by Maria Geraci
“Sorry to show up so late.” Allie pulled out the pale blue sheets with the faded polka dots from the hall closet. She held them up to her nose. Sachet of roses, with a little fabric softener for good measure. She gingerly laid them on the foldout couch in the den.
Mimi picked up a worn out pillow case and frowned. “There’s a set of new sheets on the top shelf.”
“I don’t want new sheets. I want these. And in case you’re getting any ideas, don’t you dare throw these out. They’re my favorite.”
Mimi yanked on the mattress to smooth down a corner and asked in a deceptively mild voice, “Was that Tom Donalan who dropped you off?”
“You were looking through the window, so you know it was.”
“Where’s your car? And how on earth did you run into him of all people?”
Allie filled Mimi in on everything that had happened since they’d spoken earlier in the evening. Her breaking into the senior center (at which Mimi visibly cringed), her run-in with Tom, and then finally Rusty and the license suspension.
“Zeke will be back in a couple of days. I’m sure he can help you get the license thing straightened out,” Mimi said.
“I hope I didn’t wake up the kids.”
“They’re eleven and sixteen. They both probably went to bed with their iPods glued to their ears. Only an act of God could wake them up.”
“I still can’t believe Claire is sixteen. Makes me feel old,” Allie joked.
“Sixteen going on thirty.” Mimi pointed to her right temple. “See that? I’m going gray because of that girl.”
Allie playfully threw a pillow at her. “You are not!”
Mimi caught the pillow, then laid it across the top of the bed, giving the covers one final tug to smooth them in place. “Wait till you have a teenager of your own.”
Mimi was right, Allie observed with a tender eye. Her sister-in-law was sporting a hint of silver at the temples. But other than that, it was hard to believe Mimi was old enough to have a teenage daughter. Despite their somewhat shaky beginning, Mimi and Zeke were the poster couple for marriage with a capital M. Even after sixteen years they were still crazy about one another, with their two point zero kids in a house they had bought twelve years ago and were still renovating. Mimi carted the kids around all day in her eight-year-old minivan while Zeke kept Whispering Bay free from crime. They could be a reality T.V. show on the perfect family.
Allie’s gaze swept through the little room, which functioned as both a den and guest room. She’d always thought of this room as hers. Zeke and Mimi were her only real family, and over the years their home had become her family home. The walls were covered in pictures of not just their kids, but of Allie and Buela, as well. It was the place where Allie kept all the junk she wanted to save but didn’t necessarily want to lug from apartment to apartment.
The last time she’d been here the walls in this room had been mint green. They were now painted a light sky blue and the curtains were new as well. Probably sewn by Mimi herself. By most standards the house wasn’t large. It was a three bedroom, two bath, eighteen hundred square foot ranch. But it was cozy and neat and there was a place for everything. How Mimi managed to keep it all together on a small town cop’s salary was beyond Allie. Besides doing her own painting and sewing, Mimi also kept a garden year round and made the best banana pudding pie Allie had ever tasted.
Mimi sat on the edge of the bed and patted the space next to her in invitation. “That must have been kind of weird for you. Seeing Tom again after all this time.”
Allie avoided Mimi’s shrewd gaze. Her sister-in-law was the only person in the world who knew every detail of Allie’s short lived romance with Tom Donalan. At times, that had been a blessing. Tonight, it felt more like a curse. There would be no sleep until Mimi was satisfied she knew every second of Tom and Allie’s ill-fated reunion.
“Oh, I don’t know, I guess it was inevitable we would see each other again one day.” Allie knew that after their divorce Lauren Donalan had returned to Whispering Bay. But she had no idea that Tom had followed her. “Did you know Tom was back in town?”
“I ran into him and Henry at the Piggly Wiggly. Henry is the spitting image of him. He and Cameron are in the same grade.”
Seeing Tom again had been disorienting enough. What would it be like to run into a kid version of him? Luckily, she wasn’t going to be around long enough to find out.
