by Casey Dawes
He tried to push her out of his mind. He was done with women. After walking in on his wife in bed with his best friend, he’d sworn to keep all females at arm’s length. Besides, Elizabeth lived halfway around the world. “Imbecile,” he muttered. He had other problems.
The French vineyard had yet to show a profit, or any hope of one. Last year, early rains had forced him to harvest too soon and leave un-ripened grapes hanging. Part of the small crop was in barrels, but it would be another year before he could bottle and sell the wine. The rest of the grapes had been sold at a good profit, at least he’d thought so at the time.
But he was still pumping cash into the business and it was disappearing at an alarming rate.
Almost too fast. His manager, Jacques, had told him everything was in order, but Marcos couldn’t shake his unease.
The miles passed beneath the wheels of his car, the sun taking on the warmth of midday. Vineyards, heavy with the fruit of summer, covered the hills. He turned off the main road a little north of Avignon and began to wend his way on small roads and through even tinier vineyards.
Jacques strode out of the winery to greet him, a beret cock-eyed on his head.
“Why is it you insist on wearing that thing?” Marcos asked. “It’s so old-fashioned.”
Jacques gave a Gallic shrug. “C’est moi.”
“It’s you all right.”
The men hugged and patted each other’s backs.
“So?” Marcos asked.
“It goes.”
“A little more than that, please. I’ve got everything riding on this harvest. Last year we didn’t break even. If we have another year like that … ” He imitated Jacques’ Gallic shrug.
“The water and sugar levels are good.” Jacques walked toward the nearest vine and Marcos followed. The men spent the next hour walking the vineyard, pulling leaves and occasionally popping grapes into their mouths to taste them before spitting them out on the ground.
“If we manage the leaf canopy right and the rain holds off, we should get a good harvest,” Marcos said at the end of their walk. “But I’m going to need you to take over more of the management here so I can handle the Italian vineyards, and maybe one in California.”
“California?” Jacques’ eyebrows peaked. “Very dear, California land. You must be doing well.”
Marcos was startled at the man’s boldness. He shook his head. “No, not so well. You see the books for this vineyard. We’re in the red. But I want to move forward with my plan. Land is cheaper with the recession.”
Jacques looked at the ground. “Peut-être. But we need more money to make it through harvest since the government has given the workers a pay raise.”
“Mannagia tua!” Marcos blew out a deep breath. “So be it. How much?”
Jacques told him.
“I’ll wire the money when I get home.” Marcos shook his head and walked to the winery, his shoulders slumped. Even if the minimum wage had been increased, the figure Jacques had indicated seemed too high.
Marcos spent the rest of the day in the cool of the barn he’d converted, tending the three barrels of wine he’d made from last years’ grapes. The pinot noir was aging well, but still hadn’t developed the peppery zing he’d hoped to get from it.
During his evening meal in a small café, Marcos’ thoughts turned back to Elizabeth. The kiss had been a tease. He wanted more. What would she look like with her hair mussed and spread out on a pillow, her lips swollen from his kisses? It had been a long time since he’d had a woman in his bed.
He shifted uncomfortably. Probably not a good idea to continue down that path of thinking. Instead, he took out his phone and pulled up a calendar. Harvest came in late September at the earliest. A few weeks of hard labor and he’d be able to make a brief trip to California in October.
He’d intended to spend all his time in Napa, but Elizabeth’s description of the Santa Cruz Mountains intrigued him. Of course, he could only go if he could depend on Jacques to complete the vineyard chores after harvest.
He’d known Jacques for years. But all of a sudden he began to feel he didn’t know the man at all.
Marcos shook his head. He was imagining things.
But was he imagining the attraction between Elizabeth and him? He could see her, find out if the desire was still strong in America and use the distance as an easy out if he wanted one.
Of course, if he did care for her, the distance was going to be a problem.
• • •
Elizabeth cursed the coach as she stared at the blank page, her morning cup of coffee on her nightstand. The coach had assigned her to write three pages, longhand, every morning, preferably before getting out of bed.
But nothing was going to come between Elizabeth and her morning cup of coffee.
Now she understood how Annie had felt about the coach’s assignments. They were guaranteed to make her think too much.
Dutifully she began. “‘Today is the first day of the rest of my life.’” Wow. That was old. She tapped the pen on the journal. Carol had told her she could write anything she wanted, she just had to write. “I wonder if the bank will get me a loan? What if they won’t? I better make sure my numbers are right. That’s what I should do today … ” As she started thinking and writing about her business, the words flew from her hands. Three pages were done in no time.
There. Now to more important things: a shower and breakfast.
An hour later, Elizabeth sat down at her computer to look at her email. An unfamiliar email address caught her eye and her pulse began to speed up.
Marcos.
“Ciao, bella,” the note began.
“I have missed your bright smile and your laugh. It seems like a long time before I will be able to visit you in the Santa Cruz Mountains. Already I am making plans to finish harvest quickly and leave the clean-up to my vineyard managers. They will hate me for the extra work, but it cannot be helped as I am anxious to see you.
