Summer Rental

by Mary Kay Andrews

  Two songs later, Dorie stood and announced, “I’m taking a potty break. Anybody need anything?”

  “Potty break and a Connor break, right?” Julia teased. “You think we didn’t see you watching the door to see if he was working tonight?”

  “I have to pee every thirty minutes,” Dorie said. “Can I help it if the ladies’ room is right by the bouncer’s booth?”

  Twenty minutes later, she was back, a tray of drinks in hand, with the karaoke catalog tucked under her arm.

  “Ty sent these over,” she announced, distributing the cups. “He saw me talking to Connor, and insisted that he wanted to buy us all a round of drinks since tomorrow’s our last day. He says we’re the best tenants he’s ever had. Isn’t that so sweet?”

  “Adorable!” Julia said, staring at Ellis, who nodded mutely, and then knocked her drink back in one long guzzle.

  Dorie and Julia exchanged a worried glance.

  “Hey, slow it down,” Julia said. “You don’t wanna be driving with a hangover tomorrow, do you?”

  Ellis tossed her hair. “I think I know what I’m doing.”

  “So. What are we gonna sing?” Dorie asked, flipping the catalog open.

  “We? There is no we,” Madison said.

  “I thought we’d do a group number,” Dorie said, looking around at the others. “What’ll it be?”

  “How ’bout ‘It’s Raining Men’?” Julia asked.

  “Or what about ‘Love Shack,’ you know, since the B-52s are from Georgia, like us,” Dorie suggested. “What do you think, Madison?”

  Madison glanced down at the book, turned the page. “I don’t do karaoke, as I think I mentioned previously,” she said. “But if I did, I’d have to say we should do ‘I Will Survive.’”

  “Oooh, good one,” Ellis had to admit. “I think that could be the theme song for all of us, right?”

  Dorie nodded absentmindedly, still turning the pages of the book. “No. I got it. This is it. The one.” She pointed at Julia, Ellis, and Madison. “And we are all gonna sing it. Together. Every single one of us. Because it’s Julia’s birthday. Right, Julia?”

  Julia craned her neck to see what song Dorie had chosen. “Right. I’m the birthday princess and you all have to do what I say. So, what are we singing?”

  “You’ll see,” Dorie said, slamming the book shut. “When it’s our turn.”

  * * *

  He’d found the house with little difficulty, thanks to the faded EBBTIDE sign by the mailbox. He’d cruised past half a dozen times during the day, but there was a surprising amount of activity, some kind of construction project going on, with cars and trucks coming and going. At one point, he’d even ventured down the driveway, simply following a caravan of pickup trucks full of workers. He’d spotted Maryn’s Volvo, parked off to the side of the house, and smiled to himself. She was still here.

  After six, when the workers left for the day, it was easy to pull into the lot next door, and hide his vehicle behind the foundation of a burnt-out old house.

  It had been ungodly hot, waiting, but finally, darkness fell, and he could see silhouettes of the women moving around inside the house. So far, he hadn’t spotted Maryn, but it didn’t matter. She was there, he knew that. And he could afford to be patient.

  Finally, close to nine o’clock, he saw the lights in the house being switched off, one by one. He got out of his vehicle, crept to the edge of the stack of lumber that had been unloaded only hours earlier, and watched while the women filed out of the decrepit old house and piled into a red van. The other three women were dressed stylishly, as if for a night out, but not her. He smiled, seeing Maryn dressed incongruously in cheap jeans and an oversized T-shirt, with her hair tucked up beneath a long-billed baseball cap. As though that would make her unrecognizable to anybody who knew the real Maryn.

  Ebbtide was a ramshackle old wreck of a house, with thick beams, walls of cedar planks, and solid wooden doors. The locks, however, were a different matter. He’d easily jimmied the rusted lock on the kitchen door at the back of the house. Once inside, he’d quickly moved through all the bedrooms to ascertain which one was Maryn’s. He’d cursed silently when he discovered that she, alone among the women, had locked her bedroom door. Not that it had slowed him down much. He’d seen the open window from the beach side of the house, and the old-fashioned catwalk that led to it from another third-floor door. It had been easy enough to find the door to the attic, and the corresponding window. And somebody, it appeared, had recently taken that same route to Maryn’s room, judging by the fresh-looking splinters on the attic access door.

