Pink Jinx

by Sandra Hill

  Jake immediately made his way toward her, which she’d expected. He knew she wouldn’t step foot into a casino, or come searching for him after all this time, unless it was important. People kept patting him on the back and shaking his hand, but he merely nodded at them and continued on his way. Even the ESPN reporter was waved off.

  When he got to her, he took her elbow and steered her down a side corridor labeled “Employees Only.” Not a word did he utter. But then she was a bit speechless herself.

  He stopped and stuck one hand into his jeans pocket, something he did reflexively when he was nervous. No one but she knew that he was probably fingering the silver worry beads she’d bought him during their Sappy Marriage. Or was it the Cowboy one? Taking off his sunglasses, he leaned his left shoulder against the wall. “Hey, Ronnie,” he greeted her in that low, husky voice that made her melt. Had made her melt at one time, she amended.

  “Jake,” she said back, matching his husky voice.

  It was a greeting routine they had played often in the past. To her surprise, he didn’t appear pleased. “What’s up?” he asked with equal measures of irritation and concern.

  She leaned her right shoulder against the wall, facing him. Forget old feelings of tenderness . . . or lust. She was angry once again. “My grandfather,” she snapped.

  He arched both eyebrows. “Frank?”

  “Yeah, Frank.” Veronica had called her grandfather Frank from the time she was only a few years old. Grandpa or Gramps was too soft for the man, even then.

  “What’s the old geezer done now? Did he find any more gold toilets?”

  Her grandfather owned a treasure-hunting company, Jinx, Inc., a play on his last name, Jinkowsky. A treasure detective, that’s what he called himself. Sort of like Clive Cussler’s Dirk Pitt, she supposed. Sometimes his projects involved deep-sea expeditions, sometimes archaeological digs, and sometimes just tracking down mysterious, missing objects. While he supposedly had a great reputation among historians, scholars, and museum curators for having made some important discoveries, he was known to take on infamous cases as well. Last year, he recovered a solid-gold toilet once owned by Mussolini. Some Italian prince paid a million dollars for the stupid thing. The story made all the newspapers. Frank had been quoted as saying something about even Mussolini needing a crapper and other unsavory observations. Her Boston family was not amused.

  Veronica refused to play teasing games with Jake, though. This was business. Serious business. “He signed Jinx, Inc., over to me.”

  Jake’s mouth dropped open before he clicked it shut. “You’re kidding!”

  She had his attention now. “But not only the treasure-hunting company. He’s given me his boat, Sweet Jinx; the Barnegat warehouse; his Long Beach Island house; and a bunch of his personal belongings. Without my permission, by the way.”

  Veronica had become increasingly dissatisfied with her job as a corporate lawyer this past year. But that didn’t mean she wanted to, or would ever, become a treasure hunter, for Pete’s sake. That would be like Donald Trump deciding to become a hula dancer. No, it was the field of corporate law that no longer appealed to her, not the law itself.

  Jake was clearly startled by her news, but he remained silent, waiting for her to explain. Talking to Jake was like playing a game of cards—she never knew what he was thinking, unless he wanted her to.

  Jake laughed. “You? Running a treasure-hunting company? Last time I talked to Frank, he said he was planning a venture that involved deep-sea wreck diving. Hell’s bells, Ronnie, you get seasick in the bathtub.” He was still laughing.

  “It’s not funny. I have a job in Boston. A steady job,” she added for his benefit. “I have no time for this nonsense.”

  Jake didn’t rise to her “steady job” bait. He’d heard it enough in the past. “So? Decline all the . . . gifts.”

  “I can’t. His lawyer says the trust he’s set up is ironclad. I just came from Harley Winston’s office in Asbury Park.”

  Jake’s eyes swept over her. “So that’s why you’re all dolled up.”

  She felt herself blush, though she hadn’t a clue why. Jake had said and done much more to make her blush over the years. “I went to a charity event for my grandmother in Spring Lake before I met with the lawyer.”

  He nodded, his face suddenly grim. Jake didn’t like her grandmother any more than her grandfather did.

