Barefoot at Midnight (Barefoot Bay Timeless Book 3)

by Roxanne St Claire

  “Ten days?” he countered. By then, the DNA results would be back and his fate would be sealed.

  Clive didn’t look happy, but gave the slightest shrug. “You’re worth the wait,” he said. “And when you see the package we’re putting together, you won’t wait ten days, I’m certain.”

  More money. His own kitchen. And a prestigious title. Why wasn’t his mouth watering for that? Because it wasn’t what he’d always wanted. He couldn’t put his fingerprint on a Ritz kitchen, not really. Not like he wanted to.

  Still, Law stood when Clive did and shook his and Susan’s hands. After confirming his contact information, he walked out into blistering sunshine, marveling. He’d gone in there to get his last paycheck…and left with the promise of a promotion and a signing bonus.

  What would Jake have said to that? What did it matter? He was dead and took his secrets to the grave.

  So maybe it was time to ditch the gastropub dream, the Toasted Pelican plan, and the fantasies he’d let take shape after one conversation with a man who had one foot in the grave.

  At least Law could go into the meeting with Libby knowing he had a job in his back pocket. Not the job he wanted, but something.

  And it would make telling Libby the truth a little easier because, in his gut, he knew Ken was right about that.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Libby pushed up from the kitchen table at the sound of a motorcycle in her driveway.

  “It’s about time,” Sam said dryly, not looking up from the scads of legal documents he’d spread about. “He’s only thirty-six minutes late.”

  Libby threw a look at her brother. “Don’t be a jerk to him, Sam. He doesn’t have to help us. He could make this a lot more difficult. He’s being really fair.”

  “I’m sure he has an ulterior motive,” he said. “Everyone does.”

  “Is it enjoyable to go through life being so cynical?” Libby asked.

  “Uncle Sam’s right,” Jasmine piped in, coming into the room dressed in a spotless and unwrinkled pink linen shift, adorned with flawless makeup. “He definitely has an ulterior motive. And I know what it is.” She sang the last few words like a playground taunt.

  “Do you mind?” Libby asked, leaving the kitchen before the conversation went south. She peeked through the glass on the side of the front door and let out a tiny moan of appreciation. Oh, Law, really?

  It wasn’t fair to look that good. Except throwing him into the lion’s den that was Sam in Attorney Mode wasn’t fair to him, either.

  Dreading the showdown, she unlocked the door and opened it slowly.

  “I know I’m late,” he said instantly. “I had an unexpected meeting.”

  “It’s all right. Everything okay, I hope?”

  “Better now,” he said, looking at her with the same admiration she suspected shone in her own eyes. He gestured toward the porch and the view of the bay beyond. “Your gingerbread house is stunning.”

  “Thanks. I’m really happy with how it came out.”

  “The location alone is one in a million.”

  “Not so much anymore, since people are discovering Barefoot Bay and vacuuming up a lot of this property. But we’re lucky, and I love it.”

  He turned to look out to the road and the bay vista beyond it. “I’ve been past here many times, on the road and in the water. The canals aren’t far.”

  She pointed to the right. “The islets and the inlets?”

  “Never heard them called that.”

  “You mean that northeast section where locals fish? It’s a mile that way. Do you go up there?”

  “Not anymore,” he said, a strange note in his voice. He shook it off before she had a chance to analyze it, looking past her into the house. “Yeah, wow. Really pretty, Lib. What an incredible place to live.”

  Considering that he was currently bunking in a room above a restaurant, her Victorian must look grand. “It’s been fun to renovate it over the past few years, but I’m happy it’s done, and I like living here a lot more than Miami.”

  “I bet,” he said. “It’s so…homey.”

  “It is,” she agreed, stepping aside to let him look around, but his gaze settled on her, not the décor.

  “We didn’t finish last night,” he reminded her on a whisper.

  “We got distracted.”

  “You got distracted,” he corrected. “I got hit over the head with an old toiletry bag.”

