Liz jumped. A voice from the other side of Aunt Amelia said, “Ernie Douglas, does your father know you’re here?”
“Barnacle Bob, you scared the crap out me!” Liz scolded.
He seemed to enjoy Liz’s reaction and kept repeating, “Does your father know you’re here? Does your father know you’re here?” The parrot did a perfect imitation of a young Aunt Amelia.
Aunt Amelia said, “Behave, BB. You have to be nice to Lizzy.”
“Nice to Lizzy. Nice to Lizzy. Scared the crap out of me!”
“Silence, rude boy,” Aunt Amelia scolded, then turned to Liz. “Our weekend event is such a great idea. Thank you, my lovely. All the emporium shopkeepers are on board, except for grouchy Edward. He’s worried someone might steal one of his gold coins. I told him, this is a sleepy barrier island where crime is nonexistent and everyone knows each other. You must agree that Edward’s the spitting image of Cesar Romero in The Computer Who Wore Tennis Shoes. That Kurt Russell was such a charming young man, and those adorable dimples…”
“Hmmm, love Kurt Russell, but I beg to differ. I think Edward looks more like Vincent Price than Cesar Romero.”
“Romero.”
“Price.”
Aunt Amelia laughed. “I guess it’s a draw. What’s funny is that both Price and Romero were characters in TV’s Batman—Romero as the Joker and Price as Egghead.” She stopped and said, “Here I go again. Rambling on about the past. How do you put up with such a crazy auntie?”
“Oh, that’s pretty easy,” Liz said. “I’m your biggest fan.”
“I only met Vincent Price once on the set of Alfred Hitchcock Presents. Well, I didn’t meet him per se, but I’m sure he winked at me. My favorite episode of his was ‘The Perfect Crime.’ Price’s character is an egomaniac detective who is proud he’s never committed a crime…”
“I remember when we watched that one! A lawyer tells a detective that he sent an innocent man to his death, the detective kills the lawyer in a very original way—thus creating the perfect crime.”
“Whomever Edward reminds us of, he sure is a cranky-puss.”
“He and Regina would make a good couple,” Liz said. “I feel sorry for David Worth.”
“I’m sure no one put a gun to his head to marry her. Her family has owned Castlemara for generations. It’s such a shame they are going to tear it down.”
“Maybe the Barrier Island Historical Society will stop them. We might look bad to the locals, harboring the Worths. Betty said there are rumors that Regina killed her father.” Liz purposely put the bug in Aunt Amelia’s ear in case she felt any future regrets about kicking the woman out, especially if Regina continued with her unrelenting demands.
“Percival II was an old man with a bad heart. I’ve heard the rumors, but I don’t believe them for a second. I’ve invited Mrs. Harrington-Worth to share high tea with me in the courtyard this afternoon. Try to get her to see the charm of our hotel from a different perspective.”
“If I were you, I’d take a shot of bourbon first.”
“Elizabeth!” Aunt Amelia got up and reached for Barnacle Bob’s cage. “Vincent Price and his wife were gourmet cooks, just like you. I think I have his cookbook somewhere, A Treasury of Great Recipes.”
Liz stood and wordlessly took the heavy cage from Aunt Amelia’s hand. “I’d love to see it. Speaking of food, let’s finish our discussion about the Spring Fling in the kitchen. Maybe we can get Dad to join us?”
“That would be splendid.”
“I burst in on Dad this morning. He had Pops’s grandson with him. Any idea why the guy needs an attorney?”
As they continued up the aisle, Aunt Amelia said, “No. Not a clue. But that Ryan is such a nice, polite boy and hot as a Carolina Reaper.”
The Carolina Reaper was the winner of the hot pepper contest Pops had a few weeks ago at Deli-cacies by the Sea.
“If you say so. Auntie.” She wanted to change the subject before her great-aunt came up with a name for Ryan Stone from the midcentury TV vault in her head. Liz thought the guy resembled the actor who played Ross Poldark on the PBS television series Poldark. Darn. Now Liz was playing the twenty-first-century naming game.
“I let Ryan rent out the caretaker’s cottage until he goes back to New York,” Aunt Amelia said.
“You what!”
