, while Phineas Whitaker had settled himself in the corner, his weathered hands resting on his cane, watching the proceedings with bright, attentive eyes.

The trailer was quiet except for the occasional scratch of Dr. Reyes's pencil on her notepad and the distant sounds of construction that had been temporarily moved to the opposite side of the property—Isabelle's orders, to give the archaeologist an undisturbed environment in which to work.

"Fascinating," Dr. Reyes murmured, setting down the coin and reaching for the pottery fragment. "Absolutely fascinating."

Gretchen shot Isabelle an excited glance, but remained silent, honoring their agreement not to pepper the archaeologist with questions until she had completed her initial examination.

Outside, a car door slammed with unnecessary force. Footsteps approached the trailer, followed by a sharp knock that managed to convey indignation even through the metal door.

Isabelle sighed, recognizing the distinctive cadence. She stepped to the door and opened it just enough to block the entrance with her body.

"Linda," she said with firm politeness. "Good morning."

Linda St. James stood on the metal step, clipboard in hand, sunglasses pushed up to rest atop her perfectly coiffed hair. Behind her, Marco Bernal was approaching with an apologetic expression.

"I tried to catch her at the coffee shop," he said with a helpless shrug. "But she saw my car here and?—"

"I'm here for the authentication meeting," Linda interrupted, attempting to peer around Isabelle's shoulder. "As we discussed, this is a matter of significant public interest. The Chronicle readers will expect comprehensive coverage."

"We discussed no such thing," Isabelle replied calmly. "In fact, Dr. Reyes specifically requested minimal distraction during her initial assessment. We're honoring that request."

Linda's expression tightened. "Isabelle, surely you understand the historical significance extends beyond your commercial interests. The public has a right?—"

"The public will have access to all appropriate information," Isabelle cut in, her French accent becoming slightly more pronounced as it always did when she was exercising restraint. "After Dr. Reyes has completed her work without an audience. I can arrange for you to interview her afterward if she's willing."

"This is completely unacceptable," Linda bristled. "I've been covering this story from the beginning. I'm the one who brought Phineas in, who recognized the potential historical significance. And now you're excluding me from the most crucial development?"

Marco stepped forward. "Linda, perhaps we could wait at the coffee stand over on Seacrest? Dr. Reyes typically spends about two hours on initial authentication. We could return around eleven?"

Linda's mouth compressed into a thin line. "I see how it is. Private interests superseding public knowledge. I might have expected this from newcomers to the island." Her gaze flicked meaningfully to Isabelle. "But I'm disappointed in you, Marco. Your family has been here for generations."

Marco remained unruffled by the attempted guilt trip. "Which is precisely why I respect the proper archaeological process. Authentication first, public dissemination second."

Isabelle nodded gratefully to Marco before turning back to Linda. "I am not a newcomer as you have described me, however, I promise you'll be the first to receive the findings—once they're properly verified. You have my word."

For a moment, it seemed Linda might continue to protest, but something in Isabelle's steady gaze must have convinced her of the futility. With a huff, she turned on her heel.

"Eleven o'clock sharp," she called over her shoulder. "And I expect exclusive access to Dr. Reyes before anyone else speaks to her."

As Linda marched back toward her car, Marco lingered a moment longer. "Sorry about that. She cornered me at Captiva Coffee and followed me here."

"Not your fault," Isabelle assured him. "Thank you for trying."

"She's not entirely wrong, you know," Marco said quietly. "These finds do belong to the island's collective history in many ways."

"I know that," Isabelle acknowledged. "But first things first. Whatever the island’s rights, they still would have to be coordinated with the proper experts on this matter."

Marco nodded understanding. "I'll keep her occupied until eleven."

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