“Okay, how about this. Why don’t you talk to Sally?”
“I thought about that, but, please. That’s the last thing I want to do. Miss Sympathetic would tell me to keep as far away from Meryl as possible. And I can’t do that.”
“Then I don’t know what to tell you to do.”
“You’re not much help.”
“Hey, if you didn’t want to hear the truth, why did you agree to meet with me? I’m your best friend, not your mother. I can give you my advice, and in this case, it’d be to come clean. And if you ask me again tomorrow, I’ll tell you the same thing.” Ev’s expression darkened.
“Quit doing that voodoo shit on me.” Angie shifted in her chair, folding her arms in front of her.
“It’s not voodoo. If you want to call it anything, at least come up with something Native American. Like ‘medicine woman.’”
“‘Medicine woman’ conjures up images of Jane Seymour in her long, designer-leather coat and clothes. I love her. But God, she was so annoying on that show, I renamed it, Dr. Quinn: Meddling Woman.”
Ev mimicked Angie by crossing her arms.
Angie held up her hand. “Cut me some slack here. It’s only the second day that Meryl’s back in my life—if we can call it that. Give me a little time.”
“How do you plan on showing her around to find Zach England?” Ev emphasized the name.
“We’re meeting at the docks in the morning. I’m taking her out on my boat.”
“To check to see if there’s a rich-looking author floating around on his yacht?”
Angie squirmed in her seat.
Ev focused on something past Angie’s shoulder.
“Please don’t judge me on this,” Angie said.
Ev sighed and tapped the table with her long fingernails. She shifted forward in her chair. “I’m telling you that this can lead to nothing but trouble—for her and for you. Mark my words.”
Angie tried to laugh, but it came out as a choked cough. “Is this another medicine woman foreshadowing?”
Ev stood up. “No, it’s Ev Durham worrying that her best friend will be hurt, along with the woman she loves. And I don’t know if you or she will recover this time.” She took her cup to the trash and tossed it away. “Call me. I hope you’ll have come to your senses by the time we talk again.”
Angie watched as Ev pushed through the door of the coffee shop. She tried to think of something she could’ve said to deflect Ev’s words. She took a drink of her cappuccino and grimaced. It had grown cold. She couldn’t help but think the same thing had happened inside her.
Chapter 16
Meryl stood in front of the Cozy Conch at eight the next morning. She’d forgotten to ask Angie what kind of car she drove. She dressed in a nautical theme: khaki Capri pants and a sleeveless white cotton shirt. The sunglasses on top of her head held her hair off her face.
A bright, baby blue VW bug turned the corner and pulled up in front of the bar.
“Hey, Meryl,” Angie said through the open, passenger-side window. “Hop in, and I’ll drive us over to the docks.”
Meryl put on her sunglasses, got in, and buckled her seatbelt. “This car suits you.”
Angie grinned while shifting into first. “The new models are nice, but there’s nothing like a classic. I was driving down Highway 1 into town one day and saw it for sale. The guy selling it was probably in his sixties. Said his wife told him he needed to grow up and get a real car. He looked like he was about to cry as he handed over the keys. It took me about a year, but I restored it. I still don’t drive much with the island being as small as it is. I try to run to keep in shape.”
Meryl stared at Angie’s toned thighs. “I can definitely tell you run.”
Angie had on a pair of Cleveland Browns shorts, and her tan legs were very visible. Her muscles tightened with Meryl’s comment.
They drove to the docks. Meryl asked questions about some of the buildings and businesses along the way, and Angie gave her a short history of Key West.
Angie pulled into the parking lot. “I’ll talk to one of the fisherman I know and ask him if he can tell me if Hal Morris has a boat and if so, the name,” she said as she got out of the car.
Meryl exited the VW and watched Angie’s leg muscles ripple as she strode toward the other end of the docks. She raised her sunglasses to get a better view. Damn. She was still hot.
* * *
Angie left Meryl standing by the car while she walked across the parking lot. She knew the fisherman she’d meet. She had no idea, however, what they’d discuss. It most certainly wouldn’t be Zach England.
