“I didn’t see it, either, until it was almost too late.”
“Neither of you saw it? They’re pretty hard to miss.”
“I know.”
“Why didn’t you see it?” Jenna persisted.
Oh, boy. Moment of truth. “I was trying to find some music on the radio.”
“You were supposed to be watching the road,” Jenna scolded.
“I know. She was doing so well, I...” Screwed up. She decided it would be best not to mention that Sabrina had been about to dig in her purse for her phone. She’d been the responsible adult. She should’ve been more vigilant. If she hadn’t started to turn on the radio and channel surf they’d have been fine.
Jenna groaned. “And of all the people to hit.” She ploughed a hand through her blondish hair. She needed to get to the hair colorist. Celeste would offer to take her once she’d calmed down. Penance for what had happened.
“I’m sorry,” Celeste said. “I really am. But at least we didn’t hit the deer.”
“That’s something.” Jenna didn’t sound very mollified.
“And Henry Gilbert being a witness helped. The deer really did jump out at us. And Susan was darned close to the line. She didn’t give us much wiggle room.”
Jenna sighed. “Well, I’m glad you’re all okay.”
“It won’t happen again,” Celeste promised.
“You got that right. I’ll drive with her from now on.”
That was fine with Celeste. She left the office, shaken. She watched over entire classrooms of children and was always on the lookout for potential problems. Why hadn’t she taken that same vigilant attitude when she’d been with her niece? Victor King should have given her a ticket.
She went from the office to room twelve and knocked on the door.
A moment later Henry Gilbert opened it. He was wearing the same jeans and T-shirt he’d been wearing when he stopped at the scene of the accident and was holding a bag of potato chips.
“I wanted to thank you,” Celeste said. “For stopping.”
He shrugged. “No big deal.”
“You saved my niece from getting a ticket. She’s just learning how to drive.”
“And you say what I write is scary,” he joked.
She couldn’t help smiling. “She’ll be the most careful driver on the planet now.” Come to think of it, so would Celeste. “Anyway, it was nice of you.”
“It’s usually good to have an unbiased witness.”
“I can tell you, Mrs. Frank sure wasn’t unbiased.”
“The other driver?”
Celeste nodded.
“She looked pretty pissed. You two probably gave her a few new gray hairs.”
“Oh, well, she’ll color them,” Celeste said, and he grinned at that. He had a cute smile. He looked like an oversize Boy Scout, standing there with his bag of potato chips.
And she wanted to reward him with a badge. Or a kiss.
Okay, this felt awkward. It felt like being actors in a play and having the director change their roles but forget to give them their new lines. She backed away. “I’ll let you get to work.”
For a minute he seemed about to say something, but then he adjusted his glasses, nodded and shut the door.
Celeste hurried across the parking lot to the house, to Aunt Edie and Jolly Roger and Nemo the dog, and the world of normal. She hoped next time she went to clean room twelve Henry Gilbert wouldn’t be in it. She’d just seen a softer side of him, and how could you not like a man who liked potato chips? But he also spent hours thinking up ways to kill people. Even though she knew it was only fiction, and fiction that a lot of people read, she still found the idea of a man wanting to write about that stuff a turnoff.
A vision of Henry the first time she’d seen him wearing nothing but a towel sprang to mind. Hmm. Not a complete turnoff. What was she doing, feeling even the tiniest bit attracted to a man who seemed to live in the minds of serial killers?
What was Paul doing right now? She climbed into her scratched Prius and drove to the church.
His secretary called him out of his office and he looked happy to see her. “This is a nice surprise.”
“Thought maybe you’d like to get a latte.”
“Sure,” he said with a smile.
Ten minutes later they sat at a table in Beans and Books with large coffee drinks, surrounded by shelves offering a variety of books, coffee mugs and other coffee-lover paraphernalia, along with bags of coffee beans and grounds. She told him about Sabrina’s close encounter with Susan Frank and then happened to mention Henry Gilbert’s stopping to save the day.
“He’s a writer,” she added.
“Oh? What’s he write?”
“Novels about serial killers.”
Paul nodded, taking that in, and took a sip of his drink.
“What do you think it says about someone who writes that kind of stuff?” she asked.
Paul shrugged. “That he’s got a wild imagination.”
“Don’t you think it’s...kind of sick?”
“Not necessarily. I assume the killer gets caught in the end?”
“I hope so.”
“I’m betting he does. When you write certain books, you’re making a deal with the reader. If it’s a romance, the reader expects you to deliver a happy ending. You write a mystery or a crime novel, the reader expects the bad guy to get caught and justice to be done. So if he’s providing justice in the end and giving someone a good scare along the way...” Paul let the sentence hang unfinished.
“I guess I’m being a Suzy Sunshine,” she confessed. “I just don’t like stories where people are being murdered and dismembered.” Happily for her, Emerson hadn’t talked about any of the bad things he encountered as a cop, and while he’d enjoyed movies where cars went flying through the air and spies kicked and karate-chopped each other, they’d never watched the kind of creepy stuff that Henry was writing. And she certainly hadn’t read books of that type.
