by Wendy Wax
He was far friendlier to the Franklins and to Renée’s sister, whose pale blue eyes were pinned to his handsome face as if he were the savior she’d been praying for. He took the proffered seat at the dining room table while Mrs. Arnold flitted from Annelise’s side to the kitchen and back again serving them cold drinks and offering food that no one wanted. At a nod from John Franklin, she retreated.
“Thank you for coming to talk with us,” Renée said.
“My pleasure,” Joe replied, his attention focused on the two women. With no fanfare, he opened a folio he’d brought with him and slid a piece of paper to both Franklins and Annelise Handleman. “This is a brief bio to give you an idea of my background and experience. I’m currently a special agent in the financial crimes area. It was while hunting down Malcolm Dyer that I first met Nicole, Madeline, and Avery.” He did not allude to his relationship with Nikki, nor did he give the slightest hint that he had brought her close to tears with his lovemaking and asked her to marry him. His amusement at his need to present his credentials might never have happened.
Renée, clearly aware that Joe had no need or reason to sell himself, flushed slightly in embarrassment. Annelise read each word and jotted several notes, presumably preparing to conduct an in-depth interview.
“Since it’s apparent that Agent Giraldi is extremely experienced and is doing us a very large favor, I suggest we listen to what he has to say before asking any questions,” John Franklin said at a look from his wife.
A flash of anger lit Annelise’s features, sharpening them briefly. So far Nikki hadn’t noticed much middle ground. Annelise Handleman careened between “all in” and “not there.”
“Thank you,” Joe said. “I’ve spoken with the Pinellas County Sheriff’s Office, who were responsible for policing the beach back in 1952 and who are once again in charge due to the closing of the St. Pete Beach Police Department. They have a relatively new cold case unit; an Officer James Jackson who grew up around here is part of it.”
“You know the Jacksons,” John said to Renée. “They live on Vina del Mar. I believe J. J. used to deliver the afternoon paper when there still was one. His older brother is also with the sheriff’s office.”
“Officer Jackson has already pulled the case files and is willing to take another look.”
Renée gasped in surprise.
“But I thought you were going to reopen and reinvestigate the case,” Annelise said.
Joe smiled easily at her. “Despite the way it looks on television, Ms. Handleman, special agents and other law enforcement officers aren’t allowed to just take off to conduct unauthorized investigations. I do have a boss to answer to. But I can and will check in with Officer Jackson and lend a hand if anything falls into my area of expertise.” He didn’t look at Nikki.
Emotions flickered across Annelise’s face so quickly it was hard to separate them.
“Thank God I made sure the cottage is still there,” Annelise said. Her voice and body vibrated with energy. “Maybe they’ll find new trace evidence that couldn’t be detected then! Or run fingerprints through the Automated Fingerprint Identification System. That didn’t even exist until the late sixties.” The woman was practically levitating above her seat. “I’ve watched every episode there is of Forensic Files and Cold Case. They use new technology on old evidence to solve crimes all the time.”
Joe’s gentle smile pierced Nikki’s heart. “I’m sure you know from watching those shows that the likelihood of anything surviving in the heat and humidity all these years is pretty low,” he said.
Disappointment etched Annelise’s pale face. Renée’s face revealed less, but she, too, was hanging on Joe’s every word. A reminder that it was her life and her father’s death that they were discussing.
“The truth is that although the crime scene shows are incredibly popular and the new technologies are very exciting, the majority of cold cases are solved through old-fashioned detective work,” Joe continued. “Someone committed to looking at the case with new eyes. It’s possible Officer Jackson will unearth new evidence or an eyewitness. Or someone who knows something but wasn’t willing to step forward then.”
“I was an eyewitness,” Annelise said. “Only no one believed me when I said I saw someone in our cottage that night. Because I was only five they thought that I dreamed it or made it up.”
“You did like to make up stories,” Renée said. “The wilder the better.”
