Solomon's Compass

by Carol Kilgore

  “One closet. One opens into my private office at ZGM. The third leads to a double garage.”

  The woman was all about convenience. “Let’s go up.”

  The stairs led to a large open space with white marble floors. On the street side was a dining area and kitchen. Black granite counters with blue, green, and gold glass tiles on the backsplash. On the island a wide, shallow fishbowl brimmed with blue and green sea glass. Several decorative jars and containers massed in a corner. He’d be surprised if she cooked.

  On the bay side, the living area. Black leather furniture, soft gray walls. Accessories in coral, green, and blue reflected the colors in the entry and the colors of the bay and stopped short of looking cluttered.

  “Nice.”

  “Thank you. My decorator is top-notch.”

  “The entire living area is spacious. How many bedrooms?”

  “Two bedroom suites, each with its own bath. A powder room in the hall for visitors. An office. Nothing is cramped. I don’t like tight places. Follow me.”

  She led the way down a wide hall. No one would feel the walls closing in. He peeked into the powder room, paced off a large office with built-in cabinetry and French doors, and praised the guest suite before coming to the master.

  He stopped at the threshold to take it in. The master bath angled off to the side, and all he could see was a darker gray wall and the corner of a green rug. The bedroom colors were the same as those in the living area. Black silk drapes hung at the sides of the large back window, tied back with wide black bands. A smaller bowl of sea glass sat on her black dresser—its only adornment.

  If he’d ever had any doubt, he now knew for a fact he would never want to get to know Zia on a more personal level. At heart she was precision and hard edges, stark and unyielding. Not his type.

  Zia touched his arm, her nails trailing lightly for an inch or so. A cat testing her boundaries. “What do you think?” Her voice purred.

  “It has the space I need. Plus a kick-ass view. I’d probably change the configuration—my needs are different. Let’s look at the unfinished side before we talk.”

  He walked the empty space, and jotted some thoughts about the safe room. After a quick survey of the terrace, they went to Zia’s office. The only architectural features he wouldn’t be able to change were the windows already in place on the street side. He closed the folder she prepared for him. “Let me think about it. I want to talk to some people about a build-out, get some figures. Digest the information. I’ll be in touch before I leave.”

  Zia smiled. “I understand. If your people have questions, ask them to call me. Anytime. I’d be pleased to have you for a neighbor, even part-time.”

  He returned her smile. “You have my card. Call if anyone comes around asking about the space. I don’t want it stolen out from under my nose without an opportunity to make a fair offer.”

  They parted with a handshake.

  After starting his car, he jotted a few more notes. Zia had shown off her space as he’d hoped. A few layout ideas flashed through his mind, and he drew two separate floor plans while putting together a mental list—architect, contractor, designer, color consultant, probably the same ones they had used for the Michigan cabin. Security was paramount.

  He put the car in gear. He’d talked with Will Knox and Zia Grant-Markham. Next on the list was Dan Blair.

  Friday morning after breakfast, Taylor came back to her room with a tall cup of coffee. She had a lot to do, none of which involved working at Randy’s. Thank God. She needed a break. She rummaged in her purse for Zia’s card and punched in her number.

  “Hi, Zia. This is Taylor Campbell.”

  “Taylor! I’m so glad you called. How are your hands? What can I do for you?”

  Zia was perky for early morning. “Much better. Healing. I wanted to thank you again for your help at Randy’s.”

  “I know what it’s like to pick up the pieces after someone you love dies. You would’ve done the same.”

  “It’s difficult.” Taylor took a deep breath. “I’m also calling because I’d like to hire your painter. He did such a great job in the kitchen and bath that I want to talk to him about finishing the job. All I know is his name is Bodie. If you’ll give me his name and number, I’ll call him from Charleston.”

  “You can’t be finished already?”

  “In the house. Dan is a jewel. We finished yesterday afternoon, but we have most of the shop to sort through. At least the only thing left to move is trash out to the bin.”

  “He must have worked you like a race horse.”

  Taylor laughed. “He might say it was the other way around.”

