Up to No Good
The Siren Island Series, Book Two
Tricia O’Malley
Up To No Good
The Siren Island Series
Book Two
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Copyright © 2019 by Lovewrite Publishing
All Rights Reserved
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Cover Design:
Damonza Book Covers
Editor:
Elayne Morgan
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any means without express permission of the author. This includes reprints, excerpts, photocopying, recording, or any future means of reproducing text.
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If you would like to do any of the above, please seek permission first by contacting the author at: [email protected]
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Epilogue
Afterword
The Mystic Cove Series
The Althea Rose Series
The Isle of Destiny Series
The Stolen Dog
Stone Song- Sample
Acknowledgments
For the restless ones – may you always seek your joy.
“Travel far enough, you meet yourself.” – David Mitchell
Chapter 1
Lola didn’t open her eyes as she felt the sheets move, her lover rolling from the bed. She steadied her breathing, listening as he used the bathroom and dressed quickly in the early morning light. The apartment door squeaked, hinges worn with age, the tell-tale sign that once more a man was leaving her life.
“And thank god for that,” Lola said out loud, stretching decadently in the sheets that tangled around her still-naked body. Lola adhered to a strict “love ’em and leave ’em” policy that suited her lifestyle down to the bone. The few times she’d danced too closely to the flames of love, Lola had pirouetted away, with only a few singe marks on her heart.
It was better that way.
With so many men to sample, and so many places to visit, Lola approached life like the smorgasbord it was – with gusto and great enthusiasm. So what if she rarely stayed in one country or kept a relationship for longer than a few months? If anything, it provided her with diverse life experiences and enough knowledge of men to know how to get while the getting was good.
She’d been restless of late.
Not that being restless was anything new to her – it typically signaled that it was time for her to move on.
Lola leaned across the bed and unlatched the arched window, its wood dented and splintered with age and use, and swung it open. Propping herself on the pillows, she casually rolled a cigarette – a habit she only indulged in when visiting France or Italy. Lighting it, she watched as a thin curl of smoke danced in a slim ray of sunlight. Below, a child called out in rapid Italian, his mother responding harshly, and slowly the small fishing village hugging the coast of the Mediterranean sprang to life.
There were worse ways to wake up, Lola mused. And yet, the scene had lost its charm for her. For a brief moment, Lola allowed herself to wallow in melancholy as she listened to friends and family greet each other on the narrow cobblestone street beneath the apartment.
The life she’d cultivated was a rich and fascinating one, Lola thought, as smoke curled into the air around her.
So why did she feel so empty?
Chapter 2
Three men gathered around a woman sipping an espresso at a miniscule bistro tucked beneath a stone archway of a bridge, a sliver of the Mediterranean just visible through the buildings that clambered on top of each other, battling to claim a piece of that million-dollar view. The woman laughed, tossing a head of startlingly white hair, and reached out to playfully swat one of her adoring suitors on the shoulder.
Lola couldn’t help but smile.
“There she is! My darling!” Lola’s mother, Miriam, rose and rushed forward to sweep Lola into a bone-shattering hug, though they’d just seen each other days before.
“I see you’re enjoying your breakfast,” Lola said, while her mother held her at arm’s length and scrutinized her with a calculating look that only a mother could give.
“Always. There’s nothing like a fine cup of Italian espresso in the company of adoring men. You know how I love the Italians,” Miriam said, her smooth black linen shift flowing softly around her, a chunky necklace of intricate hoops taking the outfit from simple to interesting. It was something Miriam had an uncanny knack for – polishing up the mundane and making it shine – which made her a highly sought-after art curator. From hotel chains to private villas, her mother’s clients paid her to travel the world and source art pieces for their spaces. The job suited Miriam’s lifestyle perfectly, and Lola often found herself tagging along on a trip between her own various business ventures.
“I think all of Italy knows how much you love the Italians,” Lola drawled, and Miriam laughed, unoffended.
“They do make delightful lovers, so long as you don’t get attached. What’s not to like? They’re charming, they compliment you, and they’re completely comfortable with no commitments. I adore traveling here,” Miriam said, settling back into her chair, crossing her slim legs, and blowing a kiss to the men who had wandered away once she’d ignored them to focus on Lola.
It had always been this way with her mother, Lola mused with a small smile as she signaled the waitress for an espresso. Their relationship was closer to that of best friends than parent and child. She’d grown accustomed to it, and was often surprised to realize how much her friends struggled in their relationships with their parents. Miriam was… Miriam, Lola decided: effusive, affectionate, supportive, and always up for an adventure.
