Bunco Babes Tell All

by Maria Geraci

  “I didn’t know repairmen made house calls at six a.m. You’ll have to give me his name.”

  “Um, I don’t remember it off the top of my head, but I’m sure I wrote it down somewhere,” Kitty said, feeling like the world’s biggest shit for lying to her grandmother’s best friend. But what was the alternative? “Oh, the red pickup truck? It belongs to a man I barely know that I invited in for a booty call.”

  “I can’t believe you’re thirty-five now! Of course, you don’t look it, not that thirty-five is old, but I’ll always think of you as little Kitty. I still remember the day you and your mother came here to live. When was that, twenty-five years ago? Do you remember Sebastian? You used to love to play with him.” Mrs. Pantini leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. “Don’t tell Armand, but Sebastian will always be my favorite cat.”

  Kitty couldn’t help but grin. Mrs. Pantini was just so damn cute. She thought back to that first day in Whispering Bay. Her parents had just divorced and she and her mother had moved in with Gram. Her mother had spent the morning crying, forcing Gram to oversee the movers. Afterward, Gram took Kitty next door to meet Mrs. Pantini, who in turn introduced her to Sebastian and the best sugar cookies in the world. Kitty spent the next four years as a regular visitor in the Pantini household. Then her mother married Jim Lewis and they had moved into Jim’s house on the other side of Whispering Bay.

  Kitty pulled the gift out of her car. “I’m already running late,” she said, ripping into the blue-and-yellow-striped paper. “A couple more minutes won’t hurt.”

  Inside the box was a silver flamingo pin with two tiny rubies for eyes. Kitty recognized it immediately. It had been a gift from her grandmother to Mrs. Pantini after the two of them had founded their senior citizen watch group. Kitty had always loved it. “Mrs. Pantini, I can’t accept this!”

  “Call me Viola. Mrs. Pantini was my mother-in-law.” She smiled. “I always knew I would give it to you one day. It might as well be now when I’m around to enjoy seeing you wear it.”

  Kitty fastened the pin onto the cream-colored shell and stood back so Mrs. Pantini, or rather, Viola (she would have to get used to that) could admire it.

  “It looks perfect with your outfit. Gives it just a hint of color.”

  Kitty fingered the pin, unable to keep from staring at it. “It does, doesn’t it?”

  “You know, all this hectic running around can’t be good for you. You need to learn to de-stress. You should come to my Saturday-morning yoga class.”

  “I thought you took that at the senior center.”

  “Normally, you do have to be a member of the center to take a class there,” Viola conceded, her blue eyes twinkling. “But in your case we can make an exception. We’re not that far apart in age. Seventy is the new fifty, you know.”

  Kitty laughed. “I might have to give that yoga class a try.” She hugged Viola one more time, then jumped in her car. It was eleven twenty. If she booked it, she should make it to the Harbor House in time.

  Now all she had to worry about was getting an ocean-view table. She put the car in reverse and prayed that Ricky, the assistant manager, was working today.

  9

  Ten minutes later and fifty dollars poorer (desperate times called for desperate measures), she was sitting at the Harbor House’s best ocean-view table. Thank God Ricky could be bought. The crowd waiting in the small bar area of the restaurant had practically hissed at her as she had breezed by.

  At exactly eleven thirty, Ricky ushered a tall, sandy-haired man to the table. Kitty had only talked to Ted a few times on the phone. She’d pictured him older, but he looked like he was in his late thirties, maybe forty. He wore a white knit polo shirt and khaki pants, which, despite the humidity, retained their perfect straight-from-the-dry-cleaner crease down the legs. He was good-looking, in a country-club sort of way.

  Kitty squelched the urge to pull out her compact and make sure her lipstick was on straight. She stood and shook his hand. “Mr. Ferguson, thank you for agreeing to meet me.”

  “I thought this place didn’t do reservations,” he said, taking the seat across from her.

  “They don’t.”

  His gaze sharpened in approval. “Let’s get right to it. I’m looking for someone who can help pull together a big land deal.”

