Killer Summer

by Lynda Curnyn

  “Where is he taking you to dinner?” Zoe asked now.

  “Le Dock in Fair Harbor,” I replied.

  “Seems like the place to go for romance,” Zoe said sarcastically.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, looking up in surprise at her bitter tone.

  Zoe shook her head.“Never mind.” She shifted in her seat. “So just you and Vince are going?”

  “Just me and Vince,” I replied, a vision of us staring at one another across a candlelit table momentarily dispelling my doubts. “I guess it’s nice to finally have a date with a man.” Then I smiled. “If you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, I do know,” Zoe said. “The one thing that was different about Jeff was that he didn’t even hesitate to pay the bill like other guys I’ve been out with. No warbling over the check, waiting for me to do ‘the reach.’ No acting like I owed him something afterward. He really was a perfect gentleman.”

  I looked at her. “So why not give him a chance?”

  “I suppose,” she said, her gaze moving to the trail of white foam the ferry left in its wake.

  I smiled at her pensive expression. That was Zoe. Even a roll in the hay required major consideration. I wouldn’t be surprised if she started to keep a video diary, if only to help her keep track of her ever-changing mind. But that’s what I loved about her, too, despite all the craziness she caused herself-—and me—sometimes.

  “I’m glad you were able to come out on this ferry with me,” I said now. “Do you realize this is the first ferry ride we’ve shared all summer?”

  She sighed. “I’m sorry, Sage. I know I haven’t exactly been fun lately.”

  I waved a hand dismissively.“No worries, Zoe.” Then I smiled. “After all the summer has only just begun.”

  * * *

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Nick

  What am I running here? A psych ward?

  “You’re where?“ I asked. Though my reception was usually good out on the back deck of the house, I could have sworn Les just said he was in Milwaukee. As in Milwaukee fucking Wisconsin.

  “Milwaukee, Nick. At my parents’ house.”

  Jesus Christ. He did say Milwaukee. I sat up in the lounger, nearly upending my glass of beer. “What the hell are you doing there?”

  “My mother thought it was a good idea. After what happened.”

  His mother thought it was a good idea? His mother? This is what I get for trying to give a kid a break. Fucking baby.

  “I just got to get my head together, you know?”

  I was about ready to tear his head off. “For how long?”

  “Just for a couple of months.”

  “A couple of months? Les, we’ve got to get into the studio—”

  “Dude, don’t you think I know that? I’ll try to come back sooner if I can.”

  “But you guys are playing next week at Plaid,” I said, naming the club I had booked him in.

  “The gig will have to wait, Nick. I can’t perform now.”

  “Look, Les, I can’t work on this kind of schedule. We’re gonna have to rethink this contract.”

  “Dude, the deal’s already signed. You can’t just do that.”

  “I can do whatever I want!” I said, even though I wasn’t too sure of that. 1 needed to check with my lawyer. That is, my dad.

  “But we already cashed the advance check.”

  Shit. Could I make him cough the money back up? Since I didn’t know, I said, “Are you gonna at least be able to write the rest of the songs while you’re there?”

  “I’ll do my best, dude.”

  He’d do his best. I’d already seen his best, and I wasn’t very fucking impressed. I leaned back in the lounger again, glancing back at the sliding door when I heard it open. Francesca. She was the last person I needed right now. Even she was stressing me out. “Look, Les, I have to go,” I said, “but could you call me in a few days? I’m gonna need a progress report.” And I wasn’t talking about his mental health, either. I needed those songs written.

  “I’ll call you next week, dude.”

  “Do that,” I said, clicking the phone shut and suppressing an urge to pitch it out into the dune grass that surrounded the deck.

  “Sounds like someone could use some stress relief,” Francesca said, stepping into my line of vision. She was wearing a pink bikini so bright my eyeballs started to ache at the sight of her.

  “Yeah,” I said wearily, tossing my cell phone on to the small table beside my lounger as Francesca sat down on the end. She reached for the drawstring on my suit.

