Ten Beach Road

by Wendy Wax

  “I’d give everything I own and then some if that pool actually had water in it right now,” Nicole said. She was so ready to take the Nestea plunge.

  “Where’s Giraldi?” Avery asked.

  “He went down to the beach for a swim.”

  “Smart guy. And now’s the time. In another few weeks it’ll feel like bath water.”

  Giraldi came up the beach path still wet from his swim, his dark hair slicked back, water sluicing down his beautiful chest and muscled legs.

  “Wow,” Avery said, waving to him before she went back to whatever she’d been doing in the pool house.

  Wow was right, Nicole thought. Even compared to the social and Hollywood elite she’d dealt with over the years, Giraldi was a standout. Too bad he was only here for Malcolm. And to expose her if necessary.

  “Come over here and drip on me a little,” she directed.

  He obliged, not only dripping but shaking himself off like a dog.

  “Ahhhh.” The droplets were cool, her skin so hot she thought she heard a slight sizzle. She smiled. Maybe if she got someone from Tim’s company down here she should get them to check out her personal thermostat. It seemed to run a little too hot whenever the FBI agent was near. “That feels good.”

  “There’s a whole Gulf full of it right over there.” He motioned past the gauntlet of photographers.

  Staring at them staring at her, she felt like an animal on exhibit at the zoo.

  “I like salt with my margaritas,” she said. “Not in my bodies of water.”

  He smiled and one of the paps aimed a camera their way. “Hey, Nicole! Who’s your friend?” he shouted.

  For a fraction of a second she considered telling him who Giraldi was and why he was there. So that if Malcolm was watching he’d know to keep his distance. Except, of course, that that would expose her to far worse than just the anger of her partners.

  Giraldi shot her a look. “Those people are disgusting. They’ve already gotten shots of Kyra, and the story about her and Deranian is out. I don’t know what the hell they’re still hanging around for. But they’re screwing up my surveillance.”

  It seemed being thwarted didn’t agree with Giraldi. She knew exactly how he felt.

  “Everybody here except you and Madeline are ‘names’ of some kind,” she said. “And I guess Maddie is the mother of a ‘name.’ I don’t think they’re going anywhere until people get tired of the story. Or Daniel Deranian actually shows up.”

  “Do you think that could happen?” He didn’t sound at all happy about the prospect.

  “I don’t know,” Nikki said. “My experience tells me no. But Kyra seems pretty convinced.”

  Giraldi shook his head, but no water sprayed her way. In the few minutes they’d been talking all signs of his swim had evaporated. “Bottom line,” he said. “I need them out of here. If they don’t lose interest on their own, I’ll have to help them along. There’s no way in hell your brother’s going to try to make contact with you with this crowd around.”

  They went back to work, Nikki hot and sticky with sweat, her hands slippery on the brush, Giraldi bare-chested and sure-handed. He couldn’t have been more certain or determined. And as it turned out, he couldn’t have been more wrong.

  That night’s YouTube posting was titled “Paparazzi in Paradise.” The video, which Kyra had shot almost entirely inside Bella Flora looking out, was cut to the Jimmy Buffett song “Cheeseburger in Paradise.”

  There were the usual shots of the crew working on the house: Nicole and Joe side by side beneath the reclinada, stopping only long enough to study one another or to argue. Avery and Chase in the kitchen alternately glaring at each other and getting the eyebrow from Deirdre.

  Umberto’s putty knife caressing Bella Flora’s thickly textured walls as he repaired them, Robby cutting an imaginary ribbon to the master bathroom, Maddie stoically working her way through crystal after crystal—the dunk in the ammonia and water bowl, the scrubbing, the bathing in clear water, the hand drying. The light fixture itself hung denuded of its crystals, the strength behind the shimmer. Like a peek into the secret mechanical tunnels at Disney World.

  Each of the work shots was intercut with a shot of their personal paparazzi. The fat ones, the tall ones, the land and the sea ones. Each and every one of them had multiple cameras laced around his neck. Each and every one watched and waited. Occasionally one of them shouted in hope that something, anything, would finally happen.