  “Let me find the painter’s number.” Zia came back on the line almost as soon as she put her on hold.

  Taylor wrote down his name and two phone numbers. “Thanks. I also need another favor.”

  “Name it.”

  “Dan’s invited me to his opening tonight, so I thought I’d go. He’s so excited.”

  “Like a mama-to-be. He can’t wait to give birth and show off his babies.”

  Taylor frowned at the mental image Zia’s words created. “The problem is I only brought work clothes with me. I need some advice on where to shop.”

  “Rock Harbor has a few shops. It’ll be dressy casual.”

  The same wording Dan had used. What was dressy casual? The only events Taylor attended either didn’t have a dress code or were Coast Guard functions where her uniform served as dress of the day. She’d need to depend on a sales clerk.

  Zia continued, obviously excited to talk shopping. “Go to Azul first. They usually have a better selection. Lotus is good. And Off Ocean. All are in strip centers on the way to the bay bridge, within a few blocks of each other.

  Taylor made notes. “Thanks. Just what I needed.” An all-day shopping trip. Ugh.

  “I have another call coming in I need to take.” Zia’s voice changed to business. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  At Azul, Taylor found three dresses that fit, but one stood out. The lightweight white silk fell from a halter top to a few inches above her knees. Clear beads caught the tiniest ray of light and outlined hibiscus blooms dotting the skirt in a random pattern. She loved it.

  Instead of earrings, she purchased a white silk hibiscus on a clip to wear in her hair. Strappy silver sandals and a white satin clutch with a beaded clip completed her purchase. The dress cost more than she would’ve liked, especially since she’d probably never wear it again, but it made her feel sexy. Maybe she would make an occasion to wear it. She hummed on the way to her car. A woman needed to splurge every now and then.

  Taylor hadn’t brought any make-up with her, either, so she spent the better part of an hour in the drugstore purchasing lighter and darker colors because she wasn’t sure which matched the shades she usually wore. Resembling a clown or a ghost was not an option.

  By early afternoon she returned to her room. She needed a manicure, so she hunted for the emery board she kept in her purse and shaped her nails with no pain, only soreness. The natural look would have to do—she hadn’t remembered to buy polish.

  The entire process was going to take her longer, especially applying her makeup. And if she had to remove it and start over, what usually took her fifteen minutes could drag out to an hour. Patience, Taylor.

  She wasn’t accustomed to having extra time and didn’t know what to do. For her entire career, she’d used every spare minute to push ahead in some way—volunteer work, time with her crew or peers, studying. She focused her energy on achieving her next rank, on being the best she could be, on not letting down the Coast Guard. On not letting Mark’s death be in vain.

  Now here she was with nothing to do. It was too early to get ready for the opening, even if it took her an hour to put on her make-up. She’d forgotten to bring a book, so she clicked on the television.

  After rounding the limited channels twice, she chose a Food Network show.

  She awoke with a start. Whe
n she’d started watching, the chef was female. Now a male chef was signing off. Crap. How long had she slept? She never napped.

  A quick glance at the time told her she’d been out almost an hour. The good news was she could start getting ready. Every step of the process took longer than usual. Finally she clipped the silk flower behind her left ear.

  Taylor barely recognized the woman staring back at her in the mirror. Damn. How had sexy happened? Because she was wearing the dress. That’s how.

  Cars lined both sides of the street in front of Dan’s gallery. Two blocks away, she edged her rental to the curb in front of a kite shop. Thankfully, she’d come to her senses and chosen flat sandals over the drop-dead-gorgeous heels she’d clutched to her chest in Azul.

  She passed Mike’s Golf Shop, and the alphabet code flashed in her mind. She’d forgotten about it. Too much happening and too many distractions. She would trust her subconscious to figure out any secret meaning and supply the answer unless she remembered to ask someone.

  Lights hidden in the planters flooded the entrance to Bravo. Inside, a silver tray holding flutes of champagne sat on a table to the left of the door. Two stacks of glossy brochures stood next to the tray. Taylor chose a glass, picked up a brochure, and followed the flat gray panels guiding the flow of art lovers into the heart of the gallery.

