Sun Scream

by Barbara Silkstone

  Grams’ contagious paranoia struck again.

  I boosted Grams into the front passenger seat of my Prius adding a threat for good measure. “I’m going to ask Kal to check your house tonight. If the Edsel isn’t in your driveway he has our permission to put you in protective custody—for your own good.”

  “Listen to Olive, Grams,” Lizzy said. “I want your promise.”

  “Promise—schmomise!” Grams grumbled. “Let’s get going. I know it’s out of your way to take me home first, but I don’t want to bump into Dave. He’s probably hanging around Lizzy’s place as usual.”

  I cut my eyes to Lizzy but said nothing. Time enough for an explanation after we dropped Miss Cranky Pants at her abode.

  I headed to Grams’ cottage in Old Town. The town was quiet but that could change at any minute.

  Lizzy walked Grams to her door. I waited in my car while she checked the house to be sure there were no potential candlestick victims lurking and then kissed her grandmother on the top of her head. My diligent friend lingered on the step, tested the doorknob to be sure Grams locked it, and then wiggle-walked down the stairs.

  “What’s this sudden animosity Grams has towards Dave? Did I miss something?” I asked as she pulled the car door shut and buckled her seat belt.

  Lizzy ran a hand through her long light brown curls as she laid her head against the back of the seat. “Grams wanted to do a community interest story in the Silverfish Gazette on Dave being the new owner of Crabby Nancy’s Fried Fish. He flat out refused. She’s not accustomed to being turned down.”

  “They had an argument?”

  “More like he said no, turned his back on her, and walked away.” Lizzy sighed. “Now they’re both mad at each other.”

  “You’d think he’d want the free publicity.”

  “He’s been so cantankerous since Nancy deeded the restaurant to him.” Lizzy turned to look out the side window. “Maybe it has more to do with me. I don’t really care anymore. You know when a relationship is over. It’s like a squeezed lemon—all the juice is gone and you’re left with the sour pulp.”

  “Dave’s always short tempered. But you’ve been with him for years. He must have some redeeming qualities.” I took a quick glance at her as I stopped at a red light.

  “Four years but it feels like eight. Maybe it’s the restaurant that’s eating at him—it does give off crabby vibes.” A little snort escaped her nose.

  The light turned green and I drove on.

  “It might have something to do with Heather. Now that she’s living with me, he can’t spend the night unless she’s overnighting with a friend. He’s feeling deprived.”

  She ran her hand through her hair again. “Heather is my responsibility. I have to do what’s right for her.”

  “That might account for his sour moods,” I said.

  “Home life or restaurant, whatever’s bothering him, he’d better get his act together. I have too much on my mind to fluff his pillows.”

  We burst into one of our partner giggles.

  “Is that what it’s called now? Pillow fluffing?” I swiped a laugh tear from under my eye.

  “Dave is more a backroom kind of guy—I mean that in a dealing with the public way,” Lizzy said. “Hildy, the hostess, says customers are mentioning they miss Nancy. As surly as she was, the woman added personality to the place. People loved seeing her move among the tables snipping and snarking. Dave should leave the kitchen now and then—circulate and be a little crabby with the customers. They love that stuff.”

  “Dave never impressed me as a people person. You can’t change a loner—all you get is an antisocial eight hundred-pound gorilla.”

  I turned into Shrimp Bay and made the final right onto Kelp Circle.

  Lizzy’s house was a white two-story house similar to the rest of the homes in the community except that Dave’s pickup truck was parked in the driveway.

  “Great. Dave’s home.” Lizzy groaned. “Stop in for a second. Heather will be disappointed if you don’t poke your head in her room.”

  We got out of my car and walked up the steps. It must have been the sound of Lizzy’s voice or canine ESP but I heard WonderDog bound to the door. He barked what distinctly sounded like a ‘come in! come in!’

  Lizzy grabbed the doorjamb with her left hand, steadied her feet, and braced for the impact.

  WonderDog hit her with a clout. Standing on his hind legs he was almost as tall as his beloved mistress. The rescue hound was all tongue and Brillo hair as he slobbered her from head to toe and back again. Once he was done leaving his stamp of approval on Lizzy he jumped me. Thankfully he spent most of his drool on her. I was the recipient of a dry slurp.

