Sunshine Beach by Wendy Wax Read Free Book Online

glass window. It was here that they’d signed the papers selling Bella Flora to a then-unknown buyer.
    â€œWell, hello.” John Franklin stood.
    They came one by one to hug him. His shoulders were stooped and his cane stood at the ready. But his basset hound eyes were sharp and the ruff of white hair encircling his bald head gave him a rakish look. His weathered face was wreathed in smiles. “I heard you were all back. It’s wonderful to see you.”
    He motioned them to seats and Renée hustled out briefly, returning with a tray of drinks and cupcakes. Dustin’s was placed on a large paper napkin in front of him. He wasted no time in lifting it in both hands and aiming it toward his mouth.
    â€œNow then, to what do we owe this pleasure?” the Realtor asked jovially. “You’ve already got the best property on Pass-a-Grille.” He had believed that even when Bella Flora smelled like a men’s locker room and had varmints living in its vacant rooms. As it turned out, Avery thought, he’d been right.
    â€œWe were hoping you could tell us something about the Sunshine Hotel,” Kyra said.
    â€œAhh.” He busied himself creaming and sugaring his coffee, but his eyes had lost some of their sparkle.
    Renée took the seat next to him. The husband and wife exchanged glances.
    â€œWhat is it you’d like to know?” he asked.
    â€œI happened on it by accident the other day when I was out on the beach with Dustin,” Kyra said. “We’ve been here on and off for almost three years and I never even knew it existed.”
    He nodded in acknowledgment, but said nothing. Renée shifted in her seat.
    â€œIt seemed strange that it would just be sitting there rotting away. But there was no For Sale sign or anything,” Kyra said. “Do you know who owns it?”
    John looked down into his coffee cup, but still made no move to pick it up. “Yes.”
    â€œI looked it up online,” Kyra said. “It opened in 1942 and was owned by a man named Ezra Handleman.”
    The Realtor nodded but made no comment.
    â€œMost of the articles were about a man, one of the Handlemans, who died there in the early fifties. His wife disappeared the same night. Police named her as the main suspect but they never found her.”
    â€œYes.” The Realtor exchanged another glance with his wife. Both Franklins remained uncharacteristically quiet.
    â€œBut I couldn’t find any mention of the hotel or the Handleman family after the hotel closed in the eighties,” Kyra added.
    The Realtor nodded.
    â€œCan you tell us anything about the current owner or the property?” Avery asked.
    Renée reached over and busied herself straightening Dustin’s crumb-covered and increasingly tattered napkin. Her husband watched her for a long moment.
    â€œAll I can tell you is that the owners have no interest in selling,” John said.
    â€œWell, that’s not a problem,” Avery replied. “We’re not in any position to buy it.”
    â€œWhat is your interest in the property, then?” Renée looked up from the tattered napkin, her expression wary.
    â€œWe’re looking for a project to renovate,” Avery said. “Our relationship with the network is—under review.” Though there had been some press at the time, the network had not yet gone public with their mass resignation, no doubt savingit for the finale of season two, which would air that summer. “We want to do a less exploitive version of
Do Over
.”
    â€œThey were very heavy-handed with Dustin and with poor Max Golden,” Renée said quietly referring to the owner of the home they’d renovated on South Beach.
    Dustin, who had been single-mindedly consuming his cupcake, looked up at this. “Gax! Neh Nay!” He reached out a chocolate-covered hand and patted Renée’s arm. Her features softened as he clambered onto her