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highlighted by the dying blaze, suggested a tough man, but his voice was compassionate.
    “Were you a passenger on the boat that crashed, ma’am?” John Wayne asked her.
    “No,” Melissa countered. “I’m Melissa Tomlinson. I’m a guest at the Seascaper.”
    Officer Joe Carlton, as he’d soon introduced himself, docked the rescue boat and then drove Melissa to a medical center on the other side of town. She couldn’t help but notice the sparkling blue eyes of her rescuer when, in the emergency room, he smiled and said he’d wait for her while a doctor tended to her bruised elbow.
    A friendly, slightly overweight physician checked her X-rays and told Melissa that she had no broken bones.
    While she sat, feeling vulnerable, Melissa remembered her long-ago trips to doctors’ offices for treatment of her childhood asthma. On more than one occasion, Melissa’s mom would complain about a doctor being inattentive or in a hurry to finish a consultation.
    Her mother was always doing verbal battle with the doctors who cared for Melissa and her sisters. Melissa remembered that her mom even considered writing a book called PATIENT OR PERSON—“about doctors who don’t listen sympathetically because they’re in a hurry to receive their money.”
    After being treated and bandaged, and pronounced fit except for a few scratches, Melissa was back in Officer Carlton’s car, headed again for the Seascaper.
    The calming combination of her slowly ebbing fright and the commanding presence of her handsome rescuer left Melissa temporarily mute. As well, an occasional drone from the vehicle’s siren seemed to discourage conversation.
    “God, he’s good-looking,” she told herself. “He seems to be about my age, too.”
    Despite her misgivings about policemen, her initial attraction to Officer Carlton was so strong that Melissa found herself wishing she could suddenly transform herself into a pert, cheerful debutante—and shed the disheveled, physically drained image she no doubt projected.
    “When you rescued me, what made you ask if I were on the boat, Detective Carlton?” Melissa inquired, tentatively, addressing him with an incorrect title.
    “Marijuana,” he answered, in what seemed like an affected southern drawl. “But just call me Joe. Everyone in Islamorada calls me Joe.
    “By the way, I was just informed by police radio that the two fellows who were on that speedboat are dead. Their bodies were found a few minutes ago. Earlier, while you were being rescued, several bales of marijuana floated ashore. We assume that they flew out of the boat on impact. So, my original suspicion was that the impact also threw you—from the boat to the pier.
    “I guess you’d like to be left off at the Seascaper office, so you can pick up your key,” Joe continued.
    “Why, yes, but how did you . . .”
    “I talked with the Seascaper folks while you were in the X-ray room. They told me you didn’t check in yet. But you are Melissa Tomlinson, like you said you were, from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. My Uncle Steve lives not far from Philly.”
    “Oh, where?”
    “Somerdale, New Jersey. Nice little town, but too cold for me this time of year.
    “I’ll check up on you tomorrow, to see how you are,” Joe nodded, as he turned off his cruiser’s flashing light long enough to say good-bye.
    “It probably won’t be easy for you, Ms. Tomlinson, but try to get some rest.”

 

Chapter 2
    The oftentimes-boring job she held as a secretary at the electric company paid most of her bills, but Mary Ann had to fight hard to stretch every penny. A typical weekday lunch consisted of coffee and a package of crackers—followed by a window-shopping stroll through the center of Pottstown.
    At Christmas time one year, Mary Ann sold her ancient kitchen table (“It’s almost an antique,” she told the buyer) so she’d have enough money to buy presents that the girls asked for. After the holiday season, the cold of winter always seemed