  When she viewed it, Nicole gave it only two stars, not at all happy with being caught staring at Giraldi’s bare chest. Avery would have given it three except that she said she had a feeling she looked like Miss Piggy, what with the fists on her hips and the way she had to stare up at Chase when they argued.

  Deirdre professed to love it. But then she was in full makeup, with her hair in place, and hadn’t been caught on camera staring at anyone.

  Twenty-eight

  It was the Fourth of July and so far no one had cleaned, sanded, or stained a single square inch of Bella Flora. They’d slept in, dunked day-old doughnuts in freshly brewed coffee for breakfast, and then spent most of the day lounging around the house like ladies of leisure.

  Outside the heat was furnace-like; the humidity clinging to the air made it thick enough to choke on. Bella Flora’s castle-like walls and newly juiced air conditioners kept the engine buzz of boat traffic muted and almost made Maddie feel sorry for the paparazzi still stationed outside.

  In the early afternoon Deirdre left for a cookout hosted by the president of the designers guild, whom she was courting. The rest of them made sandwiches. Now Kyra was planted on the couch with her already dog-eared copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting. Her video camera sat on the floor within reach.

  Maddie picked up her phone and tried to reach Steve and Andrew again, but for the second time that day she got no answer. She could hear the click of fingers flying over a keyboard in the kitchen, where Nikki sat at the table searching the Internet for . . . something. For the last thirty minutes, Avery had been wandering Bella Flora with a legal pad in one hand and a pen in the other.

  Kyra laid the book open on her rounding stomach. “Who do you keep calling?”

  “Dad and Andrew.”

  “And?”

  “No answer.”

  “Is there ever?” Kyra asked.

  Maddie sighed. She’d been getting a text or two a week from Steve since she’d issued her ultimatum, but they were completely impersonal and maddeningly inconclusive: The weather’s good. The magnolia tree’s blooming, or Andrew met the contractor at Mother’s yesterday. She wasn’t sure why he bothered and at the same time reread each one over and over, looking for some sign of hope or hidden meaning.

  “Do you think the fact that they’re not answering could be a good thing? You know, maybe they’re out at your grandmother’s, working on the house,” Maddie couldn’t help adding.

  Kyra gave her the “you’re dumber than dirt” look.

  “Or at the neighborhood pool.”

  Another look.

  “You know . . . swimming.”

  This earned Maddie an eye roll.

  Nicole wandered into the room on the tail end of their conversation. “Swimming would be good. Maybe we should go down to the Don and take a dip in the pool, have a drink, and pretend we really are on vacation.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Maddie said. “We could invite the photo crew to come with us so that they can get some good action shots when we’re thrown out of the pool for not being guests.”

  “Well then, maybe we should be guests,” Nicole replied. “We could chip in on a room and take turns napping on a mattress that’s not lying on the floor. Then we could spend the whole day by the pool.”

  “It’s a holiday weekend. I seriously doubt they have any rooms available,” Maddie said. “And if I got ahold of a real bed I don’t think I could make myself share it.”

  Avery came into the salon and plopped down on the c
hair. “It feels really weird not to be working. Do you think I should go out and find something to do in the pool house?”

  “No!” Maddie said.

  “We’re trying to figure out a way to feel more on vacation, not less.” This came from Nicole.

  “Well, we do have the whole Gulf of Mexico at our doorstep,” Maddie said. “We should have taken Chase and Jeff up on their invitation to go out in the boat to watch the fireworks. Deirdre’s going to meet up with them, isn’t she?”

  “You all are free to go,” Avery said.

  “Isn’t it about time you and Chase waved white flags at each other?” Nikki asked.

  Avery shrugged. “It’s enough we have to work together. I don’t need to be around him twenty-four/seven. And I don’t want to be in that small a space with Deirdre without the ability to leave. Sharing a bathroom has been tight enough.”

