Love Lost & Found (Surfside Romance Book 2)

by L. A. Justice

  “That I have better things to do.”

  “Is Doc coming over?”

  “He’ll be here any minute.”

  “I’ll move into the bedroom.”

  “No need. Code 9.”

  “A parent is present, right?”

  Two minutes later, Maverick knocked. Hannah welcomed him with a kiss on the cheek. He greeted Alexa, calling her Ms. Boswell with a wide, friendly grin as Hannah ushered him to her room. The door closed. Alexa tapped the green felt-tipped pen on the proof book wondering if she’d appear to be a sore sport if she spoke to Bryan. What if Lana found out? She jotted notes as every thought of the sexy temptresses Felicity and Hope, and hot sweaty Sinclair Falcone, vanished into thin air.

  The finished proof book had only a half dozen notations. It was, as Lana had predicted, almost without error. She also corrected the chapter for Helen’s fashion book, amazed at the excellence of her writing. Maybe it ran in the family. She wrote a thank you note for the cash.

  The following day, after returning the proof book to Lana and the interoffice envelope to Helen, she turned her attention back to Love on the Rebound. She still liked the name Courting Romance better, but she wouldn’t give an inch to Bryan. If she won, he’d change the title anyway and she’d have no say in the matter. For some inexplicable reason, she was clinging to it like a life raft, even though she wanted to let it go. This strange and curious emotion was not unlike the one she felt with Rick.

  She went to Zev’s office for a quick basketball tutorial.

  Sitting on a ladder-back chair, she pulled out a notepad noticing he’d picked off all the leather from the armrest, exposing the foam. Pellets littered the carpet like dandruff.

  “Basketball is fairly straightforward,” Zev said, stroking his wiry brown beard. “Each team has twelve players, but only five are in play at any given time. The positions are point guard, defensive guard, center, offensive forward, and the defensive forward. Each player takes up a position for the tipoff and the game begins.”

  He rocked back in his creaky chair, brushing crumbs off his beard and alternately plucking the foam from the armrest as Alexa zoned out.

  “Players score by making baskets, but they must dribble the ball or bounce it when in motion. It can get pretty crazy with all the adrenaline pumping. Huge bets ride on the outcome, so every infraction is carefully monitored. Crazed fans storm the court and brawl with the refs over bad calls or attack the players. It gets ugly. Bones break and blood spills. Players end up in the laps of big-name celebrities in expensive courtside seats. It’s great entertainment.”

  A text slid into her phone from Hannah: No rush to come home. She stared at the message as prickles ran up her spine.

  “Does any of this help?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The information, is it useful?”

  “I have a question.”

  “About the shot clock, fouls, or scoring points?”

  “No. Not that.”

  “You really should see a game.”

  “Bryan offered to take me.”

  His thick eyebrows shot up. “Watch it on TV. March Madness. Exciting as hell.”

  She fidgeted for a minute, and then asked, “Did you read Hearts and Shadows?”

  “I hate cats. I only skimmed it,” he said. “Bryan thinks it has wide appeal. Why?”

  “I have a few issues with it.”

  “Then talk to him. Just remember, there are no secrets here.”

  “Got’cha.”

  But there were plenty of secrets at home. She looked at Hannah’s text again wondering what, exactly, was going on and why she shouldn’t rush home. She’d overheard Hannah and Lakhi talking one evening about girls giving blow jobs in the bathroom. Just the fact that Hannah knew about blow jobs was shocking, and that wasn’t including the unsettling fact that it was happening right in her school. Now she was deathly afraid that’s exactly what was going on in Hannah’s bedroom at that very minute. What if she went home and found them? She couldn’t wait another second and drove home like a maniac as a text pinged into her phone.

  It was from Hannah. Out for burgers with the gang. C U later.

  CHAPTER 51

  AFTER A sleepless night, wondering if she should talk to Cherise Wilkerson, the school principal, about the reputed sexual shenanigans going on in the bathroom, she realized word would seep out and Hannah would be humiliated.

