No Hiding Behind the Potted Palms! A Dance with Danger Mystery #7

by Barton, Sara M.

  “In Brazil?”

  “Why not? Just the two of us.”

  “But shouldn’t we do it in front of family and friends?”

  “We did that the first time around. This time, it’s just us. We’ll find a couple of witnesses, people we don’t know, and we’ll pledge to never to squander our love for each other.”

  “How long have you been planning this?” I wanted to know.

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Just answer the question,” I laughed.

  “Since the day I signed the divorce papers. I drove after you, you know. I wanted to catch you. But you didn’t go home. I know, because I waited for four hours outside the house. I was convinced you had gone off to celebrate.”

  “No,” I shook my head in response. “I went to my parents’ house and bawled my eyes out. I was miserable that you actually let me go.”

  “Well,” he replied, taking my hand in his and bringing it to his lips, “I intend to make it up to you.”

  “You do?” I gave him a bright smile, thinking how much more I loved him, now that I understood him better. “How do you plan to start?”

  “Like this,” he told me, lifting me to my feet. With one hand firmly on my back and the other holding my hand, he pressed his cheek to mine and whirled me around. And as our bodies melted together, moving as one across the roof deck, Frank Sinatra crooned “Quiet Nights of Quiet Stars”. My heart lifted as my feet flew across the deck, held tightly in the arms I loved best. This really was the place I wanted to be, until the final flicker of life’s ember, with Bosco.

  Foxtrot with a Furtive Fox

  Do we really know the men in our lives? Do we really see them for what they are? Kim thinks she knows her boyhood friend, Mac, and her ex-boyfriend, Tom. Boy, is she in for a rude awakening! Some men are worthy of trust and some aren’t, but women should always go into relationships with their eyes wide open….

  Chapter One —

  “Do this for me and I’ll make it worth your while. Please. Don’t make me beg, Kimmy.” His voice was low, but confident. The eyes were as brown as I remembered them. As he leaned closer, I detected the faint, musky scent of his aftershave. It reminded me of the islands, with just enough spice to perk up my senses.

  If it had been anyone else, I would have said no instantly. I would have wished the guy all the best and walked as fast as I could to the door. But this was MacDonald Tweedie, the boy who accidentally tripped me on the playground in first grade and knocked out my front tooth, the same guy who gave me my first kiss on the roof of his grandmother’s porch when I was ten. I had known him forever. When I needed a date for the senior prom after Bobby Roddick dumped me at the last minute for Monica Zellman, it was Mac who rented a tux and escorted me, even though he was dating a cheerleader at NYU. Was I letting my childhood loyalty get in the way of my good sense?

  “What do you have in mind?” I asked. So much for moving south to restart my life.

  “It’s pretty simple,” he told me. The more he talked about what he needed, the more I saw my well-made plans slipping through my fingers. He couldn’t just leave his mother alone, not when he was headed for Bahrain as the new Manager of Middle East Operations for KLPG Finance. “You know how much Mae adores you. She thinks of you as family.”

  “I don’t know,” I sighed. Our mothers were best friends, sisters in spirit, if not by blood. I thought of Mac as the closest thing to the brother I never had. But did I really want to commit myself to taking care of Mae for a year? Sure, she was healthy enough at the moment, and I would be there to make sure she stayed as healthy as possible. But I was hoping to do some traveling.

  “Please, Kim.” He looked at me with that intense, direct gaze, pleading. “Kimmy….”

  “Aw,” I crossed my arms, “can’t you get your sister to do it?”

  “That was the plan until her mother-in-law had a stroke. Marion is taking care of Ellie down in Florida.”

  “Shoot.” We were sitting at a table in Panera’s, drinking coffee from mugs. He offered me some of his chocolate chip cookie, which I declined. I didn’t want to be bribed.

  “I know,” he agreed earnestly. “I’m a rotten bastard for asking. But I don’t want to leave my mother with just anyone. I want someone who cares about her and will keep a good eye on her, someone we can trust. And you know that you can hire help if you need it. I’ll pay for whatever you need. I just can’t take off thinking that I’m deserting her.”

