“If I weren’t, I wouldn’t have bought it.”

“I can’t believe I never noticed the painting before. Those birds are wrong in every possible way.”

Matt didn’t respond. So far as he was concerned, a glam-looking twenty-five-year-old who had a burning love for 1950s fashion and B movies shouldn’t freak out over flamingos. Those quirky birds and she were kindred spirits.

“Their beady eyes are following me,” she said.

“Then look away.”

“I can’t. Trying to avoid looking at this place is like turning away from a train wreck. I don’t know what you’re thinking.”

He grinned. “That’s half the fun of working for me, isn’t it? And I’m working on building a sister restaurant on the lake in Keene’s Harbor. If you think this motel’s going to be work, you should see that place.”

Ginger laughed. “All the same, how about if I just wait for you at the truck? And much as you might want to stand here all morning admiring your buddies, remember you have a meeting back at the office in ten minutes.”

“Don’t let Ginger hurt your feelings,” he told the fading birds after she’d walked away.

In truth, the flamingos were his buddies. They amused him as much now as they had when he’d been a kid and his parents would bring the family here on vacation. With five kids to clothe and feed, and a business that had never exactly cranked out money, the relatively cosmopolitan atmosphere of even sleepy Traverse City, and the Tropicana Motor Inn, had been a treat. His mom said the mural made her feel as though they were in the Caribbean instead of on Grand Traverse Bay.

Ginger was dead-on about the train wreck part, though. The city had grown in popularity and wealth, but the Tropicana hadn’t been so lucky. The former owners had moved to Florida five years ago, believing they could sell waterfront land to a developer in a heartbeat. Not so. The real estate market had gone south directly after them.