PAR FOR CINDERELLA

by MCCARTY, PETIE

  “You wouldn’t be headed to the festival, would you?” Casey called, as she climbed out of the truck.

  “Why yes, I would,” Belle said, smiling.

  “Hop in. I’ll drive you.”

  Belle waved her off with her cane. “Nothing doing. It’s not too hot, and the walk will do me good.”

  While festival tents lined most of the streets near the water, the biggest assortment of food venues and carnival-type rides filled Coastline Park, out on the point at the opposite end of Ocean Boulevard from the marina. The park had public restrooms and picnic tables with benches for families to gather during daylight hours, while the younger set partied in the park after dark.

  “Coastline Park is six blocks from here,” Casey told her. “That’s too far to walk and even longer on the way home after strolling through the festival for hours.”

  “There won’t be any parking left near the park,” Belle argued.

  Her godmother had a point. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. Now come on.” Belle pointed her cane toward the park.

  Casey locked the truck and pocketed the keys. “If you get tired, I’ll come get the truck and drive you back.”

  “If that will make you feel better, dear.”

  The two women took off down First Street, the sounds of the festival audible even at this distance.

  Belle chattered about the gossip divulged at her bridge club earlier in the week and the adult tidbits she’d picked up at Maisey’s two nights earlier.

  About three blocks into their walk, she said, “You haven’t been by to visit since the meeting last Monday. Has that handsome young man been keeping you busy?”

  “Who? Aidan?”

  “Nice try,” Belle said softly. “Want to tell me what happened?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Like I said, nice try.”

  Casey sighed. “He’s leaving, Aunt Belle. He’s definitely leaving. I heard him tell Deedee Bartow.”

  “But wasn’t he only stuck here until his hearing?”

  “Well, yeah . . .”

  “But you hoped . . .”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is the long face because he’s leaving or because he was with Deedee Bartow?”

  “I don’t care about Dee—” She glanced over at her godmother, finally making eye contact. “I guess a little of both. He wasn’t with Deedee, but he should have told me first that he was definitely leaving, not her.”

  “If that’s true, then you’re right.”

  “I am? Wait. What do you mean, if that’s true?”

  “Well, he hasn’t told you he’s leaving for sure, has he?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe he told Deedee that to get her to leave him alone.”

  Casey thought about that for a minute. Really liked the sound of it. Wanted to argue the possibility, so her hopes weren’t raised. The festival noise grew louder, and she realized they had reached the outskirts of Coastline Park. Several residents greeted the women and waylaid them with small talk.

  Belle patted Casey’s shoulder. “Let’s get something to eat. You and I will talk about Aidan later. Everything will be fine, dear. I promise.”

  Her godmother’s optimism boosted Casey’s mood, and minutes later, they enjoyed cups of clam chowder, followed by grilled shrimp skewers, and then a visit to the Talley’s Bakery tent. As they approached the tables inside, two men in polo shirts took their bakery sacks from Grace, turned to leave, and paused to look Casey up and down before vacating the tent.

  “What was that all about?” Casey wondered aloud.

  “Seems you attracted some more attention,” Belle teased.

  Flush-cheeked and harried, Grace greeted them. “What will you have?”

  “Two chocolate eclairs,” Belle said and grinned at Casey. “My treat.”

  “Who were those men, Grace?” Casey asked, as she bagged up their eclairs.

  Grace’s head shot up, and she stared for a moment as though deciding what to say. “I don’t know.”

  Her expression said something different, but Casey didn’t want to argue because more festival patrons had just entered the tent. Something to think about later. Between her godmother’s earlier promise and the festive atmosphere, Casey really enjoyed herself. She should have known it wouldn’t last long.

  About an hour to be exact.

  ~ ~ ~

  Aidan jumped in the shower the minute they returned to the house, and he thought Frank had done the same. After Aidan had shaved and changed, he climbed the stairs and found Frank watching a baseball exhibition game, in no real hurry to leave. Aidan was just about to tell him he’d walk to the festival and catch up with Frank later, when Stuart rose and said, “I’ll only be a few minutes. Wait for me and we’ll ride over to Coastline Park together. That’s where they’ll shoot off the fireworks.”

