Counter Revolution - The Coconut Chronicles: Two Guys, One Caribbean Dream House - page 79

Panic, properly contained, can be remarkably motivating.
Within minutes of Daniel's departure we were burning up the phone lines.
First we called the airline and postponed our return to D.C.
Then we called work and explained the situation.
“We'll get back as soon as possible,” was all we could say.
Next—well, frankly we didn't know what to do next. Who could help us? Our network
of contacts on the island was almost non-existent. Other than the realtors we'd dealt
with—and of course Daniel and Rod—we hardly knew anyone.
Then we remembered Carlos, the owner of the Puerto Real Inn . He had welcomed us
with open arms when we'd eaten at his restaurant a couple of times the previous year. Even
more encouraging, he was one of the best-connected people on the island. Even Clara had
said so.
It took a few minutes to get Carlos on the phone, but he was immediately sympathetic
when we told him our tale of woe.
“Come over and have a Bloody Mary,” he said. “We'll figure this out.”
We reached the hotel in record time. Carlos greeted us warmly and led us to the hotel's
open-air restaurant, where he served us drinks while we regaled him with the saga of Daniel
and Rod.
He listened patiently until we were done.
“I've got a great idea,” he said.
We felt better already.
“There's a wonderful new property manager on the island named Jane Compton. I heard
the other day she's looking for new clients. Why don't I give her a call?”
Jane met us at the house at three o'clock. My first thought was that she could have
been Meryl Streep's sister. Like the actress, her features were sharp and mobile, her gestures
charmingly expressive. She smiled a lot, laughed even more and managed to seem both self-
possessed and vulnerable at the same time. With her hair pinned up in an untidy bun and her
reading glasses perched halfway down her nose, she might almost have been Streep's twin.
Hailing from Wisconsin, she had come to the island a couple of years earlier to visit her
cousin, who was married to a local, and after a few weeks had decided to stay.
We were instantly smitten. She was professional and charming. She even loved our fur-
niture from Pier 1 and Sears .
“Carlos told me you're in a jam,” she said.
Michael spoke up—dear, blunt Michael.
“Our property manager fired us,” he said.
That got her attention.
“What do I need to know?” she asked, smiling impishly.
We told her what happened. She listened without comment.
“Do you know Daniel and Rod?” I asked.