John took Renée’s hand.
“I didn’t make the man up.” Annelise’s voice had taken on that childish note. The faraway look in her eyes made them even eerier.
“Can you tell me what happened?” Joe asked Annelise softly.
“I woke up, I didn’t know why. I was thirsty and I had to go to the bathroom. Or maybe I heard something. I got up to go to my parents’ room, and while I was walking through the living room I saw someone standing in the shadows in the corner. Only when I told my mommy and daddy that somebody was there they told me that I was dreaming.”
“No one got up to look around?” Joe asked.
She shook her head. “No, and they wouldn’t let me stay in their bed, either.”
“And did the shadow person talk to you when you went back to your room?”
Annelise shook her head. “He wasn’t there anymore. And then I thought maybe I did ’magine it.”
“You said ‘he.’ Do you remember what the person looked like?”
Nikki knew she wasn’t the only one holding her breath as Joe coaxed answers from Annelise, whose voice had turned increasingly childish.
“No. But I could tell it was a man. He was wearing black clothes, heavy ones.”
Avery and Maddie’s eyes were pinned to Annelise. Joe was jotting notes on a yellow pad. “He didn’t speak to you?”
Annelise shook her head.
“Will you try something for me, Annelise?” Joe asked.
Annelise nodded solemnly.
“Close your eyes and think really hard. Try to see the man in the shadows.”
Annelise closed her eyes. The rest of them watched her, barely breathing.
“Can you notice anything else about him? Was he tall? What about the shape of his face? Did he have a beard or was he clean shaven?”
Her eyes closed tighter as if she were straining to see. “He . . . there was something really scary about him because he stood so still. Like a statue.” Her voice came quick and frightened. “He was standing next to the bookcase and his head was—” Her eyes flew open in surprise. “He was even taller and bigger than my daddy. I didn’t know I knew that. Nobody ever asked me about the man. They all thought he was just in my ’magination.” Once again Annelise pronounced the word as a five-year-old might. She spoke only to Joe as if the rest of them weren’t there.
“I’ll make sure Officer Jackson knows to ask you about the man. A sketch artist might be a good idea—to see what else you may have noticed without realizing it,” Joe said. “Did you hear anything after you went back to your room?”
“No,” Annelise said. “It was summer and the air-conditioning unit was on and those window units were really loud. Kind of like a freight train, Daddy said. But when I got up in the morning my daddy was dead. And my mommy was gone.”
Renée slipped an arm around Annelise’s shoulders. Her face was as white as her sister’s.
“If I would have shouted or made noise, maybe the man would have left. And nothing would have happened.” Annelise’s voice was little more than a whisper.
“Or things might have gone south sooner,” Joe said.
“You believe her?” Renée asked, her face still drained of color. “You think she actually saw someone?”
“I don’t know. But the fact that she was a child doesn’t mean she didn’t.” Joe made more notes, then set down his pen. “Did the detective who investigated ask you about the ma
n?”
“His name was Detective Anderson,” John said. “He interviewed everyone. All the guests and the employees.”
Annelise’s eyes shimmered with tears. “He was mean. I hated him.”
It was Renée who continued. “He ultimately concluded that Annelise’s mother must have caused our father’s death and run off since there was no sign of anyone else’s presence.”
“My mother never would have done that!” Annelise protested.
Renée glanced at her sister, who had lost the battle with her tears and was now crying silently. “There were people who were suspicious of Ilse and her motives for marrying my father from the beginning. Because she had such a thick German accent. And her English wasn’t good. And also because my family and most of the guests and beach club members were Jewish. My stepmother wasn’t.”
John Franklin placed a hand over his wife’s. “A lot of hotels and beach clubs were restricted back then. Renée’s grandfather couldn’t even buy that property in his own name. He had to buy it through someone else.”
Nikki listened to the Realtor’s matter-of-fact recitation. She would have liked to reach for Joe’s hand but he was there in a professional capacity. And she seemed to have forfeited that right.