  “I see.” There went fifty bucks down the drain. She tried not to show her disappointment. “I think there’s been a mistake. I specialize in single-family residential property.” She leaned back in her seat to allow the waiter to set their menus on the table.

  Ted smiled. “I never make mistakes.” He put aside the menu without opening it and ordered a glass of Glenfiddich, neat, and the house special. Kitty wasn’t hungry, but she ordered the special too, along with a glass of white wine.

  Ted pulled a business card from his wallet. “ ‘Help me help you find the house of your dreams,’ ” he read with a chuckle.

  Dear God, not that again. She took a sip of her water. “I’ve been meaning to change that.”

  “Why? It’s a great tagline.”

  She crossed her legs and began wiggling her right foot up and down in the air. It was a nervous habit, but she couldn’t help herself.

  “Let me tell you what I’m after,” Ted said. “I need someone with strong ties in the community. Someone who grew up here, knows the locals, that sort of thing. You come highly recommended.” His gaze drifted south. Kitty stilled her foot. Maybe the black stilettos had been a mistake. She hoped her face wasn’t turning red.

  “Who recommended me?”

  “Practically everyone in town. It appears you’re the local golden girl.”

  “That’s flattering, but . . .” She cleared her throat. “Exactly how much land are you interested in?”

  “Eventually, as much as I can buy, preferably all beachside. But for now, I want to start with ten acres.”

  She hesitated. “I have to warn you, this community isn’t too keen on what I think you’re after. Maybe you should try a little farther west, or maybe south? Where are you from, Mr. Ferguson, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “Call me Ted. Originally, I’m from Miami, but I make my home wherever I set my hat. And I’ve decided to set my hat here.” He said it like he was the new sheriff that had come to town.

  “What do you intend to do with the land?” Not that she needed to ask. There was only one thing he could want with beachfront property.

  “Condos, Katherine. But then, you’ve proven yourself a smart girl. You already figured that out, so let’s cut the crap. If it’s not me, it’ll be someone else. And if it’s not you, it’ll be someone else again. Condos bring in tourists, who bring in money and boost the economy. It’s as simple as that. There’s an entire market here just waiting to be tapped.”

  The server brought them their drinks. Ted pushed his to the side. “Take this place,” he said, waving his hand in the air. “Don’t tell me all those saps waiting for a table out there are locals. Those are vacationers from the nearby beaches here to taste a little bit of panhandle cuisine. This place was cited in Florida’s Best Spots to Dine, that’s why they’re out there. Do you think the owner gives a damn where his customers come from? It’s just a matter of time before Whispering Bay joins the rest of the world. Hell, there isn’t even a McDonald’s in town.”

  “There are zoning laws, Mr. Ferg—uh, Ted, that we can’t ignore.”

  “The land I’m looking at is already zoned for condos. And I’m not planning on building high-rises. Just a tasteful string of moderately priced units. The kind of place the little man can afford. Everyone wants to own a vacation home, Katherine. It’s part of the American Dream.”

  Except he forgot to mention that very few “little men” could afford the American Dream without renting it out fifty weeks of the year. Which meant more traffic, more beachside erosion. But he was also right about condos boosting the economy. The Harbor House was the area’s most popular tourist attraction. People drove from the larger neigh
boring towns of Destin and Panama City Beach to have some of their famous fried grouper and cheese grits. Ricky made a good living here. He had bought his first home from Kitty last year.

  “I happen to know the owner might be interested in selling,” Ted said. “To the right person, that is.”

  He had to be referring to Earl Handy. The Handys were Whispering Bay’s founding family. Cyrus Handy, Earl’s grandfather, had settled in north Florida in the early 1900s and opened a lumber mill that at one time had employed hundreds of workers. The mill had gone out of business in the seventies and Earl had sold off all the forested land, but as far as Kitty knew Earl hadn’t sold anything in years. He still owned most of the land in town and almost all the good beachfront property. He was in his eighties now and lived in seclusion in a house near Mexico Beach. The last time Kitty had seen Earl in town was at her grandmother’s funeral last year.

  “This isn’t exactly my area,” she said cautiously, feeling the need to remind him. “I’m afraid I don’t have any experience with this sort of deal.”