  Aidan didn’t care about any stupid fireworks display. He wanted to find Casey and get things settled between them. He hadn’t seen her in almost two days and missed the heck out of her. Needed to hold her. He told Frank to hurry the hell up and went back downstairs to wait.

  That had been a lousy idea. Sitting on the sleeper sofa made Aidan think of kissing Casey. Stretched out on the sofa with him. Side by side. Body to body. Aidan flew to his feet and pounded back upstairs to wait for Frank.

  The guy took forever, and Aidan wondered if it was on purpose. By the time they climbed back into the Jeep, the sun had edged toward the horizon. Frank insisted on driving, and again, he took his sweet time. Aidan kept his gaze glued to the sidewalks searching everywhere for Casey or Frank’s worn-out truck.

  “You can go more than twenty miles an hour you know,” he grumbled.

  “Not with tourists running out into the street at every corner. What’s your hurry?”

  “I’m starving.”

  “Is that so?”

  Aidan turned to stare at Frank. “Yeah, that’s so.”

  “I thought maybe you were looking for Casey.”

  “So what if I was?”

  “I figure if she wanted us to find her, she’d’ve called me by now,” Frank replied, still plodding through the Cypress Key streets.

  Aidan thought the same thing, and that didn’t lessen his impatience one bit. If there was one thing he hated, it was being ignored. He meant to find Casey and quick.

  “Just let me out,” he told Frank. “I’ll jog to the park from here. It’ll be quicker.”

  Frank laughed uproariously. “Son, you do have it bad. Don’t be so anxious. We’ll get there soon enough. And we’ll find her.”

  “Not at this speed.”

  Frank laughed again. “Trust me. I know my niece. You don’t want to go charging into the festival like a battering ram.”

  Yes, I do. And now.

  “You slip in, let her see you,” Frank was saying, “and ignore her a little bit. Give her a taste of her own medicine.”

  I don’t want her tasting medicine. I want her tasting me.

  Frank’s cell phone chimed, and Aidan grabbed it to check the display. “It’s Rory.”

  Frank took it and answered, “Hey, kid. What’s up?”

  Rory was so excited, Aidan could hear the wild chatter from the cell phone.

  “What?” Frank bellowed. “Don’t you go near that shed or the cart barn. You hear me? Aidan and I are on the way. You get out of there.”

  Frank clicked off and whipped into a U-turn, his face bunched in a scowl.

  “What is it?” Aidan asked, though he had a good idea.

  “Rory left his cell phone in the cart barn and went back to get it. Since it was closer for him, he drove our dirt road through the backwoods that comes out behind the maintenance shed.”

 
Frank wheeled around the corner at Third Street and dodged a tourist that pulled out in front of him.

  “And?” Aidan tried to keep from shouting.

  “You’ll never guess whose truck he found tucked into the trees behind the maintenance shed.” Frank’s eyes glinted in anger.

  “PJ Bartow’s truck.”

  “Right.”

  “He’s up to no good.”

  “That’s what Rory thought. So he called me. And we’re going to catch the little bastard,” Frank growled.

  “Hit it.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Carrying the two lattes they’d just purchased, Casey urged Belle toward a vacated table under a crooked live oak near the entrance to Coastline Park.

  “We’ll sip our lattes and rest a bit,” she told her aunt.

  “I don’t need to rest. I can keep going.”

  “I know, but I’ve been on my feet all day at the pro shop, and I’d like to sit for a while.” Her ploy worked perfectly.

  “Of course, dear.” Belle took the two lattes from her and set them on the now-empty table.

  Before Casey could take a seat, a voice announced behind them, “I’ve been looking all over the festival for you.”

  Casey closed her eyes. She knew that voice. The last one she wanted to hear. Belle’s glare over her shoulder only confirmed her disappointment, but she turned around anyway.

