by Wendy Wax
She opened the piece of paper and saw two lines of type with the name of the campground near Tallahassee where they’d spent that long-ago Thanksgiving and the date August 25, the day their mother had died. She had no idea whether he’d left this information unspoken because he knew about Giraldi or was simply being cautious.
When she looked up to tell him she could try to get him a deal if he’d just turn himself in, he was gone.
Twenty-nine
The month of July brought longer days and ever-increasing heat and humidity. The first of the no-name storms formed and dissipated in the Caribbean and walking barefoot on sand, brick, or asphalt became close to impossible. Whenever possible middays were spent working inside the thick walls of Bella Flora or the soon-to-be pool house, from which they’d emerge following the daily late afternoon rain shower.
Madeline watched Kyra’s pregnancy develop in tandem with Bella Flora’s renovation, her stomach and breasts growing larger as each room of the house was considered and addressed. Rotted baseboards were replaced, missing plaster cornices re-created, and the salon’s coffered cypress ceiling was painstakingly cleaned and retouched so that the original coats of arms of the original workmen could once again be seen.
Enrico’s younger brother Reggio came to lay the new kitchen floor, re-grout all of the bathrooms’ original tile and re-point the brick drive. Deirdre had the leather banquettes in the Casbah Lounge replaced, and Avery and Nicole spent almost a week cleaning and resealing the grout in the elaborately tiled room where they moved their sunset toasts when the weather turned bad or the heat and mosquitoes became unbearable.
The bathroom mirrors were re-silvered and re-hung and King Alfred promised the last of the bathroom fixtures no later than August 1, an announcement that had been toasted unanimously as a “good thing.”
In addition to the photos they took, the paparazzi generated some nasty headlines and more than one article questioning what this particular group of women were really doing camped out at Ten Beach Road. Without a quote from Daniel Deranian’s wronged wife or an appearance from the actor himself, there was little monetary value in continued stalking of a woman who might or might not be carrying his child. One day late in July, Madeline walked out back and noticed that the paparazzi had vanished.
For Maddie, there was little time to contemplate the joy of becoming a grandmother when each person and element of her life seemed determined to compete for the title of “most stressful.” Despite countless attempts, she still hadn’t spoken directly to Steve since she’d issued her ultimatum, but Andrew claimed his father was doing “better.” She felt her first stirring of real hope when Edna sniffed that Steve was “out” rather than sleeping, but she kept herself busy to the point of exhaustion because she was too afraid to bank on it.
Now she and Kyra sat in the dining room with the crystals from the master bathroom chandelier spread across the worktable before them. This was their third chandelier, and although it was significantly smaller than the dining room fixture that sparkled above them in the late afternoon sun, the process remained painstakingly tedious. Maddie had learned the hard way to take photos before disassembling and knew just how hard it could be to tell one drop crystal from another. “I can’t clean another piece.” Madeline sat back in her chair and stretched, her hands stiff and cracked from the harsh ammonia, wanting to be done with this job. Just like she’d probably want to be done with whatever came next. She turned to Kyra. “Do you want to go for a walk? Now that the photographers are gone, getting to the beach isn’t such a hassle.”
“It’s still too hot,” Kyra said. “I’m going to go upstairs and take a nice long nap.” She yawned and stood. As she reached for her cell phone it rang, startling them both. She picked it up to look at the caller ID on the screen and gasped.
Madeline looked up. “What is it?”
“The caller ID says Deranian! Oh, my God, it’s him. It’s Daniel!” Kyra shot Madeline an “I told you so!” look and brought the phone to her ear with an eagerness Madeline hadn’t seen since she’d arrived.
“Daniel? Daniel, oh, thank God. I told my mother you’d call.” Kyra began to leave the room, undoubtedly for someplace more private, but practically skidded to a stop before she reached the archway. “Who is this?” Kyra asked. “What do you mean by that?” And then simply, “Oh.”