  Maddie got up and moved to the floor-to-ceiling windows. Out in the pass, family-laden boats wallowed low in the water while Jet Skis whizzed by. Photographers loitered on the path to the beach, but the jetty was packed with fishermen and out on the Gulf the bold colors of a parasail danced through the sky. “Are we really in here relaxing?” she asked. “Or are we hiding?”

  “Good question.” Nicole looked down at her watch then stood. “This is Independence Day. And we do have the whole day off.”

  “Why are we inside?” Avery asked. “When we don’t have to be?”

  “Another good question,” Nikki said. “Why should we be stuck in here? It’s the Fourth of fuckin’ July!” She moved toward the kitchen. “I’m going to whip up some strawberry daiquiris to take down to the beach. We could go for a swim, toast the sunset, and watch some fireworks.”

  “That’s it,” Maddie said leaving the window. “I’m making a batch of fried chicken. And we can bring the potato salad and coleslaw I picked up from the deli.”

  “I’ll bring the Cheez Doodles,” Avery offered. “And I’ll put ice and soft drinks in the cooler.”

  Kyra snapped her book closed and sat up, reaching for her video camera. “I’m in. I’ll find the picnic basket Mom picked up at that garage sale. The paps can take their pictures—I’ll even pose for them,” she said. “Maybe they’ll get what they’re looking for and go away.”

  This didn’t happen. In fact, as they toted their beach chairs and their picnic down the path and onto the beach, a few of the photographers ran ahead while others trailed behind. When they’d set up down near the water they turned their backs on the intruders and did their best to enjoy themselves.

  Kyra shot the photographers watching them. Then she shot the sunset and the toasts that followed. Maddie raised her to-go cup in the light of the pinkening sky and proposed the first toast. “To life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness,” she said, trying not to stumble over the words or dwell on how long it had been since she’d felt truly happy.

  “To Bella Flora and the grunts who’ve come to love her,” Nikki said.

  “To Malcolm Dyer!” Avery said.

  “Because?” Maddie asked, lowering her glass.

  “Because if it weren’t for him, we would never have met?” Avery said.

  They raised their glasses and clinked and Nicole said, “I guess that makes us the silver lining.”

  They fell silent after that, waiting for the sky to fade to black. And then they oohed and ahhed like everyone else as the fireworks boomed and exploded, staring upward in delight until the last of the color bursts shot through the sky like oils painting on black velvet.

  Nicole came out of a deep sleep to a large male hand clamped over her mouth. She tried to scream but the sound was trapped against skin. With panic skittering up her spine and her pulse thrumming in her ear, she shook her head and tried to catch her breath, but she couldn’t loosen the hand’s hold.

  “Shhh,” a familiar male voice said. “Don’t scream. It’s me. Malcolm.”

  Nikki’s eyes flew open. She stopped struggling.

  “Will you keep quiet?”

  She nodded slowly, still trying to make out his face. When he removed his hand she turned and sat up on the mattress, reaching for the lamp.

  “No, don’t. It’s after two A.M. The photographers are gone, but they’ve been great cover.” He raised the camera around his neck with a pleased smile. “Maybe I’ll submit some anonymous shots of Daniel Deranian’s little girlfriend.”

  Nicole held back the grimace of distaste. She had no idea what to say nor did she know if he was aware of Agent Giraldi. Or that the FBI had been watching.

  “Great house, huh?” Malcolm said. “You’ve done a lot with it. I never did have a chance to renovate like I planned.” He smiled slightly. “I have a villa in Tuscany. And a beach house on Grand Cayman, though. This was the only fixer-upper.”

  Nikki thought she might gag on her anger. Despite all the mental conversations she’d had with Malcolm and all the times she’d imagined screaming her anger and disappointment and hurt at him, she could hardly form thoughts, let alone words.

  Her gaze narrowed as she strained to see his features in the moonlight. His face had a grayish tint and his eyes spoke of exhaustion. He didn’t look like a man with three hundred million dollars.

  “I need your help,” he said. “I need your help to get to the money.”

  The maternal instincts that had been revving up sputtered out. “You stole, Malcolm. From your clients and from me.”

