Page 68 of The Library of Second Chances
“Okay.” Lucy spoke slowly and softly. “I’m sitting. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong.” Leona’s voice came in a rush of words now. “Everything is glorious, my dear. I sent off your synopsis to a couple of editors who loved your work before, but just couldn’t make the last one work with their list, and there’s going to be an auction!”
“A-An auction? What does that mean?” Lucy’s mind was racing. She didn’t know Leona was going to show anyone the synopsis, she thought she would just read it and give her feedback before she started writing the book.
“It means four different publishers are interested in your book. They’re positively salivating over it. It’s going to be a big, wonderful fight that will drive up your advance and ensure whoever buys it puts some real marketing power behind your debut.”
Lucy could hardly follow, Leona was talking so fast and excitedly. Was she saying more than one publisher wanted her book? “You mean I’m going to get a book deal?”
“Honey, by the time I’m done you’re going to have at least a two-book deal and a big fat advance!”
Leona was right. Lucy had needed to sit down for this. Her hand was shaking so much she could hardly hold the phone to her ear. Someone wanted to publish her book. Several editors at different publishing houses, in fact. When the voice nagged at the back of her mind and said she’d gotten a deal before and it had all fallen through, she shoved it mentally through a door and slammed it shut. It was like Logan had said, she needed to believe in herself as much as everyone else did.
After Leona explained how the auction would work and promised to call as soon as she’d received the offers, Lucy hung up and was enveloped by the silence of the empty store around her. She felt the overwhelming urge to tell someone. She could tell Taylor tonight so it wouldn’t overshadow her engagement the following evening, but they weren’t meeting for dinner for another hour. Staring at her phone, she wanted to dial Logan’s number. He was the only other person who even knew she’d sent the synopsis to Leona. But he was in Boston. She felt silly interrupting his trip for his new job. Maybe she’d get the chance to tell him before he left town. To thank him.
In the meantime, she’d go drop off the book in the Little Free Library for Gatsby’s Ghost. Maybe she should tell him. After all, this was definitely a risk that had paid off.
Taking the note she’d already written out of the book, she jumped up and walked over to the counter, where she scribbled a new message on the pad by the computer, ripped it off, and tucked it back between the pages. She’d drop off the book and buy a bottle of champagne on her way to meet Taylor. She deserved to celebrate.
Twenty-Eight
Logan
Fuller was brilliant. Shell middens were shells and animal bones left behind by Native Americans who’d inhabited the island before European settlers. Some of the heaps often found along coastal and lake shores were ceremonial in nature, while others contained burial grounds. The Florida courts had previously ruled that developers must bring in archaeologists upon finding any sign of a historical site. Archaeologists would then document the ruins, and depending on their findings, development could be halted temporarily for relocation or permanently for preservation.
It only took a few phone calls to put plans in motion to explore Heron Isle’s downtown waterfront for shell middens. Helen, the president of Heron Isle Conservancy, had just returned from presenting her latest research and offered to meet with him Saturday afternoon. He’d taken the first flight back Saturday morning, spending the entire trip researching all the different facets of his plan, from the shell middens to the smallertour boats and even another idea that had been percolating since he’d seen the rundown Hill House on the historic tour with Lucy and Gladys.
Logan had suggested Helen meet him at the coffee shop downtown, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She insisted he come out to her home, which sat on the west side of the island up against the marsh. From the moment he got out the car, he was on high alert, looking out for Sidney, Helen’s “teaching” alligator. He wasn’t really interested in meeting Sidney and couldn’t imagine why anyone would keep an alligator for a pet, educational tool or not. As he surveyed the marsh that sat just behind Helen’s house, it occurred to him that Helen might have more than one alligator lurking around this place.
Helen opened the door and he saw that she was a petite woman who couldn’t weigh a hundred pounds, not the burly woman he’d pictured wrestling alligators. But she was a zoologist, not someone who lived on the swamps of the bayou trapping alligators for sport. He’d just never met anyone with her reported love of reptiles, much less a woman who’d made it her life’s work. She was cheerful and welcoming, inviting him in to have iced tea on her screened-in porch overlooking the marsh.
He looked out over the water while he waited, observing the grasses standing in tall clumps along the bank and farther out into the water bending gently in the wind. The rustling of the grasses combined with the wind chimes hanging on the porch to create a beautiful melody. Oak trees towered around the house on all sides, the plentiful shade providing temperatures that felt ten degrees cooler than the deck of his beach house this morning.
Helen came up behind him, offering him a glass of sweet tea. His lips puckered as the sweet liquid hit his tongue. That was something he’d never get used to if he lived here. Might aswell suck on a sugar cube. Wanting to be polite, he sipped it appreciatively and then got down to business.
They’d already spoken at length on the phone, and Helen had called an archaeologist friend, who lived just south in St. Augustine and taught at the college there, to inquire about the possibility of middens on the shoreline of Heron Isle.
“Do you think there’s any chance of middens along the waterfront?” Logan asked.
Helen smiled. “I’m almost certain. I went back through some historical documentation we have on file at the conservancy, and it seems clear that the Timucuan people who lived here had a settlement along the water right where the river meets the ocean, basically in the same location as the marina we use today. Because the only current structures are the dock and the restaurant out over the water, no formal study has ever been done on the land itself along the waterfront. My friend Doug is coming up tomorrow to conduct an initial examination.”
Logan clapped, startling Helen. “I’m sorry. I’m just excited. If there’s any indication there might be middens, the Florida Supreme Court has already ruled in a previous case that further studies must be conducted before any development proceeds. If Turner already owned the land, we might not be able to stop him, even if there were middens. But my guess is he’ll back out when he learns the costs involved with properly excavating the area and potentially fighting in court.”
“And we would definitely fight it.” Helen nodded. “The conservancy has access to a central fund with other conservancy organizations in the state specifically for these kinds of legal battles. It’s important to protect and preserve our heritage.”
They arranged to meet with Doug on the waterfront shortly after sunrise Sunday morning. They didn’t want to attract too much attention in case it turned out to be nothing. Helen had already cleared the meeting and initial exam with MayorJenkins. Doug’s study would only require a small removal of soil in a few places along the waterfront.
“Before you leave, there was one thing Mayor Jenkins wanted me to show you. Wait right here.” Helen grinned at him before exiting the porch through the door that led outside. He watched as she walked over to a barn to the right of the house. Did she have an office in there? Maybe Mayor Jenkins wanted him to review some of the historical documents she’d mentioned.
He pulled out his phone and texted Fuller to let him know how the meeting went, thanking him again for the suggestion. When he looked up, Helen was approaching the porch with something in her hands.
He nearly dropped his phone when he realized she was holding an alligator that looked about two feet long.
Helen let out a hearty laugh as she opened the door. “George told me you might wet your pants.”
Thankfully, he wasn’t that scared, but his heart was definitely racing as she moved closer. If he hadn’t been seated, he would have backed away. He briefly considered leaping up so he could move, but Helen stopped a few feet from him.
“Logan, I’d like you to meet Sidney. He’s taught many a child on the island to respect—but not fear—the alligators that live here in our fresh water. As you can see, his mouth is closed with a band. It doesn’t hurt him, and he can’t hurt you.”