“Herb! How are you?”
Herb Schoenberg was a thick, stubby man who’d been fishing off Key West for thirty years. He reminded her of Popeye—if Popeye were an ex-hippy. Herb owned one of the boats that took tourists and locals out deep-sea fishing. Like Angie, his tan darkened with each passing spring day. He wore his long, thin, gray hair in a ponytail and sported a beard that was always surprisingly neat and trim.
“Cantinnini. Long time no see,” he said as he continued to coil rope from his hand to the crook of his elbow.
“How’s fishing?” Angie ventured a peek behind her at Meryl. Meryl had stepped onto the dock and was walking the other way, looking at the various boats.
“Ah, so-so,” Herb answered with his Minnesota accent. “It doesn’t pick up here until later in the month. I took a group of college kids out fishing one day last week. Now that was fun, let me tell you. Reminded me why I moved down here in the first place. Jesus H. Christ! Kids don’t have no respect these days, you know? They were bitching and moaning the minute, and I mean the minute, we anchored offshore about three miles out. And then when it came to baiting their hooks…”
It never took much to get Herb going and once he did, Angie figured it would look to Meryl like she was having a heart-to-heart as to the whereabouts of a suspected resident author. She listened to another five minutes of how sissified the men were on the fishing excursion—“hell, the women were better at doing stuff than they were!”—and then disengaged from the conversation.
“Good talking to you, Herb.”
“Isn’t it about time you joined me out there? You used to like to do that from time to time.”
“I’ll let you know,” Angie said as she started to walk away.
His voice stopped her. “Nice. Very nice.”
Angie turned and saw Meryl approaching. “You got that right,” Angie said under her breath.
Herb laughed. “Take it easy, Angie.”
“You too.” Angie hurried toward Meryl to prevent her from going any farther.
“Any luck?” Meryl asked.
“I think so. Herb said he thought Hal Morris owned a forty-footer. Maybe we can do a tour around the key to try to spot him.”
“You have a boat here?”
“Yes.”
They walked toward Angie’s boat.
“Here she is.” They stopped in front of The Pride of Youngstown.
“I wondered if it was yours because of the name.” Meryl leaned down and ran her fingers over the polished wood.
“It’s a 1967 Chris—”
“Chris-Craft Constellation. Yes, I know.” Meryl had a distant expression. “My father had one just like it. We used to take it out on Lake Erie.”
Angie’s pride immediately deflated.
Meryl touched her arm. “It’s a beautiful boat. Don’t let the fact that my father had one ruin it for you.”
Angie opted not to ask Meryl about her father. No matter. Meryl had more to say on the topic.
“I haven’t spoken to him for several months. He’s dying.”
Angie searched for a clue to Meryl’s feelings about that news, but came up empty. “I’m sorry, Meryl.”
“I wish I could say the same.”
“Want to see below before we take her out?” Angie asked.
Meryl gave her a wisp of a smile. “Okay.”
Angie raised the hing
ed rail, hopped onto the deck, and helped Meryl aboard before closing the rail.
“I know you’ve been on one of these, but maybe…” Angie fumbled with the words, worried she sounded too proud of her boat.
“I want to see it, Ange.”
They stepped downstairs. Angie walked ahead while Meryl gazed around the cabin.
The salon area had a definite masculine appearance with the Cleveland Browns clock on the short wall by the stairs surrounded by Cleveland Indians and Browns memorabilia. Two small watercolors sat on the end tables—one of Hemingway’s home, the other, a rendering of the Key West lighthouse.
“This is you, too,” Meryl said.
Angie motioned to the Indians and Browns memorabilia. “Can’t quite get away from home.” She pointed out the galley on the right and the head on the left and stepped down into the next compartment. “Two berths here.” She walked to the end of the room and pointed forward. “And a large V-berth here in the bow.”
“Very nice,” Meryl said. “Lots of space.”
“Ready to take her out?”
“Absolutely.”