Joe made a few more notes before closing the folio. “I’m going to email notes of our conversation to Officer Jackson.” He turned to Avery. “And if you can leave the Handlemans’ cottage for last, I’m sure Officer Jackson will want to bring in a forensics team to have a look around.”
Avery’s eyes widened at how smoothly Joe had inserted the assumption that the hotel would be renovated. Nikki saw Maddie and the Franklins register what Joe had done a moment later.
“But you said there wasn’t much chance there’d be anything helpful there.” Annelise’s tears had dried. All of her attention was now focused on the new investigation, not on arguing against the renovation, which had been presented as a fait accompli.
“I did,” Joe said to Annelise. “And it might not yield anything. But I’m sure Jackson will want to run down every possibility.” He looked directly at Nikki for the first time. “You never know when something is going to turn out to be different than what you’d expected.”
He stood then, picked up the folio, and handed business cards to everyone but Nikki. “I’ve got to run, but I promise you’ll be in good hands. And I’ll be available by phone or email.”
With that he nodded his good-byes, shook hands with John Franklin, and left. As Avery pulled out her notes, Nikki told herself she hadn’t yet lost Joe completely. That someone didn’t tell you they loved you and wanted to marry you one day and then simply write you off the next. That Joe might be hurt and angry, but that hadn’t stopped him from batting a huge home run for her team.
After Joe had gone, Avery stood on wobbly legs, unsure of her approach. She’d come intending to simply explain the project, present the tentative budget, and hope for the best. Her backup plan had included getting down on her knees and begging. Now she waffled. Annelise hadn’t protested Joe’s assumption that the renovation was a “go.” Did that make it safe to assume the project was on? She studied Renée’s sister, who was busy making notes on her pad, head bent, tongue clenched between her teeth in concentration, her small hand wrapped tightly around her pencil. Nothing about Annelise seemed safe or certain. And then there was that old adage about how “assume” made an ass out of “u” and me.
Avery cleared her throat wishing that Deirdre was here with her smooth certainty, her ability to steamroll with enough grace and charm to keep you from feeling completely flattened.
“So.” She cleared her throat again. “I just want to say that I’m very glad that Joe’s convinced the authorities to take another look at what happened to your father and, um, your mother.”
Annelise’s head jerked up at the last words, her unblinking eyes boring into Avery’s. Beneath the pale eeriness lay the darkness of old hurts, the child who’d lost both of her parents without warning or explanation. Avery knew what abandonment felt like, knew what it was to yearn for answers that didn’t come. Annelise didn’t care about renderings or construction schedules or even how much the renovation might cost. Avery set aside the papers she’d brought and spoke directly to Renée’s younger sister. “My mother was missing for a lot of my life, too. I was lucky enough to get her back recently. At least for a little while.” Tears pooled in her eyes. “It was my father who gave me my love of building things. He’s gone, too.” She swallowed hard. “I want to restore the Sunshine Hotel. I want to bring it back so that you can find some of the good memories that happened there and so guests can make new ones.” Her voice broke but she pushed on. “And I want to do it in our parents’ honor. In their names. Yours. And Renée’s. And mine.”
Maddie reached out and took her hand and gave it a squeeze. Avery squeezed back. Her voice was thick with emotion as she continued. “If you let me do this, I promise we will take great care with every inch of your property. I promise we’ll treat it like our own.”
Then she stood still and waited, not even swiping at the tears that fell, until Annelise Handleman finally nodded and said, “Yes.”
Chapter Fifteen
Annelise’s agreement to allow the renovation demanded a celebration. The minute they reached Bella Flora, Maddie headed for the refrigerator and pulled out the bottle of prosecco she’d been saving. Kyra whooped at the news and grabbed her video camera while Maddie opened the bottle and filled champagne flutes.
