Wish Upon a Christmas Star by Darlene Gardner Page A

about that.”
    Logan let go of her arm. The night was warm, probably still in
the low seventies, but it felt as though a chill swept over her. There was no
denying she couldn’t reconcile that piece of the puzzle.
    “I never said I had all the answers,” Maria admitted. “Any good
investigator knows not everything makes sense until the case is solved.”
    She expected him to argue with her. Instead, he pointed to one
of the indoor-outdoor bars that were popular in Key West. Poised at the edge of
its roofline was the likeness of a winged monkey with its teeth bared. “Here we
are,” he said.
    An outdoor seating area filled with café-style plastic tables
and chairs led to sliding glass doors that were open wide. Inside, perhaps
seventy or eighty customers were gathered around a bar with counter space on
three sides.
    “The Flying Monkey.” Maria read the sign the monkey on the roof
was holding. She shuddered. “That thing looks even more menacing than the
monkeys in The Wizard of Oz. ”
    “That’s right,” Logan said, a corner of his mouth lifting. “We
watched that movie together once. You used to be afraid of them.”
    “Only because they’re terrifying. I’m surprised that monkey
doesn’t drive away business.”
    He laughed. “Hardly. The desk clerk at my hotel said this is
one of the most popular bars in the city.”
    Logan was staying a block from the Blue Tropics at a boutique
hotel that cost easily twice as much as her room. He claimed it was because her
hotel had no vacancy. Maria doubted he would have booked a room at the Blue
Tropics even if one were available, though. Not when he could afford better.
    “I’m at your disposal,” he said. “If you want to hang out here
at The Flying Monkey all night, I’m game.”
    She noticed he didn’t say he’d wait with her to see if Mike
showed up.
    “I’m talking to the owner before I do anything,” she said.
“Follow my lead, okay? Kayla’s staking out that Santa statue tonight. I might
ask him about that, too.”
    “Will you tell the owner you’re a private eye?”
    “Shh.” She placed two fingers against his lips.
    He went still, his eyes darkening as they gazed into hers. A
jolt seemed to travel from her fingertips throughout the rest of her body.
    She broke the eye contact and let her hand fall away.
“Sometimes it’s smarter not to mention that.”
    It hadn’t been smart to touch him. Her nerve endings still
tingled, blurring the boundaries she’d been trying to erect between them.
    “Let’s go,” she said, entering the bar ahead of him.
    On the back wall, Maria counted four posters of Ernest
Hemingway, the famous author who’d made Key West his home. Interspersed with the
posters were numerous photos of a bald man with a thick black beard posing with
the customers.
    The bearded man in the photos was at the tap, pouring beer into
a mug. The monkey that was the bar’s namesake decorated his black muscle shirt.
The owner, Maria presumed. She asked Logan what he wanted to drink, then ordered
a beer and a glass of white wine.
    “Coming right up,” the man said, filling the order quickly and
efficiently. He set the drinks on the counter in front of them. “Here you
go.”
    “Keep the change.” Maria ignored the money Logan was trying to
hand her and paid him. “Before you go, do you know where I can find that Santa
statue somebody turned into a zombie?”
    The bearded man chuckled. One of his front teeth had a gold
cap. “Corner of U.S. 1 and Duval. Zombie paint’s gone, though. Only the
god-awful statue remains.”
    “You don’t like the statue?” Maria had noticed a Key West
Merchants Association sticker on one of the bar windows.
    “Have you seen that thing?” he asked. “We’ve got a lot of tacky
stuff in Key West. We don’t need no more.”
    “Is that a popular opinion among local businessmen?” she
asked.
    “Popular enough.” He had to raise his voice to be heard above
the chatter and the music from the