They went back on deck. Angie pointed to the bimini top that shaded the pilot area and part of the deck. “Can you handle the sun and wind? I like to take the top off in good weather.”
“I think I’ll be okay with that.”
“I can always put it back, so let me know.” Angie unsnapped the back of the bimini top, curled it up, and fastened it above the windshields. She walked along the side of the boat to the bow and released the bow lines, pulling in the three starboard fenders on the way forward and the port ones as she came aft. Meryl took care of the stern. Angie sat down at the captain’s chair and started the engines. She steered the boat out of the slip and docking area and into the shallows. Meryl stood beside Angie and put her hand around the back of the captain’s chair with her fingertips brushing Angie’s shoulders. As they got farther out, she leaned down close to Angie’s ear.
“It really is a beautiful boat, Ange.”
Her voice was low and recalled memories of another place and time when Meryl would whisper her needs while they made love. A shiver ran the length of Angie’s body. The sunlight hit Meryl’s sunglasses at an angle that allowed Angie to make out where she was gazing—which was directly at Angie. Angie returned to her task of steering clear of any incoming boats. She began her sweep around the island.
“What’s the name of Morris’s boat?” Meryl asked, craning her neck.
“The Gulf Coast Cruiser. I think that’s what Herb said.”
They made a circuit along the shore, slowing with each sighting of any boat that appeared to be a forty-footer. They of course weren’t getting anywhere and had almost completed a full trip around Key West.
“What about that one there?” Meryl asked while cupping her hand over her sunglasses.
“I don’t know. Let’s try it out.”
They drew closer. Angie recognized the woman behind the ship’s wheel. It was Felicia, a twenty-three-year-old local who, Angie suspected, had a huge crush on her. She wore a bikini but had a towel draped over her shoulders that covered her chest.
“Hi, Felicia,” Angie shouted and waved. “Your dad on board? Or are you out on your own?”
Felicia allowed the towel to drop to the deck, giving Angie a clear view of her very ample breasts. She leaned forward and pressed them together. The move made her breasts appear even larger. “My dad’s out of town. I thought like, what the hell? It’s a great day to be on the water. How are you?”
Angie slowed the engines to pull alongside Felicia’s boat. “Doing well. You?”
Felicia tossed her long dark hair off her shoulders.
Angie felt Meryl come up behind her. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”
“Sure. Meryl, this is Felicia.”
“And I’m Donna,” a deep, raspy voice said from behind Felicia. A very butch woman appeared at the top of the cabin stairs. She ran her fingers through her short, dark hair. Angie didn’t miss the flexing of her biceps with the move.
“Hi, Donna. Very nice to meet you. I’m Meryl.”
Angie noticed Meryl’s cutting tone. Jealous? Meryl’s jealous? Angie stood up a little straighter with the knowledge.
“Have you seen Hal Morris’s boat while you’ve been out?” Meryl asked.
“Who?” Felicia creased her brow, as if Meryl had asked something in a foreign language. “I’ve never heard of him.”
Angie cut in. “That doesn’t surprise me. I heard he keeps to himself.”
Felicia shrugged her shoulders and looked bored with the turn in conversation, apparently disappointed she hadn’t been able to strut her stuff a little longer before Donna popped up on deck.
“Nice meeting you, Donna,” Angie said.
Donna nodded with her arms folded across her chest, again showing off her rather impressive muscles. Angie made quick work of starting the engines and pulling away before Felicia started putting things together and asking questions that had no answers. The last thing Angie needed was Felicia saying something like she’d lived in Key West for twenty-one years, and come to think of it, shouldn’t she know this Hal Morris, and by the way, why were they looking for him?
They cruised along in silence. Angie realized Meryl was staring at her.
“What?” Angie asked.
“You sure are popular in these parts.” Meryl took off her sunglasses. Her eyes sparkled in the sunlight.
Angie chuckled. “Felicia’s a twenty-three-year-old kid with an unrequited crush. Nothing more.”
“You might want to tell that to her boobs. She had them pointed at you the entire time she was talking.”