  If he only knew how her grandmother had flipped when Veronica had told her where she was going tonight!

  “Can Frank do that—give you something you don’t want? Isn’t it illegal or something? Oh. Forget I said that.”

  They both knew her grandfather was up close and personal with all the politicians in New Jersey. Criminals, too, for that matter. Sometimes they were one and the same. He could probably do just about anything without being arrested.

  “If he’s given it to you, then sell it. No big deal!”

  “Hah! You would not believe the conditions he’s set up for me to liquidate anything. I’d be spending the next few years in court. Besides that, I’m not sure what Frank’s financial situation is until I look through the paperwork. I have a two-foot pile of folders in my car that Winston gave me. I might be liable for his debts as well.”

  “Frank always was a cagey one.” He said cagey as if it were a compliment. Jake frowned then. “Why would Frank do this? Turn over his precious company to someone who knows diddly-squat about treasure hunting—and who has no interest in learning?”

  Veronica winced at his last remark. Jake had always pushed her to get closer to her eccentric grandfather, who had often been downright cruel to her. Frank had assumed she was as judgmental as her grandmother, Lillian, who had divorced him more than fifty years ago. “I don’t know why,” she replied finally.

  He waited for her to say more. When she didn’t, he said, “I’ll bite, babe. Why not just ask him?”

  “I intend to. In fact, I’ve already spoken to my own lawyer back in Boston. He suggested I talk to Frank before I do anything.” She put a hand to her forehead and sighed.

  “Headache?”

  She nodded, waiting for him to say something sarcastic, like, “What? Your halo on too tight?” It wouldn’t be the first time.

  He said nothing, though, just continued to worry the beads in his pocket while watching her.

  “So, Ronnie, you came to me first before confronting Frank. Why?” Slowly, his eyes went wide with disbelief as he came to his own mistaken conclusion. “Un-be-friggin-liev-able! Don’t tell me you missed me.”

  That was a low blow. She would always miss him, and he knew it.

  Instead of appearing pleased, Jake shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. Judging by the movement of his fingers in the jeans pocket, he was worrying those beads like crazy.

  “Why? Did you miss me?” She regretted the words the second they left her mouth. “Never mind.”

  But it was too late. Some words couldn’t be taken back.

  Whatever discomfort he’d been experiencing melted away, and sparks sizzled in the air. The sexual attraction between them had always been spectacular. It was probably why she’d given in to him when she was a freshman and he was a senior at Boston U. It was probably why they kept marrying. But then, they’d learned the hard way that good sex didn’t necessarily mean good marriage. Even love didn’t guarantee a good marriage, as had so sadly been drummed into them four bloody times.

  He put a hand over his mouth and rubbed it back and forth, watching her intently. But he didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

  “I’m not here because of . . . us.” To her chagrin, her face heated. She was a corporate lawyer who had no trouble talking with high-powered clients and judges, but now she was floundering for words like a teenager.

  “Obviously! The last time we were together, you told me to hit the road and stay out of your life forever.”

  “Of course I told you that. You were already halfway out the door. Running away. Like you always do.”


  “Sure I run. You provoke me into leaving every single damn time.”

  “You avoid arguments.”

  “You love arguments.”

  “Maybe if you had stuck around one of those times, you might have discovered how untrue that is.”

  “I stuck plenty.” Jake’s jaw tightened as he visibly suppressed his temper. Apparently their last parting still rankled him. Finally, he ran his fingers through his hair and said, “I didn’t run. You pushed me out.”

  “Oh, Jake. That was two years ago.”

  “Uh-oh!” Jake stiffened at the sudden softness of her voice, and fear flashed across his face for a brief moment.

  Good heavens! Does he think I want to hook up with him again? And why would that scare him? Well, okay, that would scare me, too. Like a bad B movie. Return of the Living Idiots. “Don’t uh-oh me. I haven’t changed my mind. I am not interested in you that way. I came to you because Frank’s lawyer gave me some interesting information. It appears you are a major investor in Jinx, Inc.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Since you invested in Frank’s company, you must know what he was up to regarding me.”

