by Gayle Roper
"You have a key?"
"You gave it to me."
"I did not." He had his moments, but he wouldn't forget that.
"You just didn't know." Mooch shifted to get more comfortable. "Last time I was here, I saw a key lying on your bureau. I tried it in the front door, it worked, and voila!"
"You do know that's theft, and I'm a cop, right?"
"It wasn't theft." Mooch waved away the suggestion. "You were right there when I took it. If you'd objected, I'd have left it where it was."
Rog thought back to the time Mooch had come into his bedroom a month ago. Rog had been shining his shoes, eyes on the black leather, not the kid.
"Someday, Mooch, you're going to go too far."
"Yeah. That's what Lori tells me all the time."
At the mention of Lori, the image of the woman he'd met that day sprang to Rog's mind, and he blinked. Instead of the leggy redhead, a little dark-haired pixie who was dealing with an anti-thief materialized.
"By the way," Mooch said, "Lori says hi. She's getting married."
Rog waited for the bitterness or the anger or the hurt, but none came. "The doctor?"
"Yeah. He's a weasel."
Rog laughed. "He's probably a nice guy. Your sister isn't stupid enough to marry a rodent."
"She was stupid enough to let you go."
"I got the best in the break-up." Rog pulled himself from the chair. "I got you."
Mooch grinned. "And now you've got me for the whole summer."
Rog headed for the bedroom. "Now I've got to get me out of this uniform."
The TV clicked back on.
"And then we've got to talk. Set some guidelines."
Mooch groaned. "What is it with cops and rules?"
"Guidelines, not rules," Rog called as he locked away his gun. He could hear Mooch muttering, or maybe he was talking to the characters on TV, telling Nathan Fillion/Malcolm Reynolds his troubles. No, he was muttering. About guidelines.
When Rog was comfortable in cargo pants and a polo shirt, he reclaimed the brown chair.
"Ok, kid, let's talk."
Mooch clicked off the TV again. "Do you think you could not call me kid? I'm eighteen."
Rog shrugged. "I'll think about it. Depends on how you do here. By the way, how'd you get here?"
"Lori and the weasel brought me. Then they ran."
It went without saying that they wanted to avoid what they thought would be an awkward meeting. He'd only seen Lori once since she'd dropped him, and it had been awkward, mostly because she acted as if they barely knew each other. He'd come to get Mooch for a ball game. Lori, obviously not aware he was coming, had answered the door. At the sight of him, she first looked horrified, then chilly.
Mooch galloped down the hall steps and came up behind her.
"Your former fiancé, Lori." He grinned at Rog. "See what you lost? He was a keeper."
Lori flushed, her eyes fixed over Rog's shoulder.
Mooch sailed happily out the door. "Come on, bro. We're going to have fun, unlike some people, who are staying home alone because they're losers!" He all but shouted the last because Lori shut the door as soon as he was through it.
After that she'd made certain she wasn't around any time Rog came for Mooch, who had somehow become like his little brother.
And now he was living here for the summer.
"No wine, no women, no whining, especially about church." Rog put on his stern cop face to prove to the kid he was serious. "You live with me, those are the rules."
"Where would I get the wine?" Mooch scratched his chin. "You don't drink. The town's dry. I don't have wheels. I don't have a choice."
"The town's dry as a bone. They just had a referendum last year, and the no liquor vote won by two-thirds."
"Bet that makes your job easier."
Rog nodded. "But there's still booze in town. It's just not sold here."
"What's next? No women? I hope you just mean no women in the apartment, because I plan to explore the beautiful beaches full of beautiful babes enjoying the sun."
"You know what I expect, Mooch. You treat any girl you date with respect, or we will have trouble before summer's over. Which will be sooner than you think if you give me trouble."
Mooch held up a hand. "I got you. And I agree. I'm not a total jerk. And I won't whine with an H about church. I knew church came with living here for the summer. But I do have another thing to whine about. I'm bored."
"You've only been here a couple of hours!"
"So I get bored easily."
"Well, you're going to be more bored. I'm going out for a couple of hours."