  The delicious aroma of roast chicken enticed me to follow Lizzy through the house and into the kitchen.

  Dave turned from the stove to greet us. His hi was as low as a snake’s belly.

  “Smells good.” Lizzy said, giving him a hug.

  “We were with Jaimie.” She kept her story light, not going into the details. “She explained our parts in the murder mystery party. It’s going to be so much fun!’

  Dave moved to the cutting board at the edge of the sink. He picked up a peeled cucumber and began slicing with the precision of a machine. “I’m not going.” He picked up another cuke.

  “You promised me you’d go. Your assistant is covering for you, right?”

  Dave paused in mid-slice. “I’m not up to parties and certainly not in the mood for Jaimie’s tipsy yammering.” He went back to cutting. “Now let’s drop the subject. Olive staying for dinner?” He addressed her, not me.

  “Thank you, but no. I just came in to see Heather.” I gave Lizzy a raised brow look and stepped down the hall leaving her with the chicken-roasting grump.

  I knocked softly on the bedroom door smiling at the pink sign framed in fuzz and lettered in glitter—it read Heather’s Haven. “It’s Olive! I’m coming in!”

  Heather lay on her stomach, a notebook with math calculations spread open in front of her. She leaped off the bed and ran to deliver an enthusiastic hug.

  “Miss Olive! I miss you! How’s Puff?”

  I chuckled. “Sweetie, we spent Saturday together! It’s only been a couple of days.”

  The child looked up at me with pale blue eyes reminiscent of her father. I’d only met Sterling Kelly twice, but he wasn’t easy to forget. A hard as nails lawyer, he blocked every attempt Lizzy made to secure a divorce from him. He’d taken pleasure in tormenting her.

  Sterling was now with the angels or more likely the alternative. Lizzy was legal guardian of his daughter by another woman. There were times when I felt as if I stumbled onto the set of a soap opera.

  After ten minutes of child chatter, I shared a hug with Heather and said my goodbyes.

  Lizzy walked me to my car, wringing her hands and lowering her voice. “Can you tell I’m stressing? We have to put on a good show for Sophia.”

  “It will work out. The profit we’re making minus the expenses split in two is skinny right now. But Sophia’s endorsement will put us on the map.”

  She looked over her shoulder back at the house before she spoke. “I’m having trouble making ends meet now that I have Heather to support. Her tuition is covered by the trust fund Sterling left but between soccer fees, art classes and buying this house in a child-friendly neighborhood, I’m feeling the pinch. The Shrimp Bay community fees just doubled. We can’t let Sophia’s endorsement slip away.”

  “We’ll spend tomorrow concentrating on getting everything shipshape. I have to run Puff to the vet for her checkup at seven-thirty. Bless Dr. Connelly for opening so early. I’ll be in the shop by nine.” I gave her a one-armed squeeze. “How could Sophia not love our boutique business?”

  “I wonder how much advice she takes from Fabio and her personal assistant? We have to please them also.”

  “Stop worrying. Fabio’s a nice guy and as for Raelyn, I’m sure she is too.”

  I drove away and tho
ught about Raelyn. I knew one other woman with that name and she was a total witch.

  Raelyn. I hoped the name wasn’t an omen.

  Chapter 8

  As I left Lizzy’s subdivision a call came through on my Bluetooth. The ID read Kal.

  “What’s up? A crime wave in Starfish Cove?”

  Our local black T-shirted gendarme sighed. The sound tickled my ears. “Need your help with Jaimie. She’s in one of her paranoid moods and I’m too busy to put up with her. Especially with Chip out of town.”

  “You know about the garage crash today?”

  “She just called me certain someone had cut her brake lines. I have a suspicion the idea came from Grams.”

  “I’ll try to keep Jaimie off your back, but no promises. You know how she gets when she’s in one of her flare-ups. It’s been a couple of months, she’s overdue.”

  “I don’t know how Chip puts up with her. Hang on.” Kal put me on hold and quickly returned. “That was Robbie. We’ve had a couple of break-ins in Old Town—looks like a gang from Tampa. Back to Jaimie. She’s called the station eight times this month and today’s only June eleventh. I can’t spare the manpower to keep running every time she hears a seagull cry.”