“It makes sense. On the days when Pops isn’t feeling good enough to put in a full day, Ryan will be nearby to open and close Deli-casies. Pops lives in a one-bedroom condo. It can’t be that comfortable for Ryan.”
Liz would protest more, but she’d grown fond of Pops. He was always so jolly, and he sure knew how to prepare all the home-style deli foods she missed from New York, while still offering local seafood, produce, and an amazing cheese and wine selection. Ryan would never be considered jolly like his grandfather. The thought of Ryan living in the caretaker’s cottage, which she and her father had called home for thirteen years, also rubbed Liz the wrong way, but she let it go. Aunt Amelia could do whatever she wanted when it came to the hotel, but that didn’t mean Liz would let her guard down when it came to people who could take advantage of her great-aunt. Iris Kimball also came to mind; something wasn’t right with the woman. Later she would ask Aunt Amelia if she could take a look at Iris’s references. “Come on, Auntie, let’s go to the kitchen for some rocket fuel and beignets. You really need to bring a flashlight with you the next time you come into the theater alone. I don’t want you falling and breaking your hip or something.”
“Ha. My bones are as strong as an ox’s. Had a bone-density test last week. I have the skeleton of a forty-year-old. So there.”
“Okay. Okay. No more ‘old’ comments. Got it.”
Chapter 8
Liz returned to the lobby after her discussion with her father and Aunt Amelia about tomorrow’s festivities. She found Captain Netherton and David Worth seated by the door to the inner courtyard, chatting amicably. Regina’s loud presence was notably missing, and Liz exhaled with relief. When the captain noticed Liz, he excused himself, stood up, and grabbed his cane, which had been leaning against his chair.
She said, “It’s Friday. Are you taking the day off skippering Queen of the Seas?”
The captain nodded his head in David’s direction. “The Worths have chartered the entire ship. They want to check out their building site from the water.”
Once again, she wondered why Regina wasn’t living the high life on her recently departed father’s yacht, usually moored at the ritzy Eau Galle Yacht Club. Liz looked toward David Worth, who was intently reading his newspaper. Seconds earlier, Liz had seen him leaning forward in his chair, trying to overhear their conversation. Maybe if she used the word “bedbugs,” he would pass it on to his wife and they would vacate the hotel.
Captain Netherton and Liz talked a little while about the upcoming weather pattern, then she excused herself. She planned to meet Kate to talk about tomorrow’s Spring Fling. She walked toward the lobby’s massive revolving door and stepped inside. It took all her strength to get the heavy thing moving. A little WD-40 might be in order. Finally, Liz was spit out the other side, onto the green carpet under the hotel’s main portico.
She inhaled the salty air and surveyed the seascape in front of her. The temperature was in the upper seventies, and the ocean wind was calm, but you never knew what storm might blow in this time of year in coastal Florida. Liz looked toward a huge fountain encircled in coral hibiscus, whose backdrop was the glittering Atlantic. In the center of the fountain was a statue of Hercules holding a bow and arrow. Water trickled from the bottom of his quiver and into the fountain. From a distance, it looked like the Roman god with six-pack abs had a prostate problem. The statue’s left foot was missing and the tip of his aquiline nose was gone, adding, per Kate, rescuer of all things old, a “rustic charm and air of antiquity.”
When Liz was small,
the hotel had a live-in groundskeeper. Now, every Tuesday, a six-person crew came to cut the grass. They did a little trimming, then were gone in under an hour. Pierre tended to his kitchen garden, and Aunt Amelia took care of the cutting garden and flowering shrubs. The responsibility for the upkeep of the flowers and foliage in the interior courtyard was shared between Pierre and Aunt Amelia.
Once upon a time, the hotel had its very own mascot in the form of a magnificent peacock. When Liz was a child, she saw a snapshot in an old photo album of Preston the Peacock in full plumage, strutting across the Indialantic’s expansive lawn. She re-created the peacock’s jewel-toned colors with Crayolas supplied by her father and drew a picture of Aunt Amelia’s head on top of Preston’s body, because that’s what her showbiz great-aunt reminded her of—a beautiful peacock. She remembered how disappointed she’d been after a trip to the Brevard County Zoo, when she’d learned that all the pretty peacocks were male, compared to the female peahens, which were a dull mud-brown. Her father had wisely pointed out that it was far better to be a female peahen, because they could camouflage themselves better in the wild and avoid predators.
