“I am. But I have to have a detective, too. That’s Matthew. And he’s in love with the killer’s next victim.”
“Next victim? You’re going to let her have sex and then kill her?”
Henry shrugged. “She must die. That’s the title of the book.”
“You are sick,” Celeste said in disgust, hopping off the bed.
“Hey, maybe I’ll fix it so she’ll die with a smile on her face.”
“Not funny,” Celeste snapped and marched into the bathroom to replace the towels.
He followed her and stood leaning in the doorway. “Then maybe I’ll let her live.”
“Big of you.”
“The killer’s going to get caught, you know.”
“I should hope so.”
“He has to. Justice must be done and the story has to be satisfying in the end. In other words, order and optimism are restored to the characters’ world. It’s that way with all good stories.”
“Not all. Some of them have sad endings,” Celeste told him. She hated that kind of story.
“I like things to end well for the hero. And the heroine.” She was about to walk past him, but he didn’t move aside. “How’s your story going to end, Celeste? Are you sure you picked the best hero?”
Her mouth felt like the Sahara. Her lips were desperate for moisture. She licked them.
He watched.
How had they wound up standing so close? Her heart rate went from a trot to a canter.
“Has he kissed you yet?”
The canter went to a gallop. “That is so none of your business.”
“He has, hasn’t he? But it wasn’t that good. Otherwise, you’d be bragging.”
“Only jocks do that in the locker room.”
“That’s kind of a sexist remark.”
“I need to get back to work and you need to get back to murdering people,” she said and brushed past him, making a dash for the door.
“Don’t rush into anything, Happy Clam Girl.”
“I’m not,” she insisted. “I’ve found the perfect man.”
“So I’m wrong, then? Is it perfect when he kisses you?”
His words stopped her in the doorway. It took a moment for her to nod.
“Yeah, right. I thought so,” he sneered.
She didn’t stay to clean or make his bed. She wasn’t going near that bed with Henry Gilbert in the room. She wasn’t going near Henry anywhere. If she saw him on the beach she’d walk the other way. If she called, “Housekeeping,” and he said, “Come in,” she’d move on to another room. She’d found the man for her, and she wasn’t going to mess things up.
For once in her life, she was going to be smart when it came to men. And that was that.
Chapter Sixteen
“I’m not cleaning room twelve anymore,” Celeste informed her sister later that afternoon.
Her conversation with Henry had unnerved her. The fact that she couldn’t get him out of her mind unnerved her even more. She’d worked with Nemo on some commands but that had only made her think of Henry. His words kept coming back to taunt her. Is it perfect when he kisses you?
Yes, of course it was. So far Paul hadn’t driven her wild the way Emerson used to. Not yet anyway. But you couldn’t tell much from just a couple of kisses.
Or from reading part of someone’s novel. So what if she’d about caught fire when she read what Henry had written? Who wouldn’t? That didn’t mean a thing, other than that Henry Gilbert had a way with words.
But she sure didn’t want to find out what else he might have a way with. She wanted Paul, not Henry.
“Is he planning another murder?” Jenna teased.
“Ha-ha.”
“Seriously, is there a problem?”
“No, I need a break. He’s...” Too cute for my own good.
“Don’t tell me you’re interested in him,” Jenna said, looking worried.
“No. He just... I just...”
Jenna frowned. “You are.”
“I am not,” Celeste insisted. “But I don’t want to be around him.” He was far too tempting, and Celeste had no intention of giving in to temptation.
“Paul is perfect.”
Is it perfect when he kisses you?
Celeste batted the words out of her brain. “I know he is. I want Paul.” No lie. She did. Paul was a great guy. He was kind and easy to talk to. Henry was...well, she didn’t know what he was.
Yes, she did. He was not the right man. That was what.
“Henry Gilbert is cute, in a nerdy sort of way,” Jenna said.
More than nerdy. Jenna hadn’t seen him without a shirt.
“But you’re smart not to get sidetracked.” This from the woman who had men on two different tracks.
“You clean room twelve and I’ll work the office,” Celeste offered.
“Okay, deal.”
And so the next day Jenna went into the lair of the Terror of Room Twelve. “Have you seen him without his shirt?” she asked Celeste when she came back to the office.
“Yeah.” Why do you think I’m here?
“He’s hotter than I realized.”
“Don’t get attached. You already have two men,” Celeste said, but she realized she was only half teasing.
“No room in my life for another man,” her sister assured her.
“What did he say when you showed up?” Did he ask about me? Oh, for crying out loud. What did she care whether he did or didn’t?
“He asked if you were sick.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him you were busy helping out somewhere else.”
“Did he look disappointed?”
“Hard to tell. He just went back to typing on his laptop.” Jenna’s eyes narrowed, a sure sign she was about to go into big-sister inquisitor mode.
“What?” Celeste demanded.
“You’re falling for this guy. What are you thinking?”
“I am not. Falling for him, that is. Well, maybe a little.”