“I can’t say I blame you,” Lola agreed, stretching her legs out to admire her new sandals. Another thing to love about Italy was their handiwork with leather. “You’ve picked a particularly pretty part to visit this time.”
“Isn’t it grand?” Miriam said, sweeping her hand out at the sea. “I just love all these little villages tucked along the coast. They’re all so similar and yet so wildly different. I’ve found some marvelous pieces for my clients already.”
“It really is,” Lola said. She nodded her thanks to the waitress and took her first biting sip of the espresso, the taste invigorating her.
“Darling, I must say, I just love that color on you. That deep lavender is so nice against the red in your hair right now. It pops your eyes as well, but as your mother I can’t help but notice the dark circles beneath them. Were you up late? Did you meet someone?” Miriam leaned in, her face creased with concern.
“I did meet someone,” Lola said, and Miriam’s face lit up in interest.
“Do tell.”
“He was nice.” Lola
waved her lover away without a second thought. “But I haven’t been sleeping well recently. I’m feeling… restless, I suppose.”
“Time for another trip?” Miriam asked, sliding a slim cigarette from a gold-encrusted case and lighting it with a mother-of-pearl lighter.
“I’m on a trip now,” Lola pointed out.
“True, but there’s always the next adventure.” Miriam shrugged. “What are you looking for?”
“Isn’t that the million-dollar question? I love my life,” Lola said. “I love the freedom of it and the experiences I’ve been able to have.”
“Absolutely, darling. Just think of all the places you’ve been, the people you’ve met! I’m so happy that you’ve lived the life you have already. I’d never wish mediocrity on you.” Miriam shuddered at the mere thought and tapped her cigarette in the ashtray.
“No, I certainly wouldn’t either,” Lola laughed. “I just keep thinking that I need to build something or make something of all… this.” Lola spread her hands out to encompass the area around them.
“Well, you sort of are, aren’t you, darling? You write your wonderful travel articles, your photos sell marvelously, and you’ve made connections around the world.”
“It just feels very fleeting. I think I need something more concrete.” Lola shrugged, unsure of what she really was trying to articulate.
Miriam regarded her in horror. “You want to settle down?”
“God, no!” They both laughed at the thought. “I just meant that I’ve been thinking about creating something for myself. A business. Not just freelancing.”
“I’m intrigued.” Miriam nodded, running a finger over a slim gold band at her wrist.
“That’s as far as I’ve gotten. It’s only been in the last few weeks that I’ve started thinking about more. Just wanting more… of something.” Lola shrugged.
“Well, your birthday is coming up. I sometimes get a bit melancholy around my birthday,” Miriam mused, her bright hazel eyes – twins to Lola’s – turning to the sea for a moment. “Or maybe not melancholy. Reflective, I suppose. I hope you’re not having a mid-life crisis.”
“I am not mid-life, Mom.” Lola rolled her eyes.
“Well, you know, the mid-thirties can be a tough time for women. Everyone is getting married and having babies; you feel time ticking away and all that. It’s not unusual to step back and take stock of your direction.”
“You were married and had a baby,” Lola pointed out, draining the rest of her espresso and signaling for the waitress.
“Good lord, I know. What was I thinking?” Miriam mused, then shook with laughter at Lola’s face.
“Not the baby; I meant your father. We were always better friends than partners. I never should have married that man.”
“What about the four husbands after him?” Lola asked, raising an eyebrow at Miriam.
“Flights of fancy, dear. I can’t be held accountable for my impulsive soul.” Miriam shrugged, completely unapologetic that she was currently on the hunt for husband number six.
“Why marry them, though?” Lola wondered, after she ordered a pastry and another espresso from the waitress.
“Why, darling, it’s just the most fun. All the pomp and circumstance! Pretty dresses and a big party? Who wouldn’t love that? There’s nothing wrong with celebrating love. It’s the most important thing in the world, after all.”
Lola wondered briefly if her mother could accurately assess the difference between lust and love, but since she herself was no expert on the matter, she decided to drop it.
“As long as you’re happy, you know I’m happy,” Lola said.
“And same for you, my beautiful daughter. Which is why I’m worried that you’re in this funk. You know… I think I know just the thing. A colleague of mine was telling me about this psychic who lives in the village just over. I believe she reads tea leaves, or palms, or something like that. We must go. Are you busy this afternoon?”
“No, I sent my photo catalogue to the editor this morning,” Lola said.