  “Francesca—”

  She looked at me curiously, her fingers poised over the string.

  “Your father’s right inside.”

  She smiled, her hand moving over my shaft—already hard, despite my wishes—until her fingers grasped me through the material.

  Damn, that felt good. But it always did. And I might have even gone for it, if not for the fact that I was tired, damn tired. Not of Francesca. But of having sex within earshot of Tom. I’d hopped into the shower earlier, hoping to cool off, except that Francesca had hopped in with me, with Tom right in the next room. Next there was the kitchen-counter encounter, which took place about two minutes before Tom returned from the market. Her indiscretion knew no bounds. Last Sunday she’d even given me a hand job right beneath the umbrella on the beach. I practically came, too, just as Tom was reeling in a motherfucker of a fish.

  Not that he noticed. He never did. Which seemed to incite Francesca to ever more dangerous acts. Like right now, I thought, glancing over my shoulder at the sliding glass doors as she yanked down my suit and put her hot little mouth on me.

  Oh, man, I just died and went to heaven.

  Then I remembered Tom and realized I could actually die right now. And I wasn’t so sure about making it to heaven.

  “Francesca, stop,” I said, sitting back and yanking up my suit, though it was painful, let me tell you. Painful. But I couldn’t go on this way. We couldn’t go on this way. It was too fucking weird. Not to mention stressful.

  And I had enough on my mind at the moment.

  Francesca looked up at me and I could swear I saw something that looked an awful lot like hurt in her eyes. “I’m sorry, baby,” I said, reaching out a hand to touch her silky brown hair.

  She sat up, turning her back to me. A bit childish, yeah, but sometimes—like when I had her hot and wet beneath me—I forgot how young she really was, you know?

  “It’s not that I don’t want to,” I began. “I just think maybe we should try something different.” Bad choice of words. I wasn’t sure what different might consist of for Francesca. Doing it on a float as we rode through Kismet? “What I mean is, I think maybe it should be more special.”

  She turned her head, her eyes narrowed suspiciously at me.

  “Maybe we could have a little dinner first—”

  Her eyebrows raised.

  “At The Inn—”

  Her eyebrows dropped.

  “Or The Out,” I finished. Not as cheap as The Inn, but at least it was cheaper than Le Dock, and I clearly needed to be on a budget from here on in. “Afterward we could take a little walk on the beach,” I said, hoping to distract her from the other restaurant possibilities with the promise of romance. Girls liked that shit, right?

  Of course, Francesca was no ordinary girl.

  She seemed to consider it for a full moment, and just when I thought she might utter some inane protest, she stood up and said, “Okay.” Then, with one toss of her shiny brown hair, she headed inside.

  “You’re both going out? Together?” Tom said, staring at me after I explained that Francesca and I were going out to dinner. A friendly little dinner, I described it as.

  But no matter how I had sugarcoated it, Tom looked pretty pissed off. I was starting to worry that he might not be as oblivious to what was going on between me and Francesca as I thought.

  “What am I going to do with this dinner I’m makin
g?” he said, waving a hand at the meat defrosting on the counter. “I’ve got enough lamb chops here to feed an army!”

  Nope. Still clueless.

  “First Sage disappears,” he continued. “Now you and Francesca—”

  “Well, Zoe is around, isn’t she?”

  “Zoe’s a vegetarian!” Tom said, slapping a hand on the counter in frustration.

  “Ummm, she’ll definitely go for the, uh, spinach. And the potatoes,” I said, eyeing the produce he had taken out, too. I looked around, hoping Zoe might come out and save me somehow by converting back to a carnivore. But since she didn’t, I asked, “Where is Zoe?”

  “Oh, she’s up in the attic,” Tom said with a wave of his hand. “She’s looking through Maggie’s old clothes.”

  “Oh.” I couldn’t picture Zoe wearing Maggie’s clothes—Maggie was a bit more upscale than Zoe could tolerate—but whatever.

