He laughed, then took off his chef’s hat, pulled out a paperback, and handed it to her.
Liz looked at the cover. It was the next Christie on her reading list. If he could remember what her next book was, then that said something for his memory.
She left the kitchen, confident that Pierre was his old self again.
Chapter 12
Liz took the back hallway to her father’s apartment. When she opened the door and walked in, she found her father and a stunning blonde sitting at the small bistro table next to the galley kitchen, each with a glass of wine in front of them. The woman was somewhere in her mid-forties, dressed in a tailored, navy-and-white-striped blouse under a navy suit jacket. Her skirt came to just above her knees, and she had shapely legs atop two-inch navy pumps. Her large brown eyes were framed by perfectly arched brows.
Oops. Had Liz interrupted a date? Over the years, plenty of women had been attracted to her father. He’d dated sporadically, but no one else could measure up to Liz’s mother, Chloe TreMellyn, whom her father had met at a party in Manhattan while attending Columbia Law School.
Her father said, “Liz, I’d like to introduce you to Charlotte. She and I work together at the courthouse.”
Charlotte stood and extended her hand. Liz considered herself tall at five-foot-eight, but the woman was at least five-ten.
Liz gave her a firm handshake. “Nice to meet you. I hope my father invited you to the Spring Fling festivities at the emporium tomorrow?” She could tell by the way Charlotte dressed, she might love to purchase something from Sirens by the Sea.
Before Charlotte could answer, they heard a banging coming from the direction of her father’s office in the adjoining room.
“I’ll get it,” Liz said. She went into her father’s office and opened the door. Lightning illuminated the Wicked Witch of the West. A drenched Regina pushed against the door and charged into the office. She shoved Liz out of the way and stood in the middle of the room, then pointed at Liz, making a snarling motion with her top lip, exposing perfect teeth. “My recently purchased Mikimoto seventy-thousand-dollar Hyacinthia necklace is missing. Your ‘auntie’ said you were the last one in my room!”
Fenton and Charlotte rushed in from the apartment. “My daughter is not a thief,” Fenton said. “Remain calm. Tell us where you last saw the necklace.”
Regina’s wet hair was separated into snakelike clumps, and she glanced wildly around the room like an unhinged Medusa. She wore a red and white geometric print wrap dress with a plunging neckline that appeared Saran-Wrapped to her body from the rain.
“Why don’t you have a seat?” Charlotte offered.
One of Regina’s hair extensions fell to the floor with a splat. As she reached to pick it up, she exclaimed, “Who the hell are you! I don’t want to sit. I want my necklace!”
“I’m Agent Pearson from the Brevard County Sheriff’s Department.”
Liz was stunned.
“Well, then, arrest that girl,” Regina said, pointing to Liz. “She probably wanted to get even with me because I made a helpful suggestion about her unsightly scar.”
Unsightly! “How dare you!” Liz shouted. “I didn’t touch your necklace!”
Aunt Amelia burst in from her nephew’s apartment. “Am I too late? I didn’t mean to imply that Liz took your item.”
“Item!” Regina screeched. “It’s not just an item!”
Aunt Amelia sat in the chair offered by her nephew. “I just meant that Liz might have seen it when she was cleaning. Maybe you misplaced it?”
“I didn’t misplace anything,” Regina spat out.
David Worth materialized in the doorway, holding a half-open umbrella, panting and out of breath. “Regina, I found it. It was under the bed.” He closed the umbrella, hurried inside, then held up a pearl-and-diamond necklace.
Regina pointed again at Liz. “She probably put it there so she could come back later and steal it!”
David mumbled something Liz didn’t hear, and Regina turned on him with venom in her eyes. David tightened his grip on the handle of the umbrella, like he might need to use it to fend off his wife’s ire.
As Regina spun back toward Aunt Amelia on her gold sandals with four-inch heels, she lost her footing on the wet floor and nose-dived onto the tile.
Everyone held their breath as they watched her push herself up on all fours. She screamed, “My knee! My nose!”
David, Liz, and Aunt Amelia all ran to her side.
