by Wendy Wax
Maddie and Avery sank down nearby and Jeff handed around cold drinks. Idly they watched the Hardins pass around a football, then ate sandwiches from the cooler and topped them off with chips and bakery cookies. Chase offered to show them around the old fort, but Kyra was fast asleep and neither Maddie nor Avery could make themselves move.
Maddie felt the band of control she’d been holding on to for the last months loosen slightly. As the warm breeze played over her skin and the wash of waves on sand mingled with the distant buzz of boat motors, her own eyes fluttered shut and she drowsed for a time, surprisingly content.
She might have gone on this way all afternoon if Chase hadn’t suggested they build a sand castle. And Avery hadn’t suggested they choose up sides and turn it into a competition. And Kyra hadn’t roused just in time to retrieve her video camera from the boat so that she could document what turned into the Sand Castle Edition of Survivor.
Twenty
Avery was smiling when they pulled up to the Cottage Inn dock at the end of the day. According to self-appointed judge and mediator Jeff Hardin, the Beach Bellas, as she and Maddie and Kyra had called themselves, had dominated the sand building competition with their version of Bella Flora. The only disappointment had been the inability to vote Chase off the island; a move that would have left her satisfied but stranded.
She’d savored her victory all the way back, glad for once that Kyra had had her video camera there to document their superior design. But mostly she’d enjoyed building the hard-packed castle walls and the memories that evoked of her father.
“Thanks,” she said as she climbed off the bow and onto the dock. The sun had already set and the brilliant sky faded to pale gray as dusk hunkered down over the water. “That was fun.” She resisted a last dig on Chase’s loss as she reached a hand down to help Madeline and Kyra off the boat.
“Thanks again. Drive carefully,” Madeline called as Chase backed Hard Case away from the dock and then turned the boat for the ride back to Tampa.
“Gosh, I feel so . . . relaxed,” Avery said. And victorious. “I kind of forgot what that felt like.”
“Me, too,” said Madeline. “I can’t wait to take a shower and get the salt off, but I feel pleasantly tired.” She shot Avery a look. “Which is completely different from physically exhausted.”
Kyra smiled her agreement and repositioned her video camera bag. “That was the fiercest sand castle building competition I’ve ever seen,” she said.
“Chase Hardin needed humbling,” Avery said without a trace of regret. “And I’m glad we were the ones to do it.” She smiled.
“You don’t think that last victory lap around the fort was just a tad unsportsmanlike?” Madeline asked.
No, Avery did not.
They passed the Cottage Inn and their own castle came into view. “Hey,” Avery said, pointing to a midsized sedan in the driveway. “That’s not Nikki’s car.”
“No, and I don’t think she’s coming back until tomorrow morning anyway.” Avery peered at the vehicle, but all she could tell was that the license plate wasn’t local.
They huddled together in the gathering dusk. “Did we leave those lights on?” Avery asked.
“I don’t think so,” Madeline said.
A shadow passed in front of an upstairs window and then a light flipped on in the hallway. Madeline pulled out her cell phone. Kyra took out her camera.
“Should we call the police?” Maddie asked.
“I don’t know,” Avery said. “It’s not exactly the dead of night and whoever’s in there doesn’t seem to be sneaking around. I mean they left their car right there in the driveway.”
“I’d say it’s one of the subs who decided to get some work done,” Kyra said. “Except that car doesn’t look like it belongs to a workman.”
“Well, we can’t stand out here cowering all evening. I’m going in.” Avery took a step forward.
“Me, too,” Madeline said. “But I’ve got nine-one-one on speed dial and I’ll have my finger on the Send button.”
Avery turned to look at her.
“It never hurts to be prepared. I’m not interested in being a headline in the local paper. I can just see it now—‘Women Taken in Dyer Ponzi Scheme Murdered!’ ” Maddie shook her head. “There’s no point in taking chances.”
“Okay, troops,” Avery said. “Let’s go in the back. At least we’ll have the element of surprise.”
