by Cait London
Maggie opened the passenger door, and Scout hopped out. “What’s with you?”
What’s with you? Who hurt you? he wanted to ask. But instead Nick said, “Look, we’re both tired. Let’s call it a night, okay?”
Then, because he had to, he gripped the blanket at her throat, tugged her to him, and kissed her before she could say anything else. There was lots of soft, curved, fragrant woman beneath that heavy blanket, and he wanted her. But it wasn’t that easy, not for him, and he suspected not for her. He placed her away before his hands started wandering and filling and taking. “You need to trust someone, Maggie. Whatever is eating you isn’t going away.”
“And you would know so much, would you?” Her tone was bitter and frustrated.
“Yes, I do.” Nick’s guilt wasn’t going away; he never should have let Alyssa ride without a helmet.
Maggie shrugged free of the blanket and scooted out of the cab. She hopped on one foot while she took off one sock, and then the other, tossing them in his face. “I don’t think I like you very much.”
Her borrowed shirt had come unbuttoned and the curve of her breast quivered as she moved. Nick’s body locked in a painful knot, and before he knew it, he was out lifting the truck’s bumper to ease the throbbing lodged low in his body.
Taking a deep breath, he stood upright and frowned at her. At first her expression was blank, and then she began to smile, and then she was laughing. If the sound hadn’t been so good and honest, he might have been angry. Instead, he smiled at her. “Good night, Maggie. I’ll bring by your shoes in the morning. Eugene said you’d be good for the part-time job, working for me. Think about it.”
“I really did need this exercise program. Just walking to the shop and back home and a few times between wasn’t really stretching my legs—or my walks at night. That’s what walking should be, easy, slow, thoughtful. Not the pushing the limits hurrying you make me do. Hills are made to walk down, not up, Maggie. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that? I appreciate you taking me as a client, Maggie, but my rear end and legs hurt like heck,” Celeste said.
“I like to hear you complain. That says I’m doing my job. Did you do those stretches before we started? It’s really important to lengthen your back and legs, Celeste.”
“I’m lengthened, I’m lengthened.” It was Celeste’s right to gripe, she thought moodily. Clearly she wasn’t a morning person, yet here she was amid the disgusting morning people, actually smiling and enjoying themselves—their minds had to be numb or maybe they were daylight zombies.
She breathed in the fresh cold air and wished she were still in bed amid her cats. The morning fog layered over the concrete walk down to water, softening the hard red of the lighthouse at the end of the pier. The tall clumps of grass stood eerily in the sand dunes.
She wanted to know all about Maggie, but the young woman was a loner, used to keeping her life private, and she didn’t talk about herself. Celeste had worked with several law officers, and she could have tracked Maggie’s life by using those resources. But the past could muddle her inner mind with too many facts, and she preferred using her senses to feel through the danger Maggie carried with her.
The flashes that ripped across Celeste’s mind came more frequently when she was with Maggie; so did that tight feeling in her neck as if it were being squeezed. Celeste didn’t dismiss these sensations; she clung to them, trying to arrange the puzzle into a meaningful picture of how and why she would die.
This morning Maggie was walking very fast, as if she were trying to work free of a problem.
Nick and Dante Alessandro would be enough problems for any woman to handle, Celeste thought as she tried to match Maggie’s stride. Scout moved between the women, big and definitely protective.
The dog and the locket…
Celeste panted, her pulse racing, her mind churning. If only she could hold something of Maggie’s past…“Maggie, I hear you moved into George Wilson’s camper. I’ve never been in it, but I’d love to see it. I hear it’s so cute and compact.”
“It’s nice.” But there was no warm invitation to visit Maggie’s home.
On their usual path, Celeste worked to keep up with Maggie, the street’s incline steep and layered with modern multicolored executive-style houses on either side. They usually belonged to “snowbirds,” those going South to avoid Michigan’s harsh winters.
“What do you know about a girl named Beth?” Maggie asked suddenly as a paper boy surged past them on his bicycle, tossing rolled papers onto lawns of the vacant houses.