“Get that girl away from me!” Regina said, as blood gushed from her right nostril. “Call my lawyer!” Regina got into a sitting position, then leaned back against the sturdy partner’s desk.
“Mr. Holt, please call an ambulance for my wife,” David said.
“No ambulance,” Regina screeched. “I’m not going to some subpar hospital. I need my plastic surgeon, and he’s in Cannes.”
Liz took a few steps back, then stood next to the safety net she called her father. She observed Regina’s shrunken form: her plaited hair, bloodstained face, and left knee that was already three times the size of the right, and almost felt sorry for her. Almost.
Agent Pearson, aka Charlotte, grabbed a box of tissues from the top of a filing cabinet and handed it to Regina. “You should be checked out.”
“Mind your own business,” Regina growled, as she stuffed a tissue up her right nostril.
Aunt Amelia took out her cell phone from the pocket of her fuchsia and turquoise caftan and punched in some numbers. “Ryan. This is Amelia Holt. Can you please come to Fenton’s office? One of our guests has taken a nasty spill and we might need your help.” After she hung up, she said to Regina, “Don’t worry, someone from the New York City Fire Department is on his way.”
“‘Don’t worry…don’t worry,’” Regina mimicked. “I’m plenty worried, and you will be, too, when I sue your ass!”
Aunt Amelia looked like she’d been slapped.
A few minutes later, all six-foot-three of Ryan Stone came into the office. Liz felt a weird sensation in her chest. Just because Ryan aroused a feeling of disquiet in her—that didn’t mean she was attracted to him. Perhaps it had something to do with her insecurity after being everyone’s “darling” in the publishing world one minute, then finding herself wearing cement shoes at the bottom of the East River, the next. Coming home had been the right step in her healing process, but for some reason Ryan brought her insecurities to the surface. She’d taken a bullet for Travis that day in court by agreeing that the trial transcripts wouldn’t be made public. Now she wished she hadn’t. There was nothing worse than being misunderstood and vilified for something you hadn’t done.
Ryan locked eyes with hers, then turned away and began to administer aid to a surprisingly quieted Regina. After a few minutes of prodding and poking, he said, “Nothing’s broken, but she needs ice and a pillow for under her knee. Her nose will be fine, but she’ll have a bump and a black eye or two.”
Regina was speechless for the first time since she’d entered the room. She looked up at Ryan like he was not just her knight in armor, but also the Holy Grail.
“She needs to be in bed,” he said.
Aunt Amelia got up and walked to the doorway of Fenton’s apartment. “Follow me.”
Ryan scooped up Regina. She gazed up at him with a goofy grin on her face as he carried her through the doorway that led to the interior of the hotel.
Liz thought Regina should have gone to the hospital. How were they supposed to take care of her here at the hotel? Regina didn’t want Liz around, which left only Aunt Amelia to deal with her. Poor Aunt Amelia. Perhaps the housekeeper might grace them with her presence. Now, there was an idea.
“I need to be on my way,” Agent Pearson said, as she kissed Fenton on the cheek. “Nice meeting you, Liz.” Then she headed to the door leading outside.
“I’ll go with y
ou,” said David. He picked up his umbrella. “We can share my umbrella.”
He opened the door and the two stepped through the doorway and out into the storm. Liz didn’t understand why David hadn’t followed Ryan and his wife. Well, maybe she did understand—the fury of the storm outside was a better alternative than Regina’s wrath.
“I suppose I’d better go check on Mrs. Worth, from a lawyer’s point of view,” her father said. “Her talk of suing the hotel will give Aunt Amelia a sleepless night or two, I’m sure.”
“That woman will be the death of us all.”
Chapter 13
Pierre had made his salmon wrapped in crêpes and brought the meal up to the Worths’ suite on a sterling silver tray. A tray that Liz had had to polish because Iris had been sent to the drugstore to buy gauze, Ace bandages, ice packs, and other sundries from one of Regina’s extensive lists. Apparently, Liz wasn’t allowed to go anywhere near Regina, which wasn’t a hardship in her mind.