Maddie didn’t know what was being said, but she could tell it wasn’t good. Kyra’s body remained tightly clenched, her shoulders hunched inward. She didn’t speak, or even nod, but just stared out into the hallway as if there might be some answer there.
Maddie could hardly stand it; she wanted to go to Kyra and take the phone away and demand to know what was going on. In the end she didn’t have to. Kyra turned on trembling legs and brought the phone to Maddie. “It’s Tonja Kay,” she said quietly, the tears already pooling in her eyes. “She says she wants to talk to you.”
Slowly, not understanding, Madeline took the phone and raised the receiver to her ear. “Hello?”
“Are you the fucking bitch of a whore’s mother?”
Madeline blinked, certain she’d misheard. “I’m sorry?” she said tentatively.
“You should be fucking sorry!” The movie star’s voice carried none of the seductive quality it did in a movie theater. It was vile and nasty and out of control. “And so should your fucking bitch of a daughter!”
“Now you just hold on a minute,” Madeline said. Maddie did not approve of Kyra sleeping with a married man, nor did she feel good about the current situation, but that didn’t mean she was going to stand by and let someone attack her so viciously.
“Fuck, no, I won’t hold on!” Tonja Kay shouted in Madeline’s ear. “You should have taught that cunt to keep her fucking hands to her fucking self! He’s my husband and she has no right to him. Not any part of him! You tell her to fucking . . .”
Madeline’s face was burning, but it was nothing compared to what she felt inside. One hand went to her throat as she struggled for control. “If you’re as foul in person as you are on the phone, it’s no wonder he’s looking elsewhere!”
Kyra’s eyes got big. Surprise lit her face.
“Don’t you tell me how to talk, you bitch!” Tonja Kay shouted back. “If your daughter thinks she’s going to get a penny out of me or Daniel, she’s fucking crazy. I’m gonna make sure everybody fucking knows just how skanky that slut is!”
Madeline had been about to hang up. She’d taught her children that discretion was the better part of valor. That it was always better to take the high road. That bad language was the hallmark of a poor vocabulary. But then she’d never been spoken to this way or felt the need to defend one of her children from this kind of onslaught. Tonja Kay was vulgar, crazy, and way too full of herself for Maddie to do nothing more than hang up.
Madeline signaled for Kyra to cover her ears. In the prim tones she’d learned in Mrs. Merriweather’s charm class all those years ago, she said, “I think I know a skanky slut when I hear one. And if you ever call my daughter or me names like that again, I’ll be releasing the recording I just made of this conversation to the media worldwide.”
There was a shocked silence on the other end. And from Kyra as well.
“Good.” Madeline smiled, her tone saccharine sweet. “It sounds like we understand each other. Have a nice day.”
“Wow,” Kyra said as Maddie hung up and handed her the phone. “Thank you.” Her face and tone reflected both shock and admiration, an interesting combination. “I don’t know where that came from or who you are, but that was truly . . . impressive.”
Maddie was more than a little surprised herself. But she’d never been one to miss out on a teaching moment. “There isn’t a lot a mother won’t do for her child, Kyra. It’s sort of hardwired into our DNA.” She smiled and reached out a hand to stroke Kyra’s cheek. “You’ll see what I mean soon enough.”
Giraldi caught up with Nicole near the Don CeSar, the midpoint in her morning run, and fit
his pace to hers. They ran in silence for about a half a mile while the beach woke up around them, then turned to head back toward Bella Flora. It was the prettiest time of day and the only one in which Nikki could even imagine running now that the days were hot enough to melt the skin off your bones and even the evening breezes off the Gulf felt like blasts from a furnace.
Giraldi had been out of town for a week after Malcolm’s visit. Even though Nikki knew that Malcolm’s was only one of a number of cases the FBI agent was working, she spent that entire week worrying that Giraldi had listened in on her conversation with Malcolm and then followed Malcolm from Bella Flora. Which meant her brother might already be in custody and his capture not yet announced. Or that Malcolm had eluded Giraldi and his financial fraud squad. Which could mean that the FBI was now waiting to see if she would lead them to her brother so that they’d know once and for all whose side she was really on. As if she knew.