The question surprised Celeste. Maggie didn’t ask questions about other people, and Celeste suspected her trust was low; keeping to herself was Maggie’s protection. “She comes into the shop once in a while. She works at the bar, waitresses at summer parties sometimes. Sometimes she lives with the bar’s owner, Ed. She’s in her early twenties and has had to make her own way. People have tried to help her, but she’s determined to be independent.”
“Or kill herself. She was using when I saw her,” Maggie stated abruptly, and in profile, her expression was fierce. The shields were gone, her eyes flashing with anger. “Where does she live?”
“Where she wants. I asked her if she wanted to stay with me, just to help her get on her feet. She did, worked a few days in the shop, and then was gone when summer came and she had more money. I tried to help her. She has a hard life, but she’s not dependent on drugs. I’m certain of that. She comes for dinner once in a while and stays overnight, but she’s like my cats, very independent, choosing her own way. I like her.”
Maggie smiled automatically at Dante’s broad grin as he jogged down the opposite side of the street. “It won’t be long before she loses all respect and then it gets worse.”
Just that bitter edge of her voice told Celeste that Maggie grieved for someone like Beth. Was it a younger Maggie? Or someone else?
“Beautiful morning,” Celeste said, forcing herself to go slow when there were so many questions leaping to her mind. Maggie was interested in Beth, a tough young girl scarred by life. There was strength in Beth, though, if she’d use it and her sharp mind. Someone had damaged her a long time ago, and Celeste suspected it happened early in life. Beth had said little about her mother, and said she didn’t know her father. “You’ll be having more clients than you can handle later on.”
Maggie wasn’t distracted from her dark mood. “Maybe. It’s sure not too busy now. Try to lengthen your stride, swing your arms.”
Celeste had to play for time. “Maggie, would you mind checking my pulse, please? I feel like my heart is racing right out of my chest.”
She had fifteen seconds to reach gently for Maggie’s ever-present gold locket; Maggie would be multiplying that quarter minute by four. When Maggie held Celeste’s wrist and studied her wristwatch, Celeste slowly touched Maggie’s locket. It wasn’t expensive or special in any way, and yet Maggie was never without it.
“This is lovely,” Celeste said to cover her need to search for answers, to see the pictures. Under the cover of inspecting it closely, she held the locket in her hand, felt the white-hot burn of anger, rich and boiling. She sensed grief so deep that it chilled her, taking away her breath. There was more lurking behind those emotions, so much more, a tangle of happiness and pain.
The clear sunny morning started to fade, and in her mind, Celeste heard children laughing, two happy little girls with coppery hair having a tea party. They looked alike—sisters!
Maggie frowned slightly and moved away, studying Celeste. “Your pulse just leaped and you’re pale. We discussed your medical history before we started. Are you certain you don’t have a heart problem?”
Celeste forced herself not to look at the locket. It still burned her hand, and it was the link to Maggie and the man in the shadows. “I had my checkup and I’m okay. I’m just feeling a little off today. Sometimes when I’m making candles, the scents are too strong in my house overnight, and morning’s fresh air hits me like this.”
Maggie was pure business. “Watch that, okay? It isn’t good publicity for me if a client collapses while in my care. When you see Beth again, tell her I’m looking for her, okay?”
Later, Celeste would look at her hand and see the locket, hear the girls laughing, the sisters who looked alike. What had happened that caused Maggie to seem so alone? And why, suddenly, would she step out of her safe shell to ask about Beth?
She’d already tried to stop one woman’s freight train ride to hell and failed. The agony of that experience should have taught her something. She shouldn’t be doing this, getting involved with Beth, Maggie thought as she opened the camper door to the young woman’s knock.
In the third week of May, Beth appeared at Maggie’s door. Her open leather jacket revealed a lacy crop top, a belly button ring on her bare midriff, and low-slung, worn, tight jeans. The platform shoes looked as worn as the battered car parked near the camper. Beth’s hair was naturally blond and boy-cut, her eyes heavily painted.
Beth hitched up her small leather backpack on her shoulder and looked at the small wind chimes Maggie had hung outside the door. “Yeah, so I was wearing a wig when you saw me. Some men like blonds with big hair. I have a wig. Celeste said you wanted to see me. Why?”