  Deedee Bartow waited about three feet away, a smile stretched across her face. Not a happy Hi-how-are-you smile, but an I’m-fixing-to-stick-it-to-you smile that didn’t reach her glittering eyes. Glittering with malevolence, that is.

  What now? This could not be good. Casey could only hope this had nothing to do with Aidan.

  “Nice to see you, Ms. Crawford,” Deedee added, almost as an afterthought.

  Her godmother stepped alongside Casey. “What do you want, Deedee? We were about to have our lattes . . . in private.”

  God bless you, Aunt Belle.

  “Oh, this won’t take long.” The ugly smile parted and exposed straight white teeth.

  Casey thought of the piranha exhibit at the Tampa Seaquarium.

  “Evelyn got something interesting in the mail today that she thought you’d enjoy seeing, Casey.”

  I’ll just bet.

  Deedee fumbled in her purse and pulled out what looked like a folded sheet of newspaper. She held the article out of reach like a prize. If she thought Casey would ask to see it, the girl was crazy.

  “Seems a friend of Evelyn’s got married a couple months back and sent her a copy of her wedding announcement in the Palm Beach Post society section for a souvenir since Evelyn missed the wedding.”

  “So? Why would I care about that?”

  Oddly, Aunt Belle shot Casey a worried glance and eased forward to a spot slightly in front of her niece.

  “Why indeed?” Deedee’s malicious smile widened, and she opened up the folded news clipping. “Let’s see. The announcement is here on page two. Let me just open this up, and I’ll read it to you.” She smoothed the paper against her thigh and held it up high to read, putting the front page at eye level for Casey and Belle.

  “Tanya May Ballinger Evertson and Edward Charles Baynton . . .”

  Coastline Park was lit up like daytime with portable lighting, and the clearly visible front page had a large color photograph pasted in the center. Casey’s gaze locked on the picture rather than Deedee’s glittering eyes glancing up at her every few seconds. The picture held a cluster of black-tie guests at a society event, but one man and woman stood apart from the rest. A handsome couple. Something about the picture looked familiar. Casey stepped closer. The man wore a tuxedo. His longish light-brown hair had noticeable blond streaks. The man looked like Aidan. Her Aidan.

  She heard her Aunt Belle gasp.

  Casey’s gaze shot to the headline below the photo. “Reclusive CEO Aidan Cross Steps Out in Hospital Charity Event with Supermodel Lisa Ibarra.” Below that, the article began, “Golf resort developer Aidan Cross attends the annual Plantation Hospital Charity ball with frequent companion, Lisa Ibarra. Could wedding bells be ringing for the handsome couple in the future? . . .”

  The words blurred together. Her Aidan a CEO? Wedding bells? She glanced at the picture again. It was him. The smile. The eyes, the puppy-dog chocolate-brown eyes. A golf course developer?

  She glanced at Aunt Belle, whose face had gone pale as a ghost, her eyes wide.

  Not a golf course developer. The golf course developer. The rumor.

  Deedee had stopped talking and stared gleefully at the two shocked women. “Oh, did you see something interesting on the front page?”

  She snatched the clipping out of Casey’s view and flipped it around so they could all see together.

  “Why, this is a regular fairy tale, the three of us gazing at this clipping together. The godmother, the stepsister, and you, Cinderella,” she sneered at Casey. “Oh wait. Maybe not.”

  She pointed to the tuxedoed man in the front-page photo. “This guy looks just like our new Cypress Key visitor Aidan, who spells his name with an e. Hmm. You know, I think this really is our Aidan in the picture, don’t you, Casey?” She looked up with her best malicious smile. “Seems your Prince Charming pulled a fast one. Looks like you don’t get your fairy tale, Cinderella.”

  When Deedee started to laugh, Aunt Belle grabbed for the clipping. Deedee jerked the paper out of reach, causing an off-balance Belle to stumble into Deedee and go down, scraping her knee and tearing out her capris with the rough landing.

  “Aunt Belle!” Casey cried and helped her godmother to her feet.

