Between Us Girls

by Sally John

She snapped shut the lid, moved aside her plate, and slid her laptop into its place. No reason to delay apartment-hunting. At least the relocation would be for only a short while.

  And, at least, unlike those people on the news she would have a home to come back to.

  Five

  September 3

  Seaside Village, California

  Standing in the arched gateway of her courtyard, Olivia McAlister watched a stranger pace back and forth just a few yards away on the grassy tract near the street’s curb.

  The woman—a wisp of a thing in a sleeveless yellow dress—babbled on and on. Was she talking to herself or into some wireless device? It was tricky nowadays to tell the difference.

  Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a disheveled ponytail. A striped beach bag, oversized and overstuffed, hung from her shoulder, weighing it down, making it droop. She was clearly agitated and—

  And what did it matter?

  Liv sighed. She was not, she absolutely was not going to get distracted by a needy person today. She had promised herself to devote the day to friends. No matter that it was a holiday and that holidays—even a minor one like Labor Day—tended to upset the street people already burdened by so many—

  Oh, no.

  The woman had stopped pacing and was now hunched, bent nearly double, leaning against a parked white SUV. Her arms crossed her stomach, as if she were in great pain.

  Liv stepped from the gateway, her promise to ignore the needy a fading memory as she strode quickly down her walk and across the public sidewalk to the woman.

  “Excuse me, dear. May I help you?”

  The woman looked at her with the loveliest eyes she’d ever seen, a shade deeper than blue, almost a violet. They glistened with unshed tears. “I parked it here! I’m sure I did!”

  “Your car?”

  “Yes! Oh, this can’t be happening. This cannot be happening.” She sank onto the grass. “Not again!”

  Again? Liv didn’t ask. A more urgent question was if she knelt on the ground beside the stranger, would she be able to get back up? She considered the distance between her knees and the ground. Although she was fairly nimble for being within sight of seventy years, the hours spent gardening yesterday had left certain reminders in her joints.

  The young woman burst into tears.

  Liv went down on her knees. “Oh, honey, don’t you worry your pretty little head. We’ll figure this out. I’m Olivia, call me Liv, McAlister.” It was always how she introduced herself, offbeat enough to help people remember her name. As a businesswoman, that was a plus. “What’s your name?”

  “Jasmyn,” she blubbered, and then she took a ragged breath. “Albright.” Faint crow’s-feet at her eyes suggested over thirty but south of forty.

  “Nice to meet you, Jasmyn Albright.” Liv touched the woman’s arm. It was an olive tone, lightly tanned. There were traces of dried salt water. Swimsuit straps were visible above the neckline of her dress. Typically street people were tanned much more darkly. They did not wear suits and swim in the ocean. Perhaps Jasmyn was not, after all, homeless.

  “Are you absolutely sure this is the right place?” Liv asked. “Seaside Village looks a lot like the other beach communities.”

  “I’m absolutely, positively, completely sure!” Her voice matched her slight stature. Even in a high pitch of distress, it was soft. “Seaside Village is my favorite.”

  “Well then, you know that the streets all look alike here. It’s quite easy to confuse them.”

  The younger woman shook her head, adamant. “This is Westwind Avenue.” She gestured toward a distant corner. “And that’s Surfrider Street. I’ve parked here in this exact same spot every single day for the past week.”

  Liv eyed the endless row of vehicles smushed together, bumper to bumper, up and down the long block. It was true that her street was ideal for parking because it was only three blocks from the beach and, unlike spaces closer to it, had no meters to feed. From Memorial Day until Labor Day, it looked like this. To find the exact same spot every day would have been impossible.

  “The exact same spot?”

  Jasmyn nodded. “I come early.”

  “How early?”

  “Six thirty.”

  “My, you must really like the beach.”

  Jasmyn pulled a large towel from her bag and wiped her face with it, leaving dots of sand on her freckled, sunburned nose. “I love the beach.” Her voice dropped to a hushed, reverent whisper. “I could live here.”

  “Where do you live now?”

  Her chin trembled. “Out of my suitcase.”