She stepped under the canopy and onto the circular white flagstone drive and headed north. When the sun peeked out from a chubby marshmallow cloud, she suddenly realized she wasn’t wearing a hat to protect her scar. She released the clip that held her long, wavy hair in a loose chignon and let it cascade onto her face. Instant sunscreen.
Minna Presley drove by in one of the hotel’s golf carts and Liz waved hello. Minna waved back, her short spiky hair and brightly colored geometric print spandex dress clinging snugly to her lean body. Six months ago, Minna had been talked into going in fifty-fifty with her buddy Francie on the rental of the emporium shop Home Arts by the Sea. Forty-something Minna certainly didn’t need the money. She had a large following for her one-of-a-kind mixed media art and was featured in numerous galleries in the area. Minna was considered a VIP in nearby Vero Beach, known for its art community, galleries, and multimillionaire residents.
Thinking about Minna’s celebrity status, Liz remembered that tomorrow there would be a juried showcase at Home Arts by the Sea of Minna and Francie’s clients’ works. Kate planned on having a buy-one-get-one-free used book sale at Books & Browsery by the Sea, and Aunt Amelia had talked Brittany into hiring a few models to meander around the emporium dressed in Sirens by the Sea clothing and jewelry.
Pops would be supplying a wine-and-cheese tasting at Deli-casies by the Sea. In his youth, he’d been a sommelier at Brooklyn’s Peter Luger Steak House, and his selection of cheeses was becoming legendary in the Melbourne Beach area. Because of his recent knee surgery, she’d promised Pops that she would help with the wine tasting. Now that his grandson was in town, she doubted her services would be needed.
Liz turned left at the end of the driveway. There were five cars in the emporium’s parking lot. Under a sign that read Indialantic by the Sea Emporium, were mammoth double-arched doors. She opened the door on the left and stepped into the foyer. She corralled her unruly mop of hair and clipped it up into a messy bun. A lock of hair fell onto her right cheek, covering her scar. Instead of leaving it there, she poked it back up inside her hair clip. Her therapist had warned her that she needed to be fearless, and that every time she looked at her reflection, she should thank her lucky stars she had a face to look at. Things could have turned out so much worse.
Liz marveled at the way the emporium had come together. The first-floor space had once housed the Indialantic’s grand ballroom, men’s smoking lounge, and billiards room. The second floor had been demolished and a two-story wall was erected on the south side of the building. The shops now had an open-air setting. Four-foot walls separated each shop from another, encouraging customers to meander and interact. Stucco walls extended up to a buttressed ceiling that came to a peak, like those in an old Spanish mission, and suspended from the pierced-tin tiled ceiling in the foyer was a huge Baccarat glass chandelier that had formerly hung in the hotel’s ballroom.
Across from the windows that looked out at the old clay tennis courts was Brittany Poole’s shop, Sirens by the Sea. A chain was up across the entrance, and the accessory showcases were dark. Liz didn’t see Brittany, just four mannequins waiting to be clothed.
When she’d returned home from New York, she was surprised to find out that Brittany had rented a space for her women’s clothing shop. On her first time in, Liz asked Brittany the price of an unticketed turquoise and silver ankle bracelet. Brittany had made it clear that their feud was still ongoing. She’d replied, “One hundred forty-five dollars for everyone else, one hundred eighty for you.” Then Brittany picked up her phone and ordered a two-thousand-dollar pastel gossamer cocktail dress. Liz doubted anyone else was on the other end of the line.
She’d known Brittany since elementary school. Once, she’d invited Brittany over for a playdate. After Brittany left, Liz realized a few things were missing from her room. She waited until she was invited to Brittany’s house, then, when Brittany left the room, she searched under Brittany’s bed. Liz found two Nancy Drews, her To Kill a Mockingbird book that had belonged to her mother, a box filled with her favorite seashells collected along the barrier island’s shoreline, and a framed photo of Liz’s father from law school. When her father came to pick her up, Liz went on a rampage of indignation, filling him in on every last detail of Brittany’s act of high thievery. He’d been empathetic—only not to her, but to Brittany. He explained that Brittany was jealous of Liz’s close relationship with him because she’d never known her own father. Mrs. Poole was a single mother who worked twelve-hour shifts at a Melbourne Beach grocery store. And if there was one thing defense attorney Fenton Holt was known for, it was his compassion for the less fortunate.