  “A whole year?” I wanted to go places, do things. I had spent three years caring for my mother before her death two months ago. I needed to get back to work, back to my career before that door shut on me and my opportunities dried up.

  “Please, Kim. I’ll pay you a stipend. You’ll have a financial cushion this way. You can take your time and get yourself on solid footing. Don’t think of it as losing a year. Think of it as a great opportunity.” I had to admit it was tempting.

  “Stipend?”

  “I’m not talking a huge amount, mind you,” Mac admitted. “But it would keep you afloat until Adelaide’s estate is settled.”

  “I just gave my tenants notice. They are leaving in the beginning of May, so I can move back into my condo.” Barry and Jim had been disappointed that they had to pack up. Was it too late to change my mind? They were so good at keeping up the place, I hated to lose them.

  “Well,” he smiled, “why not continue to collect rent and cover the mortgage? You can use the in-law apartment. And you’ll have the run of the house, including the kitchen. You can come and go as you please.”

  “The in-law apartment?” My heart sank. I had moved in with my mother when she had her first heart attack, living in the spare bedroom of Adelaide’s tiny ranch on a quiet cul de sac in Northford. She had sold the house where I grew up not long after my dad died, wanting a fresh start for her new life as a widow. She said the big, empty house on Pinnacle Place just made her too aware of George’s absence, so she found a home so cozy and cramped, it sometimes felt like you were in a dollhouse. I never felt at home there. Nothing was really mine. All of my things were in storage.

  The truth is I missed the condo in Belle Haven I had bought just before I became her caregiver. It was my big splurge when I finished my third cookbook of the “Penny Pincher Gourmet” series for Master Chef. I missed my garden, that little postage stamp plot of land right outside the front door. But most of all, I missed my newly renovated gourmet kitchen, where I had planned to putter for hours, revamping old standard recipes and paring down the fat, calories and cost. To me, it had been a dream of a home, and her heart disease had kept me from enjoying it.

  Tom and I were still a couple then. We had been together for less than a year when I signed the loan for the ground floor two-bedroom unit at Tuscan Gardens. We were waiting for his divorce to become final. There was hope and promise in the air, of good things and good times to come. Was I just trying to get back to where I was when the dream ended?

  Two weeks after I had painted every room and moved my furniture in, I got the call that Adelaide lost consciousness in the ladies room of the community center while clutching her chest. I rushed up here to be with her. The long, lonely vigil was tempered only by the companionship of Mae, who stopped by every day to check on Adelaide and me.

  As the weeks went on and her needs increased, I put aside my career and my romance to be there for her. Tom moved into the condo and paid me rent, which helped me cover my mortgage. What I thought was a temporary situation turned into a more permanent one. Six months later, Tom confessed in a late night phone call that he was in love with my neighbor. My only consolation was that Ingrid lasted eight months before Tom moved on. The only time I had been back to the condo was the week Tom vacated the condo and I turned the keys over to my new tenants, Barry and Jim.

  “Can I sleep on it?” This was too important a situation to jump into without thinking it through.

  “Sure. I can wait till morning,” he replied.

 
“That long?” Mac smiled at my attempt at sarcasm.

  “Forgive me. It’s just that I really do need your help. I have no intention of playing fair, so let me grease the wheels. You’re still a good six months away from settling your mom’s affairs. It would give you a chance to write another volume of your cookbook series. You know Mae can’t cook to save her life, so the kitchen would be all yours. And you’d have a resident guinea pig for testing your recipes.”

  There it was, the carrot. Mac dangled it just in front of my nose. I had completed the fourth volume while my mother was in cardiac rehab, and I wrote the fifth over the last year and a half of her life. I managed to do the publicity tour online, using my blog and producing a series of short cooking videos, thanks to a local videographer who found me a restaurant kitchen I could borrow for the demonstrations. My publisher had actually approached me about doing a sixth volume three weeks after Adelaide had died, but this time he wanted me to do a full tour, including the rounds of the daytime TV and radio shows, as well as public appearances in major cities. That meant traveling around the country. I was looking forward to it, even if it meant living off my savings until the royalties started coming in.

