The Mayor of Battersea

I'm balancing Khost's nonfat half-splenda dark roast coffee and my decaf (full-fat) caramel macchiato and trying to prop open the Cafe Mauricio's door.

On my way out, an attractive middle-aged woman in a crisp white designer suit pushes past me. She looks really familiar.

"Careful, mom, or she'll ruin your new suit," says Brad, appearing behind her. Of course...Brad's mother, the Mayor of Battersea. Though I hate to admit it, Brad looks especially well-tailored today, in a pale green shirt that almost matches his eyes and, of course, the glasses.

"Oh," I say. "Hey. How's work? Still saving the palm trees?" Trust me, it sounded just as painful when I said it.

The Mayor looks me up and down. I'm a mess -- last night's wrinkled clothes, make-up smudged, hair unbrushed and ratty from the salt. It's official: no invitations to fancy Battersea dinners anytime soon.

"Do you know her?" asks the Mayor, addressing her son.

"Yeah, Francie and I went to high school together. You remember, mom, she's the famous playwright. She wrote that play, about the girl who couldn't swim..."

"Yes, yes. So what are you doing now? Certainly not playwriting. I had a college roommate who wrote plays. There's no money in it. She committed suicide last December. Left her family a terrible pile of half-finished novels to sort through."

The Mayor shakes her head in my direction, but continues before I can respond.

"Brad was top of his class at Yale Law School, he could have gone anywhere, but he loves Miami." Speechless, I look at the Mayor, then at Brad, who is trying his best to stay serious.

"So do I. Miami is the only place where I'd commit suicide," I say, and Brad loses it.

"Mom, honestly. No one loves Miami," he says. Officer Khost steps over to grab his coffee and tries to back away unnoticed. He brushes past the Mayor, whose face registers her surprise.

"Officer Khost," she stammers. Khost stops in his tracks and ventures a small grin.

"Hello, Sara."

"It's been a while," she says. "I didn't know this was your territory. Coral Gables."

"It's not. For some, it's business or pleasure, but for me it's all business, as you know." Brad and I exchange looks. If Officer Khost wasn't Officer Khost, I'd almost say he was flirting.

"Well, the good work never ends. In fact, we'd better get going. My son and I have important things to discuss over lunch -- business and otherwise." She clasps Officer Khost's arm briefly, then signals to the waiter for a table.

"Yeah, I'm, ah, meeting someone too. Nice seeing you, Sara" Khost says, turning a little red.

"Better go then," says Brad. "It sucks to be stood up." He gives me a pointed look, then quickly joins his mom before I have a chance to explain. Or maybe I'm better off letting it go...it's not like I can tell Brad about Salt Island. He'd think I'd really lost my mind.

I follow Khost out the door. I'm about to tease him, but his look is all business.

"I have an idea about where to start our search. But I need to trust you. I don't think we're the only ones trying to find the three points. This search...you can't tell anyone, not your family, not your friend Brad..."

"Brad's not my friend," I say.

"Keep it that way," says Khost. "Tomorrow, we'll go over the plan. I'll find you. 'Til then, keep your doors and windows locked. Keep Bottle #3 in a very safe place. Got a gun?" I shake my head.

"Good, you'd probably kill someone with it. I'm sending Max with you. He'll let me know if there's any trouble." I look skeptically at Max. He's nibbling his feathers.

"For now, I have an important errand for you," he says, searching his pocket for a slip. "Drycleaners."