  She stared into his eyes; even in the dark she could see his surprise. “And you’re surprised that I’m angry.” She studied him—her little brother, the person she’d loved most for most of her life. But she also saw Madeline and Avery and Grace’s foster children. “Because you obviously never stopped and thought about the consequences of your actions.” Her fury mounted. She wanted to take hold of him and shake him until he understood. As she probably should have when he was a child.

  “Did you ever stop and think about any of your victims?” she asked. “You put me out of business and practically out on the street. You remember what that feels like, don’t you? The vow we took to never let that happen again?”

  It was his turn to nod.

  “You weren’t raised to steal. To survive, yes, but not at the expense of everyone else.”

  “I didn’t mean to. I never meant to. And I’m going to give you everything back.” He smiled the old cocky smile that had always helped him get whatever he wanted. “Plus interest and a lump sum for pain and suffering.” That smile again.

  “It’s not funny, Malcolm. I’ve seen some of the lives you’ve ruined up close and personal. How did this happen?”

  He took the camera off and set it on the mattress, then hugged his knees to his chest like he used to when he was a child. “I don’t know,” he said. “It was all legitimate at first. The investments went well and the marketing went even better. I had people who wouldn’t have let me in the front door of their mansions when we were growing up fighting to invest with me. You know, the harder you make it, the more they want in?

  “It was everything I ever dreamed of. I had . . . so much.”

  She sensed him wanting to stand and pace, but his eyes skimmed over the window and the closed bedroom door. They were both aware of the others sleeping in the house and the fact that he was wanted by the law.

  Was Giraldi out there watching or listening? Did he know that Malcolm had been one of the photographers, waiting patiently in front of their noses to contact her? Was the agent really trying to gain her cooperation? Or had he simply been playing her, waiting for Malcolm to make this kind of brazen move?

  “But why did you have to steal? Why not just make everybody a ton of money the good old-fashioned way?”

  He sighed. “Because it’s not that easy.” Giving in to his restlessness, he stood, but he didn’t pace. “The market sucked and then it sucked even more. And if you’re not delivering better returns than everybody else, then you’re nowhere. I couldn’t afford to lose those clients, so I started pay
ing off the old investors out of the new investors’ capital. And then all the juggling began.”

  “Oh, Malcolm.”

  “If the economy hadn’t tanked so spectacularly and sent everybody running for their money, I would never have been found out.”

  Nicole sighed. “But it was still a Ponzi scheme. You were stealing money that didn’t belong to you.” She looked into his eyes and the only remorse she saw seemed feigned for her benefit, though she suspected he was genuinely remorseful about being found out. “There’s always someone else to blame, isn’t there?”

  Her criticism didn’t seem to faze him in the least. “I can make things right for you, Nik, if you’ll help me access the money. I need someone the feds don’t know to get the money out of my offshore accounts.” He reached a hand down to her and pulled her to her feet. “Hardly anyone knows we’re related; we have different last names. You could waltz in and out without anyone looking twice.”

  Except, of course, Agent Joe Giraldi and his merry band. And anyone else who chose to dig deep enough.

  “Malcolm, I think you should turn yourself and the money in. So many people have been hurt, wiped out. You need to do the right thing.”

  His look of shock was almost comical. His laughter, though quiet, was derisive. “Do the right thing? That’s a great movie title, Nik. As a course of action, not so much.”

  “Seriously, Malcolm. You have to . . .”

  “No, I really don’t. And if you won’t help me, I’ll find someone else who’ll want a cut bad enough to take the chance. But there’s nobody I trust as much as you.”

  She’d once felt that way about him, too. Clearly that trust had been misplaced. “You’ll never get away with this. Really, you need to . . .”

  “You need to stop trying to mother me, Nikki, and help me get that damned money,” Malcolm said. “I’m going to be moving around for a while, waiting for the heat to die down a little more. But here’s where you’ll be able to find me after that.” He handed her a folded piece of paper. “You’ve got a two-day window to meet me there so that I can explain what needs to be done.”