Lucy laughed, but it was a tired, weary laugh.
Forty minutes later, Angie was sound asleep, and Lucy was propped up in bed, but she was still wide awake. Her mind whirled and twirled, and she knew she wouldn’t sleep, at least not for awhile. She reached over to her night table for the pad and pen she kept in the drawer. She flipped the yellow sheets of previous lists. She had to be the all-time queen of lists. She started to scribble. Before she knew it, she had a page full of things she needed to do, calls to make, e-mails to send, decisions to make. She scribbled some more. Phone calls were a pain in the neck. E-mails, she decided, were the way to go. That way, she wouldn’t get put on hold, have to call back, or wait for a return call. Yep, e-mails would do it. E-mails also meant “Don’t bother me, and I won’t bother you. Time is money.”
It occurred to Lucy that she hadn’t checked her messages since their return from the restaurant. Not that they were gone that long, but in two hours, someone could have called at the end of the business day. She checked her voice mail to hear a robotic voice announce that she had three new voice mails. She pressed ONE and listened to PSE&G say they would read her meter tomorrow between ten and two. The second voice mail was from Atkins Gutters, reminding her it was time to have her gutters cleaned and for her to call back with a time and a date. She added Atkins Gutters to her list, then pressed ONE again to hear her third message. Ooooh. Luke Kingston calling to tell her he had put all the paperwork he promised in the mail. He went on to say he hoped her foot was healing and that he was always available if she needed any help concerning the house in Palm Royal. He signed off with his cell phone number and wished her a wonderful evening.
Aha. Suddenly it was, indeed, a wonderful evening. She looked down at the number she’d scrawled on her list, and before she could think twice, she pressed in the numbers. She almost disconnected the call when she saw the time on the digital clock on her night table. Was 9:50 P.M. too late to be returning a call? She was just about to end the call when she heard Luke Kingston’s voice. She felt a shiver of delight. She announced herself, then asked if this was too late to be calling.
The voice was breezy, confident sounding. “Actually, your timing is perfect, Miss Brighton. I was just finishing up a bunch of paperwork. It’s been a long day. I appreciate your returning my call. I think I told you I dropped off the same information at the Schwager firm that I sent on to you.
“So, how’s the weather in New Jersey? When we lived up north, I loved this time of year. So did my parents. I miss it.”
Lucy scrunched deeper into her nest of pillows. “Today it’s been really windy. I’m sure the rest of the leaves will come down in the next day or so. There’s a harvest moon, though. Autumn is my favorite time of year.”
“Windy, huh? Kite-flying weather?”
Suddenly, Lucy felt stupid. “What?”
The voice on the other end of the phone chuckled. Lucy loved the masculine sound. “You know, wind, flying a kite in the wind. Didn’t you ever fly a kite?”
“Ah . . . no, I never did. Is it fun?”
“Oh, yeah. My sister, Marie, was the best kite flyer I ever met. Her string never got tangled. Mine always did. My mom was always convinced she was going to go skyward and never be found again. My mom was a worrier. To be honest, I loved it but was never half as good at it as Marie was, but yes, it was fun. My sister was fearless.” Lucy heard the chuckle again.
Lucy smiled. “Does that mean you aren’t fearless?”
“I learned my lesson when we went sled riding one time, and I hit a tree and broke an arm and an ankle. Marie hopped off in time and just rolled away in the snow. Stupid me stayed on the sled. I think it’s a girl thing. Were you like that?”
“Actually, no. I . . . ah . . . no, I never went sled riding.”
“Skiing?”
“No.”
“Rollerblading, roller-skating? Did you ever do a zip line?”
“Sorry, no. What’s a zip line?”
“This might sound stupid, but did you live in a bubble? What did you do with your friends when you were a kid?”
What did she do? Lucy suddenly felt embarrassed. “I guess I more or less did live in a bubble. I didn’t do much. I went to boarding school at the age of ten, and it was all about learning, and there was no playing. I read and sketched. I guess I was never really a kid,” Lucy said, sadness ringing in her voice.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t . . . I didn’t mean . . .”
