“The flamingo’s been stolen.”

I leaned back on my stool and unabashedly eavesdropped on the women gossiping next to me under the thatched roof of Lucky’s Tiki Bar, run by my best friend Beau. He winked at me from where he was building a mai-tai in one of the tiki mugs from his new custom line of mugs – this one in a shark shape – and I knew he was listening in as well.

“Can you believe it? Who would steal a six-foot-tall flamingo?” Woman number one, in a floral dress and tasteful flats, shook her head sadly as if to say What is the world coming to?

I, too, wondered what this world was coming to, but more because I was concerned over the taste of someone who would actually order a six-foot-tall flamingo. Granted, I shouldn’t be passing judgment on other people’s design tastes, as mine ran to the decidedly more eclectic side of things.

“They say it was going to be at the entrance for the new mini-golf course. They were going to unveil it and surprise the town this week.” Woman number two, dark circles under her eyes and hair in an unkempt ponytail, shrugged. “Which is too bad. I’ve been telling the kids I had a surprise for them. At the very least, it would have been something to wear off some of their incessant energy.”

That explained the dark circles and messy hair, I thought, and sipped delicately on my mojito as I considered the news. Tuning them out as they began to discuss their kids – a topic that could often send me straight to sleep – I wondered what had happened to the flamingo.

“Think it’s just teens having a prank?” Beau came and leaned forward on the bar, his golden good looks and air of confidence making both men and women alike fall for him on the regular. But he only played for one team – and too bad it wasn’t mine, I thought, once again admiring his handsome face and easy surfer style.

“Doesn’t feel that way to me,” I said. “But I also didn’t know we were getting a mini golf course, so there’s that.”

“Didn’t you? It’s been the talk of the town for weeks now,” Beau said with a smile. “Everyone’s complaining about the name.”

“No! I hadn’t heard,” I admitted, leaning closer. “Is it bad?”

“Flocking Flamazing Mini-Golf,” Beau said, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he did his best not to laugh.

“Shut up. That’s amazing,” I breathed, immediately wondering what the Whittiers, Tequila Key’s upper-crust family, would have to say about that. Frankly, I was surprised Theodore Whittier hadn’t stopped the development in its tracks already. He was on the board of everything in town, as he liked to tell anyone who cared to listen.

I never did.

“Don’t you mean fla-mazing?” Beau asked. I laughed out loud this time while Beau went off to serve some tourists who had just arrived at the end of the bar.

Tequila Key was just a bump on the road on the way to the party town of Key West. I liked the sleepiness of the town, where everyone knew everyone and something as small as a new mini-golf course was enough to send the town into full gossip mode. Years ago, some intrepid mayor had decided to put a sign on the highway proclaiming, “Tequila Makes it Better,” thus ensuring that no tourists would ever actually visit Tequila Key. Instead they just stopped to take a ridiculous selfie by the sign before continuing on their way. I was more than happy with this arrangement, though I’d heard murmurs lately about a new town campaign seeking to encourage more tourism. Personally, after the last few months I’d had, more tourists were the last thing I was looking for. My name had been splashed across the tabloids more than once, and I was finally settling back into a normal routine with nobody hounding me for psychic information.

Aside from my clients, that is.

I’m Althea Rose, co-owner of the Luna Rose Potions & Tarot Shop. I was recently outed to the world as a psychic by several gossip magazines and a reality show producer – whom I’d subsequently helped put in jail – and my client list has exploded ever since. Granted, I shouldn’t say I’d been ‘outed’ – I’d never hidden the fact of who or what I was – but I certainly didn’t enjoy looking at my life through the lens of a tabloid magazine. Not to mention that the editors liked to choose the most unflattering photos of me they could find. It was enough to put anyone off wearing a swimsuit in public ever again.

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