  “Don’t sweat the small stuff,” Ted said. “My partner’s a broker, as well as a real estate attorney. Teresa handles all the fine print and she’s a real sharpshooter. What I need is a local connection. Someone who knows the area. Like I said, if it’s not you, then it’ll be another broker. And I don’t think I’ll have any problem getting someone. The commission and incentive bonus I plan to offer on this is going to be sweet.” He pulled another business card from his wallet and held it out to her. “But after meeting you, I’ve made up my mind. You’re the one I want.”

  Incentive bonus? Kitty had no doubt Ted Ferguson could find another broker. And there was also no doubt she could use the money he was alluding to. Up to now, she hadn’t been very smart with her finances. With the commission off this sale, she might even be able to afford Gram’s house.

  The thumping in her chest rose to her ears.

  Ted was right. New construction meant jobs, more money for the local economy. If not her, then someone else was going to profit from this. Maybe she shouldn’t turn him down right away.

  She took his card. “Can I have a few days to think about it?”

  “I’m going out of town for the holiday weekend, but I’ll be back on Tuesday. Let’s meet at nine a.m. sharp. Your office.” He paused. “We aren’t going to have any repeats of this morning, are we?”

  “Oh no,” Kitty said quickly. “I’m not trying to make excuses, but last night both my toilet and my air conditioner broke down, and—”

  “Your air conditioner broke down?” He shook his head in sympathy. “God almighty.” He glanced around the restaurant and whistled under his breath. “It’s barely noon and this place is packed. I tell you, Katherine, this town is a gold mine.”

  Noon?

  Shit! She had forgotten all about lunch with Shea and Pilar. They were probably already waiting at the restaurant. They would be furious with her, or worse, they would worry that something had happened to her.

  Ted picked up his scotch. “Of course, I don’t have to tell you that for now, at least, we need to keep this deal under wraps.” He held his glass up in the air. It took a few seconds too long for Kitty to catch on. She clinked her wineglass a little too forcefully against his tumbler, but Ted didn’t seem to notice. “Here’s to making a truckload of money. If you should decide to come on board, that is,” he said, winking at her.

  Kitty smiled, feeling an awkward mixture of elation and unease. Ted Ferguson wasn’t so bad. A bit hard-edged on first meet, maybe, but so were a lot of successful businessmen.

  She would wait a few minutes, then politely excuse herself to the ladies’ room where she would call the girls and explain what had happened. Pilar and Shea would understand if she was a little late.

  10

  “I can’t believe you dissed us for a client,” Pilar said. “I rearranged my whole day so we could do lunch together.”

  “And my sitter can’t stay past two, so that only gives us time for this.” Shea held up a spoonful of ice-cream-smothered brownie.

  The second Kitty had walked into the restaurant, four servers carrying a gigantic chocolate brownie complete with lit candles had met her at the door. The entire place had joined in singing “Happy Birthday,” making her feel silly, but at the same time, it had been fun too.

  She winced at the stony looks on their faces. “I’m sorry, okay? How many times can I say that?”

  “So did you get this Ferguson guy to nibble on that listing on Ocean Avenue?” Shea asked.

  “Not exactly,” Kitty said, hesitating. “Apparently, he’s some big-time developer from Miami.” She glanced around the restaurant and lowered her voice. “He’s planning on building condos on the beach.” Keeping the deal under wraps didn’t include not telling Shea and Pilar.

  “Condos?” Pilar said, frowning. “In Whispering Bay?”

  “I thought there were zoning laws against that sort of thing,” said Shea.

  “Not if you don’t build them higher than three stories,” Kitty said. “But don’t go spreading it around. I mean, you can tell Moose and Nick, of course, but not anyone else. It’s kind of a secret for now.”

  “So, what’s this got to do with you?” Shea asked.

  “Ted wants me to rep him.”

  “But you sell houses,” Shea said.

  “I’ve sold lots before,” Kitty said, trying not to sound irritated. So maybe this was a little different, but not that much. Not really. “Nothing’s set in stone. I haven’t agreed to anything yet.”