“No, that’s all right. I love hearing about other people’s childhoods. Someday, I plan to do all those things. You didn’t tell me what a zip line is.”
“Well, for starters, parents frown on zip lines, or at least mine did. It was Marie’s idea to begin with. You tie a nylon cable between two trees. You know, on a slant. One is up high, and the anchor is down low. And then you slide down it. It is a really breathless experience. Of course, I fell and broke a leg. Marie wore this shiny tiara and her outfit from her dancing class. She, of course, aced it. So did all the other kids. When I got out of the hospital, my father whacked my behind so hard, I couldn’t sit down for a week. Marie wasn’t allowed to watch television for a whole month. We never did that again.”
Lucy laughed. “Your sister sounds very interesting.”
“Trust me, she is very interesting. You wouldn’t believe how she watches over her own kids now. I tease her constantly that her kids are going to give her a run for her money the way she did Mom and Dad.”
“Are you a good uncle? Do you spoil her children?”
“As much as I can. They live in Seattle. Did your aunts and uncles spoil you? Is that why you’re asking?”
“I don’t have any aunts or uncles, so that means no cousins, either. And before you can ask, I didn’t have friends the way I think you and your sister did. Until I went off to college, I never had a best friend. Now I do.”
Luke didn’t mean to say it. The words just somehow tumbled out of his mouth. “That’s sad, unbelievable, actually.”
“Yes, I know. I survived, though.”
“Look, Miss Brighton, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . . I hope I didn’t upset you.”
“I think you can call me Lucy. You didn’t upset me, Mr. Kingston. Sometimes I just wish I could have . . . you know, one day been a kid to see what it was like. But, hey, I’m all grown up now, the CEO of a publicly traded corporation, so the past is prologue, as they say. The flip side to all of that is, I can still enjoy other people’s experiences. That’s a good thing.”
“Stop calling me Mr. Kingston. Mr. Kingston is my father. I’m just plain old Luke.”
“Okay, Luke. Well, I guess I kept you on the phone long enough. I have to call Adel and Buddy to let them know we arrived safe and sound. To be honest, until just this moment, I forgot. That’s so unlike me. I’m becoming scatterbrained of late.”
Luke didn’t want her to hang up. He was enjoying the conversation. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Lucy. After all, you were struck by lightning. That’s enough to make anyone scatterbrained. I don’t mean that you’re scatterbrained. Oh, hell, you know what I mean. But I am sorry if my childhood tales made you sad.”
“Not at all. I’ll call you when the package arrives.”
“Okay. Have a nice evening, and if you happen to look out your window at that harvest moon, tell it I miss being there. Is that stupid or what?”
“No, and I will be sure to do that. It was nice talking to you, Luke.”
“You too. I mean that. You know, you have beautiful eyes. My mom had green eyes.”
“Really?”
“Yep, and they weren’t contacts, either. My dad loved my mom’s eyes, said they were greener than emeralds. They were, too. The eyes are the mirror of one’s soul. You know that, right?”
Lucy could feel her neck grow warm. “Yes, I did know that. Thanks for the compliment.”
“That is your real eye color, right? You don’t wear contacts, do you?”
Lucy laughed. “No,
I don’t wear contacts. I do wear glasses when I sketch, though. Shell-rimmed.”
It was Luke’s turn to laugh. “Good night, Lucy Brighton.”
“Good night, Luke Kingston.”
Lucy flopped back into her nest of pillows, a smile on her face. Things were looking up. Really looking up. As in seriously looking up. Then she laughed out loud. The sudden giddiness she was experiencing stayed in her voice when she called Adel and Buddy to tell them that she had arrived home safely and her foot was feeling 100 percent better. She signed off by saying she would call them tomorrow and they could talk more.