On top of Brittany’s childhood exploits, there was a very brief time in high school when Brittany had dated Kate’s older brother, Skylar. Skylar had been like a brother to Liz, and Brittany had tried to thwart their friendship at every turn. Was she still supposed to have compassion for Brittany? Time would tell. But she had a feeling they would never be “besties.”
She continued on to Home Arts by the Sea. Francie Jenkins sat at a long, burnished aluminum table and was giving knitting lessons to a young woman sitting next to her. The shop had been set up as an open workshop with three twenty-foot worktables and chairs. There were towering wood cubbies spaced around the shop filled with yarn, embroidery thread, bolts of fabric, batting, and artists’ supplies. Across from the worktables were three tall easels holding works in progress. The two-story wall at the back of Home Arts by the Sea was adorned with art, including framed oil and watercolor paintings and three of Minna’s mixed-media collages on six-foot canvases. There were also natural wood bookcases that held items for sale made by members of the Home Arts by the Sea Collective, including knitwear, blankets, pottery, primitive-style hooked rugs, blown glass, and handmade jewelry.
Liz’s life in Manhattan left little time for leisure crafts. She’d learned to crochet as a teen from Betty, but she hadn’t picked up a hook in ten years. Maybe she would get back into it. She knew from watching Francie and Betty that there were many cathartic benefits to learning the needlecraft arts and that she should make it a point to take a few lessons in her downtime. Her nagging muse whispered in her ear, Another excuse, to not write, Elizabeth Amelia Holt. Darn muse.
When she passed by Home Arts, Liz called out, “Hey, Francie.”
Francie looked nervously at the young woman next to her, put her finger to her lips, and pointed at a stroller that apparently held a sleeping baby. Francie handed the knitting over to her pupil. Then Liz heard Francie whisper, “Go on, you’ve got it, Beth. I’ll be right back.”
Liz met her at the entrance to the shop. Francie grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the bench under the windows and they both sat. Francie focused her large, chocolate-brown eyes on Liz. Aunt Amelia and Liz had mutually christe
ned Francie with the name Gidget from the television series starring Sally Field. Her dark brown hair was styled in a sixties flip with short, razor-straight bangs. Francie wore clothing that she handmade, using her own trademarked sewing patterns. She sold the patterns at Home Arts by the Sea, online, and at sewing centers across the country. She would take a vintage pattern and update the measurements for a modern woman’s silhouette, then add a flourish or two from her own imagination.
Liz looked at her apron. “Love the poodle.”
The apron was affixed with pink poodle appliques trimmed in gold sequins. The cotton print polka-dot dress under her apron had a buttoned-up bodice and a Peter Pan collar. The dress flared at the waist and was cinched with a patent-leather belt.
“Thanks. I copied the poodle from a skirt I bought from Books & Browsery by the Sea. Kate’s always on the lookout for vintage clothing I can duplicate.”
“You all set for the Spring Fling?”
“Yes. Minna and I are anticipating a big turnout.” She glanced toward Sirens by the Sea. “Do you believe that deadbeat, Brittany? This is the third time this week she hasn’t come in on time. She makes the rest of us look bad.”
“I’ll talk to Aunt Amelia. I don’t want to get involved. Brittany and I aren’t exactly on good terms.”
Francie stood, looked over the wall at her pupil, and gave her a thumbs-up. When she sat back down she said, “I’ve been giving the poor thing lessons since we opened the shop, and she still tends to make a mess of things. I must not be a very good teacher.”
“You are a great teacher, Francie. Every class you give is packed and usually has a year-long waiting list.”
“I’m determined to help her. That’s why I had her come in before opening.”
Liz stood. “Any more grumbling from Edward?”
“Edward wouldn’t be Edward without a little grumbling. You should hear the way he talks to his son. Speaking of grumbling, I heard Regina Harrington-Worth is a guest of the hotel. What hole did she crawl out of? I’m the vice president of the Barrier Island Historical Society, and there’s no way we’re letting her tear down Castlemara.”
Death by the Sea Page 5