  She dragged herself to the office having decided to stay mum. Certainly the administration was aware of the situation. Why stir up trouble? It was nature taking its course. As long as there was no penetration or chance of pregnancy, she had no choice but to trust her daughter would make appropriate decisions about her body and what she let a boy do to it.

  Alexa felt hollow knowing Hannah was growing up so quickly and might not need her one day. She thought about her own mother and how she never asked for Sari’s advice.

  After stowing her lunch in the break room, she asked Helen for a one-on-one with the big kahuna to discuss her concerns about Lana’s book. That had kept her up, too. As the hours dragged by she nearly cancelled twice. At three, Helen buzzed. “He’ll see you now.”

  Dapper as usual in a lavender shirt and gray slacks, he stood up and shook her hand, giving it a faint squeeze. The small crow’s feet around his eyes and stubble on his cheeks only enhanced Frost’s good looks.

  “How’s the book coming?”

  “Love on the Rebound?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “It’s dribbling along.”

  “Funny. Use some of that humor in your writing. Keep it light and upbeat.”

  At the moment, she didn’t feel light or upbeat.

  “I assume you’re staying out of the plot.”

  “I’m the omniscient voice, the puppeteer.”

  “You’ve learned well, Grasshopper.” He paused. “My offer stands for a Heat game. I have season tickets.”

  She shook her head and squared her shoulders. “I’m here about Lana’s book.”

  He frowned just slightly. “She said you didn’t find a single mistake.”

  That wasn’t exactly true; she’d found a few small errors.

  “Have you ever read Lilian Jackson Braun?”

  “No, but cozy mysteries are a huge market. I plan to tap into it with Lana’s book.”

  Alexa consulted her notes. “Braun had a character named Jim Qwilleran. Did you notice that the dead woman’s name is Jane Qwinlan? Braun’s cat is Koko. Lana’s detective is Kyoto.”

  “Is this going somewhere?”

  “Braun’s cats are Siamese and make a strange sound. But Lana’s cats are ordinary house cats and they make the same sound: Ik ik ik.”

  “I don’t see—”

  “Braun’s characters lived in Pickaxe City; Lana’s victim was murdered with a pickaxe. Braun’s Mr. Qwilleran lives in Moose County but in Lana’s book, the killer is named Moose Goodwinter. That’s the name of a well-to-do family in Pickaxe City. There were so many similarities. Plus it’s a murder mystery and detective Kyoto is a retired reporter, just like Braun’s Mr. Q.” She paused. “What I’m saying is: I don’t feel it’s a completely original story.”

  Frost sat back and grinned.

  “What’s original these days? Look at Ghostbusters—they’re making it again for the third time. They’re rebooting 90210 for God’s sake, as if once wasn’t enough?”

  “What if they sue you?”

  “We’re not getting sued,” Frost guffawed. “I’m a lawyer so don’t worry that pretty little head of yours.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He made a steeple with his hands, a gesture of someone very assured. His fingernails were perfectly manicured. Bryan was good to himself. “Quite sure. I thought you had something important to say.”

  “One more thing. The title.”

  “What about it?”

  “Hearts and Shadows doesn’t mean anything. Maybe use The Cat’s Meow or Murder and Whiskers.”r />
  Back at her desk, feeling as though she was freefalling through space, Lana appeared scowling. Zev was right. There were no secrets here.

  Tersely, she said, “Step into my office and close the door.”

  Alexa followed the Mickey Mouse T-shirt, and matching dangle earrings. Leaving the door slightly ajar, Lana eased down into a leather chair with an exasperated sigh.

  Fighting down the urge to run, Alexa perched on the edge of a metal-frame chair, fingers interlocked, hands wedged between her knees, lips pressed together to avoid saying something she’d later regret.

  Lana’s brows knit together. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

  With a title and opening line, you should know that.

  “I’m so disappointed—stabbing me in the back. I thought you were a better person.”

  And I thought you were more creative.

  “I can’t believe you’d accuse me of plagiarism!”

  If the flip-flop fits.

  “Why?”