  “No, I didn’t know Frank was handing the company over to you.”

  “It’s a corporation, isn’t it? Jinx, Inc. He can’t make that big of a decision without consulting his shareholders.”

  Jake laughed. “The Inc. to Frank means signed in ink. It’s not legally a corporation.”

  “Why did you just happen to dump that much money in his lap? Why not invest in something else, like, oh, let’s say, real estate?” It was a question she shouldn’t have asked. Jake was a rounder, a person who plays poker for a living. Taking risks was in his genes. She, on the other hand, was a grinder, a person who played safe; it was not a compliment, in her case.

  Jake exhaled with exasperation at her persistent questions. “I like Frank. I had a stretch of good luck. Simple as that. And why the hell not?”

  “Good luck? Good luck?” She was practically shrieking. “Give me a break! A hundred thousand dollars is not just luck.”

  “Let’s not beat that dead horse again.” His jaw, under the day-old stubble, was stiff, and his eyes blazed. Her criticism of his gambling was a perpetual hot button—a dead horse, for sure.

  “Couldn’t you have bought a savings bond or some IBM stock? I’ll bet you don’t even have an IRA yet.” Veronica grimaced as she realized that she had fallen into lecturing him again about being conservative with finances. Jake used to tease her about it. In fact, he had often joked that her idea of doubling her money was folding the bills and putting them back in her pocket. Still, she blathered on. “The investment-to-return ratio on blue chips has got to be better than treasure hunting and almost risk-free in comparison.”

  He relaxed and smiled at her. When he smiled like that, his dimples emerged, and Jake’s dimples pretty much amounted to lethal weapons of the most erotic kind. “Cupcake, when did I ever play it safe?”

  And that is the crux of our problem. Always has been. Always will be. “I want you to pull your money out and talk some sense into my grandfather.”

  “Still afraid of the old man, are you?”

  “I’m not afraid . . . oh, all right, he does scare me a little. I never win an argument with him. And he has a way of making me feel like I’m a condescending clone of my grandmother.”

  He gave her a quick once-over that said he agreed with that opinion.

  The jerk!

  “What makes you think I could do any better?” Jake asked.

  “He likes you. He always has.”

  “He likes you, too, Ronnie. You never gave him a chance.”

  The unspoken message was that she had never given Jake a chance, either, which was ridiculous. She’d given him four chances. She waited for him to say that he liked her, too, which he would normally have done, but he didn’t. Something is going on here. Jake is not acting his usual self. “Let’s put the subject of my grandfather in the ‘dead horse’ category, too.” She and Jake had never agreed about Frank and probably never would.

  He glanced at his wristwatch. “Listen, I have only another half hour before they resume play. I need to go meditate for a few minutes. What do you want from me?”

  Ouch! Talk about blunt! There was a time when he would have had me in the sack by now, game or no game. “I told you, Jake. Go talk with Frank.”

  “You go talk to Frank.”

  Blunt again. “Come with me to Long Beach Island.” She slapped a palm over her mouth. She couldn’t believe she’d said that.

  “I can’t,” he said sadly. “Five minutes next to you and I’m already all twisted up inside. You make—oh, shit!”

  Veronica turned to see what had caused Jake to curse. A young woman was approaching. As if watching a slow-motion vignette, Veronica saw the woman smile at Jake, ignoring her as she came up to them, then put her hand on his arm.

  In the old days, Veronica would have actually snarled at that hand on his arm. Now she just snarled inwardly.

  The girl—woman—couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. Definitely no cellulite here. Her wavy blonde hair was any woman’s dream . . . or man’s, for that matter. Her tall, perfect figure put Barbie to shame. Is Jake her Ken? She wore a black suit with a brass name tag. Probably a casino or hotel employee.

  “I just got off work, sugar.”

  Sugar? I think I’m going to be sick.

  “How are you doing in the tournament?”

  Probably good since he was one of five finalists in a million-dollar tournament.