“So what’s Lauren up to?” She remembered the look on Tom’s face when she’d asked about his ex-wife. He had seemed…conflicted by the question. “Still petite, blonde, and beautiful?”
“Naturally. She just opened up a sixties vintage boutique next door to The Bistro. Very cute.”
“Well, good for her. She was always into all that fashion stuff.” Although Allie had always thought of Lauren as more Lilly Pulitzer than retro.
Allie began pulling at the edge of her bandage. Why had she let Tom bandage up her knee? He had remembered how she hated the sight of blood. And she had hated the fact that he remembered. Did he remember the reason behind it? Instinctively, she knew he did. She had read it in his eyes.
It was embarrassing to think how a virtual stranger (and that’s what they were now—strangers) knew that oh-so-most-personal thing about her. Mimi probably suspected the reason behind Allie’s aversion to blood, but they’d never spoken about it. There were only two people alive who knew that story. Zeke, because he’d been there. And Tom, because she’d told him.
“Tom and Lauren have been divorced, what, about a year now?” Allie said. “Do you think he regrets it? I mean, do you think he followed her here to win her back? Not that I care or anything, but you have to admit, it’s kind of fascinating, in a Dr. Phil kind of way.”
“Fascinating, huh?” Mimi looked as if she wasn’t buying it, but nevertheless she continued. “I’m not one to gossip, but in this case, I don’t think I’m going to tell you anything you don’t already know. All these years everyone thought Lauren and Tom had this solid marriage, but according to Pilar, if it wasn’t for Henry, they would have never gotten married to begin with.”
Pilar Diaz-Rothman was one of Mimi’s closest friends, as well as a member of Mimi’s Bunco group, more affectionately known around town as the Bunco Babes. They met every Thursday night to play Bunco, drink margaritas, and gossip. Death or relocation were the only reasons a Babe gave up her spot at the weekly dice game and permanent admission was strictly by group invitation only. Pilar’s father, Dr. Diaz, had been their family dentist since forever. Plus, he and his wife were one of the few native born Cuban-Americans in town, which had made them instant friends with Buela.
Mimi made a face. “Do you think people in town wonder about Zeke and me?”
“Wonder what?”
“If we would have gotten married if I hadn’t been pregnant with Claire?”
“Are you serious? Of course you would have gotten married.”
“Well, this is a small town and people like to talk about stuff like that.”
“What is this? The nineteenth century? Hence, one of the reasons I’m glad I now live in Tampa,” Allie muttered.
Mimi didn’t look one hundred percent convinced, but she went on anyway. “So, back to Tom and Lauren. According to Pilar who heard it from Tom’s cousin, Tom thought everything was coming up roses until one day out of the blue Lauren just up and asked him for a divorce. Before he knew what had happened she’d moved herself and Henry back here to Whispering Bay.”
Allie let this information sink in. Had Tom really been as clueless about the state of his marriage as Mimi’s story painted him? Ha! So he’d been sucker punched. It should have brought a smile to her face. You reap what you sow, blah, blah, blah. Still, Allie couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him. “And how exactly did that land Tom back in town?” she asked.
Mimi was about to answer when instead she pointed to Allie’s leg. “You’re bleeding.”
Allie quickly glanced down, then away from her
scraped up shin. She must have worked off the bandage during their conversation. She didn’t think she’d pulled at it hard enough to dislodge it, though. She gulped. “It’s just a scratch.”
“Yeah, but I know how you hate the sight of blood.” Mimi went to the bathroom and returned with a small first aid kit. She made fast work of cleaning up Allie’s cut, replacing the bandage Tom had applied with a fresh one. God Bless Mimi. Her maternal instinct was spot on.
“Where was I?” Mimi continued. “Oh yeah, after the divorce Lauren came back here to be near her parents. You know she’s a Handy and they all stick together like they were bonded with superglue.”
Mimi was a Handy as well through her mother’s side. She and Lauren were something like second cousins. A fact Allie was about to remind her sister-in-law of, but she didn’t want to interrupt the flow of the story.