  “At least someone’s interested,” Tom said. “I’m having a heck of a time getting anyone from the Salvation Army to pick the stuff up. Or at least meet the freight ferry.” He sighed. “I’m starting to think I ought to just throw it all out.” Then his face brightened. “Or maybe I’ll have a yard sale.”

  Oh, that was classy, Tom. Fortunately, I was saved from making a reply by the sight of Francesca, who stood in the entrance to the kitchen, finally ready to go.

  Wow, I thought, studying the soft lavender dress she wore. It was worth the wait. I think she might have even put on makeup. She looked older. She looked hot. Well, hotter than usual.

  I saw Tom looking at his daughter as she stood there, his gaze pensive. Shit, maybe he’d already figured out this little outing was not as casual as I had made it sound.

  Then he snapped his fingers, a smile coming over his face as he looked at me once more. “I just remembered—I know a great recipe for lamb stew. I can use the leftovers and make us that for lunch tomorrow!”

  Oh, brother. I looked at Francesca and saw, once again, what looked like genuine hurt in her eyes.

  Damn. Francesca’s m.o. suddenly became way too clear to me. All this time she’d been trying to get her father’s attention. And, I thought, watching as Tom opened a cabinet and began pulling out ingredients, she clearly wasn’t getting it.

  Poor kid. I vowed to make it up to her. Now I was glad I’d suggested this little outing. Maybe that was what Francesca needed, you know? A little TLC.

  That, I could do. Yeah, I thought, studying her as she stepped toward the sliding glass door, eyes lowered.

  That, I could handle.

  * * *

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Zoe

  For whom the dinner bell tolls

  If Maggie Landon did live on, it was in her attic. After an hour of digging through the bags of clothing Tom had stored there, I was practically ill. Probably because all those sweatshirts, shorts, skirts and pants conjured up a woman—a life—that no longer was. Now I wondered why I had even bothered. What did I expect a dress to tell me anyway? I had learned all I needed to know from Nick. When I had asked him what Maggie was wearing the last time he saw her, he had said a shirt and jeans. Which made me wonder just why—or for who—she had changed into a dress. Still, the dress was a clue, and since it was the first real clue I had, I wanted to get my hands on it.

  Not that I did.

  By the time I climbed down again, sweaty and coated in dust, I felt vaguely nauseous. And completely demoralized.

  “Find anything you like?” Tom greeted me once I stepped into the kitchen.

  “Oh, uh, no. I mean, not really,” I said, looking at the line of lamb chops on the cutting board before him.

  There was a lot of meat there. Well, Sage wasn’t here to enjoy them, and I certainly wouldn’t enjoy them. I just hoped Nick and Francesca were hungry.

  Then I realized how quiet the house was.“Where is everyone?”

  “Well, as you know, Sage went out with Vince, and it looks like Nick and Francesca have followed suit.”

  “Nick took Francesca to Le Dock?” I said.

  “Nah, I think they went to The Out for dinner,” he said, raising the knife above the fatty end of one chop.“So it’s just me and you for dinner.” Whack.

  I shivered, watching as he used the knife to slide the fat off to the side of the cutting board. Me and Tom for dinner? Yikes.“Uh, you know I don’t eat meat, right?” I said, grabbing on to the first good excuse to run to The Out myself.

  “Oh, I know,” he said with a grimace as he lined up another chop to trim. Whack.

  I stepped away from the counter, nearly falling over Janis Joplin, who was lying by the door. At least she was here to protect me. Then I remembered she hadn’t exactly protected Maggie.

  “I threw together a little red sauce for you. You do eat pasta, don’t you?” Whack.

  I looked at the stove and saw that there was, in fact, a pot with red sauce simmering. That was kind of nice of him.

  Whack.

  I swallowed hard. “Uh, you didn’t have to do that, Tom.”

  He looked at me, eyes narrowed. “Oh, but you’ll be glad I did.” Dropping the knife, he turned to the stove, spooning up some sauce and turning to me. “Taste this.”

  I looked at him as he held out the spoon to me, his eyes coaxing.