“How is your business going? Are you making your products? I will be happy to test them for you. We are a lot alike — mixing things together to make a new substance. And we both are willing to take a risk to make a dream come true. I look forward to hearing your success.
“Your friend, Marcos.”
Elizabeth leaned back in her chair, studying the short email, her heart beating more rapidly. Marcos had awakened desire, hot flames that she hadn’t felt since she and Joe had groped each other under the bleachers.
But flames could be destructive. Both Joe and Bobby had tried to constrict her life to meet their idea of what a marriage or relationship should be.
Elizabeth frowned. She had let them do that to her. Could she have an affair with a man and still remain who she was? Marcos had possibilities. His major redeeming quality was that he lived half a world away. Some emails, the occasional non-conjugal visit — all manageable.
All she had to do was keep a steady head and she’d be able to concentrate on her business and have a safe, mild flirtation with a gorgeous looking man.
She typed a reply to Marcos.
• • •
After getting a second cup of coffee, Elizabeth sat back down at the computer to do some research. She found two companies that created, tested and manufactured private label lotions and sent off an email to each of them requesting approximate costs and more information. Noticing the time, she shut down the computer and headed for Beauty by the Bay.
She’d been at the store an hour before her assistant, Lara, bustled in. Lara was grinning from ear to ear. “I found something last night that’s perfect for the store. An Italian company makes organic products and is willing to ship to America. They’ve got rave reviews on the web. That way you wouldn’t have to go to the trouble of making your own line.”
Elizabeth took the printouts that Lara thrust at her, feeling her mouth tense as she did so. She forced herself to smile. Lara was trying to be helpful, just like Elizabeth’s mother had tried to be when she was raising Sarah
.
It was still annoying.
“Thanks. I’ll look these over, but I’m intent on starting my own line,” Elizabeth said.
Her assistant frowned. “I thought I was doing the right thing. If you start your own line, you’ll need to get a loan from the bank and you know all the numbers you have to gather for a bank loan. What a lot of trouble! And then banks aren’t giving out money these days. They’re being really stingy!” Lara hustled to the back room, her voice continuing to waft through the doorway.
Elizabeth stared at the rear of the store. What was up with Lara? Was she afraid Elizabeth would require too many hours from her? Or was it the bank loan itself? Did Lara fear for her job? She’d been laid off once before, so that might be the problem.
Elizabeth shook her head, put the papers aside and went back to checking her online inventory.
The day turned out to be busier than even Elizabeth had anticipated. In addition to the massages and facials they already had booked, several drop-ins wanted make-up sessions. It took both of them to keep things running smoothly.
After Lara left at five-thirty, Elizabeth closed out the register, ran the daily totals, stapled the slips together and slid them into the box she kept for the purpose. Then she glanced out the front window. Seasons were subtle in California, but she could see a slight dullness in the leaves on the sidewalk trees outside her shop. In no time October’s brief Indian summer, and Marcos, would arrive; then the rainy season would begin to drift into the Central Coast.
She pushed aside all thoughts of Marcos.
Winter’s slowdown would give her the time to start her line. But first she needed to get a loan from the bank. Time to start pulling her data together. She punched a few keys and ran year-to-date reports in her bookkeeping program. When the data came up on the screen, she stared at the numbers. They didn’t make sense. She knew they’d been busy most of the year, but the figures seemed off. She drilled down into the numbers and saw the problem. The amount they were spending on products had skyrocketed, almost triple what they’d spent the year before.
She went back to the income line. Her sales were about the same as they had been the year before. Nothing to justify the increase in spending. Her stomach rolled over.
Something was definitely wrong.
Chapter 7
After writing in her journal the next morning, Elizabeth dressed for her run. She needed to think and running was the best way she knew to jog the brain cells.
She’d tossed and turned all night. When she was awake she’d spun over the puzzle of the shop numbers. When she was asleep, Marcos invaded her dreams, leaving her in a hot sweat when she awoke.
She pounded down the wet sand, snowy plovers playing tag with the water, fluttering away when she got too close, only to restart the game when she’d passed.
Such a simple life. Eat, fly, play and have sex. No worrying about early pregnancies, bank loans or sexy birds from Italy. Simple.
Sweat dampened her lower back and added a sheen to her skin.
There had to be an explanation for the numbers. Was there an incorrect invoice somewhere that she’d missed? Normally she watched her invoices like a hawk, but her mother’s illness and the trip to Italy had made her more careless than usual. The only other explanation was that someone was stealing from her.
But who? Lara? She was the only one who had access to the inventory and register other than Elizabeth. Had someone stolen a key? Or could someone have hacked her system?
Her breath became ragged and her head began to ache. She’d have to go over all the paperwork in detail and do an inventory. God, she hated inventory.
She checked her watch and turned around to jog back to her car.
And why was she dreaming about Marcos? She thought she’d put him in a nice little long-distance-relationship box, but he didn’t appear to be staying there. Not when her subconscious took over at any rate! She shivered. The dream had been too real — his hands on her body, filling them with her breasts. Her nipples hardened with this last thought.
