Killer Summer

by Lynda Curnyn

  “So let me ask you, does the investigating officer go over the autopsy? You know, to compare his findings at the scene with the medical examiner’s?”

  “Well, not necessarily me. That is, not necessarily the first officer on the scene.”

  “Who would?”

  “Drowning deaths are turned over to homicide, and they do the follow-up. Accidents like that always are followed up by them,” he replied, a bit defensively I thought.

  “Oh. So who has access to that information?”

  “Whatever detective was on homicide that night.” I saw him physically slump as he said this, as if he realized he was no longer my hero.

  But I realized there was someone who could be my hero. Myles. Last summer he’d interned at the D.A.‘s office for Suffolk County, thanks to his dad, who’d recommended him for the position. Hell, Myles might even know the homicide detective who was on that night. His father probably had.

  I would have to talk to Myles. If he was still willing to talk to me.

  * * *

  Chapter Fifteen

  Nick

  Money doesn’t grow on trees. But far be it from me not to plant a few seeds.

  “Dude, I got you covered. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.“

  This was a first for me. I’m sitting on the beach, gazing out into the ocean, plastic cup of beer in hand, making a deal. It’s the kind of thing that can give a guy a woody, you know?

  And I would have a woody if Les Wolf, aka Paranoid Lead Singer of Nose Dive, knew enough not to look a gift horse in the mouth. I’m offering this guy a chance to sign with Revelation, and he’s hemming and hawing over money. “No worries,” I told him last week when we started hammering out the deal, and he’s still worrying.

  “So you’re going to put up ten thousand just for publicity. That’s over and above the advance and recording costs,” Les said.

  I glanced over at Sage, who was still fast asleep on a blanket on the other side of the umbrella from me. Still, I lowered my voice. “I told you, dude. Money is not a problem here.”

  “And all the monies we discussed—for the advance, publicity, recording—those will be in the contract?”

  I sighed. “My lawyer’s working on it right now.” Good thing my dad was my lawyer. I had just popped a payment of two grand in the mail to Lance to get him working on the site, and after I paid the monies I promised in this contract, I was going to be back where I started again. Nearly broke. But all that would change. Just as soon as we got our first CD distributed, the royalties would start rolling in.

  “Listen, Les, I’d love to talk all day with you, man, but I got another client to call.” Another client. Yeah right. Another beer maybe. Not that I’m a bullshitter. But when it comes to negotiating, you gotta treat the prospective client like you would the prospective lay. Always make them think there’s someone you want more.

  Smiling, I listened as Les promised to call as soon as he talked to the rest of the band. “No later than next week,” he said.

  “Later,” I said, snapping the phone shut with a smile. Worked like a charm.

  As if to prove my point, my cell rang again. I looked at the caller ID. Bernadine. Of course Bernadine was calling. Probably because I hadn’t yet responded to her post breakup call. The one she always followed up the breakup letter with. I never understood why the call was necessary. I guess Bern wanted to make sure I understood all those heartfelt thoughts she put in her letters. Hell, if I didn’t understand by now…

  I hadn’t responded at first because I was in a bit of a mad scramble before I got out to the beach.

  And now…

  Now I realized I had gotten the upper hand by not calling back. And I figured I’d hold on to it a bit.

  As the call rolled over into voice mail, I sucked down the rest of my beer. If only they had waitress service out here on the beach. I could sure use another cold one.

  With that thought in mind, I got up and headed up to the house. Maybe Zoe was back from her run. Though I appreciated the privacy while I conducted my business, I was getting a little bored watching the waves break with just that mutt staring at me. Sage had passed out the minute her head hit the beach blanket. I guess she’d had a lot of tequila last night.

  Unfortunately, Zoe was not at the house. But Tom was. Cooking again. Geez, didn’t this guy ever take a break?

  “I see you decided to join the living,”! commented as I walked past the counter where he was busily chopping away at something or other. Seemed to be a habit with him. Maggie, too, come to think of it.

