by Mark Stone
“Yes, sir,” I said, swallowing hard. I didn’t call my grandfather “sir” much, mostly because he didn’t like it. In times like these though, when he was so concretely against something I was doing, I figured it was a small respect I could pay.
“Good,” he said, giving me one last look over. I was like one of his busted-up cars or boats. He was checking me for leaks, busted radiators, and rotted hulls. “Enjoy yourself tonight.”
“I doubt that very seriously,” I answered.
A smile brightened his face. “That’s my boy.”
With that, he turned and walked into the bedroom. I waited until his door was closed until I went to let Peter in. By that time, a second rap had sounded against the door.
“Hold your horses,” I said, pulling the door open. “I’m moving as fast as I can...” My words sputtered to a stop as soon as I opened the door. I was wrong about who was on the other side. It wasn’t Peter. In fact, on the list of people I wanted to see on a given day, this woman was on the polar opposite side. “Charlotte,” I muttered, suddenly feeling tense in completely different ways. “What are you doing here?”
She was a vision in the moonlight, a damned mermaid on the water. Her red hair fell across her face in twisty, wonderful curls. Her green eyes were accentuated by a smile every bit as stunning and alluring as the sea. And, just like the sea, I knew that if I fell into it, I might never make it out again.
She looked so different tonight. Covered in a simple sundress, daisies splashed against white, she looked younger. She looked like she did in the days that we were together, in the days I would have sworn on everything but the holy that she was the love of my life.
“I should have called,” she said quickly, her smile fading just a touch as she looked past me a little. “Are you- are you not alone?”
“No,” I answered. I watched her blink and breathe deeply before I realized what must be going through her head. “My grandfather’s in the next room,” I explained. “Oh,” she said, her expression lightening. “You’re just so dressed up, I thought you might be going on a date or something.”
“No date,” I answered. “I’m going to a party. It’s for work.”
“Right,” she said, looking a little confused. If she was, she wasn’t she only one. Charlotte and I had a connection in the past. Hell, it was obvious we still had a connection right now, but things had changed. We had both grown, and she was the mother to my nephew now. She obviously had no problem moving on from me, and she shouldn’t have. So, awkwardness aside, there shouldn’t have been any reason she wouldn’t think I’d have moved on. Why would she get so obviously deflated when she thought I was going on a date if that was the case though? In the same breath, why would I be so quick to dissuade her of the notion.
“What are you doing here?’ I repeated, completely forgetting my manners in the glow of her and not inviting her in.
“The other day,” she said, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes. “When you and Isaac went fishing, when you found…”
“The body,” I finished when it became clear she wasn’t going to. Charlotte never cottoned to the idea of death or being around it. I guessed that was probably true for most people though.
“Isaac left in such a hurry that he forgot to take his fishing pole with him.” She shrugged. “I was hoping you had picked it up.” Her smile brightened again. “I wouldn’t have stopped by tonight for it, especially seeing as how you have plans, but he’s going to take it to show and tell tomorrow. He’s going to tell everybody how he went fishing with his uncle.”
My spirit felt full in that moment. “Really?” I asked, feeling the smile widen my features.
“He’s so proud, Dilly,” she said. “You ought to see him. He’s never done anything like this before. I mean, I’ve taken him fishing a time or two, but I’ve never been any good at it, and you know how boys are. They want a man to teach them. They want their--”
“Dillon,” Peter’s voice sounded from behind Charlotte.
I watched her face fall, looking at me, and my heart dropped. Two minutes with Charlotte, and I had completely forgotten about my brother coming here. Now, because of that, she was about to come face to face with the man who got her pregnant and then refused to have anything to do with their son.
“What is he doing here?” she whispered, her green eyes like daggers in me.
“It’s complicated,” I admitted. “I’ll explain it to you soon. I promise. Just go inside. My grandfather will get the fishing pole for you, and I’ll take him away.”
Her jaws tightened and her eyes narrowed into furious slits. “Are you insane?” she asked, spinning around and really racketing up the decibel levels on her voice. “Why the hell would I be the one to run away in this situation? I’m not the one who did anything wrong. I’m not the one who brought life into this world and then abandoned it.”
“Good to see you too, Charlotte,” Peter said flatly. He was wearing a suit not unlike my own. Though, where mine had been a hand-me-down, something my grandfather wore at my graduation from the police academy, his probably came off the rack at some designer department store with a flowery foreign name. “How is Isa--”
“Don’t say his name,” she said, marching toward him with a finger pointed in his direction. “You don’t get to say his name. Do you understand me? You don’t know anything about him. You don’t know his favorite color, or which cereal he likes in the morning. You don’t know what kind of nightmares he has and you sure as hell don’t know what to do to make him feel better.” She shook her head bitterly. “You don’t know anything.”
“I know his name,” Peter muttered under his breath.
A fire ran rampant through Charlotte’s eyes. She reared back and slapped Peter across the face. His head whipped backward as he grabbed his cheek.