  “I’m doing great.” He didn’t sound great. The bimbo—it was unfair, but that’s how Veronica labeled any of Jake’s women—tilted her head in confusion, first at Jake and then at Veronica.

  He sighed deeply, then said, “Trish, this is my ex-wife, Veronica—Ronnie—Jinkowsky.” His eyes held Veronica’s for a long while, as if he was sorry for something. Then he put his arm over the bimbo’s shoulders and said, “This is Trish Dangel.” There was a long pause before he added, “My fiancée.”

  Someone said, “Congratulations.” It had to be Veronica, but she couldn’t be sure since she was stunned. She couldn’t have hurt more if she’d been kicked in the stomach. It’s been lovely, but I think I’ll go scream now. Loud white noise roared in her head. Do not cry in front of him. Do. Not. Cry. She turned slowly and walked away from the couple. Jake called after her to wait, but she couldn’t stop.

  Once she had gone some distance, nausea overcame her and she rushed into the first ladies’ room she saw.

  The scent of industrial-strength pine cleaner and a floral deodorizer assaulted her senses. Luckily, the restroom was empty.

  Apparently, Jake had moved on with his life. It was unreasonable for her to be so stricken. Their relationship had always been doomed.

  Still, Veronica’s heart hurt, despite the divorces, despite not having seen him for two years. She was reacting so strongly because his announcement had blindsided her, she concluded.

  Satisfied with that explanation, she walked woodenly into one of the stalls, locked the door, and leaned against the wall.

  I don’t care!

  I don’t care!

  I don’t care!

  Then she gave in to the sharp pain in her abdomen, clutched herself around her middle, crumpled to her knees, and retched violently.

  Chapter

  2

  Desperate men do desperate things. . . .

  Frank Jinkowsky lay in his big antique bed late that night with his longtime girlfriend, Flora Clark—Flossie—nestled in his arms, her face on his chest. They were both naked. And both panting.

  He had no business shaking the sheets like this, being seventy-five years old, but then Flossie was a young chick—only fifty-five—and he never could resist her. She was so sexy she could turn on a cadaver.

  And who was he kidding? He had every business getting it on. As long as he was able. Contrary to general opinion, there were probably a whole lo
t of senior citizens doing the same thing right now. Use it or lose it. Definitely.

  When he’d first hooked up with Flossie, he’d been fifty and she a mere thirty. A scandal! Especially to his ex-wife, Lillian, who had a permanent pole up her ass.

  Although he’d learned the hard way that matrimony wasn’t for him, he would have married Flossie long ago, for her sake. But she’d balked, having suffered a bad marriage herself. Now, after all these years, the idea of a legal document seemed downright silly.

  “Was that as good for you as it was for me?” he joked, giving her a squeeze.

  Flossie peered up at him, without raising her head, and smiled. “Not bad for an old codger . . . especially without Viagra.”

  He chuckled. He didn’t need those blue pills yet, but he’d use them in a heartbeat if he had to. Pride went out the window when it came to a man’s favorite body part.

  “My breasts are sagging,” Flossie said out of the blue. “Do you think I should get a boob lift?”

  Now there is a loaded question if I ever heard one. He leaned down and kissed her. He loved her, sagging breasts or not. “Don’t you dare.”

  She giggled.

  Seventy-five years old and I can still make a woman giggle. Am I good or what?

  “I know why you wanted to have sex tonight,” she said, pulling the sheet up over them.

  Another loaded comment. But he was no dummy. He settled for a simple, “Oh?”

  “Yeah. You’re trying to divert my attention from that loco, asinine, stupid, impossible, harebrained scheme of yours. You’ve done some insane things in your day, but this time you’re going too far.”

  He laughed. “Why don’t you tell me what you really think?”

  She slapped him lightly on the shoulder.

  “Now, Floss, come on. You have to—”

  “I mean it, Frank. Nobody is going to believe you’re broke, especially not your granddaughter.”

  Frank wanted Ronnie to work for him, but he knew she wouldn’t come unless he gave her a really good reason. So, he’d come up with the idea of pretending to be on the skids financially and needing a successful project and her help to get him out of trouble.