Page 5 of Captiva Café

Before anyone could respond, a soft throat-clearing sound came from the hallway.

Everyone turned.

Standing just inside the doorway, clutching the handle of a faded floral suitcase and holding a leather guitar case like a shield, was a young woman with wind-tossed auburn hair and a look of hesitant apology.

“Um…hi,” she said, glancing around the crowded kitchen. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m Merritt Ryan? I have a reservation. No one was at the front desk so I just—um—followed the voices.”

Lexie barked once and trotted over to sniff her shoes.

Millie jumped into action. “Oh my goodness, I completely forgot—we’ve been swamped this morning. Welcome to the Key Lime Garden Inn, dear.”

Merritt smiled weakly. “Thanks. I think your dog just judged me.”

“She’s discerning,” Iris said.

Maggie stepped forward, brushing flour from her hands and trying to gather her hostess composure. “You must be our Mainemystery guest. I’m Maggie Moretti. Sorry for the confusion—there’s been a bit of a media…surprise.”

Merritt’s brows knit together. “You mean the woman in a van on YouTube?”

Everyone groaned.

“That would be my mother,” Maggie said dryly.

“Grandma Sarah,” Sarah added helpfully, patting the iPad.

Merritt blinked. “Oh. Well…she’s kind of the reason I’m here.”

Silence.

Then Maggie smiled faintly, gesturing to the rest of the room like a game show hostess. “Welcome to the inn. We have rooms, scones, and apparently, a YouTube channel. Come on in.”

Merritt followed Millie down the hallway, her shoes barely making a sound on the polished hardwood. The smell of citrus and fresh linen met her at every corner, mingling with something more nostalgic—maybe lavender or the memory of some long-ago summer.

Millie opened the door to Room Four with a practiced flourish. “You’ve got the corner unit. Nice light in the mornings and a little cross-breeze if you keep the bathroom window cracked. We try not to let the AC do all the work, if you know what I mean.”

Merritt smiled, clutching her guitar case. “It’s perfect, thank you.”

Millie stepped inside and gestured toward the writing desk. “Your welcome note’s from Maggie—she owns the place. If you need anything, just come find me or Iris. We’re usually around. And if not, someone will know where we are.”

She paused at the door. “Just so you’re prepared…the place might feel a little busy this week. You, uh, came during a unique moment in our inn’s history.”

“Oh?” Merritt asked, setting down her suitcase.

Millie’s eyes sparkled. “Let’s just say your host’s mother has gone full senior YouTube celebrity and didn’t bother to warn us.”

Merritt raised a brow. “So that really was her in the video.”

“Oh, it’s her, all right. If you hear a dog barking next door, it’s Lexie. And if you hear cackling laughter and a story about camping under desert stars with a goat farmer named Wally, that’s likely Grandma Sarah.”

Merritt blinked. “Goat farmer?”

“Don’t ask,” Millie said, backing out with a grin. “Enjoy your stay.”

Left alone, Merritt turned in a slow circle. The room was even nicer than she’d hoped. Simple, bright, quiet. A stack of white towels sat folded on the bed. A hand-painted ceramic dish held a small lavender sachet. On the desk was a carafe of water and a short handwritten note on thick stationery:

Welcome, Merritt — I hope you find everything you need here, even if you’re not quite sure what that is yet. We’ve all been there. Warmly, Maggie Moretti.

Merritt read it twice. Then she set her guitar carefully on the chair, unzipped her suitcase, and began to unpack—books first, then a journal, a small bottle of Maine sea glass. A few items meant for comfort. Familiar things.

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