Mooch frowned. "What about dinner?"
"I'm being fed."
"I bet she's cute."
She was, but he wasn't telling Mooch about Nan. "She's probably in her mid-seventies, if I'm any judge. A nice widow lady. But dinner is dinner."
"Yeah, it is. What do I do?"
"Hit the boardwalk and get pizza or something."
"You going to drop me off?"
"No, you're going to walk."
"Walk?"
"It's about five blocks."
"To the pizza place or to the boardwalk?"
"Pizza. You know you need to get a job, right?"
"I want a job. I want money."
"I may have a lead for you. I'll know more when I get home."
"The seventy-year-old lady has a job for me?" Disbelief laced his words.
"Just let me check things out more. I think you'll like it."
Mooch made an indistinct noise but followed Rog out of the apartment. They walked together toward the boardwalk.
"You've got to be home by eleven, Mooch."
"Eleven? Are you kidding? I'm eighteen!"
"And I have to get up early to go to work. I need my sleep. If this is going to work, you need to cooperate." Unspoken was the knowledge that Rog didn't have to keep Mooch. "You don't have to go to bed if you don't want to, but you do have to be in. And you have to use earbuds for the TV. The apartment's not that big, and noise carries."
They walked up the ramp to the boardwalk. Two cute girls walked by, and Mooch peeled off. "Later, dude."
Rog shook his head. He wasn't sure what he'd gotten himself into by offering Mooch a place for the summer, but the kid needed someone, and he was it.
Present Perfect appeared in the distance, its royal blue sign looking as feminine as all the stuff inside. No wonder he'd not given it more than a passing glance before. He grinned. He had a very good reason to notice it now.
Chapter Five
Nan knelt before a box in the storeroom and pulled bubble wrap from ceramic angels destined to hang on the Christmas tree in her holiday corner. She studied the little figurines. While she liked most of Aunt Char's inventory, she wondered about these angels. To her eye, they were tacky and poorly executed. Suddenly the task of providing product for the store felt crushing. What did she know about what boardwalk shoppers liked?
"Aunt Char, I don't know if I can do this."
It was one thing to work here in the summers through college, to put items on display, stand behind the register and take people's money, even do some bookkeeping. But buying inventory? Assessing what people were willing to spend money for? So many small businesses failed. What if she didn't have Aunt Char's magic touch? What if she couldn't measure up to the trust given her?
She was struggling to become familiar with the items sitting on the shelves, and in a never-ending flood, new inventory was being delivered every day, things Aunt Char had ordered months ago but which had delayed delivery dates. How was she ever to learn it all? Even now, product could be walking out the front door every day and she'd never miss it.
The sweat that popped out on her forehead had nothing to do with the heat. She ran a hand down her face. Oh, Lord, I'm never going to be able to do this!
How she wished she heard Him answering, "You'll be fine, my child. I promise."
Her phone played her mother's r
ingtone. Nan sighed. Mom was the last person she wanted to talk to when feeling so fragile. She straightened her shoulders and made herself answer.
"Nan. Dear. How are you today?"
"Fine, Mom." Well, maybe not fine fine but definitely finer than she'd be if she were still slaving at Pizzazz.
"Good. You know how we worry about you down there."
Nan rolled her eyes. Mom made Seaside sound like the farthest tip of South America, not a mere couple of hours from home. "I love it down here, Mom."
"So you keep saying. What time can we expect you on the Fourth?"
July Fourth? "On July Fourth I'll be right here taking advantage of one of the season's biggest weekends."
During the silence following her comment, Nan realized what her mother was talking about. The Party.
"But Nan. Dear. It's our party."
One of her mother's two big events of the year. The other was her Christmas party.
"I'll be there at Christmas, Mom. I promise. But I can't come for the Fourth. I just can't."
"But you never had a problem attending when you were at Pizzazz."
"At Pizzazz I had holidays off. Here I have to work to take advantage of them."
"But it's your store. Hire someone to cover for you."