“Are we jealous?” Angie glanced over at Meryl who had taken a seat in one of the other chairs on deck. Angie noticed her pensive expression.
“That’s a good question.” Meryl waved her hand to encompass the water around them. “I guess Mr. Morris isn’t out on his boat. We’re about to end up right where we started.”
Still contemplating Meryl’s possible jealousy, Angie slowed the boat as they closed in on the idle zone. She maneuvered into the slip, stern first, and cut the engines. Meryl nimbly walked the starboard side to the bow and tied the bow lines to the pilings, tossing the fenders over the sides as she walked up and back. Angie tied off the stern lines. She unfurled the bimini top and snapped it back into place.
“You seem to be at home on a boat,” Angie said while she helped Meryl step onto the dock.
“Angie, I don’t know if anyone has managed to break this to you, but The Pride of Youngstown is a yacht. And, yes, I did go out a lot with my dad when I was younger.”
Angie hopped onto the dock. “I choose to refer to her as a boat.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
Angie laughed. “Anything to make myself feel better.”
“I think I’ll do some research on Hal Morris online on my laptop when I get back to the hotel,” Meryl said as they walked to Angie’s car. “There has to be something on him, even if there are a lot of Hal Morrises out there. I’m hoping one might show up in Key West.”
“Sounds like a good idea.” Angie kept a blank expression.
They pulled up to Meryl’s hotel a little before noon.
“Can I treat you to lunch?” Angie asked.
“No. I’d better get going on this research stuff.” Meryl opened the car door.
Angie touched her arm. “Meryl, we really do need to talk.”
Meryl stopped. “Dinner. How about dinner at your place?”
“Tonight?”
“If I recall, you make a mean spaghetti and meatballs with some drop-dead homemade tomato sauce.”
“It’s one Italian dish I can’t screw up.”
“I can get to your place from here.”
“Let me give you my cell number just in case.”
“Good idea. I’ll give you mine, too.”
They punched one another’s number into their phones.
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“How about seven?” Meryl said.
“Seven’s perfect. That’ll give me time to go grocery shopping and then allow the sauce to cook down.”
“I’ll see you then.”
Angie watched her walk away. “Dinner. I’m having dinner tonight with Meryl McClain at my place.” She pulled away from the curb. When guilt over her deceptions about Zach England stabbed at her on the drive to the grocery store, she shoved it away just as hard as it pushed against her conscience.
Chapter 17
Meryl smoothed out the cotton blouse she’d tucked into a pair of black slacks. She put on her favorite pair of silver earrings and tried to ignore her shaking hands. She finished adding a touch of makeup, then ran a brush through her hair.
“Not bad for thirty-two.”
She spritzed a dab of perfume on one wrist and rubbed it into the other. She turned the collar up on her shirt and fiddled with it for a few seconds. No use pretending. This was a date. A real date with the only woman she’d ever loved.
* * *
Angie stirred the sauce for what felt like the fiftieth time. It had thickened to the consistency she wanted, but it had to be perfect. She’d made the meatballs, dabbled some sauce on them, and placed them in the oven to bake, along with the loaf of bread to warm. The pasta could wait until Meryl arrived. She’d almost bought spaghetti at the store, but remembered at the last minute that Meryl preferred rigatoni.
Angie lit the three candles on the mantle and hustled to the bedroom. She stopped in front of the mirror and debated whether she’d made the right choice with her attire of jeans and a red denim shirt.
The doorbell rang.
She ran her fingers through her hair one last time before leaving the bedroom. Okay, be cool, be cool. Angie opened the door—and gripped the doorknob so hard her knuckles turned white.
Angie’s dumbstruck expression was all Meryl needed to see to know she’d been successful with her appearance.
“I stopped on the way over and bought us some wine. I hope that’s okay,” Meryl said.
Angie’s mouth hung agape.
“Ange? Wine?” Meryl waved the bottle in front of Angie. “And may I come in?”
“Uh yeah. Sorry.” Angie stepped aside to allow Meryl to enter. “I’ll take the wine.”
Come Back to Me Page 13