Aunt Amelia had been in a tizzy about the possibility of Regina suing the hotel for her injuries, recalling a Perry Mason episode in which she’d had a bit part that didn’t turn out well for the main character, who was an innkeeper. Liz had tried to calm her by saying that Regina didn’t have a leg to stand on, a fitting cliché, because Regina hadn’t even gone to the hospital. Ryan seemed to be all she needed.
Betty and Captain Netherton ate dinner in the kitchen. Liz thought of joining them, but she knew Betty had the hots for the distinguished captain, so instead she packed up a healthy portion of Pierre’s crêpes to take back to the beach house.
She stepped out the kitchen door and started on the path toward home. The storm had passed, but the winds remained. When she got to the south end of the Indialantic’s drive, she saw Brittany, accompanied by Ryan, walking in her direction.
Brittany wore too much foundation, in a shade that didn’t match her neck. In the time Liz had been away, Brittany had changed her hair color from brown to overprocessed blond and she’d begun to wear heavy, gold-toned jewelry that made her look forty instead of twenty-eight.
Liz stopped and waited until they reached her.
Ryan still looked like Ryan: dark, frowning, and slightly irritated when he glanced Liz’s way. The difference in height between him and Brittany reminded Liz of Killer and Caro. Liz also remembered the couple of lovers she’d seen in the fog earlier—and their obvious height difference.
Liz marched up to Brittany. “Good. Just the woman I wanted to see. Have you confirmed that both of your models will be on time tomorrow and what they’ll be wearing? We open at ten in the morning.”
Brittany grabbed onto Ryan’s arm. “I told you she was a bossy pants. I have everything under control as usual. I hope my advertising dollars have been put to good use.”
Ryan remained mute, except for an irritated eye roll that said more than words.
Liz said, “I’ll be on my way then.”
Brittany took a step closer, and the heavy gold-toned chain around her neck almost looked like the real thing. “Yes. Do that.”
As Liz walked away, a pebble got stuck between her sandal and the ball of her foot. She had to hobble along, feeling Ryan’s gaze branding a big Loser sign across her back.
When she reached the end of the drive and the path to her house, she heard Ryan shout, “Stop!”
Liz ignored him. She wasn’t at his command. Then she felt his large hand on her shoulder. She whipped around to face him. “What?”
Ryan looked behind him and held up his hand to Brittany, gesturing that he’d be right back to her. When he turned back to Liz, he tried a different tactic. He gave Liz an ear-to-ear smile that reached his deep brown eyes, just as a gust of wind blew a glossy lank of dark hair onto his forehead. With the stubble on his face, he reminded Liz of a pirate.
Liz had a thing about pirates.
“We need to talk about our assignment,” Ryan said.
“Assignment! What assignment?”
Brittany started toward them.
“Your father didn’t tell you?” He looked in Brittany’s direction. “We should talk in private.”
Liz hesitated, but her curiosity won out. “Okay, come to my beach house in an hour.”
“How do I get there?”
Liz took off her sandal and got rid of the stone. “Ask around.” Then she turned and walked away, head held high.
When Liz got to the beach house, she left her foil-wrapped dinner on the deck’s railing, then went down to the shore. It was close to sundown, and the beach was shaded by the dunes. She got more than one mouthful of sand when she reached the bottom of the steps, and she had to keep her hand on her right cheek to protect the healing skin. She loved the ocean as much in foul weather as in fair. Even if the weather was rough for the Spring Fling, it shouldn’t matter, because everything would be inside the emporium, except for the tables for the Barrier Island Historical Society and the Barrier Island Sanctuary. But if there was rain, the tables could easily be moved indoors to the large foyer on the other side of the double doors.
The surf was rough. It reminded Liz of Ryan’s personality. She wasn’t comfortable knowing he was living so close to her in the caretaker’s cottage. And what “assignment” could he possibly be talking about? Well, she would soon find out. She reached for a conch shell, which lay perilously close to a royal-blue pearlized water balloon, which Liz knew wasn’t a balloon at all. It was a lethal man-of-war, still wriggling with life. She pulled back her hand. Her thoughts strayed to Ryan again—was he the handsome conch shell or the stinging man-of-war?
