Will Work For Love Read Free

was all she needed.
    She headed out the kitchen door and made it almost
to the driver’s seat of the Jeep when she stopped dead in her
tracks. How on earth did she miss that last night? A large palm
tree lay against the back wall of the house. Practically hung over
the kitchen door she entered in the dark last night. Now that it
was daylight, what else was she going to find?
    Whitney put the keys and her purse on the hood of
the Jeep and took a deep breath. She stepped onto the curving
sidewalk leading around the side of the house. It would take her
beachside to the impressive front façade, the terrace, and the
manicured gardens wandering down to the ocean. A gazebo and
pavilion had been built when she and Taylor graduated from college
and she could still taste the champagne that flowed at the party in
their honor. As soon as she rounded the corner of the house, she
would see the familiar pavilion and it would be all right.
    Whitney gasped. The sun was out, the birds were
singing, and the blue water at the edge of the long lawn sparkled
with the promise of a new day.
    Aside from that, total wreckage.
    There were several palm trees down on the lawn, the
gazebo leaned to the side like some giant had reclined on it and
pushed it halfway over. The beautiful pavilion with its open
trellis and trained vines was where the bride and groom would walk
down a flower-strewn aisle in less than two weeks. But boards were
splintered, dangling, or downright missing. It looked dangerous to
even walk under.
    She had thirteen days until Christmas Eve. A tremor
raced over her skin as she realized how she would be spending that
time. It was obvious that no construction company, insurance
payment or not, had touched this place since Hurricane Destiny
swept through almost three months before. Whitney balled up her
fists, her heart pounding in her chest.
    There was no way she was going to suffer in silence.
She would find the owner of that construction company and there
would be hell to pay. She spun around and headed back into the
kitchen. Last night, she couldn’t face the pile of mail dumped
through the slot in the kitchen door. As far as she knew, the local
property management company usually forwarded mail directly to
Taylor’s parents. At least that’s what was supposed to happen.
    Dread sniped at her stomach as she surveyed the
letters and junk piled under the mail slot. Something wasn’t right.
She knelt, sorting envelopes into toss and keep stacks. There were
several from Tropical Property Managers, one from an insurance
company, a few early Christmas cards, and some advertising
flyers.
    But none of it should be there. What happened to
TPM? Why wasn’t all this forwarded to the Easts or at least kept
downtown at the property office? She stacked the keep pile on the
kitchen table and sat, the chair’s hollow creak echoing in the
empty kitchen.
    Insurance envelope first. Maybe it would explain
everything. Nothing would erase the mess on the lawn, but it might
tell her where her first phone call would go. She scanned the
statement, its staggering amounts for damage repair arresting her
attention as she looked for a clue.
    Blue Isle Construction, address right there on the
island, had received a substantial down payment for repairs two
months ago.
    And they hadn’t done a damn thing.
    Blue Isle Construction. Supposedly specializing in
quality building and repairs. Right. That’s why her best friend’s
home and wedding venue still looked like it had been hit by a
hurricane.
    It was seven a.m. on a Sunday morning, but gale
force winds wouldn’t keep her from calling and unloading at least a
piece of her mind. First up, the East family. They had a right to
know, but she hoped some miracle would help them keep the news from
Taylor. It would take a miracle to pull off her best friend’s
wedding, but damned if she’d let anyone take that away from
her.
    A new hurricane named Whitney had just swept into
town, and those thieves at Blue