  Obediently, I leaned forward, looking into his eyes as I tentatively tasted from the spoon he held to my lips.

  My eyes widened.

  “Good, right?”

  Good? I don’t think I’d ever tasted a red sauce that good. Death by marinara. Was it possible? “It’s fantastic, Tom.” I mean, it was. “What’s in that?” I said.

  “Oh, that’s my secret,” Tom said with a wink that sent a shiver right to my toes.

  As it turned out, I didn’t die that night. In fact, two glasses of wine and a plate of pasta later, I thought I was in love. Just kidding. But I was feeling some sort of strange kinship with Tom, especially when he told me that before he followed his fathers footsteps and went to work in the garment industry, he dreamed about joining the coast guard.

  Maybe Sage was right. Maybe I did have a thing for guys in uniform.

  “I told you I was a lifeguard when I was young?”

  I nodded, despite the fact that I had heard the story secondhand.

  “Saved seven lives,” he said. “Eight now, if you count Les,” he continued, pouring himself a glass of wine from the second bottle he’d cracked open once we’d settled in the living room. “More wine?”

  I held my hand over my glass. Clearly I needed to keep my wits about me tonight.

  “So I guess Sage should be coming back soon,” I said, if only to remind him that someone else would be joining the house shortly.

  He frowned.“I guess.” Then he chuckled.“So you think maybe there’s a little romance going on between those two?”

  I shrugged, not sure if Sage would want to divulge to one boss that she was hankering for the other. “I don’t know.”

  He sighed. “Well, I guess that’s all right. Though I don’t know about Vince.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Shrugging, he picked up his glass. “Don’t get me wrong, I love Vince. But I get the feeling Sage might need someone a little more established in life.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “He seems pretty established to me, Tom. Isn’t he a VP in your company?”

  “Oh, yeah. But I didn’t mean it that way. I meant more settled, I guess. With his life. Right now he’s still living in the same small condo he bought after the divorce.”

  “He has the beach house, though.”

  Tom chuckled. “He wishes. Nah, that house belongs to his ex-wife. Her family has had it for years. But they don’t come out here much anymore, so Gabriella lets him stay there. It’s a sweet deal. And it’s nice for Vince to have a place to take Sophia once in a while.“

  That was interesting. I wondered how Sage would feel if she knew that. From the way she talked about Vince, I thought it likely his glamorous li
festyle was a big part of his appeal for her. It certainly wasn’t the whole “kid” thing.

  But just as I was considering the state of Sage’s romance, Tom stood up to change the CD in the player. A soft romantic ballad filled the room.

  Oh, dear. Was it too early to make a dash for my bedroom? Because suddenly it was looking like I was in a whole different kind of trouble.

  Even more so when Tom straightened, looking at me with eyes clouded by all the wine he’d consumed. “Dance with me?”

  “Oh, Tom, I’m really not much of a dancer—”

  “Come on, Zoe, be a sport,” he said.

  “I really can’t—”

  “Sure you can,” he said, grabbing my hand and pulling me off the couch.

  I stiffened once he put his arms around me.

  “Relax,” he said, beginning to move gently against me.

  Which only made me step on his foot.

  “Easy, easy. Feel the music,” he said, placing a firm hand at my back to guide me.

  All I could feel was scared. Not of death. Actually, at the moment, death might have been the easier option.

  “Maggie never liked to dance, either,” he said.

  I held my breath at the mention of Maggie’s name.

  “Well, she liked to dance, but that crazy freestyle dancing.” He laughed, the sound rumbling through me as well.

  “You must miss her, though,” I said, trying to keep her memory between us.

  He paused, but only momentarily. “Of course I miss her.”

  I was heartened by his words, even though I realized they were just that: words. I couldn’t know what he was really feeling. Or hiding. “Do you ever think about that night?” I asked. “The night it happened?”

  He didn’t answer, though I felt his own body stiffen. Okay, I was getting into dangerous territory. But my need to know more overrode the fear that shimmered through me.