  Actually, I tried not to think of Maggie. It only made me feel guilty, especially after I filed her business plan away in my drawer file, under U for useless.

  Tom looked up at me with a puzzled frown. “What’s that?”

  “You feeling any better?” I asked. He had been in pretty sorry shape the night before. I guess I should be grateful, seeing as I didn’t have to put up with any late night chats with Tom once I crawled into bed myself. But the snoring! Jesus.

  “I feel fine,” he replied, same puzzled expression on his face.

  “Okay, buddy. Just wondered. I mean, you had a lot to drink last night.”

  He shrugged. “Ah, that was nothing.”

  No, dude, it was something, I thought, remembering his little display after the fireworks. At least it kept Zoe occupied, concocting her crazy theories.

  “Nick, will you do me a favor?” Tom said now. “Can you go up to the market and pick me up some dill?”

  Dill? I never saw anything like dill in that market, and I was about to make that point when he continued,“And if they don’t have any in the produce section, ask Bobby. They usually have a secret stash in the back for residents.” He winked at me, as if he were somehow letting me in on the dill conspiracy.

  Whoop-de-doo.

  “I’ll walk up there with you, Nick.”

  I looked up to see Francesca, leaning languidly against the sliding glass door, clad in a baby-blue bikini.

  “You better put something on,” Tom said. “You’ll get a burn walking around like that.”

  That’s not the only thing she’ll get, I thought, watching as Francesca narrowed her eyes on him.

  “You need anything else?” I asked. I was immediately sorry I did. Because I wasn’t gonna ask for money—in fact, I would feel a little dumb doing that, seeing as he was probably cooking that meal for us. And though I was grateful to be served a home-cooked meal, I didn’t feel like emptying my wallet in that overpriced market. I had bills to pay. The band. Lance. Comp USA.

  Shit. I’d forgotten about the Comp USA. Man, I really was almost outta cash. I guess I didn’t have to get that new iPod, too. Maybe I could get Les to come down in the advance a bit…

  “Naw, that’s it. Just dill. Thanks, Nick.”

  “No problem,” I said, then stepped through the sliding glass door and on to the deck to wait for Francesca.

  She came out moments later, having added the tiniest miniskirt to her bikini outfit. I was surprised she managed to get by Tom in that getup.

  We started to walk down West Lighthouse toward the market. Of course, Francesca didn’t say a word. But she hardly had a thing to say last night at the party, even after I told her about my label. Well, she did seem kinda interested. Her eyes lit up a bit when I mentioned I was in the music business. Which only made me more curious about her.

  “So you down here for the summer, huh?” I asked now.

  I felt her looking at me from behind her black sunglasses. Gucci, too. I bet they were real. “Here and Manhattan,” she replied.

  “Is that right? You live in the city?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Whereabouts?”

  “64th and Park. With my dad,” she replied, as if the answer was obvious.

  “Oh.” I didn’t think Tom’s daughter lived with him. At least Sage hadn’t said so. Maybe it was a temporary thing. “You go to school up here?”

  She smiled,
stopping to pull a pink flower off a bush in front of house we passed. “I’m done with school.”

  “Congratulations.”

  No reply as she tucked the pink flower behind one ear.

  “So where’d you go?”

  “Florida International University. In Miami.”

  “Nice. Beach all year round.”

  She shrugged. “It was my mother’s choice, not mine. She’s in Boca.”

  “Oh.” Damn, this girl was a tough nut to crack. “So you got a boyfriend you left down in Florida?”

  “Boyfriend?” She sputtered out a laugh.“I don’t believe in boyfriends.”

  What the hell did that mean?

  “I mean, really,” she went on, “what is a boyfriend? A friend that’s a boy?” She laughed again. “I don’t play with boys.”

  “Oh yeah,” I replied gamely. “What do you do with them?”

  A mysterious smile curled her little pink mouth.“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

  “Dill. You know? I think it’s an herb…or something. Anyway, you got any?” I asked Bobby with no small amount of irritation. Not that it was Bobby’s fault I was irritated, I thought, watching as Francesca leaned over the freezer case in that minuscule skirt.