“I thought we could have dinner and talk, relax a bit.” I made too many mistakes with Glenda. I was so righteous…Glenda was doing the best she could…
Beth checked her watch. “Yeah, well, not too long. Celeste said you were lonesome, or I wouldn’t be here. I owe her.”
What did Celeste see in Beth that gave her hope?
What had Maggie missed in Glenda?
“Come in. I just made a tuna casserole. Nothing too fancy.”
Beth entered slowly. “I used to stay here when I needed to hole up. The lock is easy to pick. You should get it changed…What’s this?” she asked as she picked up a red ceramic frog. “It’s ugly.”
“It’s a feng shui three-legged money frog. He’s got a Chinese coin in his mouth and is sitting on more. It’s supposed to bring money.”
“I could use one.” Beth took in the Native American leather and feather beaded ornament hanging at the window. “What’s this thing?”
“A mandella. It’s supposed to bring good luck. Do you believe in good luck, Beth?”
“No. I believe you have to take what you want.” Beth plopped her backpack down on the couch and sprawled beside Scout, petting her. “Nice dog.”
Easily swayed, Scout placed her head on Beth’s lap. “What do you want?” Beth asked as she petted the dog.
Maggie began to set the tiny table. Why did she so desperately need to help Beth? To replace Glenda? “I could use a friend.”
“I’m not listening to any preaching, so get that straight right away. And besides, you’ve got Celeste and the Alessandros, Ole and Eugene—I like old Eugene—and the women in your class think you’re something. I don’t know why you need me.”
Edgy, wary, on alert, Maggie decided as she slid into the small booth opposite the couch. “It’s just a dinner, okay? Don’t make more of it than it is.”
“Sure. Smells good.” Beth looked at Maggie as a car slowed and pulled onto the gravel area by the camper. “Expecting someone?”
“No, I’m not.” Maggie got up to open the door to Lorna. Her late-model BMW contrasted with Beth’s dented mini-car and Maggie’s practical light pickup. Lorna’s denim jacket and jeans were designer and expensive.
Lorna glanced past Maggie to study Beth. “Well, well, well. I thought so. Lesbians,” she concluded. “Sorry to interrupt your romantic dinner. I’m Lorna—”
“Lorna-bitch,” Beth muttered. “You know we’re not lesbians. You just like to toss stuff around and see what trouble you can make. Vinnie Alessandro is too good for you, babe. Why don’t you let him off the hook? Maybe I’ll help him see what a real woman is about—”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I see him look at you. And you look back, even though you were married at the time. Now you’re after Nick, because you know he’s someone you can’t have, and your sick mind works like that—you want what you can’t have. And you’re too good for Vinnie, who just runs an auto supply store and works as a mechanic, aren’t you?”
Lorna flushed. “You’re a fruitcake. Talk about trying to start trouble.”
“What can I do for you?” Maggie asked briskly. She sensed that Lorna and Beth had battled many times.
“Lay off Nick. You picked this place to be closer to him, and he’s already taken.”
“By who?” Beth asked sharply. “You? He’s smarter than that.”
Lorna smiled coldly. “I’m not bothering with you. You’re not worth it.”
Beth was on her feet, crowding Maggie from the back. Maggie braced herself, blocking Beth’s advance on Lorna. “You’ve delivered the message. Now you can go.”
Lorna’s blue eyes narrowed. “Okay, let me put it like this. I can help Nick, you can’t. He may want to play a bit, but he needs big money to turn that tiny vineyard into a paying proposition. He needs someone with class. In the end, he’ll come back to me. I’m on my way to see him now. There’s a buyer for a private client coming into town and I’m going to arrange a meeting for Nick. He’ll want my help.”
“You just do that.” Maggie didn’t want to think of Nick holding Lorna, kissing her in that sweet, hungry way he had kissed Maggie.
With that, Lorna walked to her car. She leveled a cold stare at Maggie and burned rubber as she left.
