Wish Upon a Christmas Star. Darlene Gardner

      “Years out of high school,” she interrupted.

      “Many, many years out of high school,” he said with the smile still in place. “That must mean you’re not just helping out over the holidays?”

      “I work here,” she verified. “I’m Unc— I mean, Mr. Dexter’s assistant.”

      “Is that right?” He nodded. In light-colored slacks and an off-white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he appeared cool and confident. If he bottled some of that confidence and sold it, she’d be first in line.

      “It is.” She tried to remember what Uncle Carl said to potential clients. “Tell me what brings you here today.”

      “I’d like to tell both you and Carl,” Alex said. “He’s a friend of mine. Is he around?”

      It figured Alex knew her uncle. The local business community wasn’t terribly extensive. But apparently Key West was big enough that the man she’d been swooning over for years hadn’t noticed her. “No, I’m sorry. He’s in Chicago until December 27.”

      Alex grimaced and sucked in a breath. “That’s not good news. I need to hire somebody today.”

      Kayla’s heartbeat sped up. “You can hire me.”

      He looked dubious. “I thought you assisted.”

      “That’s right.” Assisting was all she’d ever done. “But I can do more than assist. I can take on a case. That’s why I’m here in the office. I’m ready and willful. Uh, I meant ready and willing.”

      She shut up. She sounded like a total amateur, which she was. It would be best if he didn’t know that, though.

      Alex scratched his smoothly shaved jaw. “Perhaps I should tell you why I’m here and we can go from there.”

      “Sounds good.” She tried to contain the excitement coursing through her. “Go ahead.”

      “Can we sit down?” he asked.

      “Sure. Come this way.” She led him to her uncle’s office and got behind the big desk. Uncle Carl was a large man, more than a foot taller than she was. The desk seemed to swallow her so that she felt like a little girl playing house.

      To compensate, she said in her most professional voice, “Please proceed.”

      “Have you seen this?” He was holding a rolled-up newspaper, which he unfolded and handed to her.

      It was a copy of the Key West Sun. The headline above the fold read “Baring It All.” The story was about a councilman proposing a referendum to allow nude sunbathing along a narrow strip of beach, a move championed by naturists who embraced the anything-goes Key West culture.

      “I have seen it and I’m for it.” Kayla grimaced as it occurred to her how he could misconstrue her support. “Not that I would sunbathe naked. I mean, I would if nobody was around. It’s not like I’m a prude or anything. Although I’m not an exhibitionist. Not that I’m saying these people are.”

      She had to press her lips together to stop her stream of words. Why couldn’t she stop talking?

      “Not that story.” He leaned across the desk and pointed to a photo below the fold. “That.”

      She’d seen the life-size fiberglass Santa that was pictured at the intersection of Duval Street and U.S. 1. He held a fistful of money in one hand. In his other was a sign that said “’Tis the Season to Spend in Key West.” Someone had painted the statue’s face white and added black rings around its eyes and red streaks trickling from its mouth. “Zombie Santa,” the caption read.

      Kayla giggled, covering her mouth to stop it from becoming an unladylike guffaw.

      “That reaction is exactly why I’m here,” Alex said. “As a representative of the Key West Merchants Association, I’m authorized to hire a private investigator to save our group from further embarrassment. So far a prankster has dressed Santa like the Grinch and now a zombie.”

      “Somebody has a sense of humor,” she said.

      “The Merchants Association doesn’t think it’s funny,” he said. “They’re taking this very seriously.”

      “Then why not just retire the statue?” Kayla asked.

      “That was my suggestion,” Alex said. “But it’s not the way these things work. The group paid a local artist a pretty penny to create that statue. Santa has a lot of fans.”

      “But it’s so...” Kayla’s voice trailed off for fear of insulting him.

      “Crass?” he supplied.

      That was exactly what Kayla had been about to say. By emphasizing materialism, the statue focused on the wrong side of the holiday.

      “Don’t worry about offending me,” he said. “I spoke out against the statue from the beginning. Nothing would make me happier than to get it off the street.”

      “Then why are you in charge of hiring a private investigator?” she asked.

      “Just because I was against the Santa doesn’t mean I want to see our group embarrassed,” he said. “We need to find out who’s doing this. Or at the very least, make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

      “Then you came to the right place.” Kayla injected confidence into her voice even though she was already wondering how a one-woman operation would manage twenty-four-hour surveillance on the statue. “Let me tell you our rates.”

      She had to go to her uncle’s file and rummage through a sheaf of papers before finding a listing of costs. The hourly rate seemed high to her. Alex didn’t blink.

      “That intersection with the Santa is a pretty high-traffic area,” she said, referring more to the cars that passed by the spot than the pedestrians. “You said Santa’s already been messed with twice. It seems likely somebody saw the prankster in action.”

      “I’m sure that’s something you’ll look into.”

      She planned to do exactly that. She just wasn’t sure how to go about it.

      “It’s settled, then.” Alex stood up and reached across the desk, offering his hand.

      Kayla took it, the warmth of his grip seeming to travel through every inch of her body. She almost cried out in protest when he let go of her hand.

      “Here are my numbers.” He took a business card out of his wallet and laid it on the desk. “I’d like to be updated daily and whenever there’s a new development.”

      “Certainly.” She hoped she sounded sufficiently professional.

      “I’ll look forward to hearing from you.” He strode toward the exit, pausing to turn around before he reached it. The grin that made him even more handsome was back on his face. “I forgot to tell you. Nice skirt. Yellow never looked so good.”

      With that, he left. Kayla brought her hands to her hot cheeks, not sure what disconcerted her more: Alex Suarez or the prospect of conducting a solo investigation.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      THE PRICKLY SENSATION on the back of Maria’s neck started before she’d gotten halfway to her destination.

      During her years in law enforcement, she’d learned to trust her intuition. It had served her well on occasions too numerous to count. Such as the time she was chasing a suspect and ducked into an alley just before he turned on her and fired.

      Now her sixth sense was telling her someone was following her.

      She’d decided to visit the post office before appealing to Key Carl for help. The directions she’d gotten off the internet took her west on Duval Street, a tourist-heavy thoroughfare that cut a swath through the heart of Key West. The farther