Sure, Mom. I'll snap my fingers, and someone will appear. Nan counted herself lucky to have Tammy and Ingrid to help her, and she needed at least one more person, preferably one who didn't mind lugging stock around. When high season kicked in the first week in July, it'd be all day, every day for her. There would be no dinners with Aunt Bunny and no parties at her parents' place until after Labor Day.
Nan slid from her knees to sit, pushing herself back against the side of her desk. She propped her elbow on one knee and slid her fingers through her hair. "Mom, I'm sorry; I can't possibly come."
"It's only for a day, two at the most." Hurt rang in her mother's voice, hurt and censure.
Nan didn't know what to say.
Mom's sniff carried clearly over the phone. "One would think you were fifteen, rebelling in this petty, thoughtless manner."
Nan's spine snapped straight. "Mom, I am not rebelling, and it's only a party."
An outraged gasp hit her ear.
"A lovely party," Nan added quickly. "A fantastic party." She made her voice gentle. "But Mom, it's only a party."
Another of those throbbing silences until, "But what will people think if you aren't here?"
Nan wanted to say that no one would care, but she held her tongue. The buzzer on the back door made her jump. Salvation!
"Mom, did you hear that? Someone's at the door. I've got to go." She clicked off and lurched to her feet. "Coming."
She opened the back door to the store to find Officer Eastman standing there in civilian clothes, khaki cargo pants and a deep brown knit shirt that matched his smiling eyes. He'd looked strong and authoritative in his uniform, but now he looked—she struggled for the word. Adorable came to mind, and she clamped down on the thought. He looked hungry for his non-microwaved dinner, that's what he looked, and she wasn't ready to go.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror on the outside of the staff bathroom door. Lots of words came to mind. Disheveled. Dirty. Wrinkled. Pasty-faced. She automatically fluffed her hair.
"I lost track of the time. I'm a mess. I've got to freshen up." Which she probably wouldn't bother doing if she were going to dinner on her own. Aunt Bunny wouldn't care what she looked like.
As she hurried to the store, she noticed he didn't contradict her about being a mess. Ouch. "Tammy, you're in charge. I'll be back in an hour or two."
Tammy waved as she continued to write something for a customer. "No problem."
Nan hurried back to the office and found Rog filled the small space with testosterone just by standing there. She took a deep breath and pointed toward the back wall. "Steps."
He looked confused.
"My apartment. Steps." She slipped past him and started up the inside flight from the office to the apartment. "Come on."
He paused at the bottom. "You planning to paint?" He pointed at the paint cans and supplies bunched up against the back wall.
She stopped, one foot up a step from the other, and glared at the paint. "It was the plan."
"Was being the operative word?"
Nan sighed. "The bedroom needs painting badly, and I had great ideas when I first moved in. Then I started to understand the demands of Present Perfect. Maybe in the fall when I can breathe again. If the shade of pink in the bedroom doesn't drive me nuts first."
"At least most of the time you spend in your bedroom you have your eyes closed." His footsteps fell firm on the treads behind her. "Is there another entrance to your apartment?" It was clear from his tone that he thought there should be.
"A front door down on the boardwalk and a staircase, so you can enter the apartment without going through the store or office."
He made a little sound as if that satisfied him.
She led him into what had been Aunt Char's summer residence. Most of the furniture was still Aunt Char's—her own was in storage near her parents' place in Devon about twenty miles west of Philadelphia on the Main Line—and Nan felt she was coming for a visit every time she stepped through the door. That it all now belonged to her still made her blink in disbelief.
Decorated in shades of blue and white, the living room screamed beach house but with class, not kitsch. Original watercolors of beach scenes covered the walls, but the best feature of the room was a large picture window that looked out over the boardwalk, the beach, and the ocean. A pair of swivel chairs sat in front of the window, and Nan loved turning one so she could look out as she read her Bible and prayed each morning.
Mom had wanted to rearrange the room the day Nan had moved in, putting the sofa in front of the window.
"But that blocks the view," Nan protested.
"It balances the room." Mom had definite ideas about feng shui.
Nan chose not to argue. "Let's go down and see the store."