“What do you like to read?” Paul asked.
“Give me a good romance novel with a happy ending any day,” she said.
“If the bad guy gets caught, that’ll be a happy ending. Hopefully, he’ll meet a fitting creepy end.”
“I’ll never read the book to find out,” Celeste said with a shudder.
How was that book of Henry’s going to end?
Chapter Nine
Room number twelve was vacant the next day when Celeste arrived to clean it. She found herself wondering where Henry had gone. Just curious, of course. Not that she really cared. Maybe he was making a potato chip run.
She went into his room after cleaning for the nice middle-aged couple next door. As usual, they’d left a dollar on one of the pillows, about the average tip for guests of the Driftwood Inn.
If they tipped at all. So far Henry Gilbert hadn’t given her a single tip. Of course, he was staying at the Driftwood for a long time and that could add up. Not that she was cleaning rooms for tips, anyway, or even for pay. She simply wanted to help her sister. Still, it irked her when people were cheap. Henry Gilbert was cheap. And rude.
But he’d also taken the time to stop and act as a witness at a car accident.
Lo and behold, what was this? A five-dollar bill lying on a pillow. And a note on the motel stationery. So, change the bed already.
She found herself smiling. Well, Henry, maybe you’re not such a bad guy after all.
She encountered the middle-aged couple returning from a walk on the beach as she wheeled her supply cart from his room. “Our room always smells so fresh and clean when you’re done,” the woman complimented her after she’d thanked them for the tip. “And I love the decor. Those seashell lamps are adorable.”
“I’ll be sure to tell my sister,” Celeste said. “She decorated all the rooms.”
&
nbsp; “Ours is certainly charming.”
Jenna had done a great job of making the whole place charming. Yes, it lacked many of the modern amenities people had come to expect, such as king-size beds and fancy showers. No hot tubs, not even out at the pool. Although Jenna was budgeting for one. But the pool had been improved and now had that mermaid painted on the bottom. The rooms were kitschy yet delightful, and the beach was a quick walk through the dune grass. The price was right, too. Business had picked up with the nice weather, and Jenna was solidly booked through the Fourth of July.
She was doing as good a job of putting her life together again as she was bringing the Driftwood Inn back to its former glory days. Watching over Aunt Edie, working hard to guide and protect her daughter, making new friends—she was carving out a truly satisfying life for herself in Moonlight Harbor. Celeste suspected it wouldn’t be long before her sister had her love life sorted out, as well. Oh, to be able to follow in those footsteps.
“How are you settling in?” Patricia Whiteside asked Celeste as the Friday-night gang settled in Aunt Edie’s living room with wine, some of Aunt Edie’s cookies and an appetizer concoction of brie cheese, shrimp and puff pastry that Annie had brought. The evening’s entertainment was creating seashell-trimmed picture frames, and seashells were scattered everywhere, two glue guns plugged in and lying on plates on Aunt Edie’s coffee table.
“Great,” Celeste said, setting a tiny sea snail shell in place. “I love it here.”
Aunt Edie smiled. “The beach, fresh air, wonderful friends—how could you not?”
“One thing I’m betting,” Tyrella said as she helped herself to more of Annie’s appetizer, “she’s doing a good job of unsettling some of the men, including our pastor.”
“A pastor?” Courtney Moore sounded almost shocked. “What are you doing with a pastor?”
Jenna jumped in. “Why shouldn’t she be with a pastor?”
“Okay, maybe that didn’t come out right. Somehow I can’t see you baking brownies for the church potluck,” Courtney said to Celeste.
“You haven’t seen our pastor,” Tyrella said.
“I’ve seen him around,” Courtney told her. “And I’m not saying he’s not cute. Or nice. But you like to party, Celeste. Is he going to do that with you?”
“There are all kinds of ways to party,” Tyrella argued.
“And I bet he won’t cheat on me,” Celeste muttered.
“May the odds be ever in your favor,” Courtney sneered, quoting from the popular Hunger Games movies.
“They are with Paul,” Tyrella said.
“So you’re going for a sure thing,” Courtney deduced.
Again, Jenna jumped in. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
True, especially considering how unsure Celeste’s love life had been. So what if she was hedging her bets? “I’m ready for someone steady and dependable,” she said, rubbing Nemo’s ears. He let out a doggy sigh of happiness and slumped against her.
“You have him,” Courtney said, pointing to the dog. “I say, when it comes to men, the last thing you want is boring.”
Celeste remembered the scene in Emerson’s apartment. That had been anything but boring.
“Paul’s not boring,” Jenna insisted.
“At least give some other guys a chance,” Courtney said. “But not Victor,” she hurried to add, making the other women chuckle. It was no secret that Courtney would be more than willing to take a trip around the world in Victor’s squad car.
Nora held a small clamshell up to a corner of her picture frame to see if it would fit. “You’ll end up with whoever you’re supposed to. And whether you want exciting or not, we all wind up the same way, eating dinner in front of the TV and going to bed at ten.”
“Yeah, sign me up for that,” Courtney said in disgust.
