I felt myself blush, but fortunately there was no way Angela or anyone else was going to be able to tell, since the sun was beginning to sink in the west and turning everything and everyone pink with its fiery rays.

“There’s no deal. He’s helping me feed all the pets that people have left behind and can’t get back to on account of the bridge being out.”

“Ooooh.” Angela grinned. “I bet he is. And I bet he’s only doing it out of the goodness of his heart, not because he wants to get into your bed. Everyone knows Drew Hartwell is a real Boy Scout.”

“Shut up. He is.”

“Wait, what do you mean?”

“I mean, I’ve made out with him twice, but that’s as far as we’ve gotten. Although admittedly this pesky hurricane thing keeps getting in the way.”

Angela grinned, obviously wanting to know more, but then was distracted by something happening at the table in front of her. “Marquise, no. It’s one serving of chicken or steak or fish per person per plate. They can’t have all three at once. If they want more, they can come back through the line for more once they’ve finished.”

Marquise—Angela’s handsome young nephew who often helped out at the café when we were shorthanded but couldn’t work full-time because of his position as quarterback on the Little Bridge High School football team—looked frustrated. “But this gentleman here asked for chicken and fish,” he hissed. “Look at him! I’m not going to deny the man!”

Angela leaned forward to deal with the dissatisfied customer, who already had a plate piled high with corn bread, Caesar salad, black beans and rice, and a baked potato.

“Sir,” she said. “We’re happily giving away all this free food today on account of the storm. But we have to make sure we have enough for everyone. We’re serving chicken, fish, or steak. But you can only have one protein at a time.”

“But—” The gentleman, who appeared from the weathered condition of his skin to have spent a great deal of time at sea, opened his mouth to protest, revealing a past lacking in proper dental care.

“If you finish your plate and are still hungry, of course you can come back for more. But for now, it’s one serving of chicken or fish or steak per person per plate.”

The old sailor looked resigned. “Then chicken, I guess.”

Marquise delicately placed a chicken leg, thigh, and breast on his plate. “Enjoy, sir. Don’t forget, there’s key lime pie for dessert.”

The old sailor grinned toothlessly before moving on. “God bless ya, son!”

Nevaeh, who was standing beside Marquise, looked up at him from beneath her heavily made-up eyelashes and said, “You handled that really well.”

Katie Hartwell, also standing nearby, hurried to add, “I think so, too.”

Marquise looked confused but pleased. “Uh, thanks.”

“Are you going to stick around?” Angela asked me. “We could really use your help, especially with cleanup. The trash cans are already overflowing, so people are just piling their plates wherever.”

“Sure. I’ll go inside and grab some trash bags.”

“No!” Mrs. Hartwell appeared as if from nowhere. “I’ll do that. Bree, why don’t you take over my spot, handing out key limeade?”

I knew exactly what she was doing. She didn’t want me taking on menial tasks anymore because I was Judge Justine’s daughter. It didn’t matter that I’d already spent months mopping floors and cleaning the bathrooms. “Mrs. Hartwell, it’s all right. I’m fine with trash duty.”

“No, no, dear, I want to get out there anyway. I need to talk to some of these people, see if they need—”

“And stand in the hot sun?” Drew was suddenly by her side. “Why don’t you let me and Bree handle the trash, Lu, and you keep serving folks the drinks. You okay with that, Bree?”

I smiled at him. The sinking sun glinted on the fine hairs on his arms, bleached gold by all the time he spent outdoors. “I’m fine with that.”

We’d fetched Mary Jane Peters and her son a couple of plates of food, along with some milk, and were moving through the crowd with our large garbage bags, collecting people’s trash, when a man riding a horse—truly, a handsome, well-fed pinto—suddenly clattered into the parking lot.

“Uh-oh,” Drew said, eyeing the tall man in the dark green uniform sitting astride the horse. “It’s the cops.”

I watched in some alarm as Sheriff Hartwell dismounted from his horse and began approaching the café. “What’s he doing here? Do you think someone saw us breaking in to people’s houses to feed their pets and thought we were robbing them and turned us in?”

Drew, smiling, looked down at me. “You really are a Fresh Water, aren’t you?”

Flushing, I grasped my trash bag. “Well, you never know. What we’re doing isn’t exactly legal.”

“It is if you have permission from the home owners.” He saw the look on my face, then asked, “You did have permission from all the homeowners, didn’t you?”

I nodded. “Of course.” I mean, I’d had permission from Chett, who’d assured me that all of the homeowners were friends of his . . . how else could he have known what sort of pets they owned and how to break into their houses?

I watched with a drumming heart as Sheriff Hartwell strode closer and closer . . . and finally walked right past us, with a nod of greeting in Drew’s direction, and right up to Ed, who was still working the grills he’d set up, a green bandanna wrapped around his forehead to keep sweat from dripping into the food.

“Hey, there, Ed,” I overheard the sheriff say. “Nice little operation you got running here.”

“Well,” Ed said, modestly, “I gotta get rid of all this meat before it goes bad. Shoulda installed a generator here when I had the chance. Don’t know what I was thinking.”

“I understand.” The sheriff sounded sympathetic. “Thing is, I’m gonna need you to shut all this down by sunset. I’m issuing an island-wide curfew from dusk to dawn. I’ve told my people to arrest anyone they find out of doors, no questions asked.”

Ed whistled, low and long, and Drew, who’d clearly overheard as well, raised his eyebrows.

“You’ve got a lot of people here who are far from home right now, Sheriff,” Drew said. “Word got around fast about what Ed was doing here, and people came here from as far away as Ramrod Key.”

“I know that.” The sheriff scratched his chin. “But there’s still an hour till sunset. That’s plenty of time for them to get back home.”

Drew looked out over the crowd, who were happily eating and drinking. Someone had brought out a ukulele and was playing it. Several people had broken out bottles of beer, and even, by the smell wafting toward us, some herbal refreshment, despite the presence of the sheriff, who didn’t seem inclined to investigate.

“Maybe it’s for the best, Ed,” Drew said to his uncle. “The rest of that meat will keep for tomorrow.”

Ed looked down at his coolers. “True. And some people will need it even more then.”

“Yes.” The sheriff looked up. A lone helicopter—the first one I’d seen all day—was flying by, low and slow.