  Just because an author is dead, doesn’t mean you can steal her characters.

  “You’re just a no-talent loser.”

  I’m rubber, you’re glue, everything you say bounces off me and sticks to you.

  “That’s it. I have nothing more to say.”

  And thank God for that.

  ________

  Hannah was in her bedroom with the door closed. Alexa sat at the computer. If Lana’s cozy mystery had the potential to sell a million copies, a sizzling romance would top that. But not a vapid story about twins, a subject she knew nothing about. And a dumb cluck basketball player who couldn’t tell one ninny from the other was absurd. Bottom line: she had sixty-two pages of tripe—a pathetic attempt to shock and titillate. Positioning the cursor over the document, she dragged it to the trash bin and dropped it in. Good riddance.

  She opened a folder with notes from Bryan searching for golden nuggets.

  Words are your wisdom. Use the back door of your unconscious. Unlock your emotions.

  Like the door that led me to make a fool of myself today.

  The plot should keep the reader off balance.

  I’m on a teeter-totter board does that count?

  Does the protagonist live or die, succeed or fail?

  You mean will I succeed or fail?

  With nothing to do, she sent Luke a text: R U busy?

  While waiting for a response, she scoured the kitchen, changed the sheets, vacuumed the entire apartment except Hannah’s room, and began sorting her closet. Thirty minutes later, with no reply, she felt the tension ratchet up and her stomach turn sour. Strange thoughts, none of them healthy, began percolating. She had no intention of making a fool of herself by showing up at his condo and having Jose say that Mr. Prescott was out, nor was she going to the bar again and chance meeting Rob or Roy or Ray. She knocked on Hannah’s door.

  “I’m going to the mall. Want to come?”

  “Can’t. Studying.”

  “I need a dress for Luke’s big bash.”

  “Text photos before you buy anything,” said Hannah. “You have terrible taste in clothing.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “Anytime.”

  “How did I manage without you?” Alexa asked.

  “That’s one of life’s greatest mysteries.”

  CHAPTER 52

  SARI CONKLIN and Rob Porterfield sat on the couch in her condo, both sipping water to keep their heads clear. Rob was Zen-like, barely breathing, using a trick he’d learned from an old Swinomish shaman. Sari drummed her fingertips on the white envelope in her lap. Finally, she asked, “Do you want to see what’s inside?”

  She’d reached back to her past for answers to their future. The mysterious envelope was from Maggie Starr. “She was my mother’s partner in crime,” explained Sari. “I’m surprised she’s still alive, but I’m glad she is.”

  “Me too.”

  “She kept meticulous records, in case they ever got caught.”

  “Shall we see what’s inside,” he asked. “I don’t have x-ray vision, do you?” Rob placed his warm, trembling hand on hers. She leaned into him and felt his body go rigid, as though bracing for a storm. Her mouth was parched. Their future was hidden in plain sight as he kissed her lightly on her lips. “Let’s unleash the beast.”

  “What now? Before we read this?”

  He threw his head back and let out a deep throaty roar. “Not that beast.” He touched her nose with his finger and then tapped the envelope. “This one.”

  Gingerly, he unpeeled the flap, peering in as though a black widow spider might be lying in wait. But nothing sprang or crawled from inside. He shook out the folded papers, studying the small, tight scrawl.

  “I’m not sure I can decipher this.”

  He sat back, wiping his callused hand over his face. “This information could mess me up big time—as if I could be any more messed up.”

  “It’s never too late to set things straight.”

  “Some things can’t be fixed.”

  “Anything can be fixed.”

  “It’s not a car that needs a new engine or tires. People are involved.”

  He dropped the letter in her lap. She put on glasses and read aloud as they pieced the puzzle together with the help of a diagram Maggie had thoughtfully provided. When she finished reading they both sat back.

  “Wow, that’s a bitter pill to swallow. I was worse than an alley cat. I had no moral compass whatsoever. Someone should have put me down.”

  “That’s cruel.”

  “It’s surprising nobody blew my head off.”