  “Morning, Lawless,” Jasmine breezed into the room, scooping her handbag from the entryway table. “Mom slipped and used your nickname, which is now the only one I’ll use.”

  “Still talking about me, is she?” he asked with a playful wink to Libby.

  “Constantly.” Jasmine grinned at Libby’s Mad Mom look. “And by the way, that dinner was fan-freaking-tastic.”

  “Thanks,” Law said. “Glad to hear your friends liked everything.”

  “Way past like. Noah said more of the security team wants to come back tonight, and lots of customers at the boutique ask about places in town to eat, so I’m going to start recommending it.”

  “Thanks,” Libby and Law replied in perfect unison, making Jasmine laugh.

  “Well, I guess it is sort of under co-ownership,” Jasmine said. “At least until Uncle Sam wipes the courtroom clean with you.”

  “Ouch,” Law said. “Being the dishrag in front of a judge doesn’t sound like fun.”

  It won’t be, Libby thought.

  “After last night’s dinner, it’ll be a shame to lose that kind of restaurant,” Jasmine added. “There’s an underserved market on Mimosa Key for people who can’t afford the resort but really want a decent place to eat.”

  “I agree,” Law replied.

  Libby shook her head. “But what about the underserved market of women over forty who want to take yoga classes and spend time on themselves who also can’t afford the resort and really want a decent place to practice?”

  “Why can’t we have both?” Jasmine asked. “Put the yoga studio upstairs and the restaurant downstairs. You can call it the Twisted Pelican.” She beamed and maneuvered right between them. “You’re welcome!” she called out as she glided down the porch steps to the driveway.

  Libby watched her leave, then closed her eyes. “That girl.”

  “Is a genius,” Law said, his mouth sliding into a grin.

  “Don’t get any ideas. My students are not doing their hatha yoga with the aroma of meatloaf floating into the studio.” She poked his back, sending him in the direction of the kitchen. “Even that meatloaf.”

  “They’ll work up an appetite and eat,” he said. “I think it would be heaven. Or nirvana. Wherever yogis go.” His chuckle faded as he walked into the kitchen and saw the sea of documents surrounding Sam, who had a cell phone pressed to his ear.

  “Would you like coffee?” Libby asked as she gestured toward one of the chairs.

  “I might need something stronger.”

  Sam held up a finger to quiet them and hear whoever he was on the phone with. “How quickly can you make a definitive match, then?” Sam looked over at Libby and mouthed, “The DNA lab.”

  She saw Law’s broad shoulders sink a little as he took a seat and scanned the legal briefs and court docs and pages and pages of yellow papers with Sam’s relentless scribbling.

  “My brother had the toiletry bag we found taken by messenger to the DNA-testing lab his law firm uses in Miami,” Libby explained.

  “Of course he did.”

  Sam stood and walked out of the room, his voice low as if he needed privacy on the call, while Libby came over to the table with Law’s coffee and gestured toward sugar and milk already on the table.

  “Fair warning,” she whispered. “He graduated first in his law-school class and has never lost a trial. He’s the overachiever of the family.”

  “Now you tell me.” He took the coffee black and drank.

  “What would you have done differently?” She slipped into the seat next to him.


  “Left with your daughter the genius,” he joked.

  Wrapping her fingers around her own mug, she offered a look of sympathy. “Law, I had no idea anyone had any claim on the Pelican, and now I’m invested. Emotionally, financially, and professionally. I have big dreams for the place.”

  “So do I,” he said simply.

  “Sam has been working for a year so I could have it.”

  “Jake and I talked about what I’d do with it more than a year ago.”

  “Then why didn’t you take over while he was still alive?”

  He let out a quick exhale, as if to say that was the question of the century. “He had a…”

  She waited, only realizing then that the question had been nagging her. Why had he been working at another restaurant on the mainland when his best friend had a dump that desperately needed his touch? “A what?” she urged.

  “A stubborn streak,” he finished. “He didn’t want to give up on the Pelican being exactly what it was born to be.”