They moved forward quietly, Avery in the lead. As they snaked toward the detached garage, she picked up a two-by-four from a pile. Maddie raised her phone in front of her, her finger poised. Kyra flipped her camera on and held it at the ready.
“What are you planning to do, film them to death?” Avery asked.
Kyra shrugged. “You have your weapons of choice, I have mine.”
They inched up to the kitchen door and Avery opened it, freezing at the resulting creak. When no one came pounding down the stairs brandishing a weapon, they went into the kitchen leaving the door open behind them.
“In case we need to make a speedy exit,” Maddie whispered before reaching into a drawer to retrieve their lone sharp knife.
“I’ll take the front stairs,” Avery said. “You two take the back.”
There was the creak of floor above them and a cell phone rang. They froze and reached for their phones, but it was coming from upstairs, the melody loud in the quiet of the house.
“That is not a ringtone of Ethel Merman singing ‘There’s No Business Like Show Business,’ ” Maddie whispered. “Is it?”
Avery shrugged, and then like a Special Forces person on television, she executed a series of hand motions meant to signal them to the back stair and herself to the front. The Singers rolled their eyes at her.
As she crept silently up the front stair, trying to avoid the known squeaks, a vaguely familiar scent tickled Avery’s nose, trumping the smells of sawdust and cleaning products. She sniffed the heavy floral scent for a moment, not quite able to place it, then drew a steadying breath before climbing the rest of the way up to the second-floor landing, reaching it at just about the same time as Maddie and Kyra.
A sliver of light spilled into the hallway from the master bedroom. There was a murmur of a female voice and the occasional quick click of heels on wood. Avery inched forward and pushed the bedroom door open another crack. A mound of expensive luggage sat in the middle of the bedroom floor and an even more expensive briefcase leaned against one wall.
“Great,” Maddie said, still brandishing her weapons. “Maybe someone got their hotel reservations wrong. Do you think they thought they were checking into the Don CeSar?”
Avery looked up at the ceiling and the large amoeba-like stain around the hole that had been patched. The moldy green shag carpet and most of its bad smell were gone, but the longneglected wood floor underneath was in desperate need of attention. “Not unless they’re blind and have lost their sense of smell,” she said. “And I don’t think there are too many homeless people with a matched set of Louis Vuitton luggage.”
The click of heels drew closer and they all turned to the double doorway that led to the dressing room and master bath. Kyra raised her camera to her eye. Maddie held the knife and phone out in front of her. Despite the signs that they were not dealing with a violent intruder, her hands trembled slightly.
Feeling incredibly stupid, Avery raised the two-by-four up over her head. Just in case.
The doors flew open and the familiar smell snapped into place in her memory. A beautifully dressed and perfectly coiffed woman posed in the opening. “Darling,” the woman said with a look of delight. “Trent told me what was happening, and I thought you might need my services. And now I can see that you do.”
She walked forward sort of like Lauren Bacall or Bette Davis in one of those old glamorous black-and-white movies—moving shoulders and lots of hip sway.
“I hope you don’t mind that I put my things in the master. It looked unoccupied.” Her smile dimmed but only
slightly. “But, of course, that was before I realized that the bathroom wasn’t functional. And, of course, there is no bed.”
Avery couldn’t think of a thing to say. Slowly she lowered the piece of wood still clutched in her hand.
Kyra kept filming. She actually moved to get a wider angle of the three of them. Maddie lowered the knife and her phone, but she still looked uncertain.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me, darling?”
Avery gritted her teeth. A burglar would have been preferable. As far as she was concerned even Norman Bates from the Bates Motel would have been more welcome. It already required all of her self-control to work with Chase Hardin. Throwing Deirdre into the mix was cruel and unusual punishment.
“Deirdre, this is Madeline Singer, one of my partners in the house, and her daughter, Kyra.” Avery clenched her jaw in an effort to prevent all of the things that threatened to slip out as recognition dawned on their faces. “Maddie, this is Deirdre Morgan, well-known interior designer to the stars.”
