Page 6 of Captiva Café

She paused beside the bed, letting the quiet fill her ears. Outside, laughter drifted faintly through the open window and made her smile. It had been months since she was able to laugh at anything. She wondered how long it would be before she felt anything at all.

The heat of the afternoon sun made working on the café construction site impossible, and so by three o’clock workers began packing up their tools for the day.

Isabelle stood at the edge of what would eventually be the dining area, comparing paint swatches against the exposed brick wall. Gretchen had left to fetch fresh coffee, claiming the early afternoon slump required "emergency caffeine intervention."

"Good eye," came a deep voice from behind her. "That terra cotta would bring out the red in the brick."

Isabelle turned to find a man she didn't recognize—tall, with warm brown skin and close-cropped dark hair peppered with silver at the temples. He wore a simple blue button-down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing forearms marked with the kind of sun exposure that came from outdoor work.

"I'm sorry," she said, "are you with the construction crew?"

He shook his head and extended a hand. "Marco Bernal. I work with Trevor Hutchins and Steven Thompson on historical renovations. Steven mentioned you'd found something interesting beneath the floorboards."

"Ah." Isabelle nodded, shaking his hand. "Word travels fast on Captiva."

Marco's smile revealed a slight gap between his front teeth. "My grandmother came here in the 1940s. She used to tell me stories about this building when it was a general store that served the farming families on the island."

Before Isabelle could respond, Gretchen rounded the corner carrying two large, iced coffees and a paper bag that smelled of cinnamon.

"They were out of the oat milk, so I got—" She stopped mid-sentence, noticing Marco. "Oh. Hello."

"Marco Bernal," Isabelle said. "He works with Trevor and Steven."

"And apparently has family connections to our building," she added, interest piqued.

Gretchen handed Isabelle her coffee and extended her free hand. "Gretchen Lawrence. Co-owner and chief coffee enthusiast."

As they shook hands, Steven's truck pulled up to the curb. He hopped out, carrying a roll of blueprints.

"I see you've met our historical expert," he called, walking toward them. "Marco's the one who restored the original elements in that historic cottage on Sanibel last year."

"The Bailey Homestead project." Marco nodded. "Though this building has its own unique history. I understand you found some artifacts during the demolition?"

Isabelle exchanged a glance with Gretchen. "We’ve been trying to keep it quiet, but it’s impossible on this island to keep anything secret. I have a feeling word has already spread.”

Gretchen nodded. “We were hoping to keep it quiet until we know what we're dealing with."

"Smart." Marco approved. "Once word gets out about historical finds, everyone has an opinion. If others know about it, there isn’t much we can do. Let’s just focus on containing the situation as best we can."

"Too late," Gretchen said, nodding toward the street where Linda St. James was marching determinedly toward them, accompanied by an elderly man Isabelle didn't recognize. "We've got incoming."

Linda looked particularly purposeful, clipboard in hand and a serious expression replacing her usual disapproving frown. The man beside her moved more slowly, leaning on a carvedwooden cane, his weathered face partially obscured by a straw Panama hat.

"Isabelle, Gretchen," Linda called, her voice carrying that particular tone that suggested she was about to take charge of something. "This is Phineas Whitaker. He's our local historian, and when I mentioned what the workers found, he insisted on coming to see for himself."

Annoyed, Isabelle stared at Linda. “We were hoping to keep this as quiet as possible, Linda.”

Linda ignored Isabelle instead focused on Phineas Whitaker.

The elderly man stepped forward, his bright blue eyes sharp despite his advanced age. "My father was here during the agricultural days of Captiva, before the tourism boom. Worked the key lime groves and vegetable farms that once covered these islands. This building stood through the '26 hurricane and the big one in '44."

Marco's expression brightened. "Mr. Whitaker. It's been a while."

"Marco Bernal." Phineas nodded. "Still restoring old buildings, I see. Your work on those Sanibel cottages was something special."

Isabelle glanced between them. "You know each other?"

"Captiva is small," Marco explained. "And the historical preservation community is even smaller."

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