  I focused my attention on the ever-accommodating Bobby— at least, he was accommodating every time Sage came to the market with me—and saw that he was shaking his head at me.

  “Nothing?” I replied. “Not even in the back?”

  Now Bobby, who looked a little like John-Boy Walton, aged about twenty years and outfitted with a gut and graying goatee, was eyeing me somewhat suspiciously. “For Tom Landon. Lives over on West Lighthouse?” I added. Jesus, what was with this dude? It wasn’t like I was asking if he was hoarding weapons of mass destruction or anything.

  And if I was, apparently Tom’s name was the magic word, because Bobby nodded, mumbled something about “having a look in the back,” and disappeared, leaving me to contemplate Francesca, who had apparently made her selection—a cherry-red ice pop that she was currently performing fellatio on.

  Hurry, Bobby, hurry. Or I was going to do something I might regret.

  I swallowed that thought as I eyed her perfect breasts pouring out of that bikini top. I would never regret a taste of her. But good old Tom sure wouldn’t appreciate it. Or Sage, for that matter.

  “Mmmm…” Francesca said, popping the ice back in her mouth again. She wasn’t looking at me, but I knew she was aware of me.

  That’s the kind of girl she was. Acting all innocent and shit, but she knew exactly what was going on. I knew the type.

  “Maybe you ought to take that outside,” I said.

  That bright blue gaze focused on me.

  “You’re dripping on the floor,” I explained. Not that it mattered. Within moments, a little squirt of a kid—couldn’t have been more than ten—was suddenly beneath her, smiling up at her as he swabbed the floor with a paper towel. “No problem, miss!” he declared.

  Yeah, I knew the type. Which is why I was glad I had decided to steer clear. Or Sage had decided. Whatever.

  I watched as Francesca’s eyes widened, and she ran off to a rack at the back, returning with some kind of snack I had never seen before. They looked like potato chips but they were multicolored. And the bag was black.“Oh, I love these!” she declared, her mouth now bright red from the pop. “Can we get these? Please?”

  For a minute I felt like the parent trying to decide if I should appease all my kid’s desires. But I wasn’t a parent—and I didn’t want to be, at least not to this chick—so I said, “You can get anything you want.”

  Which was the wrong thing to say, apparently. Because once we reached the register, I realized that even if I didn’t want to play the parent, I was going to have to pay the piper. Little Francesca didn’t have a dime on her. I should have guessed. I mean, where would she have put it? I thought, eyeing that little skirt, my gaze traveling over her flat little abs.

  It was probably the thought of my tongue gliding over those abs that had me pulling out my debit card. I had to. Little Miss Thang over here had, in addition to the bag of chips, also plunked on the counter a container of nail polish remover, some nail files and a pack of Marlboro Reds. I had to bite my tongue against an antismoking comment, for fear I was becoming the daddy here. At least, the sugar daddy. “You better ring that up, too,” I said to the girl behind the counter, gesturing to the pop Francesca waltzed out the front door with.

  “That’ll be $17.65,” the cashier replied, without batting an eye. And why would she? Eighteen bucks was nothing in a place like this. Though it was something to me, that was for sure, feeling a stab of panic as the cashier slid my card through the machine.

  Shit, I forgot I bought all those clothes, too. I was probably a few more grocery runs from flat-out broke.

  Maybe Lance could wait for his next payment. Once he started building the site, he might be able to work on enthusiasm alone.

  Pocketing my card and grabbing the bag, I stepped outside, watching as Francesca dumped her half-eaten ice pop in the trash, then turned and beamed a cherry-red smile at me.

  “Ready?” she said.

  “Yeah,” I replied, gazing distractedly at her ass as she started down the road to the house.

  We walked back in silence, mostly because I no longer felt like talking. Instead, I was worrying.

  What made me think I could get by on twenty-five grand?

  “Look!” Francesca said, stopping suddenly.