  And how convenient, he marveled, that he’d been provided such a neat and convenient escape route—the steel spiral staircase leading directly from Maryn’s room to the ground floor, and the burnt-out skeleton of the house next to Ebbtide, where his vehicle awaited, behind a clump of shrubbery.

  From the looks of things, his timing was impeccable. Their departure was imminent. Maryn’s duffle bag was packed. It took him only a moment to find the laptop case, shoved to the back of the shelf in the closet. He sat down on the room’s only chair to wait. He had all the time in the world.

  * * *

  Eleven o’clock came and went. Julia caught Dorie’s eye and glanced meaningfully at her watch. “Hey, Dorie,” she said. “How much longer before our number comes up?”

  “Oh,” Dorie said, catching the meaning. “Uh, well, there were a bunch of requests in front of mine.”

  Ellis picked up Julia’s drink and took a sip. “What’s the hurry? The party’s just getting started.”

  Julia reached over and put her hand to Ellis’s forehead. “Are you hallucinating? I can’t believe you’re not champing at the bit to get home and finish packing. You didn’t even want to come tonight.”

  Ellis pushed her hand away. “I changed my mind. Is that a crime?” She turned to Dorie. “Hey, pass me that karaoke thing.”

  Dorie rolled her eyes. “Really? You? You’re going to do karaoke? By yourself?”

  But Ellis was flipping through the pages of the catalog, pausing only when she came to the next to the last page. She looked up and glanced over at the bar, and she was sure Ty looked away.

  “Yep, this is the one,” she said, getting to her feet. She grabbed a wad of bills from her pocketbook and pushed her way through the crowd towards the karaoke mistress.

  “Is she drunk?” Madison asked, looking from Dorie to Julia.

  “Drunk or in love. Either way, this ain’t the Ellis we know,” Julia said grimly, and Dorie nodded in agreement.

  When Ellis got back to the table, she had another drink. As soon as she wasn’t looking, Julia dumped most of the contents of Ellis’s cup into her own.

  Two songs later, the emcee called out, “Ellis. Ellis, baby, where you at?”

  A moment later, an Ellis they’d never seen before was prancing around the vest-pocket-sized stage, doing her best to channel Cyndi Lauper singing the anthem that had been theirs in parochial school, when they’d prance around Julia’s princess pink bedroom in their Our Lady of Angels Peter Pan blouses and blue-plaid jumpers, pretend microphones in hand, warbling about how “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.”

  Despite dissolving into a fit of nervous hysterical laughter halfway through the first verse when she forgot the words, Ellis’s enthusiasm and confidence grew with every beat, so that by the end of the song, seemingly every woman in the club was on her feet, snaking around the dance floor in an impromptu conga line, chanting over and over, “they just wanna, they just wanna-uh-uh-uh…”

  Stuck behind the bar, Ty had to scramble on top of an empty bar stool to catch a glimpse of her. When he did, the slow grin spread across his face again. “Attagirl,” he said softly, to nobody in particular.

  When Ellis made it back to their table, pink faced and sweat drenched, the three women stood and applauded. Ellis collapsed into her chair. “I did it!”

  “You sure did,” Julia agreed, glancing at her watch. “Now
we really probably need to get you home.”

  “No!” Dorie cried. “We are not leaving here tonight until we all do our group number.” She gave Julia an accusatory look. “You promised.”

  “Fine,” Julia said. She plucked a ten-dollar bill from her pocketbook and strode towards the karaoke mistress.

  “Think you could move Dorie and friends in the lineup?” she asked, cupping her hands to the woman’s ear. “One of the girls is pregnant, and we need to get her home pretty soon. And it’s our last night at the beach. Our swan song, you might say.”

  The karaoke mistress palmed the bill. “No problem,” she said. “One more song, and you guys are on.”

  Julia nodded her thanks and went back to the table, nonchalantly glancing in the direction of the bar. To her satisfaction, she saw Ty, deep in conversation with an older, blond woman. He was gesturing angrily at his watch. She was shaking her head, but a moment later, Julia saw Ty head for the front door.

