A Stranger on the Beach

by Michele Campbell

  “I can guess. I know you play tennis down in Boca with that—what’s her name?”

  “Andrea Grassi. She’s friends with your girlfriend Stacey.”

  “Stacey’s not my friend.”

  “Apparently not, since she talks behind your back something awful. Anyway, I told Andrea it was impossible. That she must be misinformed. Am I right?”

  Lynn gazed at me intently. I kept my expression neutral.

  “Caroline?”

  “Hold on.”

  The waiter was walking toward our table, carrying our salads—mine with shrimp, Lynn’s with chicken. We waited while he worked the long pepper grinder. I loved the food here, but today I had no appetite. A large plate-glass window faced the street, and I sat where I could look out, constantly glancing over Lynn’s shoulder, scanning for him. He’d been following me. I hadn’t seen him yet today, and I was praying he was gone. That he’d given up, lost interest in me. But what if he hadn’t? This man was a killer. I knew that from what the police officer told me. Manslaughter. It could mean anything. And Aidan Callahan was now focused on me. My nerves were taut, my stomach unsettled from the stress. I worried every minute that I would turn around and see him behind me.

  “Tell me what you heard, and I’ll tell you if it’s true,” I said, once the waiter was gone.

  “I heard, you got yourself a boy toy. A bartender named Aidan who goes to spin class with you. And he’s a hunk and a half. But obviously this isn’t possible, right? A few days ago, I was holding your hand while you sobbed about your rat of a husband.”

  “Aidan followed me to spin class. I didn’t bring him.”

  “He’s real? I can’t believe it. What the hell is going on, Caroline?”

  “Nothing’s going on. I’m not cheating. Not exactly, not currently.”

  “Whoa, a lot of hedging there, babe. Listen, let me say up front, if you did it, I understand. Jason cheated first.”

  “Jason didn’t cheat. He told me all about it. She’s a—a work colleague.”

  “The Russian tart in the leather skirt? Please. You can’t even say that with a straight face.”

  “It’s true.”

  “Don’t tell me that. I saw her.”

  “Well, I believe him. My marriage is fine. Stacey Allen should shut her trap.”

  “If your marriage is so fine, who’s this bartender, and why did he follow you to spin class?”

  “Okay,” I said, glancing around the restaurant to check one last time that nobody I knew was present. I lowered my voice. “You have to promise not to tell.”

  Lynn eyed me with interest. I took a swig of wine and then a deep breath.

  “Cross my heart,” she said.

  “Not even Joe.”

  “I won’t tell my husband, promise,” Lynn said.

  “Thank you. Now. You remember how I was when you left?”

  “You were a wreck.”

  “It got worse from there. I found out Jason drained the bank accounts.”

  “Shit, you’re kidding me. That prick. I told you to go to the lawyer.”

  “I did. I actually filed papers. But then I withdrew them.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Did he put the money back?”

  “Some. Not all of it. But he’s going to.”

  She made a clucking noise. “Why would you trust him at this point? With everything he’s done?”

  “I’m choosing to trust him. I mean, it’s Jason. Twenty years of marriage, right?”

  “I guess. He always seemed like a good guy.”

  “Yes, he did. Anyway, in the middle of all this mess, you were in Florida, I was freaking out—”

  “Oh, so it’s my fault now?”

  “I’m just explaining. I was really upset. There’s nothing to drink in the house, nobody to talk to. I go to the bar in town.”

  “Which bar?”

  “The Red Anchor.”

  “Oh, I’ve been there.”

  “Yeah, it’s halfway decent, and it was open. I had to get out of the house or I’d go crazy.”

  “Wait a minute, are you talking about that guy, blondish hair, built, looks like Brad Pitt?”

  “Brad Pitt? Really? I don’t see that.”

  “Come on. They’re like twins. He’s freaking gorgeous. You didn’t—?”

  “I did. I was drunk off my ass. It was a one-night stand. And I regret it terribly.”

  Lynn threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, my God. I didn’t know you had it in you. Seriously. How was it?”

