Page 64 of Captiva Café

"Am I imagining the watercolor of the marina that's newly hung on your wall?" Chelsea asked, gesturing to a small, professionally framed painting behind Linda's desk. "The one Byron purchased from Jacqui's gallery last week?"

Linda's eyes darted to the painting and back. "It's a local scene. Appropriate for a local newspaper office."

"Of course," Maggie said, barely suppressing a smile. "Completely professional."

"The point is," Chelsea continued, leaning forward again, "we would hate for your personal business to become island gossip. Just as I'm sure you would hate for the café's archaeological significance to be overshadowed by chaos and safety concerns."

Linda's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. "Are you threatening me?"

"Absolutely not," Maggie said, looking genuinely shocked at the suggestion. "We're proposing a mutually beneficial arrangement. You help protect the café construction site with an informative notice, we purchase advertising space, and everyone on the island continues to respect your privacy regarding Byron."

"Or whatever other gentleman callers might be leaving honey jars on your doorstep," Chelsea added with a meaningful look.

Linda's mouth fell open slightly before she caught herself and resumed her composed expression. "How did you—" She stopped abruptly, then let out a resigned sigh. "This island has entirely too few secrets."

"It's the blessing and curse of island life," Maggie agreed sympathetically. "But surely we can all appreciate the value of discretion."

A long silence followed as Linda appeared to weigh her options. Finally, she opened a drawer and withdrew an ad rate sheet, sliding it across the desk with a brisk efficiency that suggested she had reached a decision.

"Full page, premium placement," she said. "These are the rates. I'll need the copy and artwork by five o'clock today for tomorrow's edition." She paused, then added with obvious reluctance, "I suppose I could include a brief notice about construction site safety protocols. As a public service."

"That would be most appreciated," Maggie said, picking up the rate sheet. "I'm sure Isabelle and Gretchen will be grateful for your community-minded approach."

"And Byron will likely be impressed by your concern for public safety," Chelsea couldn't resist adding. "I hear he's quite serious about workplace regulations in his beekeeping operation."

Linda's expression suggested she was contemplating homicide, but she maintained her professional composure. "Will there be anything else?"

"No, I think that covers it," Maggie said hastily, getting to her feet before Chelsea could push their luck any further. "We'll have the advertisement materials to you by the deadline."

As they turned to leave, Linda called after them. "This conversation never happened."

Chelsea paused at the door, unable to resist a parting shot. "What conversation? We were just discussing advertising opportunities in our cherished local paper." She tapped her fingers against the doorframe. "By the way, that perfume you're wearing—is it new? It's lovely. Floral, but not overwhelming. Perfect for an evening stroll through a honey farm, I would think."

Linda's glare could have melted steel, but there was a hint of something else beneath it—perhaps the reluctantacknowledgment that in the strange economy of island relationships, some trades were inevitable.

Once outside, Maggie let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "I feel like I need to go to confession, and I'm not even Catholic."

Chelsea laughed, linking her arm through Maggie's as they headed down the sunbaked sidewalk. "Consider it a public service. We're protecting the construction workers, containing the archaeological chaos, and..." she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "possibly facilitating the first island romance Linda St. James has had in the two decades I've known her."

"Still," Maggie said, though she couldn't quite suppress a smile, "it feels vaguely underhanded."

"It was underhanded," Chelsea confirmed cheerfully. "But effective. And did you see her face when I mentioned the honey jars? Byron must be serious if he's sharing his special reserve clover honey. That man guards his premium batches like they contain liquid gold."

"I suppose everyone deserves a chance at happiness," Maggie acknowledged. "Even Linda."

"Especially Linda," Chelsea corrected. "Can you imagine how much pleasanter our island committee meetings might be if she's regularly...distracted?"

Maggie laughed despite herself. "You're terrible."

"I prefer to think of myself as strategically benevolent," Chelsea replied with a grin. "Now, let's go tell Isabelle and Gretchen their construction site will soon be restored to something resembling normalcy. And then we should probably start working on that advertisement. Five o'clock will be here before we know it."

As they walked toward the café site, the island sun warm on their shoulders, Maggie reflected on the strange, interconnectednature of their community. On Captiva, problems were rarely solved through conventional means. Solutions emerged through an intricate web of relationships, favors, and occasionally, gentle blackmail.

And somehow, it worked.

"You're smiling to yourself," Chelsea observed. "What are you thinking?"

"Just that I love this ridiculous island," Maggie replied. "With all its meddling, gossip, and impossibly tangled relationships."

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