“Bummer,” Beth muttered as she dug into the casserole. She plopped a hefty amount of salad onto her plate and poured half of the small oil and vinegar cruet mix over it. “Just because Lorna inherited Big Daddy’s money, she thinks she’s hot stuff. She won’t lower herself to date Vinnie, and he’s really a nice guy. Watch out for her. She has a thing about getting what she wants.”
“Put some sunflower seeds on that.” While Beth spooned out her second serving, Maggie sat and closed her eyes. She tried to cleanse her mind of all anger, to enjoy the meal with Beth. She didn’t succeed and ended up pushing her food around on her plate. She didn’t need to be involved in anyone’s business but her own, and here she was thinking that she could help Beth, and on the bad side of a woman who wanted Nick.
She wanted Nick. Or sex. Somehow the two mingled together and were difficult to separate. His black eyes carried sultry messages that turned the air steamy between them, and tiny motors within her body had started humming at the sight of him.
When Beth had cleaned her plate, she leaned back on the couch and studied Maggie. Scout sat beside her on the small couch, and Beth slung an arm around the dog. “She got to you, didn’t she?”
“I don’t like being attacked in my own home, for something I didn’t do. Nick isn’t on my agenda.”
“Liar, liar, pants on fire.”
Maggie couldn’t help smiling. “Smarty pants.”
“What a nice way to say ‘smart ass.’ But then you’ve got a lot of class. It shows.”
Beth grinned, looking very young beneath her makeup. She settled back with the bottled water Maggie handed her. “Nick is hot stuff. So is Dante. Nice, you know. Good guys. Not for me. Nick is still in love with his wife. If Lorna got a piece of him, it was because he was messed up at the time. I know about stuff like that—that missing someone who died, or who left you, can make you reach out for the wrong things. You try to fight it, but you’re human, you know? And you make mistakes. Oh, maybe not you, but me. I make mistakes.”
“I make plenty of mistakes.” She hadn’t understood Glenda’s pain; Maggie had been so righteous…
Beth’s head tilted. “So what’s the deal? You’ve got class, enough to match Lorna-bitch, and no one knows anything about you…except maybe Celeste, and she’s not talking.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“I saw you run the other day, working it, sweating, fighting something inside you. I’m not much, but I can lis
ten. And if you want to get in the running with Nick, try looking like a girl. Loose sweat suits and grubbies don’t cut it when it comes to men. I can loan you something if you want.” The quiet, heartfelt offer was atypical of Beth’s reported hardness.
Maggie smiled at that; she’d wanted to help Beth, and now the girl had turned the tables. She scraped the remainder of the food into containers and placed them on the table. “Take those. Come by and see me now and then. If you hear of anyone needing a sports massage or personal trainer, tell them about me, okay?”
Beth’s hard, knowing eyes were solemn. “I mix with the summer crowd after the bar closes. Ed thinks it’s good for business. There’s good money to be made on those private yacht parties. But some of the guys might think the massage bit should include extras, you know?”
“No extras provided,” Maggie stated flatly.
“Your call. Gotta go. Got an appointment. Thanks for the dinner.”
At the door, Maggie touched Beth’s arm. “Listen, Beth, if ever you need someone, I’m here. You can crash here when you want. I’ll make up the couch.”
“Yeah, right. See you.”
Maggie couldn’t let her go just yet. She couldn’t bear to think of Beth being used as Glenda had been, dying of a drug overdose. She gripped Beth’s shoulders. “Don’t let him beat you, Beth. It isn’t worth it.”
“He doesn’t mean it. He was raised rough. It doesn’t happen that much and I owe him. I’ve been with him a long time. He took me in despite Shirley’s squawling—she was his girlfriend for a long time, and maybe some nights she still is. They go way back…Listen, you’re all worked up. Did that happen to you?”
The nightmare of Glenda’s descent tore by Maggie. “To someone I knew. I don’t want it happening to you. And stay off drugs.”
“They can lighten the load. I’m not a regular user—”
“Don’t,” Maggie stated fiercely. “Look, I’d offer you a job if I could, but I can’t. Isn’t there something else you can do? They’re looking for help at Nick’s winery.”