“Vanessa, hang on, please?”

The earsplitting grind of metal against wood, not to mention Sophie’s insistent barking, forced Cassie to rush to the glass doors and peer outside just in time to see a large pontoon boat take off a good portion of the end of her dock.

“I’m sorry,” she said into the phone. “I’ll have to call you back.”

Cassie closed her phone and set it on the table behind her before rushing outside and jogging halfway down the dock, her barking dog at her heels. Cassie had forgotten how brightly-colored everything was in Holiday, including the residents. But her immediate reminder stood at the edge of the boat in the person of Georgette Hootz, with her shocking orange hair and lipstick to match, shielding her eyes with a fuschia golf-gloved hand as she waved at Cassie with unusual vigor.

“Cassie? Is that you? George, look, it’s Cassie Constantine.”

“Who?”

“Zan’s wife.”

“Heh?”

“Oh, you old coot.”

Georgette hoisted herself over the side and scaled the broken dock before taking off at a full waddling run toward her. Sophie met her at the end of the dock and sniffed at her knees the whole way.

“Hi, little Sophie. How have you been?” Then as she headed for Cassie, full steam ahead, she exclaimed, “So sorry about your dock. George has to have cataracts surgery next month, and the old coot just can’t see like he used to.”

“Is anyone hurt?” Cassie asked her.

“Oh, we’re dandy. It’s just the dock that needs a medic.”

Cassie swallowed a gulp of unspoken retort just as Georgette reached her and hugged her so tight that her air pushed up past her ribs, forcing out a groan.

“We were so sorry to hear about Zan,” she cried as she shook Cassie from side to side. “He was such a good man. I asked George, ‘Whatever is Cassie going to do without him?’ Are you doing all right, dear? Have you got things in order for yourself?”

“I’m working on it.”

Over Georgette’s shoulder, Cassie watched as a lean but muscular man with sun-kissed chestnut hair, definitely NOT George Hootz!, stepped up from the pontoon over the broken edge of the dock. He was wearing knee-length khaki linen shorts and a bright blue knit shirt, tan deck shoes, and rectangular, dark sunglasses. After a moment, he turned back and offered a hand, pulling George up to the dock alongside him.

Cassie lost her breath again, but not because Georgette had squeezed it out of her.

“Who’s that with George?” she asked as the man leaned over and tickled Sophie on top of her head.

Georgette released her and turned around with a smile. “That’s Richard,” she said, and then she cranked up that frantic wave of hers. “He bought the Kleinbeck place a few blocks over from us last summer. Widower, addicted to chasing those tiny white balls around on the golf course. Naturally. I suppose no man comes to Florida without golf on his mind. Oh, and he’s a ballroom dancer like you wouldn’t believe.”

Ballroom—

“Sorry about your dock,” George offered, scratching his silver head as he shrugged. “Seems a little farther out into the canal than I remembered.”

“George Hootz, that dock did not move since the last time we were out here,” Georgette chastised him. “You old coot.”

“Hen,” he returned, and Georgette waved him off with a sour grimace.

“Richard Dillon, meet Cassie Constantine.”

He lowered his glasses to reveal blue eyes that actually sparkled. His chiseled features narrowed at the jaw line, and he had those charming Dennis Quaid sort of parentheses on either side of his grin, making it seem like his entire face smiled right along with his lips. Cassie thought it odd that those simple parentheses made her heart beat a little faster.

“Pleased to meet you.”

“Is everyone all right?” she asked as she shook his hand.

“Well, my bursitis has been acting up this week,” George replied. “Usually means we’re looking for some rain in the forecast.”

“That’s not what she’s asking, George. She means from the collision with the boat dock.”

Richard caught Cassie’s eye, grinned, and then replaced his sunglasses.

“Oh, that,” George answered back. “It was just a little tap. That dock hadda be pretty rotten to crumble the way it did.”

A sucking sound drew their attention just then, and they all turned back toward the canal. Just about the time Cassie realized that the boat seemed lower, it rocked back and then forth, and then moved lower still.

“What in the world—”

Sophie raced to the edge of the dock and let out a few concerned barks but, before any of the humans there could say a single word, the pontoon boat with the bright yellow striped awning disappeared beneath the water with a belch.