She picked up the pace. She would not think about him. She had a business to run and a mystery to solve.
Her resolve lasted until she got back in the car.
• • •
The following Sunday was a perfect Indian summer day. Elizabeth hated to waste it indoors, but she needed to figure out why the product orders were so high and Sunday was the only day Beauty by the Bay was closed. Time to count boxes.
She parked up the hill from the beach town and walked to the store. Multicolored leaves dangled from the few deciduous trees. She drew in a deep breath, delighting in the scents of sweet fall bushes and pungent coffee aromas from a half dozen coffee shops.
The bell tingled as she opened the door to her shop. She locked the door behind her and looked around the sunlit space. Hers. All hers. She’d built it from nothing. All of a sudden she realized she was proud of the accomplishment. Maybe she could build a product line.
But no one was going to steal from her.
With the printed inventory in her hand, she made her way to the storeroom. A skylight let in the bright fall day, but she turned on the lights anyway so she could see into the corners.
Beginning with the top rack, she began to count the hundreds of boxes of lotions, lipsticks and bath salts. Two hours later, she slumped down to the floor and leaned her back against the wall. There were far fewer boxes than there should be. But why? The pulse in her temple began to throb.
The front door clicked.
Elizabeth quietly stood up. Who was there? Should she call out?
She looked around and spotted an old towel bar she’d meant to reattach in the bathroom. She picked it up, prepared to use it as a weapon if necessary, feeling ridiculous as she did so. No serial killer would be stalking a small shop owner in a town filled with weekend tourists.
The floorboards creaked and she saw a familiar shadow approach the storeroom entry. “Who’s there?” Lara called.
Elizabeth released the towel rack.
A second later Lara stood in the doorway, a large shopping bag in her hand. From the way she carried it, the bag appeared to be empty. “Oh. I didn’t know you were here,” she said with a frown.
“I parked up the street … nice day,” Elizabeth said, eyeing the elegant paper bag from one of the nicer shops in the area. “I wanted a walk in fresh air before I tackled the inventory.”
“Inventory? It’s too early for that, isn’t it? I thought you only did inventory in January for taxes.” Lara shifted her weight from one foot to the other, the bag slapping her calf with every movement.
“I decided to do a spot check. Some of the numbers aren’t adding up.”
“Can I help?” Lara smiled and put the bag outside the door.
“No, I’m finished, thanks. What made you come in today? You aren’t scheduled until Tuesday.”
“Oh, you know me. Always trying to lend a hand! I thought I’d make sure we had all our products displayed out front.”
“What’s the shopping bag for?”
“What?”
Elizabeth gestured to the door. “The shopping bag.”
“Um … I needed to … um … go to the grocer’s later. I like to take my own bag. Environmentally friendly, you know.” Lara fiddled with her right earring. “Is the inventory right?”
“It’s short. Lara, what are you really doing here?”
“I told you. I just came in to straighten up some things. I’d think you’d be grateful. Not all employees are as dedicated as I am.” Lara’s voice took on a more aggressive tone. “You know how everything is always a mess after Saturday’s rush. I wanted to get everything ready for you for Monday.” She took a step forward. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do for you?”
Elizabeth squared her shoulders “Quite sure.”
Silence rocked the room as the two women stared at each other. Elizabeth’s breath shortened. Somehow she didn’t think this was the right time to look up �
�stealing” in her employee manual. Instead, she took a deep breath and said, “I’d like your key.”
“My key? Why? Are you firing me? What for? I haven’t done anything. All I’ve tried to do is make things better for you.” Lara’s voice ramped up.
Was Lara the thief? What was she doing with all those products? Maybe she was innocent and it was someone else. But who? “No, I’m not firing you,” Elizabeth finally said. “But I would like the key.”
“I won’t be able to open and close for you if I don’t have the key.” Even as she said it, Lara worked the key off her ring.
“I know that.” If you’re the thief, you won’t be able to rob me blind, either. “I’ll manage somehow.”
Lara handed her the key. “I suppose you don’t want me to help you set up for Monday, either. Since you’re all alone on Mondays, I thought you’d enjoy having everything ready to go.”
Elizabeth put the key in the pocket of her jeans. “Thanks for … for … coming in to help, Lara. I’ll see you on Tuesday.”
“Okay.” Lara’s eyes scanned the rows of boxes on the shelves. She moistened her lips as if she was going to say something, but turned around instead. Moments later Elizabeth heard the front door slam.
Lara had left the bag behind.
Elizabeth leaned against the wall. Thousands of dollars of inventory were missing. Whoever was stealing from her must have been taking inventory for quite a while now. Who else could it be but Lara? She’d given Bobby a key when they were still seeing each other, but he had enough money of his own — he didn’t need hers.
Should she let Lara go? Would the woman sue her if she did?
Firing Lara would put a crimp in her plans to launch a line of lotions. She’d have to attend the store every day and do research and planning at night.
Elizabeth gathered up her lists, turned off the light and walked back into the shop. When she walked out the door, her steps were less lively than when she’d entered.