Nikki accepted a glass and followed the others out to the loggia, but despite the excitement and her own relief that they finally had a project, she couldn’t seem to let go of her distress at the distance that now existed between her and Joe. A distance she knew the others had noticed but had mercifully not yet brought up. A distance she was nowhere near ready to discuss.
“Well done!” Maddie raised her glass to Avery. The rest of them followed suit. “What you said was so beautiful and so moving.”
“And effective,” Nikki added, trying to let go of her worry.
“Thank you,” Avery said. “I’m really excited that we’ve got the go-ahead. But I’m afraid it was only dumb luck that I happened to say what Annelise Handleman wanted to hear.”
“No,” Maddie replied as they settled around the wrought-iron table. “It was your honesty that spoke to her. And I think it’s important that we continue to remember that what we’re doing is more than just a renovation.”
More sparkling wine was poured and the celebration kicked into higher gear, but Nikki was still turning over Joe Giraldi’s deft handling of Annelise Handleman and his dismissal of her when her cell phone rang. Imagining she had somehow telepathically induced him to call her, Nikki got up and moved to a quieter spot. Then she answered, expecting to hear his voice. Telling her that sitting next to her and pretending not to love her had been torture. That nothing she said or did could ever make him give up on her.
The voice that sounded in her ear did not belong to Joe Giraldi. It belonged to Bitsy Baynard and it was shrill with excitement. “The video arrived this afternoon. I’ve already watched two of the Mermaid Point episodes!” Bitsy exclaimed, barely waiting for Nikki to finish saying hello. “And you won’t believe who called me!” Once again she didn’t wait for Nikki to respond, which was fortunate because Nikki was still trying to pull her brain cells back into some sort of working order. “William Hightower called me! I just got off the phone with Wild Will!” Bitsy shrieked, her voice reminding Nikki of the old black-and-white newsreels of the Beatles’ first U.S. tour. “There’s going to be a concert! And he personally invited me to come with Maddie,” wailed the woman who could have bought as many concert arenas and the people who performed in them as she fancied. “I am going to have a frickin’ backstage pass!”
The sky was porcelain blue, the sun a bright yellow a handful of days later. It was a balmy seventy-eight degrees
with a light breeze off the Gulf that stirred the sea oats and rifled the palms that surrounded the Sunshine Hotel. It was the sort of day that brought people to Florida and kept them from leaving. One any chamber of commerce would proudly call its own.
Like a fairy-tale character suddenly released from a witch’s curse, the entire property had come alive and now hummed with activity as a steady stream of tradesmen came and went bringing their ladders, their meters, their swagger, and their energy. Avery stood on the concrete pool deck between the main building and the pool, not far from where John Franklin’s lifeguard stand had once stood, like a captain at the helm of a ship. Chase and Jeff Hardin stood with her. Josh and Jason had taken Dustin down to the beach to toss a football leaving Kyra free to document the day. Maddie had set up a makeshift “lemonade stand” in the shade beneath the porch overhang while Nikki served as an additional greeter and escort.
Plywood was pried loose. Doors and sliders and any windows that could be budged had been propped open to the morning breeze and sunshine. Birds chirped in the trees, insects lighted on flowers and branches. The rustle in the underbrush no longer seemed ominous while the distant sound of boat motors came from the bay and Gulf sides. Avery imagined the buildings were breathing, drawing in great gulps of fresh air. For the briefest moment she could see Deirdre dressed in fluttery white linen impervious to the decades-old dirt and grime, every hair unaccountably in place. Her chest constricted painfully, but the tightness eased as the excitement she hadn’t allowed herself to feel before permission was granted seeped into her bloodstream.
Enrico Dante, the roofer, was among the first to arrive. Small and wizened with a cue ball of a head hidden beneath a battered Rays baseball cap, he hugged each of the women effusively. A descendant of a roofer brought from Italy by Addison Mizner to help complete the transformation of Palm Beach, he had been the first Dante with whom she’d worked.