  “Actually, that’s already in the works, Mac, along with a big publicity tour. Lots of travel.” So much for the carrot.

  “Oh?” There were those brown eyes again, working on me. He wasn’t giving me a brotherly look. It made me wonder what I didn’t know about this man I had known almost my entire life. He had married twice, both times to foreigners, while he was living abroad. I had never met the women. Mae had described them as exotic. She was disappointed that he never had children. His older sister, Marion, had three boys and his older brother, Sinclair, had a son and a daughter, so Mae had grandchildren. But she always said Mac was a wild card when it came to love. He had the heart of an adventurer and risk-taker, and he was easily charmed by a beguiling woman. I thought he could be equally persuasive with the opposite sex and I wasn’t about to let my guard down. He was up to something. I didn’t know what, but Mac had something more in mind than just a caregiver for his mother.

  “I’ve been to Mae’s house. And frankly, I don’t know how I can live over the one-car garage for a year.” There, I said it. After all my hard work and sacrifices, I wasn’t about to be tucked away in some little garret.

  “Didn’t Mae tell you? We sold her house. I moved her into my new place at Jenkins Beach last Tuesday.”

  Chapter Two —

  “Jenkins Beach?” I was intrigued. Not only was it one of the most quaint little beach towns on the Atlantic coast, it was also on just about every travel show’s top ten list of best getaways.

  “Let me drive you down to Bonnie Oaks and show you the house. I’m sure you’ll see that it will be a great fit for you.”

  “Bonnie Oaks?”

  “That’s the name of the cottage, Kim. I kept it when I bought the place.”

  “You bought a cottage?” I was shocked. Mac had lived overseas for decades. As far as I knew, he had never owned anything. He was always in some distant land, doing whatever it was that he did. Mae was always rather vague about the details of her son’s employment.

  “Say yes, Kimmy, at least to a trip down to see the place. Mae’s off for a visit with her sister. I’ll throw in lunch at the Crab Hut. Fresh lobster roll and homemade ice cream.”

  “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to take a look at the place. But I’m not making you any promises, MacDonald Tweedie.” I warned him.

  “I’m not worried, Kimberly Sheffield. I have a pièce de résistance that will knock your socks off.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes,” Mac smiled. I thought I saw a glint in his eye as he sat at the table, bathed in late afternoon sunlight. “I won’t have to strong arm you. In fact, you’ll be begging me to have you.”

  “Excuse me?” For one fleeting moment, I thought Mac was flirting with me. “I’ll be begging you to have me?”

  “How about if I pick you up?”

  “Pick me up?” Suddenly the light changed to shadow as a Panera employee lowered the window blind and Mac once again looked like the boy I had grown up with all those years ago. Just plain, old MacDonald Tweedie, the boy with the funny name.

  “It’s about a half-hour drive,” he announced. “Shall I swing by about quarter to twelve?”

  As I looked into those deep brown eyes, I felt like I was standing at the edge of the ocean as the tide rushed in. I knew I should turn around and head for higher ground, but the pull of the current was too strong. What was happening to me? Maybe I had been out of circulation too long. Maybe it was those years of caring for my mother. I must be imagining Mac’s interest in me. Why hadn’t I ever noticed how attractive the curve of his smile was?

  “That will be fine,” I managed to say.

  “See you then,” he agreed, standing up. “I’ve got to run. I’ve got a business appointment.”

  I sat there for another ten minutes, trying to collect my thoughts. I was usually such a practical, down-to-earth sort of person, not given to flights of fancy. Was that a spark that passed between us, or just the wishful thinking of a lonely spinster on the verge of falling into middle age? After all, I wasn’t getting any younger. My biological clock may have stopped ticking on having kids long ago, but that didn’t stop me from finding the scent of a man’s spicy aftershave intriguing.