  “We’re next,” Julia announced.

  But Ellis wasn’t listening. She’d been surreptitiously watching the bar, wondering if Ty would approach the table, maybe try to catch her attention, or even draw her outside to talk. Now though, she saw him scurrying for the front door, and her heart sank. He hadn’t come anywhere near the house all day. As far as Ty was concerned, she thought bitterly, they’d already said their good-byes.

  She picked up her neglected drink and knocked back half its watery contents, then turned her attention back to the stage, where a gaggle of drunken chicks were inexpertly grinding away at The Pussycat Dolls’ “Don’t Cha.”

  And then the karaoke mistress was calling. “Dorie and friends! All the way from Savannah, Georgia. Come on up here, girls, and show ’em how it’s done!”

  Madison crossed her arms defiantly over her chest. But Julia Capelli was having none of it.

  “Let’s go,” she said, jerking Madison’s chair backwards. “Showtime!”

  Ellis looked at Madison and shrugged. “Come on,” she said. “It’s our last night. Might as well get it over with.”

  Dorie herded them all onstage, and they heard the distinctive introductory bass thumps. “Okay,” she said, taking charge. “Julia and I will do the Travolta part. Ellis, you and Madison do Olivia Newton-John.”

  And the next moment, the four of them were sashaying across the stage, warbling “Summer Nights” from Grease. And when it came to the part about how summer flings don’t mean a thing, Ellis Sullivan sang that verse with newfound wisdom.

  50

  “That was awesome!” Dorie cried, throwing her arms around her friends at the end of the song.

  “Yeah, we totally rocked it,” Julia agreed, herding the women in the direction of the table. “But you guys, I think the birthday princess needs to go home now, before she turns into a pumpkin.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Madison said readily.

  They piled into the red van, with Dorie behind the wheel, and were almost home when Julia, trying to sound casual, pulled out her cell phone and groaned.

  “Oh, no. My battery’s dead. And I promised Booker I’d call him before midnight. Damn!”

  “I’d let you use mine,” Dorie offered, “but I’ve used up all my minutes for the month.”

  “Here,” Ellis said, rummaging in her purse. “Just call him on mine.”

  “Okay,” Julia said, holding out her hand.

  “Well, hell,” Ellis said, sounding puzzled. “It’s not in here.” She dumped the contents of the purse onto her lap, and pawed through the lipsticks, pens, billfold, Kleenex packets, and a notebook of lists.

  Julia turned around from the front passenger seat. “Are you sure it’s not there?”

  “Positive,” Ellis said. “And my keys are missing too. Dorie,” she cried, “turn around. We’ve got to go back to Caddie’s. I think maybe my phone and keys fell out of my purse back there.”

  “What?” Julia said, sounding panicky. It was ten minutes before midnight. “I didn’t see your phone and keys on the table. And I was sitting right beside you all night.”

  “They’ve gotta be there,” Ellis insisted. “Dorie, please go back. You guys can stay in the van, I’ll just run inside and check the table and be right back.”

  “It can’t be there,” Julia countered. “Right, Dorie?”

  “When was the last time you remember seeing your phone?” Dorie asked. “Think back.”

  “I don’t know,” Ellis said. “I’ve been running around all day, between the house and the beach, and packing, and cleaning, and starting to load the car.”

  “The beach!” Dorie cried. “Oh my God, of course. Ellis, it completely slipped my mind. When I was picking up my chair and towel this afternoon, I noticed your phone and keys on your beach chair. I meant to say something, but I just figured you were planning to go back down there later in the afternoon.”

  “Dorie!” Ellis said, annoyed. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? Or just pick it up and bring it to me?”

  “I’m an idiot,” Dorie wailed. “It was so hot out there today, and then Willa called me on my cell to yell at me some more, and I just forgot.”

  “For Pete’s sake,” Ellis grumped. “That means my phone and keys have been out on the beach for hours. Somebody probably already walked off with them.”

  “Maybe not,” Madison said helpfully.

  “Look,” Julia said, “we’re almost home. You can just hop out of the van as soon as we get back to Ebbtide, and go check. I’m sure they’re still there.”

  “Not likely,” Ellis said gloomily.