Lucy hung up the phone, slid her notepad and pen onto the night table, and turned off the light. She was going to sleep like a baby this night. She was sure of it. So sure, she smiled as she tucked herself against the pillow, her thoughts on the tall guy with the unruly dark hair who had had a wonderful childhood and who had just shared it with her. Her last conscious thought before slipping into dreamland was that she would dream about the tall, good-looking Luke Kingston.
Luke Kingston looked down at his watch. Noon already! He’d been up since five, grabbed a bagel and a coffee on the way to the site from the furnished efficiency apartment he rented on a short-term lease near the construction site. He suddenly realized how hungry he was. A quick pizza last night had been his dinner, along with three Bud Lights. The truth was, he’d been way too excited to think about food after talking to Lucy Brighton. Way too excited. Come to think of it, he was still excited as his brain tried to backtrack to every word said during the conversation. She’d flirted with him. And he with her. Did it mean anything? He sure as hell hoped so. He could hardly wait for her to call him when the real-estate packet reached her doorstep.
Luke reached for his car keys, which were lying on the counter. His intention was to drive two miles down the road to a diner so he could get some real food, like meat loaf, mashed potatoes, and gravy. A sandwich from the roach coach, which was due any minute, just wouldn’t cut it today. He looked around for his sunglasses but couldn’t find them. He must have left them in the truck. Probably on the visor. He checked to be sure his wallet was in his hip pocket and left the trailer. Satisfied that he had everything he needed, he waved to his foreman and headed toward his truck.
That was when he saw them. He blinked and took a second look. Cops? Building inspectors? No, not building inspectors. Those guys always wore short-sleeve shirts, khakis, and were thick around the middle. They were up to speed on everything, and no inspections were scheduled. Cops? Cops didn’t wear the kind of suits these guys were decked out in. The cops here were friendly, not ominous looking like the twins headed in his direction. If they were cops, his foreman would have handled it. Feds? Possibly. This was, after all, Miami.
Dark suits, pristine white shirts, subdued ties, aviator glasses. Tall, muscular, the kind of guys you knew could hold their own in any situation. He didn’t hire illegals—everyone working for him had papers.
Luke reached into his truck for his sunglasses. Ray-Bans. He put them on as he planted his feet a little more firmly on the sandy soil and waited. Now they were even; no one could see anyone else’s eyes.
“Mr. Kingston?”
“That’s me, unless you want my father.”
The guy on the left opened his suit jacket and removed a slim wallet. It also allowed Luke to see the shoulder holster he was wearing. He flipped open the slim wallet and gave Luke time to peruse it. “Special Agent Leo Spalding, Federal Bureau of Investigation. This is my partner, Special Agent Tom Jackson.” Special Agent Tom Jackson flipped open his own slim wallet. Luke took his time checking both.
“What can I do for you?”
“Talk to us,” Spalding said.
“About what?”
“Palm Royal. Phase One. This is Phase Two, is it not?”
“Yes, this is Phase Two. What do you want to know?”
“We’re interested in a particular property back in Palm Royal.”
Luke decided to play dumb. “You mean you want to buy one of the properties? If that’s the case, there are none for sale, and you have to go through our realty division, and that’s back in Palm Royal.”
Jackson rocked back on his heels a bit. “We’re not interested in buying. We’re interested in seeing a particular house. We thought you could help us.”
Luke pretended confusion. “Why would you think that? Talk to the owner.”
“Well, you see, there’s a problem with that, Mr. Kingston. The owners are dead. We thought you might be able to help us out here.”
Oh shit! “Talk to the heirs. Or their lawyers. I don’t see how I can help you. What am I missing here?”
It was Spalding’s turn to speak. They must have a plan, Luke thought. First one speaks, and then the other speaks. Frick and Frack.
“Your company has a policy that if one of your properties goes on the market, your firm handles it. In other words, no outside Realtors, correct?”
“That’s true. So what? We don’t have any properties listed for sale.”
Frick and Frack seemed genuinely surprised at that statement. Jackson took his turn. “We’d like to inspect the Brighton house, the one you won an award for building.”
