by Wendy Wax
“The property is so interesting,” Kyra added. “And it was so, I don’t know, so sad to see it sitting deserted that way. Wouldn’t the owners like to see it brought back to life?”
Kyra reached for the crumbled remains of Dustin’s cupcake, rolling them up in the tattered napkin. John exchanged another glance with his wife, who had gone quite still.
“Maybe John knows of another Pass-a-Grille property that we could consider.” Maddie sent Kyra and Avery a warning glance, which Avery ignored. All they were asking for was a look around.
“It’s just down the street,” Avery said. “Couldn’t you maybe reach out to the owners and ask if . . . ?”
John looked more uncomfortable than Avery had ever seen him. Renée laced her hands across Dustin’s stomach, seemingly oblivious to the cupcake crumbs and icing that smeared his shirt. She drew a deep breath. “The hotel belongs to my sister and me.” Renée’s voice was carefully neutral; her face was not. “John can show it to you if you really want to see it, but it’s not a potential renovation candidate.”
Maddie put a cautionary hand on Avery’s arm, but Avery couldn’t have stopped the question that sprang to her lips even if she’d wanted to. “Why not? Why wouldn’t you and your sister want it renovated?”
Renée’s chin came up, but her lips quivered as she lifted Dustin gently off her lap and handed him to Kyra. She folded her hands on the table. “Because our father died there the night my sister’s mother disappeared. Presumably after she killed him.” Renée’s eyes were bleak. “And because all I’ve ever wanted is for it to be torn down.”
Nigel Bracken was the first thing Maddie noticed the next morning. He stood in his favorite spot under a palm tree just beyond the no-man’s-land of scrub and sandspurs that separated Bella Flora from the path that led to the jetty and the beach. He wore neon orange swim trunks and what seemed to be his favorite, or possibly only, Hawaiian-print shirt. A fishing cap perched on his head, and he wore what looked like a brand-new pair of flip-flops on his feet. Two of his “pack” stood beside him, yawning over cups of coffee.
“Where are you ladies headed?” he asked when they emerged after breakfast.
“We’re headed out for a walk,” Nicole replied.
“Will Daniel or William be joining you?” the photographer with the bad teeth and the potato-shaped face named Bill asked hopefully.
“Afraid not.” Kyra pushed the stroller down the sandy path toward the beach. Maddie, Avery, and Nicole formed a loose circle around her.
“How far are you going? What time do you think you’ll be back?” the third photographer called out.
“Seriously?” Avery, who was bringing up the rear, turned to ask. “You want us to help you figure out whether to follow us or not?”
This, of course, would be like telling the fox when the henhouse would be most vulnerable, Maddie thought. And then opening the henhouse door.
Nigel shrugged. “Never hurts to ask, luv.”
Maddie turned to stand beside Avery. Nikki turned, too, so that they stood shoulder to shoulder facing their common enemy.
“You’re right,” Avery said. “What’s the point of you following us around all morning hoping for a clean shot you might never get?”
Kyra turned the jogging stroller around. “I agree. Why don’t we just have a little photo op right now so you don’t have to work up a sweat or anything?”
The three paparazzi conferred. “I wouldn’t mind having some breakfast,” Nigel said.
“It’s not like they’re doing anything we haven’t shot a hundred times before,” Bill said. “They haven’t even had a good argument since Deirdre died.”
Avery fisted her hands on her hips. Her lips tightened. “Sorry to be so disappointing.”
“Yeah,” Kyra said repositioning the stroller. “Take the photo or don’t. Jeez.”
The three conferred again. One of their stomachs rumbled loudly, which ultimately decided the matter.
Avery, Nikki, Maddie, and Kyra slid their arms around each other’s waists. Without prompting Dustin took off his Mickey Mouse sunglasses, leaned forward in the stroller, and spread his arms wide.
“Gentlemen.” Maddie nodded when the photo frenzy ended. The women turned their backs on the photographers and took the path to the beach.