It was hard to believe that there were degrees of comfort when sleeping on the floor, but there were. After drinking half of their remaining bottle of red wine with her nose scrunched up so as not to actually taste it, Deirdre had passed on Maddie’s offer of a blow-up bed and commandeered Avery’s mattress instead along with what felt like most of the air in Avery’s room.
Avery had spent the entire night trying to find a comfortable position on the twin-sized air mattress and failing miserably; she was small and didn’t hang over the sides, but she was not a child. So she’d lain in the room like the slave who waited on the queen, listening to her mother’s breathing while trying to figure out why Deirdre was there and how to best get rid of her. She didn’t fall asleep until just before sunrise.
It was ten A.M. before she stumbled into the bathroom to splash water on her face and hurriedly brush her teeth. Male voices floated up from outside; the female voices rose from downstairs. She followed the latter into the kitchen and found Deirdre at the head of the kitchen table apparently holding court. Maddie, Kyra, Chase, and Nicole sat in a semicircle around her.
“Ah, there she is,” Deirdre cooed when Avery stepped into the kitchen. “My, you’re a sleepyhead.”
Avery stopped where she was. Deirdre was impeccably dressed and fully made-up as if she and not Nicole had just returned from a pampered weekend in Palm Beach. “Sleepyhead? Try, mercifully glad to have finally fallen asleep at all. It was bad enough having to give up my mattress, but the snoring? Oh, my God! It was like trying to sleep on train tracks.”
Deirdre laughed, a beautiful tinkly laugh, which Kyra captured on video. “I’m so sorry to have usurped your mattress, Avery. But I do not snore. I’ll get a bed delivered as soon as possible.” She sounded like the Queen of frickin’ England.
Avery poured a cup of coffee, using the time to tamp down her panic and irritation, and took the only empty seat next to Chase. The others looked surprised at Deirdre’s apparent intention to move in, but no one voiced the slightest opposition.
Kyra lowered her video camera. “Your mother knows people who know people in Hollywood.” Her voice hummed with an odd sort of excitement. “Apparently Daniel Deranian’s wife, Tonja Kay, is moving into a house of her own. Without Daniel.”
Maddie shot her daughter a worried look, but Kyra just lifted the camera back to her eye and smiled happily. It was the most animated Avery had seen her.
“Your mother did a walk-through a little while ago, and she has some really great ideas for the house,” Maddie said, shooting Avery a silent look of apology. The rest of them were smiling and nodding at Deirdre. Much like Avery used to do on Hammer and Nail.
Avery paused with the cup midway to her lips. “Really.” It was not a question.
“Yes,” Deirdre answered. “The bones of this house are just magnificent. Chase says much of what it needs at this point is cosmetic rather than structural and, well, that is my area of expertise.” She smiled as if that was that and that explained everything.
“But we don’t know why you would want to be involved in this . . . project,” Avery replied. “I don’t remember anyone here placing a call to you asking for your help. And as I do remember, you couldn’t wait to get out of Florida. You couldn’t shake the sand off your shoes fast enough.” Ditto for her husband and child.
Chase was looking at her now; everyone else was watching Deirdre.
“Seriously,” Avery asked. “What are you doing here?”
“Why, I came to help. To help you.” Her voice shook and her eyes glistened. She actually looked like a mother might look. But then, she’d been in Hollywood for a very long time. They stared at each other while everyone else looked on.
“Your mother could bring a lot to this project,” Chase said.
“Don’t call her that.”
“We could never afford the services of a topflight designer,” he continued. “And to make this house attractive to the right kind of buyer, we’re going to need more than just a physical renovation.”
“He’s right,” Nicole said. “We’re not in a position to turn down manna from heaven.”
“She is not manna. And she is definitely not from heaven,” Avery said, hating how betrayed she felt.
There was a small flare of something in Deirdre’s eyes. Dare she hope it was hurt? But then Deirdre smiled and that smile was triumphant.
