“They’ll have to get back into Silvia’s good graces first. She’s still furious with them.”
“Tamron Pereira, over at the greenhouse? Awfully young for Siren membership, but she’d fulfill the earth mother requirement. Given all the bad luck she’s encountered, she could use the emotional support.”
Linnie silently agreed—she liked Tamron, who’d suffered one tragedy after another. “I doubt the Sirens would induct anyone her age,” she replied. “She’s younger than Cat.”
Daniel wagged his brows. “So who’s the new member?”
Her smartphone buzzed. In a grand coincidence, it was Kay.
“Linnie, are you with Daniel?” she asked. “I hate to bother him. This is important.”
She put him on. Nodding, he listened intently. “No, it’s fine,” he finally interjected. “Kay, I’m not battling death—I have a broken leg. They did? When? That’s great. No, don’t bother. I’ll ask Linnie to stop by.”
Handing back the phone, he said, “I’m working on a divorce settlement. The couple dropped off an agreement. You wouldn’t believe the difficulty I’ve had getting them to find common ground. Would you mind playing errand boy?”
“You’re in no shape to draft a divorce settlement today. Tell your clients to wait.”
Warmth sparkled in his eyes. “I like your protective streak.” He glanced at the privacy curtain. “Why don’t you lock the door and slip into bed with me? Granted, the painkillers will slow me down. That’s not necessarily a bad thing.”
“And you call the Sirens lunatics,” she said, smoothing the hair from his brow. “I’ll play errand boy on one condition. You promise not to work today.”
“Deal. Can you drop off the document tonight?”
“No. If I do, you’ll work until the wee hours of the morning.”
“You’re a hard taskmaster, Linnie.”
“Consider yourself warned. I’ll fetch the agreement, but no work until after you’re released.” Giving in to the urge, she trailed her fingers across the stubble on his cheek. Nuzzling his ear, she whispered, “Besides, what makes you think I’ll return tonight?”
“You find me irresistible.”
“You’ve got me there.” And everywhere else, she thought wryly.
“Last chance.” He waggled his brows. “Sure you don’t want to go for a quickie?”
“In the shape you’re in? Get some sleep.” She tiptoed to the door. “I’ll see you later.”
“Linnie.”
“Yeah?”
With effort, he lifted his head from the pillow. “Who’s the new Siren?”
Relishing the expectancy in his voice, she drew out the suspense. “This you won’t believe.”
“I left the envelope on his desk. Go on in.”
Having issued the statement, Kay adjusted her azure-blue eyeglasses and glared at the blinking phone. Linnie hurried past. She’d hoped to inquire about the mysterious induction ceremony. The Sirens were notoriously tight-lipped, and the odds weren’t good that their newest member would share state secrets. Even so, she’d promised Jada and Cat she’d try to get the skinny.
Although it wasn’t yet ten o’clock, several bouquets and get well cards were arranged on the credenza inside Daniel’s office. Linnie made a mental note to check his house too. If more gifts were coming in, leaving bouquets and confections baking in the June sun was not a good plan.
In the center of the desk lay a manila envelope. She picked it up. The efficient Kay had removed just about everything else. No doubt she was organizing Daniel’s cases in order of importance to better help him wade through the backlog once he returned to work. If he insisted on working from home while he recuperated—a distinct possibility for a dedicated lawyer—Linnie determined to do her best to keep the hours short. They were both committed to their jobs, but he did need time to heal.
She tucked the envelope into her purse.
In Kay’s area, the phone rang again. Picking up, she launched into an explanation of the accident.
Linnie was about to leave Daniel’s office when her eyes strayed to the corner of the desk, to the tiny shells and stones threaded on a short length of twine. The fanciful object sat atop a file the same dark-green hue as the blotter on the desk. If not for the Sirens’ handiwork, the file would’ve escaped her notice.
The guilty thrill of discovery sent her hand across the desk. This was private business, one of Daniel’s cases. She slid the file close.