  “Oh.” So much for Liv’s conclusion that Jasmyn was not homeless. “And that suitcase was in your car?”

  Tears gushed again. Her mouth formed an O, and out came a heartrending wail.

  Liv leaned over and wrapped her in a hug. She smelled of fruity shampoo and coconut suntan lotion.

  The scents were curiously clean for a person living out of her suitcase. Like the swimsuit and new tan, other things did not add up. Her toenails and fingernails were neatly painted a pretty shade of coral. Then there was the matching beach towel and bag, their stripes bold and the fabrics unworn.

  Perhaps Jasmyn Albright was new to the homeless business.

  Movement on the sidewalk caught Liv’s attention. She looked up to see a neighbor, Sean Keagan. There was a question in the tilt of his head and humor in the slight curve of his lips.

  Liv almost burst out laughing. His sudden appearance was no surprise. Keagan—as he preferred to be called—had a knack for showing up whenever she was about to get involved with a total stranger.

  The girl whimpered into the beach towel.

  “No worries.” Liv gave her one more squeeze and raised an elbow for Keagan to hold as she stood. “The cavalry has arrived.”

  Her one-man cavalry would never be mistaken for—what was the slang term?—a hottie. He was most definitely neither muscle-bound nor handsome. His hair was a nonshade between brown and blond that he kept short as stubble. A whisper shorter than her own five foot ten, he had a compact physique.

  Nevertheless, his strength rivaled a pair of oxen’s. One time she had watched him haul half a dozen bags of cement mix on his shoulders down the block.

  “What’s up?” he said.

  “Well, this is Jasmyn, and this morning she parked her car right here. That SUV is not it.”

  “Hmm.” He pulled out his cell from a pocket of his jeans, decisive as always about what to do in any given situation.

  That was the other cavalry-type thing about Keagan. He hummed with an energy that radiated competency and security.

  He punched in a number and put the phone to his ear. “Now what are the odds of having a car stolen right in front of Liv McAlister’s gate?”

  She chuckled. He knew the odds were good. Lost lambs had been showing up on her doorstep for years by various means. A car theft, however, was a first. Rather dramatic as well.

  So much for her silly notion to avoid needy people that day.

  Six

  Jasmyn pressed the damp, sandy towel against her face and cried as hard as she had ever cried in her whole entire life. She must look like an idiot, sitting there in the grass, bawling. But what else could she do? Everything was gone. Her friends were halfway across the country. She had no money, no clothes, no phone. She had sand in her eyes and—

  “Jasmyn, dear.” The stranger spoke. Something about her low voice comforted. Maybe it was the way she said Jasmyn dear as though it were one word. As though Jasmyn and dear meant the same thing and one couldn’t be said without the other.

  Her tears slowed. She craned her neck to look up at the woman, now standing. What was her name? Olivia, call me Liv.

  Liv smiled and her whole face twinkled, not just the blue eyes behind silver rimmed glasses. “My friend here is calling the police. Are you—”

  “The police!”

  “Well, yes. We have to tell them your car was stolen.”


  “Stolen! Stolen?”

  “Oh, my. You hadn’t realized that?”

  Jasmyn shook her head. “No. I was just…I just…” Just what? She was just stuck in a black hole with a whole lot of confusion and panic. Were all of her belongings really gone? How did this happen twice in one lifetime? Why—

  “Honey? Can you talk to them?”

  “Them?”

  “The police.”

  Jasmyn took a shaky breath. “Okay.”

  “Thatta girl. This is Keagan, my neighbor.”

  A man stepped around Liv. He nodded at her, talking into a cell phone. “I’ll put her on.” He handed the phone to her.

  It felt hot and too large in her hand. It was a newer model than hers, one of the smart kinds that always made her feel dumb. She put it to her ear, hoping it was right side up. “Hello?”

  A kind female voice replied, and Jasmyn wondered if everyone in California was nice. She had yet to meet a grump.

  The woman’s straightforward questions put her at ease, helping her to rattle off all the car information. Her knack for details was why she never wrote down customer orders and why her friends called her the queen of trivia. Names, numbers, and directions were always at her fingertips. She never lost her keys.

