The Miracle Strip by Nancy Bartholomew Page A

say?”
    â€œYeah. She kind of disappeared on me. I thought she might be having some trouble with her—” I broke off, aware that I was babbling far too much. “Well, I was wondering if she was here. She used to live on a boat called the Mirage. Ever hear of that?” I asked.
    My new friend thought again, his face furrowed. “Sorry,” he added. “But I’ll ask around. You staying nearby?”
    We were almost up to Raydean, and she wasn’t looking so good. I needed to get her in the car and do damage control. Fluffy’s injury had probably scared Raydean out of whatever fragile balance she had.
    â€œI’m staying at the Airport Hilton,” I said quickly. “It’s Sierra Lavotini. Just leave me a message. And thank you for what you done for Fluffy.” Raydean was crying softly as we walked up to her.
    â€œWill she be all right?” he asked.
    â€œSure,” I said, looking up at him. “We’ll be fine. Thanks for everything.”
    He took the cue and left, walking slowly back down the dock. I walked over to Raydean and placed my hand on her shaking shoulder.
    â€œHoney, are you okay? Fluffy’s going to be fine. We just need to take her on to the vet and she’ll be right as rain.” Fluffy whimpered as if to contradict me. Raydean slowly raised her head. Her face was puffy and red from crying.
    â€œThis is not a safe place,” she whispered. “I want to go home.”
    Raydean shook as I led her to the car. Every now and then, she’d look over furtively at Fluffy. I didn’t know what she was thinking, but I was even more concerned with getting Fluffy to the vet.
    We pulled out of the marina and were headed toward the emergency clinic before Raydean spoke again. She sat with Fluffy perched gingerly on her lap, staring at the wounded paw.
    â€œSierra, why’re we here, anyway?” Her voice had slipped into a little girl’s hesitant whispery tones, not at all Raydean.
    â€œWe’re looking for Denise, honey,” I said softly. “She used to live on a boat called the Mirage. I thought—”
    Raydean yelled out “Mirage” so loudly, I swerved. A passing car blew its horn as I came too close.
    â€œIt’s a mirage,” she was saying. “It was a big mirage.” She was shaking so hard I thought Fluffy would slip off her lap.
    â€œWhat’s a big mirage?” I asked, trying to humor her.
    â€œThat boat, where Fluffy hurt her paw. Did you not see?” she asked, her old Raydean voice returned. “That boat was the Mirage. Said it was out of Boca Raton.”

Fourteen
    It was dark when I finally had time to consider life’s ironies. Fluffy was resting comfortably on a pillow in the hotel room. Sitting beside her, pillows behind her and Moon Pies at her side, Raydean was watching the Braves on cable. I’d had my hands full all day. We’d waited for hours at the emergency clinic, just so a vet could wrap Fluffy’s little paw, lecture me on dog safety, and charge me a hundred bucks.
    Raydean had lapsed in and out of some state where it seemed hard to get her to respond. It’d been hell to get her to eat supper. She seemed to eye every restaurant suspiciously, refusing to eat anything but prepackaged food from the grocery store. I’d finally convinced her that we couldn’t leave for home until tomorrow because I was tired. I had no idea how to break it to her that we needed to return to the Bahia Mar tomorrow.
    I slipped into my new white bikini and used my shirt for a cover-up. Maybe some laps in the pool would loosen me up. That was the ticket, laps and a frozen piña colada. Raydean waved absently as I left for the pool. Fluffy slept on unaware.
    The pool at the Airport Hilton was surrounded by white lounge chairs and lush tropical greenery. Like most of your upscale hotels, it featured a poolside bar and a disinterested bartender. The pool was