Since his return, Giraldi had helped out two or three times at Bella Flora. She’d also spotted him on the beach, at the concession stand, in line at the grocery store, as she was meant to. Each time they talked he pressed her to work with the FBI and she debated whether to tell him about Malcolm’s visit. She knew she should tell Giraldi about the campground and when Malcolm planned to be there. But she couldn’t seem to do it. Her brother wasn’t the man she’d hoped he’d become or believed him to be, but some small part of her still imagined that if she went there herself she might convince Malcolm to turn himself in before she did it for him. How could she not give her brother that one last chance to do the right thing?
Nicole kept her eyes on the beach ahead. She did not want to look at Joe Giraldi’s naked chest, and she definitely didn’t want to look him in the eye.
“Are you okay?” he asked as they neared the Paradise Grille and her pace began to slow. “You don’t seem quite like yourself.”
“I would have imagined you’d think that was a good thing.” She still couldn’t look at him. Pretending, putting on a show was one thing; lying was another. A distinction she’d apparently not made clear to Malcolm.
“Yeah, it should be,” he said. “But I find myself wondering whether there’s something I can do to help.”
They came to a halt near the path to Beach Road and she bent double, trying to slow and control her breathing. She imagined the relief of telling Giraldi the truth and letting him take over. But could she live with being the one to put Malcolm in jail without giving him a last chance to redeem himself?
Nikki steeled herself to look Giraldi in the eyes, keeping hers as wide and as innocent as she knew how. She couldn’t forget that Giraldi was here to do a job. And that job was not watching out for her—it was watching her.
Avery carried her cup of coffee out to the pool house the next morning, pausing briefly to scan the pass. Right now boat traffic was minimal; the bay and the Gulf appeared smooth and untouched. The fishermen were already out in their favored spots, the recreational boaters hadn’t yet started motoring or sailing toward their destinations. Pelicans dove for their breakfast and perched on the rocks and pilings around the jetty while gulls careened overhead. The air was already warm and heavy. By noon it would feel as if it weighed a ton.
Inside the back half of the former garage, the musty smell had been replaced by the more comforting scents of fresh sawdust and freshly mixed plaster. The newly installed French doors that fronted the pool and the bank of windows overlooking the pass stood open to catch any breeze that stirred.
The main room had been designed as a studio apartment with the living/sleeping space overlooking both the bay and the pool. An L-shaped kitchenette lay on the opposite end with a full bath stubbed in just beyond it.
Chase stood bare-chested in the kitchen area, a measuring tape in one hand and a pencil tucked behind his ear. His chest gleamed with perspiration and his tool belt hung low on his lean hips. He looked up as she entered.
“It works,” she said somewhat grudgingly. “Even keeping the two bays of the garage, it feels okay.” They’d fought for their differing visions for the space with ferocity until Deirdre had finally stepped in and merged what she’d deemed the best of both of their plans. Now Avery ran a hand over one plastered wall. “Umberto’s done a great job matching the texture in the big house.” They walked into the small bath where the toilet and sink were already installed; tomorrow the shower would be tiled. “But I can’t help noticing that Robby’s moving a lot faster on the bathroom out here than he did inside.”
Chase shrugged. “It’s virtually new construction. Less complicated.”
“Right.” She walked around the room, taking it in before coming back to where Chase stood, thrilled to see the space being fleshed out. A new circuit breaker box was up and the wiring under way. The countertop and appliances would go in soon; so would the air-conditioning.
“John Franklin’s really excited about this addition. He says it’ll be a significant asset in marketing the property,” Chase said.