WAYFAIR—REED
Who was Reed? A business associate of Freddie’s? Anxiety tumbled through her belly. The contents detailed the reasons for her brother’s visit. There was no doubt.
Indecision gripped her. It was wrong to look inside. This was confidential business—Freddie’s business. She’d fought with Daniel and nearly lost him, thanks to the contents of this unassuming file.
Vacillating, she picked up the twined shells and stones. Slowly she rolled them across her palm. She recalled last night’s meeting on the beach. Excitable Penelope Riddle had scooted sideways to make room for her to join the circle of women. What had Penelope revealed about the induction ceremony before Silvia barked her into silence?
Hear the Siren’s call and give kindness in secret. Such noble words.
An inductee was tasked with giving kindness without the receiver’s knowledge. Who was the newest member of the Sirens, the woman charged with embarking upon this noble task?
Kay.
She’d performed an act of kindness in secret because she was the only person able to do so. At minimum, she knew the basics of why Freddie was in Ohio. As Daniel’s secretary, she was familiar with all his cases. Her kindness provided Linnie with a more complete picture of her estranged brother.
Her pulse jumping, Linnie slipped the folder beneath her arm.
The copy machine, located in Kay’s area, sat ten paces behind her desk. Feeling like a felon on a crime spree, Linnie scooted to the machine. Kay, talking on the phone, pretended she was oblivious to the whining fury as copy after copy spit out. Statements from the Devlin Eye Institute. Correspondence with Janis Reed of Medina, Ohio. Notes in Daniel’s handwriting, and a photograph of a young man, a sweet-looking kid. Linnie copied every document.
On wobbly ankles she walked back to the office. She deposited the original file on the desk.
What was the protocol after theft? A metallic taste filled her mouth as she crept past Kay.
The phone slammed down. “Hold on,” Kay said to her back.
Linnie’s stomach clenched. The enormity of her error placed a stinging wash of crimson on her cheeks. Kay hadn’t left the file out with the intention of Linnie making off with confidential information. She hadn’t meant to reveal a mountain of medical bills for one Bryce Reed of Medina.
Searching for an apology, she retraced her steps.
Kay shuffled through the papers on her desk. “The address and driving directions,” she said crisply, handing over a typed sheet. “Mrs. Reed and her son are expecting you. I’ve informed Jada you won’t return to the inn until tonight—she thinks you’re running errands for Daniel. If you aren’t back until after visiting hours at the hospital, I’ll cook up something to tell your beau. I’ll make it good so Daniel isn’t upset.”
Relief flooded her bones. “Thank you.”
“Save your gratitude. If our favorite attorney finds out, I’m pretending you riffled through his file cabinet without my knowledge.” Behind rectangular eyeglasses, Kay’s eyes grew stern. “I have a suspicion he’ll forgive you . . . and I have no intention of losing my job.”
“I won’t breathe a word.”
“No, you won’t. But your brother will burst like a piñata if he finds out.” Kay patted her silvered head with temperamental dignity. “Let the chips fall where they will.” She pointed to the door. “Better hurry. You have a three-hour drive to Medina.”
A tangy kick of adrenaline quickened Frances’s stride as the Honda peeled from the parking lot.
Sh
e breezed into the reception room with the sweet nectar of success brightening her mood. Let Silvia stew in her juices and make voodoo dolls until her fingers ached. They were Sirens. Their energies were best used helping their younger brethren wade through the seas of stupidity. There was more at stake than old grudges and lost dignity thanks to Freddie’s deplorable YouTube video. If Silvia ever discovered what she’d done and blew sky-high, well, Frances would take on the volcano.
Kay gave the thumbs-up. “She took the bait. On her way now.”
“Perfect.”
The secretary regarded her with clear admiration. “Frances, I had no idea you’re this devious. Are we all puppets on your string?”
“I’m stunned you must ask.”
“In any case, I’m happy to help. I’m sure you haven’t told Silvia. She adores Linnie, but we’d find igloos in hell before she’d lift a finger to help Freddie. Am I the only one privy to your delicious plot?”