“That was a good move,” Nikki said as they walked down to the hard-packed sand and headed north. “Maybe if we throw them the occasional photo op and keep things boring enough they’ll give up and go away altogether.”
“You mean cancel the orgy I had lined up?” Maddie asked drily.
“Yeah. You do that and I’ll postpone that nude morning run I was considering,” Nikki said.
There was laughter.
“I think we have the basis for a workable strategy here,” Kyra said. “We just need to keep it up until some real celebrities show up.”
“I’d settle for a couple of reality TV stars doing something stupid,” Avery said.
“We are reality TV stars,” Nikki pointed out.
“Not by choice. And not anymore,” Avery replied. “And if the Singer women could detach from their celebrity attachments, we could probably run around naked without attracting the slightest attention.”
“Speak for yourself,” Nikki said.
The mood lightened further. In truth it was difficult to be negative with sugar-white sand sifting beneath your feet and a perfect blue sky overhead.
“Dustin will always be Daniel Deranian’s son,” Kyra said. “Whether I ever see Daniel again or not.” She kept her voice even, but no one there thought this was likely.
Maddie understood far better now than she had when Kyra had first come home pregnant by a movie star, just how difficult it could be to resist someone that charismatic. William had been flying way under the radar when they’d first arrived to renovate Mermaid Point. Would that change now that he’d begun making music again? Maddie turned her face up to the sun trying to lose the thought in the sound of the waves washing onto the sand and the light breeze that caressed her bare shoulders. A picture of Renée Franklin’s bleak gaze replaced it.
The Don CeSar Hotel’s pink castle-like structure grew larger as they neared.
“So how far from the Don is the Sunshine Hotel?” Nikki asked. “I’ve run this beach a thousand times and never seen anything near it that looked in need of a major rehab.”
“I know,” Kyra said. “It’s really hidden.” She pointed toward the distant glint of sun on metal. “It’s just up there.”
“Near those dunes?” Avery asked.
“Between them. And if Nigel and his friends show up let’s just keep walking,” Kyra said. “It’s not the kind of place you want to lead scavengers to.”
“No, it doesn’t sound like it. But that’s exactly what we’d be doing if we somehow got permission to work on the property,” Maddie reminded them. “This is Renée we’re talking about. Their father died under suspicious circumstances more than sixty years ago, but it doesn’t sound like she or her sister are anywhere near over it.” Maddie looked out over the Gulf, but all she saw was Renée Franklin’s troubled face. “Surely we don’t want to exploit her the way the network’s been exploiting us.”
“No, of course not,” Avery said. “I’ve asked Chase and Jeff to keep an eye open for potential projects, and I’m planning to check out the beach communities within driving distance of Bella Flora, but I don’t know that we’re going to have much of a choice,” Avery said. “And who knows, maybe if we renovated the hotel, Renée and her sister could reach some sort of agreement. Maybe then they could sell it and be done with it.”
“God, I just keep thinking what it must have felt like living so close to the place where such a horrible thing happened,” Nikki said. “Renée’s always seemed so upbeat and positive. I would have never guessed she had such a tragedy in her past.”
“No,” Maddie said. “A lot of wounds aren’t at all visible.” Weren’t they all a walking testimonial to that?
“Well, all we’re going to do today is take a look,” Avery said. “There’s no harm in that.”
They were within hailing distance of the Don CeSar when Kyra angled the stroller toward the dunes she’d pointed out earlier. The catamaran’s hardware clanged against the metal mast with a hollow ring, and the sea oats that surrounded the dunes swayed gently as they made their way through the softer sand.
Kyra extracted Dustin from the stroller, handed him into Maddie’s arms, then retrieved her video camera from her backpack. Hefting it onto her shoulder, she led Maddie, Avery, and Nikki between the dunes. They stopped in front of the low concrete wall for several long moments trying to absorb what lay before them.
Maddie shivered slightly. Instinctively they moved closer together as they followed Kyra through the opening in the low concrete wall.