“That’s good news.” They’d been on even more awkward footing since his tirade about her role on Hammer and Nail and his take on her disappointing professional life. There was just too much energy in the air when they were near each other, as if someone had added one too many sticks of dynamite and accidentally lit the fuse. “Lord knows we can use all the significant assets we can get.” She felt as if they were standing too close, though a good foot separated them.
He flashed an automatic smile before he caught himself, and she couldn’t help noticing how white his teeth seemed against the tan of his face.
“In a few weeks we should be ready to refinish Bella Flora’s floors,” she said. “I thought we might move in here while we do the work.”
“You want to live in here?” he asked, incredulous. “All five of you?”
No, she didn’t, but there was no room in her budget for a weeklong stay anywhere, not even the Cottage Inn. She and Nicole and Maddie never discussed how broke they were, but Nicole no longer turned up her nose at Madeline’s coupon clipping, though she still steadfastly rejected any hint of a senior citizen discount and hated early bird specials. The only one in the group who might opt for a hotel was Deirdre, and that would be just fine with Avery. “Do I want to stay here?” she said. “No. But I will. And I’m pretty sure the others will, too.”
She blew at a bang that had fallen down over one eye, but it fell right back down. Chase was definitely standing too close, because he didn’t have to move when he reached out with one hand and tucked it behind her ear. They both frowned in surprise at the automatic gesture, but continued to stare into each other’s eyes.
From outside she could hear Nicole and Joe Giraldi arguing about something. There was the whir of a saw from inside the house and an unidentifiable banging, but inside the pool house it was so quiet she could hear Chase’s breathing and what she was afraid might be the beating of her heart.
His blue eyes darkened. If she wasn’t reading this all wrong, he was about to . . . “You’re not going to kiss me, are you?” she asked.
“Of course not,” he said. His voice was gruff. “I was afraid you were going to kiss me.”
“Right.” That was all she could manage around the lump lodged in her throat.
They stood frozen for a long moment, gazes locked, teetering on the verge of . . . she wasn’t sure what. And then although she had no idea who moved first or even that someone had, their lips were locked and his warm, firm lips were moving on hers. His strong male scent filled her nostrils. Her keen awareness of his naked chest lent an added rush and she realized with some surprise that she was kissing him back. Fervently.
“Oh, there you two are!” Deirdre’s voice pierced her consciousness, and they jumped apart like two children caught playing doctor.
Avery felt her face flush with embarrassment. She also felt a rush of irritation at Deirdre’s intrusion. The irritation was nothing new; the twinge of disappointment that accompanied it was.
De
irdre laughed. “If I’ve come at a bad time, I can come back later.”
They both swore. Their gazes collided and Avery saw the same horror she felt etched in Chase’s eyes. They both looked away.
“We were just discussing the space,” Avery said, all too aware how lame that sounded.
“Yes, I could see that.” Deirdre seemed to be smirking. Avery would have liked to see Chase’s expression, but she didn’t want to be caught looking at him.
“What is it?” Chase asked Deirdre. “Did you need something?”
“Actually, I’ve got great news,” Deirdre said and then paused as if waiting for a drum roll. “The presidents of the design and symphony guild are coming for a tour. There’s been a problem with their show house. They may be looking for a last-minute change of location.”
Thirty
Thunder boomed outside and lightning jagged through the steel gray sky. The rain fell in sheets outside Bella Flora for two days straight, the result of a tropical storm stalled somewhere out in the Gulf.
Used to searing sunshine with only brief afternoon rain showers that fell from bright blue skies, none of them knew quite what to do. It felt odd to be so idle when so much still needed to be done. But it was too wet to move their things into the pool house and refinish the wood floors as planned. Too wet for painting or touching up. As they played cards at the kitchen table, then gathered in the salon to watch The Money Pit for the third time, Maddie found herself thinking, The sun did not shine. It was too wet to play. So we sat in the house all that cold, cold, wet day. Replace the word “cold” with “dark,” Maddie thought, and it was so them. The only things missing were Thing One and Thing Two.