“I came out to see what the ruckus was,” my grandfather said from behind me. Startled at his closeness, I looked back to find him grinning ear to ear. “Sure am glad I did. I just wish I had brought my camera with me.” He leaned forward, talking past me. “You go on home, Charlotte. I’ll bring the fishing pole to you myself.” He grabbed my arm and squeezed. “And you get that trash off this boat.”
“Yes, sir,” I murmured, pulling away and walking toward the pair.
“You okay?” I asked, looking over at Charlotte, who was still breathing heavy.
“I’ve got to be okay,” she said, looking over at Peter. “I’ve got a son who needs me.” She looked back at me, and I couldn’t tell if she was angry with me or not. “See you later, Dilly.”
“See you later, Char,” I said.
As she walked away down the marina, I heard Peter sigh heavily.
“I didn’t mean to--”
“I don’t care,” I cut him off. “I really don’t care.” Anger had flooded me anew, anger at what Peter had done, at what he continued to do in not accepting Isaac, anger at myself for allowing them to come face to face and for needing Peter in the first place. “Let’s just get this over with.”
Chapter 17
The drive up to Storm House was a quiet one. I could sense that Peter wanted to talk to me, undoubtedly to go over what had just happened and to justify his part in all of it. I wasn’t interested. Though it might have been true that Charlotte went off on him a touch too quickly, I had nothing but respect for her, nothing but respect for all single mothers trying to do a job that two parents struggle with daily.
It made sense that she would feel fed up, that she would take the opportunity to give the bastard who helped create her son and then blatantly disregarded him a strongly worded piece of her mind. What could he say really that would make any of this better? I knew he had his reasons. He had a wife with fertility problems, a woman who obviously wanted nothing to do with the kid he’d fathered with another woman. That didn’t change the fact that there was an innocent little boy who would never get to know his father, a kid who needed a male hand to help him through the world.
We turned into the
driveway toward Storm House, the rod iron gates opening before Peter even had to press the brake.
Night had fallen on Naples, which meant the city lit up like a thousand twinkling stars, guiding the snowbirds and other tourists toward posh nighttime hot spots and lining the beaches with enough illumination to make continued walks safe. Not a star in Naples was as bright as the one atop this hill though, as Storm House.
The huge home which had housed all of my brother’s childhood memories and exactly zero of mine, was decorated for the impromptu party. Peter might have had to throw this together at the last minute, but you wouldn’t have been able to tell it.
As per my instructions, Peter let the party start and rev into high gear before coming to get me. I didn’t want to spend any more time in Storm House than I absolutely had to. It wasn’t my home and, nothing would ever make it that.
As we pulled up, I saw the oversized driveway lined with the most expensive of sports cars and luxury automobiles. My time on the force taught me that you could tell a lot about a person by what kind of car they drove. Most people drove what they could afford, but there were others for whom money was no object for. For them, they used their cars to compensate for what they thought they lacked in life. Huge trucks for short guys, sleek youthful sports cars for those who felt like their best days were behind them, flashy elegant town cars for new money, those who thought they didn’t belong in the upper crust circles they’d found themselves thrust into. Judging by the cars here tonight, nearly all of these people had something to compensate for.
Peter pulled up to the valet, who nodded at both of us. “Mr. Storm,” he said, looking at Peter. “Mr. Storm,” he repeated, looking at me. A strange sensation ran through me as I stepped out of the door the man opened and headed with Peter toward Storm House. Normally, I would have corrected the man. I was a detective. I had worked hard for that and, if he wasn’t going to address me by my Christian name, then I preferred “Detective” to “Mister”.’Still, there was something about being addressed in the same exact manner as my brother that struck me as odd. We weren’t the same, not at all. The people inside this house and places like it probably thought of me as a lesser, paler, bastardized imitation of the true Storm heir. For the people who populated places like Rocco’s and who knew what it was like to have to grind every single day for a living, I was the one who deserved looking up to. I was the one who had survived being cast aside and flourished because of it.
Either way, being relegated to the same status made me more than a little uncomfortable.
“There’s nothing to be nervous about,” Peter said as he neared the double doors leading us into the house. I could already hear music coming from the other side of the doors. It was soft classical music, maybe from a harp. Whatever the instrument of choice, it was light years away from the rowdy bar music and classic rock you’d hear when any of my friends threw a shindig. “These people are as fake as their noses at this point. They’ll be polite enough to your face, given the fact that you’re walking in with me. Of course, as soon as you turn your back, they’ll probably gossip about your greatest shame.”
“I know how to read people, Peter,” I said, reaching the double doors and having them opened for us by a pair of pale men in suits who nodded at us politely. “I’m a detective. It’s my job. I’m far from nervous.”
“You should tell your hands that,” Peter scoffed in reply. “They’re balled together so tightly, you’re undoubtedly losing blood flow.”
I looked down, realizing he was right.
“Father used to do the same thing,” he muttered as we walked in.
Quickly, I released my death grip on my own hands, half because I didn’t want to come off as nervous, and half because I didn’t want to do anything that would remind anyone of my father. He didn’t deserve that.
Once inside, I was overtaken by the sheer magnitude of this party. The room was completely filled. Men in dark suits and women in loud dresses moved through the expansive room as if they floated on air, smiling and laughing at each other as though every care they had in the world was checked at the door.