“Marvelous!” Miriam clapped her hands, delighted at the prospect of a new adventure. It was impossible not to love her mother’s enthusiasm for life. “It’s a date.”
“To the psychic we go,” Lola agreed, tapping her espresso cup against her mother’s and leaning back to watch the people of the village wander past. Life went on, one way or the other, but it was always better with an adventure on the horizon.
Chapter 3
“Are you certain you know where you’re going?” Lola asked as Miriam tugged her down yet another twisty alley running through the backstreets of the neighboring village.
“Of course not,” Miriam declared, a wide-brimmed hat shading the sun from her face. “That’s what makes it an adventure.”
Lola raised the battered Leica camera at her waist. In a movement as natural as taking her next breath, she framed a shot of an old man reading a newspaper on the stoop of a crumbling building, the bright blue of the door providing an interesting contrast to his buttoned-up shirt in muted shades of red. She supposed it didn’t really matter if they got lost; she had nothing on her agenda for the foreseeable future. But there was a part of her that – every once in a while – liked to know where she was going. Perhaps that was what was currently bothering her, Lola mused as she took another picture, this time of the light filtering through the waxy leaves of a vine clinging to a wall.
“Here we are,” Miriam declared, coming to a stop in front of an arched doorway. The door was painted a deep purple with a gold knocker in the shape of a gargoyle, and a faded sign with the word Indovino scrawled in wispy font hung above it. Lola automatically snapped a picture before her mother rapped neatly on the door with her knuckles.
“Benvenuto. Come.” A woman, close to Miriam’s age, stood in the open doorway. Lola’s hands itched to take her picture as well, but she knew it would be rude to do so. A kaleidoscope of colors encircled the woman, from the scarves woven through her long hair to the tangle of necklaces dripping from her neck. Layers of fabric flowed behind her as she turned and traipsed into the dim interior of her home, apparently assuming Lola and her mother would follow.
Lola immediately liked the woman’s vibe – a no-nonsense take me or leave me type of attitude – and followed her through a dim hallway to a cozy room where low cushioned chairs surrounded a circular table draped in silks. In one corner, an etched glass lampshade portrayed Cupid with his bow; in another a reproduction Warhol Campbell’s soup can print hung in a gilded navy-blue frame. Shelves lined one wall, covered in statues of dancing pagans and bobblehead gnomes. The room should have looked cluttered, but somehow the overall effect just worked. Lola could all but see the wheels turning in Miriam’s head as she looked around the room with a dreamy smile on her face.
“My name is Aurora, and I welcome you so long as you welcome me.” Aurora spoke in thickly accented English, her gaze not missing a trick as she scanned their faces. Lola felt a pulse of energy push at her and automatically pushed back in her mind, a method she’d learned when she was very young to shield herself from others. If pressed to explain it, she could no more explain the mental tricks she did to protect herself and her energy than she could explain her preference for pistachio gelato over chocolate. It just was.
“Ah,” Aurora said, her brown eyes narrowing as they focused on Lola. Then she beckoned them to sit as she bent and arranged her dress around her as she took her own seat by the low table.
“I’m Miriam, and this is my daughter Lola,” Miriam said, sitting and smoothly crossing her legs at her ankles. “It’s lovely to meet you. Thank you for welcoming us into your space.”
It was something Lola had always appreciated about her mother and had learned from her. No matter how off-putting, strange, or awkward the people or situation might be, Miriam treated everyone they encountered in their travels with a graciousness and kindness that ultimately ended up earning her the respect of whomever they met.
“Yo
u are welcome here. Please, tell me, may I offer you some tea?” Aurora asked, gesturing to a small table along the wall with a kettle and cups.
“Oh, is that what you do? Read tea leaves?” Miriam said, smiling once more.
“I do not, my lady; what I need to know comes from here.” Aurora touched first her forehead, then her heart, and then the faded pack of tarot cards that sat before her on the table.
“Silly me – I wasn’t entirely sure what you were offering,” Miriam said.
“It is fine. Divination comes in all forms. Reading the leaves is not for me,” Aurora shrugged. “How may I be of help today?”
“My daughter is feeling restless with her direction. I heard of your services from Pietro at the woodworking shop.”
“Ah, yes, Pietro. Fine man,” Aurora said, a whisper of a smile flowing over her face.
“He is,” Miriam agreed, and both women chuckled in appreciation, making Lola want to roll her eyes and laugh at the same time. Only her mother could meet someone who had been with the same man as she, laugh in appreciation of his services, and not show a trace of jealousy.
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