  No way on earth could she have forgotten where she parked her car. No way could she have forgotten the time she had parked it; its make, model, or license plate number; or the name and location of the rental agency.

  She ended with, “Why on earth would anyone want to steal a plain little white two-door rental?”

  The policewoman chuckled. “You’d be surprised.”

  When the conversation ended, Jasmyn stared at the phone. “I don’t know how to turn it off.”

  The man called Keagan took it from her. “Your car is a rental?”

  She nodded and thought about standing up. But seriously. Was there any reason to stand up? She had nowhere to go and no way of getting there.

  “Jasmyn, dear, where are you from?”

  “Illinois. Valley Oaks, Illinois.”

  “Oh! Then you’re here on vacation?” Liv sounded surprised.

  “Yeah.”

  “Is someone traveling with you?”

  As Quinn would say, Uh-oh, red flag. She’d say that California had earned its nickname, the Land of Fruits and Nuts, for good reason, and it wasn’t because of agriculture. Friendly did not mean trustworthy, and Jasmyn should always be on her guard against weirdos.

  If Quinn could see this guy Keagan, she’d tell Jasmyn to hightail it out of there ASAP. He was friendly enough to make the phone call, but come on, Albright, give me a break. Scary. No expression whatsoever. Have you seen him smile? No. I am not even going to mention those two mirrors hiding his eyes. Check out the hair. Hair? What’d he use? A brown marker? That’s one bona fide kook for sure.

  Liv said, “Can we call someone for you?”

  Jasmyn shrugged, not wanting to give personal information, and she wondered why such a nice woman would hang out with the likes of Keagan. It was probably all an act. The two of them were in cahoots.

  Liv went on. “You said you were living out of your suitcase. Are you staying in a motel?”

  Jasmyn’s neck ached from looking up at the strangers. She bent her head and focused on shoving the towel back into the beach bag, trying not to cry again. If she didn’t shove Quinn’s imaginary voice in the bag with the towel, she’d be sitting there all night in the grass because really, she was beyond frazzled.

  She had no choice but to trust these kooks.

  “I’m here by myself. I checked out of a motel this morning.” She got to her feet and smoothed out her cover-up dress. “That’s why all my luggage was in the car. I was leaving from the beach to go to…to go to…” Her breath caught. “To Disneyland. I had a reservation at the resort.”

  “Oh, honey.” Liv reached out and squeezed Jasmyn’s arm. “You’ll get a chance to go there and you will love it. For now, though, we’d better get you settled in. You’ll want to cancel credit cards and reservations. You need food and a place to sleep.”

  She blinked away fresh tears. It was too much to think about. “Any motel is fine. Whatever is close. I’ll pay you back, I promise.”

  “Now, now, no worries about money. And no motel room for you. I live right through that gate over there, and we have a room with your name on it. As a matter of fact, we have an entire cottage. Come on. Let’s go home.” She turned on her heel and walked away.

  A cottage with her name on it? Uh-oh. Should Jasmyn follow? Was she being kidnapped?

  Quinn’s voice again.

  But Quinn had not met this woman.

  Liv was tall and large-boned. Probably in her sixties. She wore sandals, khaki capris, and a brightly colored floral print blouse. Her twinkling eyes and quick smile were the stuff of fairy godmother tales. In a deep voice on the verge of a giggle, she had made the car issue disappear like a puff of smoke and offered to take Jasmyn home.

  Home.

  Could Liv McAlister be Hansel and Gretel’s hag in disguise?

  Keagan moved beside her. “Olivia’s the real deal, Jasmyn Albright.” Without another glance or word, he trailed after the woman.

  Jasmyn watched their retreating backs. What should she do? Spend the night on a park bench or follow the bighearted woman and her mind-reading friend?

  Her heart thumping in her throat, she picked up her beach bag.

  Quinn would have a cow.

  Jasmyn walked toward the wall she had noticed every day she had parked in her spot. It was impossible not to notice it. At least half a block long and probably twelve feet high, it was covered with green vines and gorgeous hot pink papery blossoms.