  “How was it? It was a huge mistake.”

  “Uh, hello, that’s not what I’m asking.”

  I leaned forward. “I know what you’re asking, but this isn’t funny,” I said. “It’s not some schoolgirl prank. It’s a nightmare. We did it once. I told him goodbye, and now he won’t leave me alone. He’s been following me.”

  She sobered instantly. “Is he blackmailing you?”

  “No.”

  “How much does he want?”

  “I said no. It’s not about money.”

  “What then?”

  “He’s, like, obsessed with me.”

  “That hot bartender—obsessed with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “No, really.”

  “Is that so implausible?” I said, huffily.

  “I mean, you’re a beautiful woman, Car. But aren’t you like twenty years older than him?”

  “More like fifteen. Look, I agree, it’s weird. It’s freaking me out. The first time I tried to get rid of him, he slammed his head against the dashboard of my car till it was bloody.”

  “Holy shit, really? Is something wrong with him?”

  “I don’t know. But that’s not all. Then he starts turning up in the city. Telling me he can’t live without me. After a one-night stand, can you believe it? I thought it would be a big nothing to a guy like that.”

  “What did you say when he showed up?”

  “I told him to stay away from me, or I’d go to the police.”

  “Good for you. And did he? Stay away?”

  “No. I’ve seen him a bunch of times since then. He follows me, always at a distance.”

  “That’s so creepy.”

  “I know.”

  “You should go to the police.”

  “Here’s the thing. I did, after the spin class. And they told me unless he hurts me or threatens me with a weapon, it’s not a crime, and there’s nothing they can do.”

  Lynn put her fork down. I could tell she believed me now.

  “I’m worried about Hannah,” she said.

  “Hannah? Why? It’s me you should worry about.”

  “If this guy is a psycho, how do you know he won’t go after your daughter?”

  “Because this has nothing to do with her,” I said, and sighed with irritation. “I swear, you’re obsessed with Hannah.”

  “Somebody needs to be. You don’t think enough about how your actions affect other people.”

  “Thank you for your concern. But I can take care of my own daughter,” I said, coldly.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  Well, she had. Lynn didn’t have kids of her own, so she’d glommed on to my daughter. The two of them were thick as thieves. Despite everything I did for Hannah, not only did she prefer her father to me, she preferred her aunt. Kids act out against the parent who provides the tough love. I understood that, but it still hurt my feelings. I resented their tight bond, and I didn’t need Lynn acting like she knew what was good for Hannah better than I did. But Lynn couldn’t let it go.

  “It’s just—” she said.

  “What?”

  “How do you know he’s not violent?”

  I wanted to confide in her. I really did. By making this about Hannah, she’d made it impossible. I couldn’t tell her about the manslaughter without risking having her do something crazy, like telling Hannah about my affair.

  “Since I threate
ned to go to the police, he’s kept his distance. Stop worrying.”

  “But you said this guy’s still following you.”

  “No. I said he did follow me, but now I think he won’t bother me again.”

  “That’s not what you said.”

  “Lynn, back off. Let’s talk about something else. Renewing my vows. How to celebrate Hannah’s birthday next month. Visiting you in Florida this winter. I don’t want to think about Aidan Callahan anymore. I’m done with him.”

  “I hope he’s done with you, too.”

  31

  Aidan watched Jason Stark emerge from the office building across the street. Stark was on his phone, and from the way he surveyed the traffic, he was waiting for a ride. Aidan got anxious when he had to follow by vehicle. On foot, he could blend into the crowd. But his old red pickup with its rusted-out, banged-up passenger door stood out too much among the sleek black SUVs and grimy yellow cabs that made up the bulk of Manhattan traffic. He had no choice if he wanted to follow the guy, though, and he’d better move it. Heart racing, Aidan turned the corner and sprinted to where he’d parked his truck. Shit. He grabbed the parking ticket off the windshield. Sixty bucks for blocking the alley by a few frigging inches. Sixty bucks he couldn’t spare.