Tilda burst in, a smart azure briefcase swinging at her side. “Did it work?” Gleaning the truth on their faces, she leapt in the air. She reminded Frances of a pixie discovering flight. “Oh, I’m so excited—I love happy endings!”
Frances sighed heavily. “No one knows but our favorite realtor,” she informed Kay.
“She was lurking in the bushes when you and I met on the circle?”
“When you agreed to join the Sirens and I detailed my mad plot.”
“I wasn’t lurking!”
Frances pointed at the briefcase. “Is your cell phone inside? If you text any gossip regarding this, I shall smash the device to smithereens.”
Kay began rocking in her chair. “Speaking of cell phones . . . isn’t there a call to make?”
Tilda stopped jumping and stared expectantly at their leader.
Snapping open her purse, Frances withdrew her phone. She winked at the others.
“Hello, Freddie? Yes, this is Frances. I’m sorry to bother you. Linnie isn’t picking up. I suppose she isn’t taking calls on the drive to Medina. What? No, she didn’t explain, other than to say she had a meeting with a family by the name of Reed . . .”
Chapter 22
At every stoplight and while getting gas, Linnie gleaned the basics of Freddie’s involvement with the tragic Bryce Reed.
The file was a house of mirrors, unveiling images of her brother that were surely distorted. Freddie, coming to the aid of a kid grievously injured while setting off fireworks. Freddie, packing up the boy’s apartment in San Fernando and shipping the contents first class. Freddie, putting Daniel in charge of the affair, leaving Bryce Reed’s mother to pen sweet notes to her benefactor’s attorney.
The notes, which she read in snatches, were embellished with the highest praise for Sweet Lake’s most disreputable son.
Fitting the pieces together was like working a jigsaw puzzle blindfolded. Nothing made sense. She pulled into the Reeds’ driveway more perplexed than ever. In her purse, her cell phone hummed.
Another call from Freddie. Whatever he wanted, it could wait until tonight.
She’d barely cut the engine when a woman trotted out of the house. Janis Reed waved enthusiastically, as if they were old friends.
“How lovely of you to stand in for your brother,” she said in greeting. “Such a busy man—Bryce was disappointed, but his father and I understood. With all those films to make, who could expect Freddie Wayfair to find time for a visit? You’re sweet to see Bryce on his behalf.”
“My pleasure,” Linnie said, playing along. So Freddie was covering all the boy’s medical expenses but refused direct contact? A plausible reason didn’t come to mind. “Thank you for allowing a visit on such short notice.”
“Nonsense! Bryce is so pleased. I asked a neighbor to watch my younger boys to give you some privacy.” At the steps leading into the house, Janis lowered her voice. “Try not to stare at the glass eye. He’s not used to it yet. A tough situation for all of us.”
“I’m sorry. This must be very difficult.”
“Some of Bryce’s friends offered to visit. They’d like to cheer him up. He’s refused everyone.”
“He won’t see his friends?” She wondered if the youth was seriously depressed.
“Just sits in his bedroom all day long. We consider ourselves fortunate he’s willing to join the family at dinnertime. Then he goes back to his room.”
Sympathy for the youth steeped her. “He won’t accept visitors because he’s embarrassed about the glass eye?” If she was the first visitor, she’d been presented with a compliment—and a burden.
Janis bobbed her head. “We’ve tried to explain he has nothing to worry about. Like talking to a wall. He’s barely left his room since coming home from the institute. Drives my husband batty.”
“Staying cooped up alone isn’t healthy. Can he talk to someone?”
“Some of his past teachers from the high school offered. They all loved Bryce. Our minister tried too.” Absently Janis plucked at her fuzzy sweater. “Dr. Eriksson at Devlin suggested a psychologist. I like the idea, but my son refused.”
“Perhaps he needs time to sort himself out.”
“I hope so. We’re dropping hints about Bryce returning to college. We’ll see. I’m sure your visit will perk him up. ”
A daunting task. “I’ll do my best,” Linnie promised.