“Lauren’s daddy set her up in that nice little shop I told you about. And I think Tom was tired of only seeing his son on a long distance basis, so last month he moved back to town.”
“And took a job with Pappas-Hernandez Construction,” Allie finished.
“You catch on fast.” Mimi’s gaze softened. “What are you going to do?”
Allie pulled the rubber band from her hair and shook out her ponytail. “Get some sleep, then get up bright and early and try to figure out a way to stop that building from coming down before I get a chance to investigate my story.”
“Not about the building, silly! About Tom. He’s single now. And you’re still single. I’ve always thought maybe the reason you never found anyone was because you were still kind of hung up on him.”
Allie’s jaw dropped.
“Well, you have to admit—”
“Tom Donalan is the last man on earth I’d ever go for. That ship sailed a long time ago.”
“But—”
“Sailed and sunk. Like the Titanic. Never to be resurrected again.” She reached inside her shorts pocket and pulled out the printed copy of the anonymous email. “Right now this is the only thing that interests me. Can you read this and tell me who you think might have written it?”
It was obvious from the look on Mimi’s face that she wanted to continue talking about Tom, but Allie tapped the paper to get her attention back on track. Mimi gave in and quickly scanned the contents.
“It sounds kind of formal. Like an older person might have written it,” Allie said. “Don’t you think?”
Mimi glanced up from the paper. “What makes you say that?”
“The language, I guess. I bet it’s one of the Gray Flamingos. Especially since they’re the ones who’ve spent the most time inside the senior center.”
The Gray Flamingos were a local senior citizens activist group. They liked to march around town in matching T-shirts and spout off about the rights of the elderly. A very cool group as far as Allie was concerned. If they’d been around when Buela was alive, Allie was sure she would have been a member.
“Mmm…well, maybe,” Mimi said. “It says here that this Concerned Citizen tried to contact you directly?”
“Something like that.” Allie tried to brush it off but Mimi kept staring at her. “Okay, so yeah, I got a few emails, but honestly? A ghost? Don’t tell me you believe that malarkey.”
“Malarkey?” Mimi giggled.
“It’s a perfectly legitimate word,” Allie said. Dang. Thirty minutes with Tom Donalan and she was already emulating him.
“If you don’t believe in ghosts, then why did you drive all the way up here to investigate this?”
“Because my editor at Florida! magazine said so, that’s why.”
Mimi glanced at the email again. “You have to admit, this is pretty intriguing. And it’s sort of clever, don’t you think, using this Concerned Citizen moniker?”
“Clever? All that says is that someone is too embarrassed to use their own name. Either that or they’re hiding something.”
Mimi blinked. “Well, all I can say is that nothing this exciting has happened in Whispering Bay since the big robbery at Black Tie Bunco last year. Maybe when Zeke gets back from his police conference he can help you figure this out.”
“Maybe, only I can’t wait a couple of days to start working on this. I think I’ll start by interviewing everyone who’s spent time in the senior center, get their take on what they think. Once word spreads that there’s a journalist investigating the story, hopefully Concerned Citizen will make themselves known. As for the building, Tom has pretty much told me in no uncertain terms that it’s coming down tomorrow. But if I can get one of the owners of the construction company to—”
“Allie!” Mimi jumped off the bed. “Steve Pappas is the owner of Pappas-Hernandez construction.”
“I know. Tom told me. But I’m not sure I can find a way to reach him before nine in the morning, in which case—”
“Steve Pappas,” Mimi interrupted again, “just so happens to be married to Kitty Burke. You remember Kitty, don’t you? She’s a realtor here in town and her grandmother was very big into the Gray Flamingos. ”
“She’s in your Bunco group, too, right?”
“Yep.” Mimi folded the paper and handed it back to her. “First thing in the morning I’ll call Kitty and ask her to ask Steve to postpone the demolition. At least for a day or so.”
For the first time tonight, Allie began to feel hopeful. “You think she’ll do it?”