  Kal sounded exhausted. “Can you keep an eye on her, especially tonight? You’re so good at caring for people and I just don’t have the time.”

  “Flattery works,” I said. “If she calls I’ll tend to her.”

  I didn’t want to take on the responsibility but the Starfish Cove police force was perpetually understaffed. Kal’s assistant, Officer Robbie, was the only backup. Chief Hal Miranda bellowed orders to his son Kal who seemed to be running in a dozen directions at once while the chief sat behind his desk ruminating.

  Chief Miranda was like a giant oak with roots imbedded in its surroundings. He’d been Chief of Police in Starfish Cove for so long it was as if he was grown into the confines of his office. He rarely left the small room that girdled him. All the crimes from petty burglary to murder fell on his son’s shoulders.

  Kal thanked me and clicked off.

  I pulled into my designated space in the under-building-parking at the Sandy Shores Towers. Not in the mood to bump into Ivy LaVine or Myron Meyers—our new competition—I avoided the elevator and took the stairs.

  Ivy was one of those neighbors who insinuate themselves into your life. After I denied her attempt to insert herself into our cold cream business, she brazenly set up her own shop. She was about to open The Jivy Ivy, a cosmetic boutique located less than a mile north of Nonna’s Cold Cream on Starfish Boulevard.

  The sense of betrayal I felt was not so much from Ivy as Myron. My long-time former patient and retired mob boss was funding her business. Myron and I had history but Ivy and he were canoodling.

  At the front door I sensed Puff sitting on the other side. Unlike most cats that never condescend to leave the comfort of their seats, Puff almost always ran to greet me in a puppish way.

  Recently she’d taken to leaping from the ground to my arms. One minute she was at my feet and before I could blink she was in my arms. I juggled my purse and held her to me. She still had that soft kitten smell—like a baby, but feline.

  Since she was a foundling, I had no idea of her exact birthday but based on the vet’s estimate she was now about a year old. Full grown but only seven pounds with long hair that stood up most of the time, Puff was the perfect name. A birthday party was in order once we were past the business with Sophia.

  Time to get on with the preparations for Sophia’s visit. I had to organize my kitchen so it looked like a cosmetic laboratory. I tucked away the tea towels and salt and peppershakers and brought out the tubs of oils, creams, and scents. I lined them up on the long counter. I decided not to display the jars of Italian honey—the secret ingredient in Nonna’s magical cold cream.

  I stacked the smaller items on Lucite shelves and placed the empty jars in a neat stack, four high and twelve across.

  Somewhere in between buzzing around I managed to feed Puff and grab a bite myself. I was still in the clothes I’d worn all day. Time flew by. When my cell phone rang at eleven, I knew it was Jaimie without checking the caller ID.

  “There’s a prowler outside my house!”

  Chapter 9

  “Stay calm, Jaimie,”

  “Stay calm? I just called Kal and all he’s going to do is send Robbie to flash his police lights on the house and sit in the driveway for a few minutes.” She sounded near tears. “A lot of good that will do. My stalker will just wait until he’s gone.”

  “I’ll be there in a few minutes. Lock yourself in the bathroom with your phone. I’ll call you when I’m at your door.”

  She sniffled. “Kal said I cried wolf once too many times. I’m not crying wolf. Somebody is out to get me!”

  Armed with a can of hairspray and a flashlight I headed out the door. Driving over to Jaimie’s I practiced my therapist’s voice. The one I used to talk people out of the hysteria tree.

  It occurred to me to call Kal so he knew I was on the job. He got the phone on the first ring.

  “Robbie’s at Jaimie’s right now,” he said. “He doesn’t see anything suspicious. No cars, and no lurkers. I’ll have him stay until you get there. Thanks for taking care of her.”

  “Do you ever sleep, Kal?”

  “I did once but I didn’t enjoy it.”

  I laughed as I broke the connection. Two minutes later I parked near Jaimie’s plywood-accessorized garage door.

  Robbie smiled and waved as he drove off.