  Pilar looked thoughtful. “Would this be a good thing for you?”

  “It would be friggin’ great for me. Money-wise, that is.” Kitty took her first bite of the gooey fudge brownie. There were probably a zillion calories in each spoonful, but she didn’t care. Today was her birthday. Last night, she’d had the best sex of her life. And less than an hour ago, she’d been offered the business opportunity of a lifetime. Whether she took it or not wasn’t the point. The point was that an outsider considered her the premier Realtor in the area. That had to be good. Despite the overflowing toilet and the broken air-conditioning, it had been a pretty fantastic twenty-four hours. A little celebratory chocolate couldn’t hurt.

  “So what’s this Ted Ferguson like?” Pilar asked.

  “Around forty, rich, and used to getting his way.”

  “Is he cute?”

  “Is that all you think about?”

  “Someone has to think about it. Is he potential husband material or what?”

  “Pilar! He’s probably married. Besides,” Kitty said, trying not to think of the way Steve’s eyes looked when they got all smoky, “I don’t think Ted Ferguson’s my type.”

  “If he’s rich and single, then he’s every woman’s type,” said Shea.

  “If Ted Ferguson isn’t such hot shit, how come he took up your whole morning, and why are you wearing your date pumps?” Pilar asked. “You know your legs look awesome in those.”

  “The shoes were a mistake,” Kitty said, concentrating on piling equal portions of brownie, ice cream, and whipped topping onto her spoon. “And he didn’t take up my whole morning. I missed our appointment and had to make it up to him with lunch.”

  Pilar blinked. “You missed an appointment?”

  “I overslept.”

  “Are you sick?” Shea asked.

  “No, Mommy, I’m not sick,” Kitty said, careful to avoid Pilar’s gaze. It was easy to fool Shea, but Pilar could always tell when she was hiding something. Face Reading 101 was probably a requisite class in law school.

  “I didn’t realize we had kicked your butt so hard at Bunco. You must be getting old,” Pilar joked. She leaned back in the booth and studied her. “You’re glowing. And it’s not a money glow. What else happened?”

  “Nothing,” Kitty said, taking another spoonful of brownie.

  Shea folded her arms over her six-thousand-dollar chest. “Pilar’s right. You’re grinning like an idiot.
”

  Kitty tried to wipe the smile from her face. But it was no use. Kick-ass sex must produce some sort of lingering endorphins. She was going to tell them eventually, so why not now?

  “Remember last night, when we were talking about my dismal sex life? Well, I fixed it. I got me some right after you guys left.”

  Shea’s blue eyes went wide. “With Ted Ferguson?”

  “No, idiot. With Steve the Plumber. I didn’t even know Ted Ferguson last night.”

  Pilar gasped. “You slut!”

  Kitty giggled. “I know.”

  “How did it happen?” Shea asked.

  “He forgot his snake and came back for it. Although, the more I think about it, I’m positive he left it on purpose. Oh, and he’s not a plumber either.”

  “Wow,” Shea said, snapping her fingers. “Just like that?”

  Pilar leaned forward. “How was it?”

  “It was . . . great.”

  “Great? That’s all we get?”

  “What more do you want?”

  “For starters, did he make you laugh?”

  “Oh yeah,” Kitty said, unable to keep the enthusiasm from her voice. “Multiple times.”

  Pilar pushed away the rest of her brownie. “I’ve just lost my appetite.”

  Kitty stared at her a moment, trying to figure out what that meant.

  “When are you going to see him again?” Shea asked.

  Kitty ran her spoon along the edge of the plate to scoop up as much ice cream as she could. “I’m not.”

  “What do you mean you’re not?” Pilar said. “I thought you just said it was great.”

  “It was great. But it was just for last night.”

  “You told him not to call?” Shea said.

  She must be eating the ice cream too fast because she suddenly got a brain freeze. She set down her spoon. “There was never any talk of calling. He came back to the house. We flirted a little, we had sex, and when I woke up this morning, he was gone. No big deal.”

  “No note?” Pilar asked.

  “He left me an apple on the pillow,” Kitty said.