  In the center of the wall was a wide archway with a gate—more like a solid door—that, unlike now, had always been shut. To its right was a small sign made of tiles painted with flowers and lettering that read Casa de Vida, 157 Westwind.

  Jasmyn approached the doorway, now open, where Liv waited alone. Keagan was nowhere to be seen.

  The woman spread her arms wide and grinned. “Welcome to the Casa de Vida.” She pronounced it casa day veeda. “The House of Life.”

  Uh-oh. House of Life? Jasmyn was walking into some wacky cult place.

  “Come into the courtyard and meet my other neighbors.”

  Cringing at the image of herself as Gretel, Jasmyn followed Liv through the gateway, stopped in her tracks, and gasped.

  Liv chuckled. “Everyone does that the first time they come inside. Isn’t it lovely?”

  Lovely did not begin to describe the festive paradise before her. It looked like a movie set. Actors would have Italian accents.

  Plants grew everywhere, absolutely everywhere she looked. There were green leaves, from tiny to huge jungle-like. There were palms, tall and squat, strung with patio lights. There were pots of every size and color. There were blossoms of every size and color, up high and down low, giving off scents so sweet and thick she tasted honey.

  Several people sat or stood near a trickling fountain or at patio tables shaded by red umbrellas. Everyone talked and laughed.

  Almost hidden behind the garden and the people were the cutest little cottages she had ever seen. They were connected side by side, each one white and flat roofed with colorful window boxes. They sat in a crooked circle around the courtyard.

  Oh, she hoped it wasn’t a cult. “What is this place?”

  Liv laughed. “An apartment complex.”

  “An apartment complex? In Valley Oaks that’s a three-story brick schoolhouse built in 1926.”

  “Is that where you live?”

  “Sort of.” Yes, she did live in that building where everyone in town over the age of seventy had gone to middle school when it was a middle school. The building still smelled of chalk dust and glue and musty books. But it wasn’t where she was supposed to live. It was not her house. Not her home.

  “Sort of?” Liv asked.

  Jasmyn shrugged, her throat
too tight to speak.

  “Well, dear, it sounds full of history, like this place. The Casa was built in the 1920s too by a one-armed World War I veteran. All sorts of people have lived here. War heroes, television stars, movie stars, world champion surfers, a senator’s mistress, a gangster on the lam, an admiral with amnesia—well, the list goes on and on. Are you hungry? You arrived just in time for our Labor Day potluck picnic. Let’s put your bag on this bench here for now.” She lifted the bag from Jasmyn’s shoulder. “We’ll get you settled into number Eleven in a bit, okay?”

  Jasmyn glanced over her shoulder. The gate was still open. It could be her last chance to hightail it out of there.

  Suddenly it didn’t matter. She had no idea what she was walking into, but she sensed that with Liv McAlister, everything was going to be all right.

  And she hadn’t felt that since the morning of St. Patrick’s Day.

  Seven

  Sam groaned under her breath, a trick she had learned within the first week of moving into Casa de Vida.

  Much as she liked her home—okay, after her summer stint at Berkeley in a two-window studio apartment above a Vietnamese restaurant, she could admit that she probably loved her home. And, yes, Liv’s cooking was an added perk. But despite her homemade meals, the matriarch of the Casa was…

  Well, she was impossible to describe. Something about her bugged the living daylights out of Sam. If they had to speak on a daily basis, Sam doubted she would have lasted for the past four years. She might have smothered to death by all the groaning under her breath.

  There Liv was now, dragging in yet another stray off the street, introducing her to everyone at the picnic, handing her a bottle of water, and ignoring the poor woman’s deer-in-headlights expression.

  Sam set a box of cupcakes on the serving table and uncovered it. Purchased bakery items were her typical contribution to the Casa’s occasional potlucks. Who had time to cook? Well, not counting the other residents who were either retired, unemployed, or worked part-time, nowhere near the sixty-plus hours she usually put in during a week.

  She watched Liv make her way through the courtyard, the stranger in tow. Sam guessed her to be a little older than herself, maybe around thirty-five and, judging from the deer eyes, in dire straits.