  “You’re not that boy anymore.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Listen, you’re not the only one carrying a burden.”

  “Don’t tell me you are.”

  “I’ve been an absent mother for years. I’ve been riddled with guilt.”

  “Why?”

  “We all become our mothers. I became Deidre, cold and distant. I don’t want Alexa to become me, and she will—unless I explain all of this.”

  “She might not take it very well.”

  “If the truth sets you free, then I’ve got to try.”

  “It might come back and bite you.”

  “That’s a chance I’ll have to take.”

  “Okay, I’ll catch you if you fall.”

  “Thanks.”

  “But neither of us does it alone. Agreed?”

  As the candles burned down, he kissed her softly, and drew her outside. Under the dark sky they watched the Trout Moon sail aloft like a bucket of milk in a vast galaxy filled with cosmic dust.

  The future was uncertain.

  Only the moment mattered.

  CHAPTER 53

  HANNAH COULD not believe her good fortune. Her mother was going away overnight with Luke. It was party time with Doc, Lakhi, and a few friends. Nothing wild or cray-cray, of course, but hooray—no parents around for a change.

  She cleaned her room. Put her laptop and jewelry into the closet for safekeeping. She said a prayer that the evening wouldn’t take on a life of its own—like Hydra, the mythical water monster with a head of snakes—bringing a slew of unwanted gatecrashers. She kept a straight face when Luke arrived, promising to check on Zelda before bed, and again in the morning. The twenty he slipped her quickly disappeared into her jean shorts.

  The overnight totes, his best suit, and her mom’s new peach-colored chiffon dress, bought with her approval, went into the cargo area of his new Tesla SUV. Alexa gave Hannah the usual speech about the number of guests allowed, and keeping the noise level down and the cellphone charged at all times.

  “In case of an emergency call 911 first, and then call me.”

  “I don’t expect any emergencies.”

  Luke said, “Zelda seems a little loopy today.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Hannah.

  “I brought doughnuts and she wanted cream cheese. Help yourself while you’re over there. Oka
y?”

  “Sure,” Hannah smiled. “Mom’s all yours. Have a great time.”

  Like molasses oozing from a narrow-necked bottle, they slid into the car, buckled up and backed out heading north. Hannah and Lakhi walked east to the minimart where they forked over the twenty from Luke, plus another twenty they’d pooled for chips, dips, and drinks.

  “We should hire Bart and Walter to act as bodyguards,” Lakhi suggested, as they lugged the plastic bags back to the apartment.

  “Definitely. Five dollars each?”

  “Ten would be better.”

  With the decorations up, plans in place, and the afternoon drawing to a close, Hannah knocked on Zelda’s door and walked in. The TV was not tuned to Animal Planet as usual. In fact, it was deathly quiet.

  “Hi Mrs. K. Where are you?” The couch was empty, the apartment tomblike. A box of doughnuts sat on the counter with ants scurrying under the lid. Hannah put it in the refrigerator and wiped down the kitchen with Clorox.

  Panic rose in her chest. If Zelda wandered off or, God forbid died, the party would be an epic fail. Luke would race back and she’d shoulder the blame, feeling guilty forever. “Mrs. Kendrick?” she called out flipping on the lights. She looked everywhere: in the oven, the master bath, and under the guest room bed where she found a gang of dust bunnies. Nobody was in the closet. Her stomach churned as she pulled back the shower curtain of the second bathroom. Instead of a dead body, she spotted a frying pan, pajamas, two canes, the photo album, slippers, a black quilted purse, and the video camera.

  The lost items had been found. But who put them there and where was Zelda?

  In the darkened master bedroom, she spotted a lump under the comforter, shook it gently and heard a muffled voice.

  “Not now Travis. I’m sleeping.”

  “It’s me, Hannah.”

  “Don’t you have school?”

  “It’s Saturday night. Do you want dinner?”

  “Tell Travis to bring Chinese food.”

  Hannah smiled, turned off the light, and closed the door. She could not have asked for a better solution to her party predicament.

  What Zelda didn’t know could not come back to bite her in the ass.