  Shocked by the older woman’s tumble into her, Deedee could only gawk. Belle took advantage and snatched the clipping out of her hand. “You can tell Evelyn, I said she’s a bitch,” Belle said quietly and forcefully.

  Deedee gasped, and Casey didn’t know if it was because the town icon had just used the “b” word or because Belle had called Evelyn that name. She didn’t care. She just wanted to get out of there. Make sure her godmother was okay and escape.

  “Come on, Aunt Belle, let’s get some antiseptic and a Band-Aid for your knee,” Casey said, using anger to fight back her tears.

  “Hey, you can’t steal my clipping!”

  Belle glared at Deedee over her shoulder. “I forgot, dear. You’re one too.”

  Deedee’s shriek echoed in their ears as Casey helped Belle toward the picnic table. “If it’s all the same, dear, I’d like to go home now,” Belle said.

  “Of course, but we should—”

  “I’m fine. My knee only needs a Band-Aid. My goddaughter needs me.”

  Casey could feel the hated tears filling her eyes. “He’s been lying to me the whole time, Aunt Belle.” She held out her hand for the newssheet.

  Belle’s own eyes glistened as she passed the clipping over. “Sort of.”

  “Sort of?”

  Belle kept walking when Casey tried to stop.

  “Is the rumor about the golf course developer true, Aunt Belle?”

  “It’s a long story, dear, but it has a good ending.”

  Two tears escaped and slid down Casey’s cheek. “When a man betrays a woman’s trust, there’s never a happy ending.”

  “Just get me home, dear. We’ll talk there.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Just as Rory had said, PJ’s truck was hidden in the woods behind the maintenance shed.

  “How do you want to play this, Frank?” Aidan asked softly when they pulled alongside the hidden truck.

  “I think we need to fin— What the hell?”

  Aidan followed Frank’s gaze and watched a crouched figure scoot out the side door of the maintenance shed and scramble toward the cart barn as furtively as was possible while heftin
g a five-gallon gasoline can.

  “The son of a gun’s gonna burn my place down.”

  “Let’s go,” Aidan urged, and Frank was out of the Jeep like a shot.

  Screw sneaking up on PJ. They had to get to him before he torched the cart barn. As they flew past the maintenance shed, a figure stepped out from behind the podocarpus hedge lining the front wall.

  “Over here,” a young voice hissed, and Frank skidded to a halt.

  “Dammit, Rory. I told you to get out of here,” Frank hissed.

  “But someone had to watch—”

  “No buts!”

  Aidan didn’t wait. Let Frank deal with the kid. He raced silently to the cart barn, only slowing when he heard scuffling near the open back door that faced the maintenance shed. He eased toward the edge of the doorway. Had to be careful in case PJ was armed. Ready to peer around the corner, he heard the slosh, slosh of the gasoline bouncing around inside the can and the splat! when the liquid slammed across the concrete floor. The dangerous solvent fumes lay heavy in the air.

  No time for careful. One match would finish it. Or them.

  Element of surprise, Cross.

  He peered around the corner and spied PJ only a few yards away, back turned and using both hands to slug blops of the gasoline liquid onto the floor. Aidan was on him in two long strides, spun him around and pitched his hardest right hook, fury fueling the delivery. The heavy can slammed onto the concrete floor. Gasoline poured out the neck in a stream.

  This ass wanted to hurt Frank and Casey, tried to ruin them with arson. Aidan could only see red and PJ’s stupid face, begging for Aidan’s fist. PJ scrabbled to his feet with a roar, his lip split and bleeding, but Aidan sent him flying out the open door with another hard right, splitting the skin on his own knuckles in the process. He relished the pain. Had to get the stupid bastard outside, away from the gas and the volatile fumes.

  PJ went down but refused to stay down. Rearing up to a crouch, he barreled forward and caught Aidan in the midsection, flinging them both backward onto the ground. Ready for the move, Aidan rolled right and pounded a hard knuckle punch to PJ’s gut with his left fist, sending the jerk backward again. Before the ass could regain his balance, Aidan kicked PJ’s legs out from under him and slammed him onto the ground.