  “Why not?”

  “I honestly can’t answer that,” Law said. “But I know what he told me when he died. That he wanted it to go to me so I could do exactly what I wanted with it.”

  “And he put that in a will.” It was a statement, not a question.

  Law looked down and fluttered one of the legal documents, silent.

  “What else did he say?” she asked.

  He swallowed and thought for a moment, then said, “He had some kind of secret.”

  “A secret?”

  “I guess he meant you. And Sam.”

  She was a secret to him? Some blood drained from her head, replaced by a year-old anger. No, it was much older than that. It was…from birth. Mike was her father, then he wasn’t. A dead soldier was her father, then he wasn’t. Now Jake was her father…and she was his secret.

  Then the pattern continued. One husband who was there, then he wasn’t. And another.

  Had Libby forgotten why she wanted balance in her life after all this?

  “Libby, I don’t have the will.”

  Her head shot up, and she sucked in a soft breath, trying to wrap her head around the words that had cut through her little pity party. “You mean you don’t have it with you?”

  “I mean I have never seen it or touched it or found it.”

  She felt her jaw slacken as she sank back into the chair. “Why did you lie to me?”

  “I know it exists. He told me. I’ve been searching for it, everywhere. I can’t find it.”

  Her head buzzed a little. A lot. “So this”—she swept her hand over the papers on the table—“is a complete waste of time? You have no will?”

  “I have his verbal promise. He meant it when he said he wanted me to have the restaurant and that there was…paperwork.”

  “Paperwork?” Her voice cracked as she still tried to process the fact that all these days he’d been dishonest about the will.

  “He said there was a will,” Law insisted. “He said he wanted me to have the restaurant. He said he had secrets and that I was, in his mind, his son.”

  “But the fact is, I am his son.” Sam walked into the kitchen shooting a stern look at Law as he tossed the phone on the table. “And without documentation, your claims are unsubstantiated and worthless in court.”

  “That may be so, but they are the truth.” Law looked at Libby, nothing but honesty in his green eyes.

  She stared at him for a long time, bracing for that sickening sense of instability when someone—usually a man—disappointed her. But she felt nothing except an unexpected tendril of gratitude. Law was being straight with her, and he had everything to lose by not dragging this out. This was her win. She was Jake’s…

  Secret.

  Jake was the man who made her sick with dizziness. Not Law.

  “Then we have an open-and-shut case.” Sam pushed some papers around and pulled out a thick packet from the bottom. “Case law is completely in our favor. Reference Billingsworth v. the State of Florida, Harris v. Harris, and Turner v. Schecter, all precedent-setting cases with relevant statues and regulations pertaining to abandoned, unclaimed property in non-will probate situations.”

  Law glanced at Libby, a slight smile lifting the corner of his mouth. “Jake would die all over again.”

  “Didn’t like lawyers, huh?” Sam asked.

  Law gave a light laugh. “Let’s just say he once asked me to go by a different name because mine reminded him of the profession he hated the most.”

  “That’s very amusing, Mr. Monroe,” Sam said. “But this—”

  “Maybe that’s why he doesn’t have a will,” Libby interjected, the words surprising her as much as they did Law and Sam. “He wouldn’t have had to have gone to an attorney if he hated them.”

  Law nodded slowly. “That’s true.”

  “So what does a person do who wants to leave something to someone and hates attorneys?” Libby asked her brother.

  Sam looked a little put off by the question, but he shrugged. “He holds his nose and goes into the office, anyway.”

  “But he was sick, right?” she asked Law. “Like, literally on his deathbed when he told you he had a will.”

  “He wasn’t sick for long. It was a stroke.” Law thought for a moment, looking down at the papers, but Libby had the feeling he wasn’t reading anything, just thinking. “But I know what he said to me, and he was clear. He told me there was a will and warned me that finding it, or executing it, I don’t know which, wouldn’t be easy.”

  “Could it be in a computer file somewhere?” Libby asked.