The expression on her sister’s face said it all. Here we go again. “Celeste, you hardly know him.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“It’s glamorous that he’s a writer and all, but those creative types are flaky.”
Thanks to her ex the artiste, Jenna was slightly prejudiced. Celeste should have been, too, after dating Josh, the musician. He’d been completely undependable and constantly broke. But writers were different. Weren’t they?
“Celeste?” Jenna prodded.
“Huh? Oh, yeah, you’re right.”
Now Jenna was looking truly concerned. “Don’t do anything stupid, not when such a great man is crazy about you and you’ve got a chance for the kind of future you’ve always wanted.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t,” Celeste said.
She normally had terrible taste in men. The fact that she was seeing one who was actually capable of making a serious relationship work was practically a miracle, and she’d be a fool to blow that simply because some other man who was passing through wrote stuff that gave her hormones a whirl. And was easy to talk to.
But so was Paul. He never judged; he never shamed. He’d never cheat on her. And he was kind and encouraging.
Henry, on the other hand, came with baggage.
Paul had no baggage. Well, maybe a tiny carry-on hidden somewhere. But she had yet to find it.
Henry could probably use some help in getting rid of his baggage. The right woman...
Celeste frowned. What was she doing? It was pointless to have her sister clean Henry’s room so she could avoid him physically if she wasn’t going to avoid him mentally, too. No talking about Henry Gilbert; no thinking about Henry Gilbert. No looking at Henry Gilbert if he happened to pass by.
Which he did a
couple of days later when she was on the beach working with Nemo. She’d been trying to get him to stay when he gave a woof and took off.
“Nemo, come back!” she called irritably, and turned to see the cause of her dog’s lapse. Here came Henry, running along the water’s edge. Shirtless and wearing sunglasses instead of his regular ones. A writer shouldn’t look that sexy. “Nemo, come!”
Nemo loped back to her, and directly behind him was Henry. She could hardly pretend she hadn’t seen him. But she didn’t have to hang around and talk with him. She snapped Nemo’s leash on his collar and started walking toward the house. She’d say a passing hello and leave it at that.
She began walking at a determined clip. Surely, Henry would get the message and run on past, give her a friendly wave.
He didn’t run on past. Instead, he ran right up to her.
“Hi, Henry,” she said and kept on walking.
He fell in step with her. “Is it my imagination or are you avoiding me?”
“It’s your imagination,” she said, keeping her gaze straight ahead.
“Didn’t you accuse me a while back of not having enough imagination?”
“I guess it’s improved.”
“It was the love scene, wasn’t it? It got you all steamed up and that freaked you out. Another minute and you’d have—”
Jerk! That simple reminder of what she’d read was enough to get her steamed up all over again. “Don’t you have something to do besides bother people who are minding their own business and trying to take a walk on the beach?”
“It looked like you were trying to train your dog. I think you need help.”
Boy, he could say that again. “I don’t need any help,” she said, for her benefit as well as his.
“I think maybe you do, Happy Clam Girl.”
She scowled at him. “Will you please stop calling me that?”
“You know, that was a perfectly good scene,” he continued. “Haven’t you ever read a romance novel?”
“Of course I have! I love romance novels.” And some of the scenes she’d read in those books got her pretty stirred up. But none of them affected her the way Henry’s writing had.
“Well, then, if it wasn’t the love scene, what sent you running?”
It was as much the person who’d written those words as the words themselves. If she’d read any further she would’ve wound up horizontal. With him.
“I didn’t even get into any gory details,” he continued.
She made a face. “Don’t use that word.” And what if she’d been reading one of the scary scenes? How would that have affected her? She’d probably have been terrified. But at least she would’ve had an excuse for running away.
“You want to know why I think you freaked out?”
“No.”
“Because you were afraid of what would happen between us if you kept reading,” he said with an irritating smile.
“You are so full of yourself,” she said in her frostiest tone of voice.
“No, I’m not. Admit it. My love scene got you all primed for sex and that made you feel guilty.”
“I have nothing to feel guilty about,” she said, her cheeks simmering.
“Are you sure? I bet you were worried about what your boyfriend would think. Like I said before, he seems kind of prissy to me.”
“Well, he’s not. Anyway, I like prissy.”
He gave a snort. “Yeah, right. You’re delusional.”
“Oh? And how is it you know so much?”
“’Cause I’ve been down that road. I was so sure I was with the right woman. I only saw what I wanted to see.”
“I’ve been down that road, too. I’ve raced into love so many times, I should have owned a racetrack. But that’s changed. I’ve finally gotten smart, and there’s nothing wrong with my eyesight.”
He shrugged. “If you say so. It’s none of my business.”
“That’s right, it’s not. And I’m not reading any more of your book.”
“Okay, fine. Your loss,” he said easily. “Look, I’m not gonna stalk you, Celeste. If you want help training your dog, my offer’s still good. And if your sister gets sick of cleaning my room you can come back and do it, and I’ll go for a run or go to the store or something. I don’t want to be the creep who scares the maid,” he finished with a smile.