Chapter Seven
Maddie took in the drifts of sand and refuse that covered the gouged concrete pool deck and piled high against the corners of the L-shaped building. The scarred trash-filled pool gaped at them openmouthed. Brown-skirted palm trees, bulging bushes, and flowering vines had woven themselves into a thick green wall that blotted out the neighboring properties. The encroaching vegetation clung to the building and had taken root in the cracked concrete. The ends of a tarp that covered most of the building’s flat roof snapped against its restraints like a sail against the wind. The sky was still blue and the sun still shone, but its angle cast long shadows across the abandoned property. It felt as if they’d stepped from one world into another.
“I can’t decide if this is just sad or creepy,” Avery said, though Maddie could see her eyeing the low-slung building, as if applying a mental tape measure.
“I don’t think you have to choose,” Nikki said. “It’s both.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper. “I thought Bella Flora looked bad when we first saw her, but she had great bones. Renée was right. This looks like a teardown to me.”
There was the crunch of feet on gritty concrete and they looked up to see John Franklin approaching from the rear of the property. The Realtor leaned heavily on his cane, placing it carefully before each step.
“I wish you all could have seen the property in its heyday,” he said when he’d reached them. “I lifeguarded here on weekends in the winter when it was filled with snowbirds and over the summer break for the local beach club members. My platform was right there.” He pointed to a spot midway between the deep and shallow ends. “I used to give water skiing lessons out in the Gulf on weekends.”
Maddie followed his gaze out over the low wall to the beach and the body of water beyond.
“The kids would run on and off the beach all day.” An almost shy smile twisted Franklin’s lips. “The teenagers used to hang out over there under that stand of palms.” He nodded toward the clump of cabbage palms on the edge of the low wall, but his eyes were far away. “I kissed Renée there for the very first time.”
Maddie’s heart twisted at the affection in his voice. Once she’d believed she and Steve were in it for the long haul.
He led them past the listing covered patio that ran the length of the building to the double glass entrance doors. There he pulled a large ring of keys from his pocket and fit one into the lock. After a bit of jiggling he managed to push open the door.
What once must have been a bright sunlit space was dark and dank, smelling of ancient wet towels and bathing suits trapped in an airless space for far too long. Nikki gagged. A hand flew to her throat. She wasn’t the only one swallowing hard in an effort to hold on to breakfast. Trying to breathe through her mouth, Maddie took in the long rectangular space. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling and clung to pretty much every available surface and fixture while dust bunnies (a far-too-delicate term given their size) covered the baseboards and climbed the corners.
“The terrazzo’s not too bad,” Avery said eyeing the gouged and filthy mottled floor.
“I’m assuming from your tone that’s a good thing?” Nikki said.
“Well, it can be repaired and refinished. And it is original.” Avery did a 360 taking in the decor.
Ancient rattan sofas and chairs with shredded vinyl cushions were arranged around brightly colored coffee tables. Mushroom-shaped table lamps and multiarmed floor lamps wore coats of dust. A Ping-Pong table sagged in front of the beachside plate glass. Old wooden card tables and chairs overlooked the covered porch and pool.
“It’s like a midcentury time capsule,” Avery said. “Deirdre would have a field day with this place.” She swallowed and turned away.
“Those doors lead back to the locker rooms and sauna and massage rooms,” John said pointing to the two openings in the back wall. “You can access them from outside, too, so you didn’t have to go through the lobby.”
A front desk took up the L near the entrance. Behind it a built-in wooden cubby still held keys on dangling plastic holders. A large sun-shaped clock with faded multicolored rays hung on the equally faded turquoise wall, its large black hands stuck at 12:05. A soda fountain straight out of Happy Days occupied the opposite corner complete with chrome stools with ripped vinyl seats, a mirrored back wall, and a vintage Coca-Cola sign. The Realtor ran a hand over the gold-flecked Formica countertop, then slid open the round-edged commercial cooler behind the fountain. “This was always stocked with ice cream sandwiches. It was kind of a help yourself on the honor system.