With misgiving, she followed Janis inside. She’d craved an understanding of her brother’s motives, not a swim in choppy seas. Not gale-force winds and an injured boy caught in the maelstrom. Freddie collected people and then discarded them just as easily. He surrounded himself with sycophants and a tribe of weird and dislikable employees. In the fantasy world of film, he found himself most at ease because, she presumed, the glittery lights of make-believe placed no demands on his heart or his conscience.
How did an injured kid fit into a life so shallow?
In the living room, Janis paused. “Can I get you anything?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Then you might as well go in. Last door to your right.”
“Thanks.”
She abandoned Linnie in the dim light of the hallway. In her wake, the secrets Freddie kept vibrated through the murky air.
Needing answers, Linnie strode forward.
Chapter 23
Bryce Reed didn’t occupy a bedroom. He lived in a shrine to Freddie Wayfair.
Light slanted through the hastily drawn curtains. The thin beam arrowed to the movie posters lining the farthest wall like oversize stamps in a collector’s album. The titles were all in English, but not all of the promotional copy—Linnie recognized Spanish and Japanese and what she presumed was Hindi.
To her right, a lamp bowed low on a sturdy desk that had undoubtedly presided over the room since Bryce’s first years of school. The tight circle of illumination showed off carefully arranged movie paraphernalia, swords and strange crowns bristling with thorns, ghoulish masks, and a mason jar stuffed with ticket stubs. On the wall behind, magazine clippings and news garnered online formed a wallpaper of sorts. Astonished, she crossed to the desk. The clippings were arranged in chronological order, beginning with the humble inception of Bad Seed Productions and finishing with the more recent successes, including a host of independent film awards. Freddie had won awards on five continents?
“Weird,” said the young man lurking in the shadows. “You don’t look like him.”
Startled, she turned toward the voice—behind the bed, a silhouette. Apparently the meager sunlight and the desk lamp were a clumsy attempt at stage lighting. Bryce was doing his best to show her the room without showing himself.
She motioned to the light switch. “May I turn on the overhead?”
The query rolled across the uncomfortable silence.
Trying again, she said, “How ’bout if I open the curtains?”
“Leave the curtains shut.” A finger pointed through the shadows. “Want to check everything out? Start in the closet. There’s some really cool stuff I bought on
eBay.”
She angled the desk lamp, found the closet. “Like what, exactly?”
“The best of Bad Seed Productions. Costumes, props—whatever I can get my hands on.”
The disclosure took her off guard. “You have more stuff from my brother’s movies?”
“Are you kidding? If I don’t set alerts on my phone, I miss the best deals. Lost out on a trident from Sea Warrior last week.”
Linnie wasn’t sure what she’d expected from the visit. Certainly not a phantom hiding behind a bed. Not a brightly heartbroken mother, and a task impossible to fulfill.
Following the suggestion, she walked to the closet and opened the bi-fold doors. A stench rolled forward to greet her—a blend of cumin, cinnamon, and chili peppers laced with mold. She sneezed.
Bryce laughed. “Pretty gross, huh?”
“Nasty.” She pushed aside a black cape reeking of the scent. Thankfully the other costumes hanging in the closet were less odorous. “How do you tolerate the stink?”
“I should throw the cape in the washing machine. Guess I’ve smelled it for so long, I’m immune.”
Or his olfactory sense was DOA, she decided.
“It’s from Space Demon Revenge,” Bryce offered, his reticence melting beneath excitement. “I read about it on a blog—Avinash’s Mad Moviez. The blog’s in Delhi. Avinash is a major fan—covers everything Bad Seed produces. During the Space Demon shoot, Freddie made the cast wear this nasty perfume. Really pissed off the actors.”
“Why did he spritz them with stinky perfume?”
“To keep them in character. See, the space demon attacked the Paladin home world to steal the spice they mined. The demon needed the spice to feed the time shifters he used to destroy planets. If the inhabitants of a planet wouldn’t join his death league, they were goners. Kind of a Dune motif, but with more fight scenes and less rain. Actually, I don’t think it did rain on the demon’s world.”
“Interesting,” she replied, caught up by his zeal.
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