  He pulled out onto the avenue in time to see Jason Stark slide into the passenger seat of a sporty blue Audi. There was a woman at the wheel. He couldn’t see her face, but she had black hair. The Audi edged into traffic and took off. Following was nerve-racking. He had to stay far enough back that they didn’t spot his truck but not so far that he got stuck at a light and lost them. It was stop-and-go all the way to the Midtown Tunnel. Halfway through the tunnel, traffic started moving for no apparent reason. He emerged into daylight and the traffic soon disappeared. The surface streets in Queens were wide-open and empty, and he stayed as far back as he could without losing them. Aidan didn’t know Queens at all. From the street signs, it looked like they were heading in the general direction of Kennedy Airport. Maybe these two had a plane to catch. Maybe Stark was running off with her and taking Caroline’s money.

  After several turns deeper into Queens, he realized that wasn’t happening. They were in a warehouse district now. Parking lots and low-rise buildings, all grimy and looking like they’d be full of junk inside. He turned a corner and came upon the Audi already pulled over in front of an auto parts store. The two of them were getting out of the car. He eyed them as he drove past. Stark wore a gray business suit. The woman was in stiletto heels and a short skirt topped off with a leather jacket. She was attractive in a hard sort of way, but how any man could betray Caroline for her—for anyone—he couldn’t fathom.

  Aidan parked around the corner and walked back toward the auto parts store, hands in his pockets, huddling into his jacket against the wind. There wasn’t a single person on the street except for him. A car cruised slowly toward him. It was nondescript—an old Ford in a muddy color—but he could’ve sworn he’d seen it before. He felt eyes on him, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Something felt off here. He strolled past the auto parts store and glanced through the plate-glass window. The aisles were full of cables and batteries and chains. An older woman stood behind a counter with a cash register. But Stark and his girlfriend were nowhere in sight.

  Aidan walked past the store and turned down the alley, heading around the back, hugging the side of the building. He poked his head around the corner and there they were, about fifty feet away, standing in front of an open garage bay where a mechanic worked on a car raised on a lift. It wasn’t the sort of place you imagined Jason Stark going to get his car serviced. Then again, that hard-looking Russian woman was more mobster moll than the girlfriend of a one-percenter finance bro like Jason Stark. None of this fit, which was why Aidan was so worried.

  The small parking area was decrepit and full of debris and reeked of burning oil. The mistress was stamping her feet and blowing on her hands in the unseasonably cold air. They waited there for about five minutes, and Aidan watched, deeply confused about what was going on. Then a man emerged from the open garage bay. Not the mechanic, a different guy, and the look of him made Aidan gasp. He looked like a hardened killer. Built like a prizefighter, with a scar on his cheek, dressed all in black, a knit cap pulled down low to his eyes. It was shocking to think that Stark, with his establishment aura, his air of wealth and privilege, would associate with a man the likes of this. The fact that they were meeting was suspicious on its own.

  Aidan watched with his own eyes as the bruiser walked up to Stark and shook his hand like they were acquainted. Stark took a thick envelope from his jacket and passed it to the man, who opened it and rifled through a substantial wad of cash. A payoff of some kind. Jesus, this was some shady stuff. Aidan moved in closer to listen. The bruiser opened his mouth, and as if on cue, a horrible screeching sound started up inside the garage. Whether or not it was specifically designed to cover up their conversation from potential eavesdroppers, it had that effect. The wind was blowing in Aidan’s direction, and if not for the noise, he would’ve been able to hear what they said in its entirety. Instead he only managed to pick up a few words here and there. He heard “money,” “no good,” and “problem.” Stark looked agitated. The wind shifted, and for a few minutes, Aidan heard nothing. The mistress lit a cigarette and looked away. She backed up a few steps. Aidan got the impression that what was being said was so ugly that she wanted to stay out of it.