“The kitchen’s through there.” He opened the door to a small but utilitarian kitchen. “The dining room is this way.”
A space too short to be called a hallway opened to the glass-walled dining room, which sat maybe sixty. Here the tables were white Formica and the low-backed chairs were wicker with vinyl cushions that had once been bright lime and yellow. The lone interior wall and the corners between the sections of glass were papered in what looked like a lattice pattern, no doubt intended to give the room a gazebo-like feel. That paper now hung in strips; the plasterboard behind it was blotched with almost as many water stains as the sagging roof.
John inhaled slowly, and from the beatific smile on his long face it was clear the scent in his nostrils was pure nostalgia and not present-day reality. His eyes were clouded with memory.
Doubling back, he led them through the changing rooms, which were lined with wooden lockers and cubbies as well as the saunas and massage room. Dustin climbed up on an antique scale, his weight barely tilting the bar that held the weights. Maddie, Avery, and Nikki abandoned subtlety to pinch their noses shut. Kyra, who couldn’t spare the free hand from her zoom lens, appeared to be holding her breath.
They left the building more quickly than they’d entered, dragging in lungfuls of fresh salt air as the Realtor locked the doors behind them. Without fanfare he led them back along the concrete walkway. Maddie held tight to Dustin’s hand, careful not to let him get too close to the jungle-height grasses and bushes, afraid of what might be living in or slithering through them.
The cottages were built of cinder block and looked far more utilitarian than whimsical despite the once-bright colors they’d been painted and the signs carved with beachy monikers. The units were locked, the windows boarded up. Roofs were swathed in a patchwork of tarps. Tropical vegetation had grown around, between, and up cottage walls.
Maddie turned, trying to get her bearings. “Is that Pass-a-Grille Way behind that wall of trees?”
“Yes,” John said. “And that’s Thirty-first Avenue beyond all that overgrowth.” He pointed to their right. “That’s where guests parked their cars. There’s a public beach access at the end of it.”
He turned, taking the pathway that bisected the cottages and explaining the mix of one- and two-bedroom units, how they’d been situated and landscaped to provide maximum privacy in a space that was decidedly minimal. At the Ha
ppy Crab, which didn’t look at all happy, he inserted a key into the lock and jiggled it. As he put his shoulder to the door, they heard the sound of small things scurrying inside.
“I hope to hell they’re running and hiding and not getting ready to jump us,” Nikki muttered. “I don’t do rodents.”
“I’m with you on that one,” Maddie said as the Realtor finally managed to unstick the swollen wood door. Settling Dustin on her hip, she squinched her eyes partly shut so as not to see any small rodent bodies or scurrying cockroaches and followed Nikki and Avery inside.
The cottage smelled as bad, or possibly worse, than the main building, having less room for the smells to dissipate. It had its own small living room with one large window, a small eat-in kitchenette, and a profusely tiled bathroom. The front door had a jalousie window inset. Living room and bedroom windows were fitted with air conditioners and short blackout curtains. The floors appeared to be the same sand-colored terrazzo as the main building; it was hard to be sure given the layers of sand and grit that covered them. The furnishings hadn’t fared any better and were coated in layers of dirt, dust, and grime. Signs of water damage were everywhere.
Kyra shot video of all of it and them. Dustin sneezed and clung to her neck. For the first time Maddie could remember, he did not ask to be put down.
Outside, Franklin locked the door behind them. “Excuse me for just a moment,” he said moving toward the northern end of the walkway, which appeared to end at a huge hibiscus bush.
“What do you think?” Maddie asked as they huddled outside the Not-So-Happy Crab.
“It’s interesting,” Avery said. “I mean, all the buildings were pretty utilitarian in the first place and they’re in horrible shape, but it’s a prime example of mid-twentieth-century architecture. And anything midcentury modern is really hot right now.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Nikki whispered even though the Realtor couldn’t possibly overhear them. “This place would be perfect for a remake of Psycho. But only after they fumigated.”