It was a boyish smile, a harmless, friendly, irresistible smile.
“I’ll even let you change the bed,” he added.
Bed, aack! You are not interested in Henry Gilbert. You are not!
“Come on, what do you say? You don’t need to be scared of me. Let’s call a truce and give Nemo an obedience lesson.”
Paul would be happy if Nemo was better behaved. Surely, giving a dog an obedience lesson didn’t count as hanging out with someone. Anyway, she now had her boundaries firmly in place.
But would Paul believe that? And what if somebody came along and saw them together?
“What do you say, Nemo?” Henry asked the dog.
“Woof!” Nemo answered, and wagged his tail.
“There you have it. Come on, let’s give the boy a lesson,” Henry said. Then, not waiting for an answer, he started working with her dog.
Well, Nemo did need help.
She did, too.
* * *
Jenna had opted for a quick beach walk to rest her tired brain after doing the books for the motel. The sun was out and the air was fresh and tinged with salt. She could hear the waves crashing. Ah, yes, there was nothing like a beach walk to bring out the happy in life.
She’d just cleared the dunes when she caught sight of her sister and their summer resident, Henry Gilbert, on the beach with Nemo. Henry was making a hand motion for the dog to stay. To her astonishment, Nemo stayed put. Then he called and Nemo came bounding toward him. Henry knelt to pet the dog and looked up at Celeste, who pushed back her hair and smiled down at him.
Even from where she stood, Jenna knew how to caption that picture. Good grief, her sister was a mess. She needed to pull Celeste away from Henry Gilbert before she did something stupid, drag her back to the house and...what? Lock her in their bedroom? Like she had any control over her sister’s love life?
If only. Paul Welch was the smart choice. Celeste should concentrate on him instead of muddying the love waters with another man.
When it came to water-muddying, though, Jenna was hardly one to talk. She herself was having trouble deciding between two men. She abandoned the beach walk and went to the house in search of lemonade. She’d tried to help, given her sister advice, but in the end Celeste had to make her own choice. Jenna could only hope she chose wisely.
She soon had other things to think about besides her sister’s love life, although that was never far from her thoughts.
“You have to run for that council position,” Nora told her when the friends met in Aunt Edie’s living room for their weekly Friday night get-together. “Susan’s declared her candidacy. The last person we need on council is her.”
“Yes, please, save us from that,” put in Courtney.
Jenna had hoped her friends would drop the subject of her running for council. Instead, they were gripping it more tightly.
“We need people with vision,” Tyrella said.
Jenna took a sip of her wine. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’m cut out for that.”
“Of course you are,” Celeste told her. “You’re good at running things.”
“I think you’d be wonderful,” Aunt Edie told her.
“I’m so busy here.”
“We can pick up the slack at the Driftwood,” Courtney assured her. “Can’t we, Edie?”
“Of course we can. I can certainly put in more hours on the front desk.”
Good old Aunt Edie, eighty-three going on thirty. At least in her mind. B
ut no way was Jenna going to load any extra work on her great-aunt. Edie already did enough, cooking for everyone and baking cookies for Jenna to offer their Driftwood Inn guests.
“I’ll think about it,” Jenna said, and left it at that.
But there was no getting away from the topic. She and Brody were at Good Times Ice Cream Parlor indulging in sundaes the following day when he brought up the subject.
“Did Nora put you up to this?” she demanded.
Nora stood behind the counter, dishing up ice cream for Sabrina and Tristan. She cast a look in their direction, a downright conspiratorial one.
“You should,” he said, neither confirming nor denying.
“Why is everyone so anxious to volunteer me for this?” Jenna groaned.
“Because you’d be good at it,” he said.
“You’d be just as good. Probably better. You’re the king of schmooze.”
“Yeah, but I don’t have the vision you do.”
“Okay, you run for the position and I’ll feed you ideas.”
He shook his head at her. “Don’t be such a chicken. You were born for greatness. Accept it.”
“Accept what?” asked Sabrina, plopping down on a seat next to Jenna.
“A bunch of us want your mom to run for city council,” Brody told her.
“Wow, Mom, that would be awesome!”
“No, it would be work,” Jenna corrected.
“You’d be really important,” Sabrina continued.
“She already is,” said Brody. “But Sabrina’s right. You should run.”
“Are you going to campaign for me?” Jenna asked him, half joking.
“Of course. I’ll be your campaign manager.”
“We’ll help. Won’t we, Tristan?” Sabrina said to Tristan, who’d joined them.
“Sure. Uh, help what?”
“My mom’s gonna run for city council.”
“Cool,” Tristan said. “I’ll build you a website.”
“There you go.” Brody nodded as if it was all settled. “You’ve already got a campaign manager and a website.”
“And don’t forget me,” Sabrina said.
The Summer Retreat Page 18