“Of course she’ll do it. What I can’t promise is that Steve will be able to hold off on that building, but if Kitty asks him, I just don’t see how one more day can make a difference.”
“And I won’t have to deal with Tom Donalan again.” Allie stood and gave her a hug. “You’re the best sister-in-law in the world. You know that?”
“Of course I know that.” Mimi eyes softened. “I’m so glad you’re home.”
“I was just here a few months ago.”
“Exactly. Way too long as far as I’m concerned. Do you ever think about moving back? Zeke and the kids would love it. And of course, I’d be over the moon.”
There was a wistful tone to Mimi’s voice that made Allie pause. In the past Mimi had hinted about Allie coming back to Whispering Bay, but she’d never been so blatant about it.
Allie chose her words carefully. “It isn’t that I wouldn’t like to move back here, but there’s really not much for me in the way of work. You know?”
“But you’re still freelancing, right? Couldn’t you do that from anywhere?”
Yes, but she didn’t want to tell Mimi that. “I guess Tampa has me a little spoiled. Small town living just isn’t my thing anymore. Plus, if I do a good enough job with this haunted building story, maybe Emma can expedite a permanent job at the magazine for me.”
Mimi’s shoulders slumped. “Life Goal Number Three.”
“I promise, I’ll try to come home more often,” Allie said. And she meant it. So what if Tom Donalan (and his DNA) were running around town? It wasn’t as if they’d ever have to cross paths again. At least, not after this thing with the senior center was resolved.
After Mimi went to bed, Allie tried to sleep, but she was too pumped up, so she pulled out her laptop and began an email to Emma at Florida! magazine.
Mimi had gotten it right. Allie’s Life Goal Number Three was all about stability. But it wasn’t just about any job. It was about working in an environment in which Allie could grow her journalistic career. Allie freelanced for several periodicals, but Florida! magazine was far and beyond her number one choice for a permanent position. It was an award-winning upscale monthly journal that celebrated the beauty of the Florida lifestyle (the magazine’s tagline). But the real attraction for Allie was Florida!’s editor, Emma Frazier. No one got Allie’s writing like Emma did.
Times being what they were, however, the magazine had been in a hiring freeze for the past year. According to Emma, Allie was number one on the list to be hired whenever a full-time position opened, so for now, she was biding her time, writing the best stories sh
e could find. Which would include this ghost story (if someone stubborn wasn’t standing in her way).
She sent Emma a brief recap of the night’s events, including her plan to try to stop the demolition. Despite the late hour, Emma immediately responded.
Good work. Keep me in the loop.
They emailed back and forth for a few more minutes, then Allie slipped under the covers and turned off the lights. She was exhausted and strangely exhilarated at the same time. Not to mention, just a bit conflicted. The exhilaration came from being on the brink of getting her story. The confliction? That wasn’t too hard to figure out. A ghost story was fluff. Not that there was anything wrong with writing fluff, especially if it had Emma’s seal of approval, but it reminded Allie too much of her Perky the Duck story.
Despite almost seven years of writing stories that dealt with environmental concerns and women’s issues, it was that dang duck story that anyone ever remembered.
Ironically, it had started out as an anti-hunting piece, controversial enough for a magazine like Florida! whose reading demographics included a heavily southern male population. But somehow, the story had evolved into something lighter. And it was that something that had captured the attention of Emma Frazier, as well as hundreds of other readers who had taken the time to email Allie telling her just how much they loved her article.
So while she was certainly grateful to Perky, she didn’t envision herself writing that type of story for the rest of her career. It was like accidentally tripping over a rock and discovering that everyone thought it was the best thing since sliced bread, and now wanted you to continue finding rocks to trip over when what you really wanted was to scale mountains.
The trick was to somehow turn this “haunted” house thing into a credible story that would sell magazines and keep her journalistic integrity intact. She sighed and burrowed further under the covers. She’d need her sleep to deal with whatever happened tomorrow.