  She stopped. What the hell?

  Images of Zia stared at her from every wall. She stepped to the side and checked the brochure. Yep—Zia Grant Markham, a Perspective, by August Janacek. She didn’t know who amazed her most, the subject or the artist. No wonder she hadn’t thought of him as a typical tow truck driver.

  Dan approached, wearing a huge smile. “I’m so glad you came. If you hadn’t, I would’ve dragged you up here Monday morning kicking and screaming.”

  She laughed. “I told you I’d be here. This is exciting. I didn’t expect Rock Harbor to have such drama.”

  “A.J. has put us on the art world map. Many of these pieces sold sight unseen long before tonight. Most of the rest sold during the private opening this afternoon.”

  “Wow. We’re talking the same A.J., right? Drives a tow truck? Likes to fish?”

  Dan laughed, and his eyes sparkled. “He says those activities recharge his batteries. You missed the most important detail.”

  “He paints?”

  Dan waved the word away. “Besides that.”

  She shrugged.

  “Sleeps with me.”

  For a second she just stared at him until a small smile formed. “I had no idea.” For sure. A gay A.J. hadn’t crossed her mind.

  “You should have. I told you I don’t like my people frou-frou. Speaking of which, you look fantastic. Turn around, let me see all of you.”

  She turned.

  “Perfect for you and perfect for tonight. Love your bare back. I won’t be the only man who feels that way, though for entirely different reasons. You don’t need my guidance in the style area of your life at all.”

  “We should have a long talk. You’d be surprised what I need help with.”

  “I’d love that, but not now. Enjoy yourself. Don’t think about buying any of A.J.’s work. You can’t afford them on a Coast Guard salary.” Dan bit his lip. “I’m giving away a secret, but A.J. put a painting aside for you. We chose it together. It reminds both of us of you.”

  “But these are of Zia.” How could a painting of Zia remind them of her?

  “You’ll see why later. It’s not hung here.”

  What Taylor knew about art fit into one brain cell, but she followed the maze of panels, each with a separate Zia, until she reached the back wall. In the center of a two-foot band of white paint at the ceiling, black disconnected cursive letters spelled out Bravo. A painted Bravo flag—solid red with a v-shaped cutout opening to the right—flanked the name of the gallery on each side.

  The Bravo flag signified dangerous cargo. Zia might be classed as dangerous cargo in some circles, but Dan’s gallery had been here before this exhibition. She would ask him about the name on Monday if she hadn’t figured it out.

  Her attention turned back to the wall. A two-inch black bar separated the band of white from the rest of the wall, which was painted bright red. Several large black-and-white photos of Zia stretched across canvases of various shapes, from stars to dialogue clouds like those in comic strips.

  In a nook, out of the main traffic flow, a tall, narrow canvas stood out. Half of Zia’s body appeared, with her right hand at a top corner, her left foot at the opposite bottom one. Nude, she stood mostly in shadow on a stark white background. A discreet sold card, the same as others she’d noticed, filled a slot on the wall to the right of the piece.

  The maze led her toward the front and a table filled with finger foods. Several people milled about. She hadn’t seen Zia, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t here. After downing the last of her champagne, she set the glass on a tray with other empties.

  The different appetizers made her mouth water, but she’d be better off stopping at the market for a salad when she left. She didn’t quite trust her fingers and palm to carry her through such a ritual. She hadn’t worn even one Band-Aid.

  “May I help?”

  The deep voice startled her—Mr. Brooklyn smiled down at her and turned her knees to mush.

  “You looked as if you were trying to decipher a problem, and I thought I might be of assistance. Besides, I can never resist talking to a beautiful woman. How are your hands?”

  The laughter and vitality that lit his green eyes defied the silver of his hair.

  “My palm has been itching all day and now one of my fingers, too. I’m definitely on the mend, but I’m not sure I can manage my bag, a fork, and a plate at the same time. Those shrimp are calling my name.”