  “What difference does it make, Libby?” Sam demanded. “If we don’t have it when we go to court, the Pelican is yours.”

  But did she want something of…Jake’s? Yes, and no.

  “Anyway, Jake didn’t have a computer,” Law said.

  Sam gave a condescending snort, which Law ignored.

  “I want to find this damn will,” Libby said to Sam. “Otherwise, I’ll feel like we somehow won unfairly. I want this to be fair.” Her voice rose with the emotion that rocked her, but she didn’t care. This mattered to her. “Fair and square.”

  Sam sighed. “Very few things are ‘fair’ when it comes to the law.”

  Law gave a dry laugh. “And that irony, my friend, is why the man hated lawyers.”

  Libby leaned in, looking at her brother. “How can we find it?”

  He thought for a second, then, “If a will was drafted, a check would likely have been written to an attorney. Did you go through his bank statements?” he asked Law.

  “Yeah, but he was big on cash and hiding money from the IRS.”

  “Nice,” Sam muttered.

  “But he did file taxes,” Libby said. “How can that help us, Sam?”

  He shrugged. “If he claimed any attorney fees as tax deductions, then there might be some paper trail.”

  “And we can go through those boxes in storage again,” Libby said.

  Law put his hand over hers, holding her gaze, saying nothing, except his look said everything. He appreciated the support, and he respected fairness.

  Finally, she turned to Sam. “What do you think?”

  Her brother sighed noisily. “Not what I think, what I know. There’s powerful legal precedent for granting biological heirs unclaimed property and assets. And we’ll have DNA test results in a week or so. I’ve asked them to do the deepest, most thorough test, so it might take a few extra days, but I’ll have the results before I go before the judge two weeks from today.”

  “And if Law has a will by then?” Libby asked.

  Sam lifted both his brows. “I’d say we’d have a helluva court fight, but you two don’t seem to be very cutthroat about this.”

  “I want the property fair and square,” Libby said again.

  “And so do I,” Law agreed. “No legal maneuvering.”

  “No courtroom dramatics,” Libby added.

  “No fun,” Sam replied with a dry smile, looking from one
to the other. “So how about a compromise?”

  Law cocked a brow. “The Twisted Pelican?”

  Sam shrugged, not getting the joke. “Call it what you want, but that place has to stay in business until midnight on the twenty-sixth. If it runs anything like how Jasmine described it last night, it could be profitable. Very profitable.” He looked at Libby. “As long as the business remains a fully-functioning restaurant and bar, he can make menu and décor changes at his own expense. We’ll wait for the DNA and, if you like, you can both look for that will. When the business is officially turned over to you, Lib, Law can keep all the profits he’s made. If it’s handed to him, he’ll cover all your legal expenses and court costs, which aren’t much, because I’m working pro bono. Is that fair and square enough for you two?”

  She leaned back, waiting for Law to respond first, but Sam’s phone rang, and he grabbed it, walking out of the room to take the call.

  Law turned his hand over and threaded rough fingers around hers. “I have a few ground rules,” he said.

  She lifted her brows, curling her hand into his. “You do?”

  “I do want to make some changes to the dining area and bar. Nothing permanent, but that room has to improve if we’re going to make any money.”

  “He said you can make those changes.”

  “And I want complete control in the kitchen.”

  “No need to fear me running in to whip up a casserole, I assure you.”

  “And I want you to work with me. Right by my side. Every day and every night, we’ll…”

  “Run a restaurant,” she finished.

  “Together.”

  She leaned close to whisper, “I’m going right down that slippery slope that scares me so much, Law.”

  “I’ll catch you.”

  “And drop me.”

  “Trust me, Lib.”

  She searched his face, his bottle-green eyes and promising smile. And all she wanted to do was trust a man one more time. “Okay,” she finally agreed. “But I get to keep my tips.”

  And her heart. She got to keep that, too. But something in the way Law looked at her made her fear she might lose it….one more time.