  * * *

  Ty’s hair was still wet, but he’d managed to shower and change out of his work clothes in ten minutes flat and walk down the beach from his new cottage to the stretch in front of Ebbtide. Now, at exactly five minutes ’til midnight, he stood on the beach, wondering if coming back here tonight was a mistake.

  He glanced up at the spot where the garage, and his apartment, had been only twenty-four hours earlier, and looked quickly away. He’d done the right thing, what needed to be done, but he’d miss the old rattrap.

  Somebody had left a folding beach chair in the middle of the spot where the Ebbtide girls had pitched their camp for the past month. A pink-and-orange striped beach towel was tossed across the back of the chair, and as he looked closer, he saw a cell phone and set of keys under the edge of the towel. He picked up the phone, pushed the on button, and seeing the call log, realized it belonged to Ellis.

  Ty sat down on the chair to wait.

  * * *

  He was waiting, sitting quietly in the dark, on the chair by the window—the same window Madison looked out countless times, every morning and night, searching for any sign of trouble. A bead of sweat trickled down his back as he sat in the stifling closet-sized room. He’d considered turning on the rusty air conditioner stuck halfway into the window by the bed, but then decided to do so would alert her that somebody had been in the room.

  He glanced down at the LED display of his wristwatch. Nearly midnight. Had she met another man? His eye twitched at the thought of Maryn with somebody else. Then he shook his head. Impossible. He’d seen the red van roll away from the house hours ago with the four women inside. Girls’ night out. Completely harmless.

  Not that it mattered. He patted the laptop case on the floor, its sides bulging with the cash he’d easily discovered hidden on the top shelf of the armoire. His cash. He’d earned it. He meant to have it, and he would have it, just as soon as he dealt with Maryn. He’d had time to count it, waiting for her, stacking the bills in rows that completely covered the bed. And it was all there, save for one hundred dollars. That surprised him, that Maryn hadn’t spent the money, hadn’t fled the country as soon as she figured out what she had. Maryn had never struck him as a particularly noble type. She was a hard-edged realist, just like he was. Which was why he’d been attracted to her.

  He saw the play of lights on the opposite wall of the darkened room and stood up to look out
the window. The red van was bumping down the driveway at a fast clip. It didn’t stop until it was directly in front of the porch. Then the engine switched off, and a petite redhead jumped from the driver’s seat and raced for the front porch. A moment later, the back doors of the van opened, and he watched, his pulse quickening, as Maryn climbed out, stretched, and said something to the lanky blonde who got out the other side of the car. The two of them looked up at the house, and he stepped back, quickly, even knowing that there was no way she could see him up here, in the dark. Still …

  Getting up and walking softly to the door, he opened it just far enough to hear the front door opening below. Lights clicked on, and there were more voices. This time he was certain he heard Maryn, and one of the other women, giggling conspiratorially. He closed the door and took up a position just to the side of it.

  Minutes passed. He heard steps coming up the stairs. “G’night, y’all,” an unfamiliar woman’s voice called gaily. The steps stopped at the second floor, and he heard a door close, water running, and then the flush of a toilet, the sound of the bathroom door opening, and moments later, another door closing.

  He resumed his wait, slumped against the wall, listening to his own even breathing. He heard more footsteps on the stairs, and tensed. His hands were slick with sweat. He dried them on his jeans, stood, moving towards the door, his hand on the pistol shoved into his waistband. The footsteps paused at the second-floor landing. Maybe it was one of the other women, Maryn’s housemates? But then the footsteps resumed, slowly climbing the stairs to the third floor.

  It was serendipity, really, that she’d chosen this room, isolated on the top floor of the house. Not a surprise though. Maryn didn’t trust anybody, especially other women. The big surprise was that she’d moved in with these strangers at all. Didn’t matter why she’d choosen this room, all that mattered was that it was perfect for his needs.

  The footsteps were coming closer now. And she was humming. What was it? “They just wanna,” she crooned, “they just wanna-uh-uh.” Cyndi Lauper? Maryn? He’d never known her to hum, let alone sing. Was she drunk or high? The footsteps paused in front of the door, and he held his breath as she fumbled to fit the key into the lock.