  “I’ll be happy to hold a plate for you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He picked up a clear glass plate. “Load it up.”

  “I’d almost decided on fast food in my room. Thanks for saving me.”

  She grabbed a fork wrapped inside a black paper napkin and chose peeled boiled shrimp, cocktail sauce, Kalamata olives, two different cheeses, a few crackers.

  “Let’s move over here out of the way.” He touched her elbow and the same sizzle she experienced at the barbecue market sped along her skin. She let him lead the way to the side of a tall table near the wall. He set her plate in front of her. “By the way, I’m Jake Solomon.”

  “Jake Solomon?” Taylor didn’t bother hiding her surprise. The youngest member of the Compass Points! Right here.

  He faced her with his eyebrows drawn together in a frown. “Is there a problem?”

  “No.” Taylor didn’t know whether to smile, give him a hug, or what. “I know you.”

  “You know me?” The frown changed to puzzlement.

  “I’m Taylor Campbell. Randy Rankin’s niece.” Unable to decipher his expression, she forked a shrimp into her mouth.

  “Randy talked about me?”

  She swallowed. “All the time. You, Kyle Easley, Ed Wharton, and Ham Bone. I feel like I know all of you.”

  “What did he talk about?”

  “Your times in Vietnam. He loved all of you like brothers.”

  “All of us felt the same way. I can’t believe he told you about us. Then again, you were like a daughter to him. I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  “He didn’t talk about you so much after I got older, but when I was a young girl, he wove the most romantic tales about your exploits on the rivers, in the beer hall, on the beach. And he had photos of all of you. I haven’t seen them in more than twenty years, so I couldn’t have told you what any of you looked like.”

  Jake nodded off and on as she spoke. “We shared a special bond.”

  “You came to visit him once before. I remember when he told me because it was right after his cat died. For a long time I thought that was why you visited.”

  “Old Solomon.”

  “A very wise cat. Randy told me he name
d him after you because you were a very wise man.”

  Jake shook his head. “Not so wise. I just know how to put on a good show.”

  Taylor smiled and popped an olive into her mouth. Will came through the door, spied her. His glance shifted to Jake, and his smile changed to a questioning look. Did Will know Jake?

  Will came straight to her. “I’m glad you decided to come.”

  “I’m glad I did, too. Will, this is Jake Solomon. He was kind enough to help me with my plate. The shrimp are perfect. Jake, Will Knox. He owns Copano Boat Works.”

  They nodded at each other, like two bull elephants on NatGeo. Will spoke first. “If you want to explore, I can keep Taylor company.”

  “I took the tour. Go ahead. We’ll be here.”

  Will scowled. “I’ll be back.”

  What was his problem? He acted as if he were jealous, but that was crazy. Will hadn’t shown an interest in her, nor she in him. Except for noticing his cute butt, which didn’t count. And Jake, choosing to stay with her. Not sure what to make of that, Taylor shoved her questions in a corner and enjoyed the last olive. But her curiosity wouldn’t turn loose.

  After swallowing, she looked at Jake. “You know Will?”

  “We met the other day. I think he’s jealous.”

  “Isn’t that how he’s acting? But I don’t live here—I arrived Sunday afternoon, and I’m going home next week. I met him on Monday.” And you, too. She needed to get her act together and take it back out to sea.

  Jake looked uncomfortable. “I heard about your uncle—I’m sorry. Is your family here?”

  “No. My mother is usually off one place or another. Randy was really the only family I had. He left me his place. This is the first opportunity I’ve had to return since his death. Before Sunday, I hadn’t been here since high school.”

  Applause erupted near the door, and she and Jake both turned. Zia made her entrance. She wore an electric-blue satin cocktail dress with a plunging neckline and pencil skirt, diamond drop earrings, and matching satin sandals with the highest heels Taylor had ever seen.

  Maybe one day she’d have nerve enough to wear such a dress. And shoes. Both would certainly stand out in her closet full of uniforms. She turned back to fork another shrimp. Jake’s attention was focused solely on her. “What?”