“No matter what you sign up for, that’s what you eventually get,” Nora told her. “Which is why I have an ice cream parlor. A woman needs to get her kicks somewhere.”
“Do you really think that’s how we all end up?” Celeste asked her sister later, when it was just the two of them camped out on the living room couch.
“I hope not. I hope there’s more to love than that.”
Their conversation was interrupted by a text coming from Celeste’s phone. Emerson.
Been thinking about you a lot. I miss you.
“Is he serious?” Jenna demanded, reading over her shoulder. “Tell him to go shoot himself in the foot.”
I made a mistake.
“Is that what they call it now?” Jenna scoffed.
He’d made a mistake. He wanted her back. Like a genie popping out of a bottle, here came memories of all those good times they’d had, dancing over to Celeste, promising her a golden future with a reformed man.
“Men like that don’t stop making mistakes,” Jenna said. “What do you want to bet he’s between women?”
Her sister was right, of course. And how dare he come slinking back after the way he’d disrespected her?
Celeste’s fingers flew over her phone keyboard.
Are you serious?
As a heart attack. We were good together. You know you miss me.
“Talk about arrogant,” said Jenna.
I’d have to be brain dead to take you back, Celeste texted.
“Good for you,” her sister approved.
Come on, babe. I get that you’re pissed, but give me another chance.
For a second, only a second, Celeste hesitated. Until her sister added, “To break your heart again.”
And he would. Of course, he would.
Maybe in a parallel universe, Celeste texted.
She told him to go pistol-whip himself, then she turned off her phone and tossed it aside, proud of herself for not buying the fool’s gold he was selling.
Oh, yes, she was definitely moving in the right direction. But, “You know, for a minute there, I almost believed him.”
Jenna nodded. “You get that rosy picture in your mind of what could be, if only. But if only isn’t real life.”
Celeste sighed and took a thoughtful sip of her wine. “Do you think the women in our family are cursed?”
Jenna blinked. “What?”
“I mean, look at us. Dad died when we were really little and Mom never remarried. Aunt Edie’s first husband was a wife-beater.”
“Yeah, but Uncle Ralph made up for that. And Dad was a great guy according to Mom.”
“We lost him all the same. And then there’s Damien.”
Jenna frowned at her empty glass.
“Sorry.” What was she doing, bringing up Jenna’s ratty ex?
Except that Jenna had already alluded to him with her talk of if onlys. Sometimes Celeste wondered if, in spite of how much her sister professed to despise him, she was still a little in love with him. Was that the real reason she was finding it so hard to move on with someone new? Love and hate, as the saying went, were two sides of the same coin.
“I don’t believe in curses,” Jenna said firmly. “Sometimes we just don’t think when we’re man-shopping. I sure didn’t.”
“If Damien asked you now,” Celeste began.
Jenna held up a hand. “Don’t go there. Even if I completely lost my mind, I’d still instinctively know to run away as fast as I could. That man was a waste of love.” She set her glass aside. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.”
Celeste had done her share of wasting, letting herself get swept away, seeing what she wanted to rather than what was real.
She was so done with that. Courtney could joke all she wanted about church potlucks, but church potlucks trumped a broken heart any day. And Paul Welch was not a heartbreaker. If a woman was looking for a man, she probably couldn’t find a better one than him.
But, she wondered as she followed her sister up the stai
rs, if he really knew her, would he say the same thing about her?
“Why would you think that?” Jenna scolded when she brought up her concern.
Celeste shrugged. “I don’t know.” Yes, she did.
“Please don’t tell me you’re circling back to the men in your past.”
Celeste plopped on the bed. “Trying not to.” But it wasn’t easy. Those past relationships were Ghosts of Stupid Past, delighting in haunting her. Where had all those “this is it” false starts gotten her? Then there’d been Emerson, the grand finale of stupid. He hadn’t been a start at all. He’d only been using her.
“Hey, you fell in love. You gave your all. Granted, you gave it up to some real losers, but that’s on them.”
Celeste frowned at her painted toenails. “Is it?” She was the fool who kept rushing into relationships.
“Of course it is. It’s not like you went out and hooked up with a different man every weekend.”
“It’s not like I sat home on a Saturday night with my legs crossed, either.”
Jenna shook her head. “You’re worrying for nothing. I mean, what do you think Paul’s going to do? Grill you about your past? Who does that?”
“Someone who doesn’t want an STD.”
“You don’t have one, so that’s not an issue. Everyone has a past.”
True. And if he were any other man, she wouldn’t be worried about measuring up. “But he’s a minister.”
“And they understand human nature.”
“They may understand it, but that doesn’t mean they want to get serious with...” She stumbled to a stop.
“With a sweet, fun woman who has a big heart?”
Celeste had to smile at that. Her sister would always be her best advocate. But still... “Ministers have high standards. I don’t know if I can measure up.”
“You measure up fine,” Jenna insisted. “Talk to him. He might surprise you.”
How the heck did one bring that up? By the way, if you’re worried about having fun on our wedding night, don’t. I’ve got it covered. How do you feel about sex? How do you feel about women who’ve had sex with more than one man? A bunch of them, even?
The Summer Retreat Page 11