Of course, Ryan didn’t show up on time. It was two hours later when she saw his hulking form under the spotlight on the deck.
Liz opened the door. “You’re late.”
She didn’t offer him a seat, but he sat anyway on the sofa, putting his feet up on the flat-topped trunk topped with beach-related coffee table books. He leaned back with his hands entwined behind his head, as if he was ready to settle in for a long snooze. She glared at him until he finally shifted his feet to the floor. Had he been raised in a barn? She pictured him and his fellow firefighters sitting around a pot of chili, talking sports, belching, and objectifying women.
He said, “I couldn’t get away. Mrs. Holt noticed me walking with Brittany and asked me to check on Regina’s injuries.”
She felt a slight twinge of admiration for him helping Aunt Amelia, but it was short-lived. As he sat forward, his intense eyes focused on her, he said, “Before I agree to partner with you…”
“What? Partner with me!”
“You seem a little high-strung. Your reputation precedes you.”
So. He did know all about Manhattan and Travis. Or at least he thought he did. “I’m not your partner. Are you delusional?”
He gave her a sly smile, acting like he knew he was in the driver’s seat.
“Can you get on with it?” Liz continued. “I still need to eat my dinner.”
“Is that what I smell? Have enough for two? We can discuss the case over dinner.”
“No, there’s not enough for two. Spit it out. What’s all this business about an assignment or some kind of ‘partnership’?”
“How about a drink, then?” he said, leaning back into lounging position again.
“This isn’t a social call. And I don’t drink.”
He stood and walked toward the center of the great room. “That’s not what I heard, princess.” His smirk morphed into a sneer.
Liz walked up to him and poked her finger into his chest. “You mean, that’s not what you read in the tabloids. You can leave now. We’re finished here.” Her face was warm and her knees unsteady.
He looked down at her and gave her one of those grins he most likely used on weak females when he wanted to get his way. Liz wasn’t weak. He said, “Don’t you even want to know why I came here?”
“Not really.” She pushed against his rock-hard chest, forcing him to walk backward toward the door.
“Your father hired me to look into a case he’s working on. He said you were already on board.”
“What? You’re a firefighter—why would he hire you?”
“I don’t just work on the FDNY. I’m Kings County’s lead arson investigator. And I’m very good at my job.”
She walked toward the French doors and opened them. “Whatever. I’m not really in the mood to partner with you. I prefer to work alone. Time to go.”
“We’ll talk tomorrow. Granddad said you were helping with the wine-and-cheese tasting. See you at noon.” Before going through the doorway, he gently touched her bottom lip with his index finger. “Take care. Lock up behind me.”
As he sauntered out of sight, she locked the doors and set the alarm for the first time since she’d moved in. “Oh, Dad,” she said to the empty house. “What have you gotten me into?”
Chapter 14
Liz sat on the sofa in Betty’s suite. “Then the jerk said that Dad had hired him for a case he’s working on. The same case Dad wanted me to help him with.” She knew she sounded like a whining teenager. How many pouting sessions had Betty heard from her over the years? Too many. So Liz zipped it.
Betty poured tea into Liz’s cup, then sat on the sofa, sinking into the crater left by Killer’s one-hundred-sixty-pound physique. Caro hopped onto Liz’s lap and head-butted her chin. Jealous Killer tried to do the same, then gave up and lay on top of Liz’s feet.
“It can’t be that bad,” Betty said, picking up her crochet hook to fashion another granny square—a pile of about fifty towered next to her on a side table. “If Mr. Stone is an arson investigator, then I assume the case involves arson.”
“It does.”
Betty cut a piece of yarn, made a knot in the corner of the square, and added it to the pile. She noticed Liz looking at the stack. “We’re making blankets for teens in local hospitals. Francie taught a class last week: ‘Not Your Granny’s Granny Squares’.”
Death by the Sea Page 8