An army of ants crawled around Luke’s stomach. Shit, shit, shit. “The house is in probate. Actually, I just dropped off a batch of paperwork yesterday to the law firm handling the probate. You’ll have to go through them, not me.”
“What’s the name of the firm?”
Luke pretended to think again as he removed his baseball cap and scratched his head. “Let me think. Strange spelling. Yeah, yeah, it’s Schwager, Schwager, and Schwager. They’re in town. Why didn’t you just call me instead of driving all the way down here?”
“We’re based in Miami,” Jackson said. “Simpler to come here first.”
“Simpler for what? Why would the FBI be interested in an empty house? I feel I have a right to know. My father, my sister, and I are responsible for that gated community. If you know something we should know, I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me what it is. I can tell you right off the bat, no one in the community knew the Brightons, and that was by their choice. Mr. Brighton was the renowned heart surgeon, and his wife was also a doctor of some note. They did not mingle with the other owners. From what I understand, the Brightons were rarely in residence. If they were there ten days out of a year, it was a lot. If you care to check with the neighbors, I’m sure they’ll tell you the same thing. So, you understand my . . . curiosity at this visit.”
Luke could see Spalding’s back stiffen. He thinks I’m a pushover. Big mistake, buddy.
“We understand your curiosity. So, what you’re saying is you won’t give us a tour of the Brighton home. Is that correct?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. I abide by the law. Unless you have a warrant, I don’t see you getting into that house. Where do you get off even thinking that I would break the law or have the keys to the Brighton house? On top of that, you’re talking to the wrong person. You need to speak with the law firm that is handling the Brighton probate or the heirs. From here on in, if you want to pursue this matter further, contact my attorney. His name is Joshua Fielding, and he’s on Sumpter Avenue in Palm Royal. Now, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I’m already late for another appointment.”
His brain buzzing like a beehive, Luke climbed into his truck, waited until Frick and Frack moved out of his way, then backed up and left the construction site. On his way to what he had hoped would be his meat loaf and mashed potato lunch, he called his father, explained what he was doing, and told him he was taking the next flight to New Jersey. He then tried to call Lucy Brighton, but the call went to voice mail, so he left a message. He hoped his voice didn’t convey how upset he was. His third call was to the airline, where he was told he could get a straight-through flight to Newark at two thirty. That would give him just enough time to get to his rental apartment, pack a bag, then drive like a bat out of hell to the airport
. With no delays, he could be in Jersey in a little under three hours. He was sure he could make it happen.
Every nerve in his body was telling him that something was seriously wrong. Like really, seriously wrong. His gut was telling him that whatever it was, Lucy Brighton of the green eyes was in it up to her neck. What he wasn’t sure of was if it was willingly or unwillingly.
Chapter Twelve
Lucy walked into the kitchen, stunned at what she was seeing and smelling. Angie laughed at her expression.
“I was up at the crack of dawn, showered, and in the supermarket at seven thirty. Eleven hours of sleep was just what I needed. So, sit down, and I will serve you this delectable breakfast.”
“Yes, ma’am. In the supermarket at seven thirty, huh?”
“Yep, and you’d be surprised how many people were already shopping, but I whizzed in and out. How’d you sleep?”
“I didn’t,” Lucy said, shaking out her napkin. “I was up all night with my lists and composing e-mails to send out. I just set the mail timer, and they’ll all go out at nine this morning. Frees me up to do other stuff.”
Angie scooped fluffy scrambled eggs onto Lucy’s plate. “And by other stuff, you mean what?”
“Have you seen those commercials on TV for storage units that are so big you can store your car in them?”
Fork poised in midair, Angie stared across the table. “Yeah. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“I think so. It’s one way to get all that stuff outta here until we can figure out what to do with it. It makes me way too nervous to keep it here.”
“Won’t that make us accessories to something or other?”
“Probably. Do you have a better idea?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Well, think about this, Angie. The stuff upstairs has been there since my parents left to go to Florida. Five long years. There’s no reason for us to think anyone will come looking for it right away.”
Forget Me Not Page 12