Avery gave her the eyebrow. And got one in return.
“Sorry,” Maddie said, stifling a laugh, “but it’s amazing how alike you two look. Very Marilyn Monroe–esque.”
Deirdre smiled more openly. Chase laughed.
In the silence that followed, Deirdre stood and stepped away from the table. “I think it would be best to let the principals discuss my fate in private. I’m happy to help you get the house ready to show. I have contacts in the design community, and I suspect if I put my mind to it, I could provide the finishes and furnishings for this home on a level few could match. And for somewhere under wholesale.”
Avery remained silent, but she could feel the others’ interest.
“Why don’t I step out for a few minutes so you can talk privately? Kyra, let’s go take another look at the bar. I just love the Moorish touches; it has such a wonderful feel.”
They filed out of the kitchen and Avery waited for Chase to leave, too. She aimed the eyebrow at him.
“What?” he asked.
“Don’t you think you should step out, too?” Avery asked.
“I’m a partner now, Avery. And I’m definitely planning to vote on this. It’s a no-brainer.”
“As if you could make any other sort of decision.”
This time it was Nicole who laughed. But Avery could tell their minds were made up. Oh, Deirdre had been sneaky with her little sales pitch and her “I’m connected in the design community” bullshit. Of course she was connected. She’d always put her work first.
“All right,” Maddie said. “Let’s go ahead and get this over with.”
“Yes,” Chase said. “Let’s.”
“All in favor,” Nicole finished, “of having Deirdre join us to handle the design work say ‘aye.’ ”
The three of them looked right at her as they voted in favor. Only Maddie appeared apologetic.
“All opposed.”
Avery raised her hand, then lowered it. “Believe me when I tell you that Deirdre has some sort of ulterior motive,” Avery said. “She may act like she’s doing us a favor, that somehow we’re going to get all of her . . . services for free. But we’ll pay in some unpleasant way. Don’t be fooled by the whole mother act. She doesn’t have the experience or the instincts for it.”
Posted to YouTube, 11:00 P.M., June 4
Audio: “Dueling Banjos.”
Video: Castle building contest, quick cuts. Close-ups Avery and Chase arguing.
Audio: “There are a couple of type A personalities here at Camp Bella Flora and even a day off can be a little extreme. But there’ve been
some laughs, too. Hardly any of them intentional.”
Video: Mom spraying hole in garage, out-of-control pressure-washing wand aimed at boat. Mom and Avery tiptoeing in to find intruder. The morning bathroom lineup. Master bathroom chrome removal.
Audio: “The celebrity cast on this little reality show of ours keeps growing. Now on top of dating guru Nicole Grant and TV host Avery Lawford, we have Deirdre Morgan, who turns out to be Avery’s mother.”
Video: Deirdre and Avery glaring at each other.
Audio: “And we’ve got our resident hunk, Chase Hardin, too. He’s not a celebrity. He just looks like one.”
Video: Shots of Chase working, no shirt. Wide shot Bella Flora.
Audio: “So maybe the odds of success are increasing a little. I’m not sure. Keep those bets and posts coming. I’ll let you know what happens.”
Twenty-one
Maddie positioned the neon-strapped beach chairs, which now totaled five, in a semicircle around the low wicker table that she’d found at a garage sale last week and tried not to see the bargain basement furniture through Deirdre Morgan’s eyes.
The designer was in the kitchen with Nicole, preparing the sunset snack. Chase was still sawing away over in the garage while Avery, who did her best to stay as far away from both of them as possible, had headed down the beach for a walk as soon as they’d knocked off for the day. Last time she’d checked, Kyra was upstairs fiddling with her video equipment.
“Come on, you all!” Maddie called. “You’re going to miss the show!”
A few minutes later Nicole backed out of the kitchen door carrying a tray with a bottle of white wine and glasses. Deirdre followed with a tray of artfully arranged canapés and . . . Maddie did a double take. “That’s not actually caviar, is it?”