Mom's back straightened. "I have to go. It's getting late."
It was two o'clock. "Mom, come on."
Mom gripped her purse and headed down the front stairs to the boardwalk. "I just can't, Nan. I am so distressed. You're making such a terrible mistake."
Mom left, but the chairs stayed where Nan loved them.
Officer Eastman looked around and smiled. "Very nice place."
"Thanks. I love it. Another gift from Aunt Char."
"Too bad I don't have an Aunt Char. I'd work hard to be her favorite nephew."
Nan grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and offered it to him. "Have a seat..." She skidded to a verbal stop. "Okay. What's your name? I can't call you Officer Eastman all night."
He grinned. "Rog. Roger. Rog Eastman."
"You don't meet many Rogers these days."
"I'm usually the only one. If someone calls, 'Rog,' I know they're calling me."
"Well, have a seat, one and only Rog. I won't be long. Oh, a black and white cat may slink out from wherever she's hiding. She was Aunt Char's and is still reeling from her disappearance. I'm encouraged, though. Last night, she sat in my lap for about ten seconds."
"I'll keep an eye out." Rog walked to the picture window. "Wow, this is wonderful."
She stood beside him as they watched the waves break, foam frothing gently on the sand. "I almost wish there'd be a hurricane or a nor'easter, not one bad enough that we'd have to evacuate, but one where I could sit here and watch the waves crash."
"Invite me over." He grinned at her. "Though in a scenario like that, I'll probably be working. Bad storms are all hands on deck."
Nan's phone played, and she pulled it from her pocket. She sighed. "My mother. Excuse me a minute, okay?"
She stepped into her pink bedroom. Why another call so soon? The last thing she wanted was an argument or an extended discussion that would change nothing. Nor had she the time. She glanced at the cl
ock by the bed. 6:30. Even if she and Rog left this moment, they'd be late.
"Mom, I told you I can't come."
"But Nan. Dear. Brandon Tully's coming expressly to meet you."
Nan made a face. Ever since the Tyler debacle, her mother had decided it was her responsibility to find Nan a suitable man. While she had found an amazing number of unattached men, none had been suitable as far as Nan was concerned. "Who's Brandon Tully?"
"He's Clarissa Manning's nephew, and he works on Wall Street. He's very handsome. Clarissa showed me his picture."
How nice for Brandon, though if he was such a catch, why was his aunt acting as his dating service? She pulled off her dirty clothes and tossed them in the hamper.
"You'll have to apologize to Brandon for me, I'm afraid. I can't come. He'll have to meet someone else." She grabbed a red top from a drawer and a pair of cropped pants from the closet and tossed them on the bed. She ran to the bathroom, flicked the phone to speaker, set it on the vanity, and scrubbed the sweat from her face.
"What are you doing?" Mom demanded. "I hear water running."
"I'm multi-tasking, talking to you and washing my face." She applied a sweep of mascara to her lashes and a quick slash of blush to her cheeks. If you lived at the shore, shouldn't you have a natural blush from the sun? But that would require you had time to be out in the sun. "Mom, I'm not interested in a guy right now."
"But Brandon—"
"Gotta go, Mom. Tell Brandon I'll see him at Christmas. Love you. Bye."
She hurried to the bedroom, tossed the shirt on and stuck her legs into the navy pants. She rushed back to the bathroom to comb her hair. She gave a quick squirt with spray in what was undoubtedly a vain attempt to keep some order to her long curly hair. The wind and humidity would have their way no matter what she tried. She shrugged. It was only Aunt Bunny.
"Well, hello, pretty kitty," came from the living room as she slid her feet in her sandals. Rog had met Queen Elizabeth, affectionately known as Lizzie.
Nan grinned. It wasn't only Aunt Bunny. She grabbed a bottle of her favorite scent and gave herself a spritz.
In the living room she found Lizzie purring as she pressed herself against Rog's leg. He bent and scratched her head. If Nan remembered correctly, it was the first time she'd heard the cat purr since she moved in. Nothing like a good-looking guy to make a girl forget she was in mourning.