  I looked up and found myself staring through the reeds at a deer. A doe, I guess it was, standing protectively over a smaller deer. The baby, I guess. What did they call those again? Whatever. They were all over Fire Island. Like giant, tick-infested rodents.

  “So pretty!” Francesca sighed, grabbing my arm, pressing one of those perfect breasts into me as she did.

  Oh, man. Pretty was an understatement.

  “I wish I had my camera,” she said wistfully.

  I wished I had her camera. She’d pulled it out at the party the night before, and it was quite a camera. The latest in digital. It had to cost at least a grand.

  Nothing’s too good for Daddy’s little girl.

  Then another thought emerged. Maggie wasn’t the only investor in this town. Or in my beach house. Maybe I didn’t have to look any farther than my own backyard.

  I looked down at Francesca’s happy little face as she gazed at the deer in wonder.

  What I was wondering was how much influence Francesca had over Daddy. And if maybe Daddy might want to buy his little girl a little stock in a music label.

  Hey, why not make it a family business?

  Oh, God, that was terrible. Maybe I was evil.

  I looked down at Francesca, her mouth parted dreamily as she stared at the deer. It wouldn’t be a bad thing for her to develop a few cultural interests. I could be her mentor. I glanced down at her cleavage. A mentor with…benefits.

  “C’mon, let’s go up to the house and get that camera before they go away,” I said, gazing down at her.

  “Okay!” she said, squeezing my arm with excitement as she smiled up at me.

  And what a smile it was. I felt a warmth curl inside me, and I’m not just talking about the one that had already started in my groin.

  She wasn’t just hot. She was kinda…sweet, too.

  I mean for a kid.

  A rich kid, that is.

  * * *

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sage

  My love life is going to the dogs. So to speak.

  I’m not a calculating person. Generally speaking, anyway. But I do believe that some matters—like men—should not be left up to chance.

  I also knew that this thing with Vince was not going to happen unless I made it happen. He was elusive, that one, darting off just moments after we had gotten Tom into bed last night. I had been hoping for a little post-Tom-tuck-in nightcap. Apparently, Vince just wanted to go home and tuck himself in.

 
; So I decided to use my resources. In this case, Janis Joplin, who was looking a little neglected anyway. I figured she could use a nice walk along the beach. It was a beautiful day. Everyone was at the beach. Everyone except Zoe, who had gone running, probably to avoid getting burns on top of her burns. Nick had been there for a little while. I heard him gabbing on with someone on his cell phone, before he took off to God knows where. Who brought a cell phone to the beach? Everyone who mattered to him was at the beach, though I was starting to think no one mattered to Nick more than Nick.

  I had nothing to lose by taking my stroll. I was getting a little exercise, and that never hurt. Janis looked like she could use the companionship. As much as she looked anything. I wasn’t much of a dog person, though I had grown up with a dog. Well, Hope’s dog anyway. My parents had bought her a German shepherd puppy for her tenth birthday—she had been begging for a dog the entire summer before. But Hope was gone before Prince was barely housebroken. I had taught him to walk on a leash, mostly because my parents were too catatonic to remember they’d ever had a dog, much less another daughter. They never had him fixed, and he was gone by year’s end, too. Ran off, I suspect, with the mongrel down the street.

  I guess there was no accounting for taste.

  Now as Janis led the way along the shore, I realized it felt good to have a leash in my hands again. I think Janis was enjoying it, too. Tom hadn’t exactly been paying much attention to her anyway. I was starting to give some serious thought to dog ownership. I had been stopped by no less than three guys—two of them quite good-looking—on my way down the beach.

  Not that I was interested. I seemed to have only one man on my mind. Vince.

  Maybe it was the challenge. Zoe had accused me often enough of loving the chase more than anything else. Yes, it was true my interest had spiked the minute he outmaneuvered me at the party, but it wasn’t just that this time. There was something about him. Something I had glimpsed in his eyes as we carried Tom back to the house together. A genuine caring.