  The wind shifted back. Aidan heard Stark say his wife’s name. He wasn’t imagining things. Stark clearly said “Caroline,” and a film of anger dropped down over Aidan’s eyes. He wanted to go over and punch that smug asshole Jason Stark in the face, yell at him to get Caroline’s name out of his dirty mouth, to keep her away from this wretched company. What the hell was he doing talking to this evil thug about a beautiful woman like Caroline? Whatever he was doing, it was not good. Aidan took a deep breath and sharpened his ears. The bruiser had moved on to talking about Hannah. He distinctly heard that name. Hannah was Caroline’s daughter. The thug not only said her name; he said Stony Brook, too, which Aidan knew from Caroline’s phone was where her daughter went to college. That couldn’t be a coincidence. Was this—

  “—gonna die,” the bruiser said, and that confirmed Aidan’s worst fears.

  What had he witnessed? Stark and his mistress meeting with some lowlife underworld hit-man type. Stark paying off the thug with an envelope full of cash. The two men speaking about Caroline and Hannah. Then the thug saying someone was gonna die. What could that be, except a contract for a hit? Jason Stark wanted to be free to live with his trashy girlfriend and not have to share the money with his ex-wife. He’d taken out a hit on his wife and daughter.

  Aidan was the only one who knew. He was the only one who could protect them.

  32

  Aidan called Caroline’s phone to warn her, but the call went straight to voicemail, and he worried that she’d blocked his number. She wouldn’t do that, would she? But she’d been so insistent that he not contact her. He understood the concept of hiding their affair to protect her reputation for the divorce proceeding. That was the least of their worries right now. Her husband posed a real, imminent threat. He left a message telling her so. But if she’d blocked him, she would never receive it. In order to warn her, he’d be forced to visit her in person, which she’d specifically told him not to do. It was goddamn frustrating.

  He was late for work at the Red Anchor, where he was on shaky ground for missing several shifts in the last month. Aidan went to work and called her from the phone there, which she hadn’t blocked. When she didn’t pick up, he left another voice mail. Hopefully, this one she would get.

  “Hey, Caroline, there’s something important I need to tell you. I’m worried your husband is—well, that he’s a danger to you and your daughter. I have some specific information. It’s too much to go into on a voicemail. Call me back. Please.”

  At the bar that evening, Aidan tried to
act like nothing was off. He poured and mixed, he smiled and cracked jokes and bickered with Nancy, the waitress. The whole time, he was obsessing about Caroline, and Hannah, and the thug from the auto parts store.

  The woman sat alone at the far end of the bar. She’d been there a few minutes, watching him from the corners of her eyes. He didn’t think much of it. Women like that—middle-aged, overdressed, flashy—they hit on him all the time. Tonight, he had no patience. He let her sit longer than normal. Then he took a swig of Johnnie Walker to fortify himself and went over to her.

  “What can I get you tonight?” he said. But he couldn’t a muster a smile.

  “I’m not here to drink,” she said.

  “The restaurant’s in the back, ma’am,” he said warily.

  He was on high alert now. He recognized her, but he couldn’t place her. In Queens this afternoon he’d seen that nondescript Ford and felt like he was being followed.

  “Are you Aidan Callahan?” she said.

  What the hell? Involuntarily, he took a step backward.

  “Who’s asking?”

  “Never mind that. I’m here to deliver a message. Stay away from Caroline Stark.”

  “You were in that Ford today, weren’t you?”

  She looked at him like he was crazy.

  “What are you talking about? I don’t drive a Ford.”

  “Yes, you do. You followed me,” he said.

  “Listen, I don’t know what’s wrong with you. You’re obviously mentally disturbed. But you don’t scare me. You stay away from my sister, or you’ll regret it. You hear?”

  Sister.

  Of course. He recognized her now—Caroline’s sister. She’d been in the tent at the party when he was tending bar. And he’d seen her picture in Caroline’s phone. He’d wanted to meet her. But now he’d screwed it up by accusing her of following him. It was an honest mistake, though, and he couldn’t let her talk to him like that. Aidan glanced down the bar. It was still early, and they were half empty, but that was a mixed blessing. Not as many ears to hear, not as much noise to cover up the sensitive things he needed to say.