Looking at them, I had to remind myself that their cares were probably unlike those I’d grown up with. Their mothers likely never worried about where their child’s next pair of shoes were going to come from or how many extra shifts they could get to make ends meet.
I took a deep breath, tamping down the growing resentment in the pit of my stomach. If I was going to get anything from Richard Cash, I was going to have to make him feel comfortable, and I couldn't do that if I was spending all my time thinking about how much better off he’d been than me.
“If you would tell me who you’re looking for, I could point you in their general direction,” Peter said, standing in the foyer beside me. “People tend to stick to cliques in these things.”
“No thanks,” I said. I didn’t have any concrete evidence on Richard Cash to go throwing his name around as a suspect to civilians, especially my brother. “I think I can manage.”
‘Whatever you say,” he said, stepping away from me. “I’m going to go mingle. Help yourself to some refreshments. I’m afraid there won’t be any beer, though.”
“I’ll survive somehow,” I muttered, shaking my head.
Peter walked out into the crowd, disappearing into a sea of like-minded and similarly dressed individuals. I, however, definitely stood out from the crowd. It was obvious in the way they looked at me as I walked out into the group, in the way their eyes lingered and the hush that seemed to fall anywhere I walked and then dissipated right before I was out of earshot.
Passing by a pair of middle aged ladies with big hair, bigger jewels, and even bigger mouths, I watched them as they stared at me with unblinking eyes. With different surroundings, I might have thought their gazes held more lustful intentions. While that might be part of it today, it certainly wasn’t the most prevalent emotion. They were judging me and, from the looks of it, they found me lacking.
I couldn’t blame them. My suit was old and at least a size too big. Furthermore, I wasn’t sure my grandfather had done the best job with my tie. It felt a little too tight, though that might have just been the atmosphere. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t here to impress them, and I certainly had no intention of fitting in more than I had too. All I wanted to do was get close enough to Richard Cash to get some intel from him and get out of here.
So that’s what I did.
Brushing off the women’s gazes, I kept my eyes peeled for the man I saw in Jack Lacey’s picture. I had done enough research to be able to recognize him. He was older looking than he had been in the picture with Victoria. In the most recent picture I saw of him, his hair was shorter and a lot grayer than it had been when he was with her.
Grabbing a flute of champagne (because there really was no beer), I stood off near the far wall, and looked for my target. Instead, what I found was a picture of my father, Peter, and Peter’s mother framed over the fireplace. I stared at the oversized glamour shot, blinking and wondering what it would have looked like if I had been in it. If I would have grown up in this place, the way Peter did, would I have turned out like him? Would I be enough of a copy of my father that I too would have had it in me to abandon a son? And, if so, wasn’t I better off for not having been here?
Those thoughts swam in my head so strongly I pulled my gaze away from the picture. I needed to focus. I needed to keep my attention on the present, not the past or in some alternate reality that would never happen.
Then, as though that thought was the needle on a compass, my eyes fell on Richard Cash. He stood there, surrounded by people who seemed to be enthralled with his every word. Judging by the look on his face and the way the people encircling him were laughing hysterically, he was obviously saying something very funny.
I sighed. I needed to wait for him to get alone and, by the looks of it, that might not happen anytime soon.
“Quite impressive, isn’t it?” a female voice said from
beside me. Turning to my left, I saw a middle-aged woman with perfect bronze skin and bright red lips. Her hair was pulled back into a no-nonsense bun and her body was draped with a dress that matched her lips so perfectly that it couldn’t have been a coincidence. “He’s something of a people person. That’s why there’s so much talk of him running for mayor.” She shrugged. ‘Everyone wants it.”
I narrowed my eyes at the woman. “I bet,” I said, nodding at her. “The name’s Dillon Storm.”
“I know who you are,” the woman said, settling beside me without bothering to offer me her hand. “My name is Aubrey Cash, and the man you’re looking at so intently is my husband.”
And just like that, a new avenue opened itself up to me. I couldn’t talk to Richard alone right now, but his wife had just presented herself to me on a silver platter.
I smiled at the woman. “I can’t tell you how lovely it is to meet you.”
Chapter 18
I gave Aubrey Cash a polite smile and offered to refill her drink.
“It could not be more obvious that this is your first time at one of these things,” she said, smiling at me. “Someone will be by shortly if I want more to drink. We don’t have to worry about that kind of thing.”
I smiled back at her innocently, trying to come off as the country bumpkin she obviously thought I was. Better to be seen as innocent and non-threatening if I wanted to make her comfortable enough to glean information from.
“It is kind of different than what I’m used to,” I admitted, tossing an extra bit of “aw shucks” into my already Southern accent. “I’m guessing this is far from your first time.”
“I suppose that’s obvious too,” she admitted, still looking at her husband. “I used to hate these things, you know. When Richard and I got married, he was already famous. He’d get invited to all of these ridiculous parties and I’d have to go with him.”
“If you thought they were ridiculous, why’d you go?” I asked, tipping the glass of champagne up to my lips and tasting the bubbly fizz of it.