  I ran up the steps two at a time and rang the doorbell. “Jaimie, it’s Olive.”

  Soft beeps signaled she had deactivated the intrusion alarm. When the door swung open a ghostly Jaimie with an ashen complexion, haunted eyes, and wearing white satin pajamas, robe and slippers greeted me. She reached out and pulled me in almost jerking me off my feet.

  “I swear I heard somebody thumping around. They even banged on the bedroom windows! They must have been on the balcony.” She collapsed on the sofa, a crystal glass full of clear liquid that wasn’t water sat on the end table. It was half empty.

  “Banging on the windows is a good sign. If anyone wanted to hurt you they wouldn’t be making noise.” I wasn’t sure she truly heard any banging but then again, I wasn’t sure she didn’t. I drew on my psychology training. “It sounds more like an attempt to frighten you. Maybe neighborhood kids?”

  “The bedroom windows are accessible from the deck. They’d have to climb up the beach stairs. That’s more than kids playing a prank. That’s pretty brazen trespassing.”

  The only way to get Jaimie over her fear was to face it. “Let’s see what’s out there. Not to worry. I’m armed.” I patted my hairspray-laden purse. She might have assumed it was something more deadly.

  She grabbed an unopened bottle of vodka from the sideboard. She held it by the neck and raised it like a club. “Now I’m armed too.”

  “We’ll circle the house. Set the alarm and lock the door behind us so no one can sneak in.”

  We stepped outside. I watched Jaimie secure the house with shaking hands.

  “The only thing you have to fear is fear itself.” I said, unable to think of anything more reassuring.

  “Fear itself and every person on earth I’ve ever insulted.” Jaimie peered into the shadowy shrubbery and called out. “Stalker, if you’re hearing this, I’m sorry for hurting your feelings—whoever you are. I’ll never do it again!”

  Not so boldly, we marched down the stairs. Starting on the side furthest from the garage, we circled the building. Jaimie clung to my back, the fingers of one hand digging into the flesh on my upper arm. I surreptitiously slipped the can of hairspray from my purse—a tricky maneuver with the flashlight in my hand.

  Something rustled in the bushes. I jumped. Jaimie tightened her grip on me and raised her bottle-club nearly beaning me.

  I exhaled. It was the same adversary I encountered earlier. “Lower the vodka. It�
��s just a raccoon.”

  She gasped. “Look! Out on the water!”

  I turned my head so fast my neck cracked. Night clouds covered the moon, which cast an eerie glow over the silhouette of a cabin cruiser moored in the Gulf just beyond the breakers.

  “What’s that doing there?” Jaimie said, tightening her grip on my arm to tourniquet level. “Their lights are off. That’s illegal.” She trembled. “That’s my stalker! He’s come by sea to get at me!”

  “It could be tourists who don’t know the rules.” It was a dumb remark. Anyone who pilots a boat knows the basics of keeping a light on at night. The breakers weren’t exactly a calm place to anchor either. Suspicious but unlikely to be connected to Jaimie.

  “We’ll call the Coasties after we finish checking out your property.” Scofflaw boaters were not priority. I wrested Jaimie’s fingers from my arm before I lost feeling in my fingers.

  We finished the beachside of the house and turned the corner.

  “Wait!” Once again Jaimie’s nails dug in my arm. “I hear a car running in the garage! Maybe Chip’s home?”

  “Think! That makes no sense. Why would Chip come home in the middle of the night and start his T-bird? And we didn’t hear a limo or see lights. Chip’s probably sleeping in his hotel room in Atlanta.”

  “There’s no way the car would start running on its own. Is there?” Jaimie advanced a few steps. “Maybe there’s a wiring short or something like that—things guys know about—and it did start on its own. I can’t let anything happen to that car. It’s Chip’s second love after me.”

  This from the woman who filed for divorce a year ago.

  Tugging free I turned to face her. “I’m no car expert but I don’t think cars can spontaneously start. Let’s see if the garage door is open.”

  That was as dumb as what I said about the boat light. The door was as apt to go to the moon as ride up on bent rails with all that plywood nailed to it. But we had to see. Strange things happen—like the T-bird’s engine running.