  Leaving Panera’s, I drove home the long way, lost in thought. I couldn’t stop thinking about the last hour. Something was different between Mac and me. Had it always been there and I just never saw it or was it new? I got busy at home, throwing myself into activity. I still had a lot of sorting and packing to do.

  My mother was a collector, and she accumulated a number of items of mixed value over the years. It was my job to catalog it all for probate court, so an appraiser could determine its worth. I spent two hours on that before I took to my laptop and wrote a post on using rhubarb six different ways for my “Penny Pincher Gourmet” recipe blog. I submerged myself in writing and came out feeling more like my old self. I decided I must have just been having a weak moment when I fancied that electricity pass between Mac and me.

  And yet it seemed to follow me like an enticing aroma, wafting through the air. I still couldn’t shake it the next morning. Why was I thinking so much about Mac? I hadn’t seen him since the last time he was around, just before Christmas. He had seemed so ordinary then, so familiar. What had changed now? Was it me? Was it loneliness?

  I gave my emotions a good shove to the back of the line and focused on “The Penny Pincher Gourmet”. After all, I had bills to pay. I did a preliminary work-up of the new book, focusing on a theme. This was volume six, and I needed it to sell better than the last two. My editor had pointed out that part of the problem was that I hadn’t been able to publicize the books as well as I had with previous volumes. I was determined not to let that happen this time around. Our plan was to use the new book to reintroduce the series to a new, younger audience. What I needed was a great idea, something that would set me apart from other cookbook writers. This time, we were also going to offer an ebook version and an app, so folks could download their favorite recipes on the go. My best sellers were “Healthy Comfort” and “Grandma’s Best Home Cooking”. I needed a subject with that same kind of broad appeal to a wide audience of good cooks and adventurous amateurs.

  So lost in the creative process was I that I lost track of the time. When the doorbell chimed, I jumped up and made a mad dash into the bedroom for my sandals and purse. I ran a brush through my shoulder-length hair and pulled it back before pinning it in a casual twist at the back of my head. Grabbing my makeup case, I fumbled with a touch of eye shadow and liner before quickly applying a dab of mascara to each eye. The doorbell rang again, this time a little more insistent.

  “Sorry,” I apologized, as I flung open the door. “I’m running a little late today.”

  “Don’t apologize on my account,” said that familiar voice
. As he turned around, I gasped.

  “Tom!” Utter disbelief sent my senses spinning. “Tom!”

  “Glad to see me?” He gave me the benefit of his dazzling smile, lavishing it on me like a masseuse applying the latest cell-hydrating moisturizer, stroking my ego with his eyes. In his strong hands was a bouquet of irises, lilies, and roses. Handing it over to me, he gave me a gentle peck on the cheek.

  “I heard about your mother. I’m sorry, Kim.”

  “Thanks,” I sputtered, still in shock. My brain was malfunctioning. I still couldn’t understand why Tom was standing on my doorstep.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Right now?” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a silver Buick pull up behind the red Ford Taurus with the Georgia plate that was parked in the driveway. It was Mac.

  “Is this not a good time?” Tom put a proprietary hand on my arm and gave me a gentle squeeze, as if to claim territory. Mac was out of the car in a flash, bounding up the walk. Even as he moved, I seemed to see the wheels turning in Mac’s head. This was a man who meant business, and he wasn’t shy about making his plan come to fruition.

  “Kim, sorry I’m late.” He took the bouquet out of my arms and strode confidently into the house. “I’ll get a vase and put these in water while you finish your conversation.”

  “Boyfriend?” Tom asked. He sighed, pausing just long enough to seem disappointed. It suddenly dawned on me that Tom was playing me.

  “Why are you here?” I asked, studying my older, but apparently not wiser, former lover. “You certainly didn’t come all this way to deliver flowers.”

  “I’m here for a conference. ‘Advances in the Battlefield Operating Room: Emergency Medical Simulation’. It’s part of a joint training project between the Navy and Walden Medical Center.” As I stood looking at him, I saw more gray in his hair, especially at the temples. He was still very fit and it looked like he was a regular at the gym.