by Mara Wells
William Donovan.
Oh, her Grams was such a liar. Riley let the information sink in for a moment, and then she picked up her phone.
* * *
“More tea?” Grams held the flowered teapot aloft, but Riley waved her off. Two cups of tea, four finger sandwiches, and one pear tart later, Riley still didn’t have the answers she’d come for. She’d need to unbutton her jeans if she drank another cup.
Riley crossed her ankles so that the toe of her sandal dug into the plush burgundy carpet. “Grams, you have to tell me. How did William Donovan buy the Dorothy back from you?”
Grams’ face, still beautiful underneath her carefully styled and sprayed-within-an-inch-of-its-life white hair, tightened in disapproval. Years of Botox injections made it so very few emotions were obvious on her face unless she wanted them seen. Grams wanted Riley to know she was annoyed. Too bad. Riley was annoyed, too, and needed answers.
“You always told me that the Dorothy was the only good thing you got out of your first marriage.” Perhaps a bit of prompting would get Grams talking about her past with William Donovan, a past she’d mentioned a few times over the years but, in very un-Grams-like fashion, never elaborated on, no matter how much a younger Riley’d begged. She didn’t think being one degree of separation from the Donovans influenced her hospitality-centered career choice, but she also couldn’t rule out her fascination with the one ex-husband Grams never wanted to talk about.
“That man.” Grams could’ve been discussing any of her three husbands or one of the many boyfriends she’d had since divorcing Number Three and swearing off marriage. Grams loved to fall in love, but she never stayed there long.
Grams waved an airy hand and then settled it on Henry the Prince, the Persian cat sitting daintily beside her on the mauve sofa. The Prince blinked his blue eyes at her, and Riley became even more annoyed because they reminded her of Caleb Donovan and how his baby blues had admired her. At first, anyway.
“Did you know he owned Rainy Day?” Riley was good at keeping residents, who often mistook her maintenance visits for social calls, focused on the business at hand, but her tricks didn’t work on Grams.
“No.”
At Riley’s skeptical look, Grams leaned back, straining the buttons on her paisley silk button-down. “I may have suspected, but I didn’t know.”
“What did you know?”
“That man. The third one. I told you about his gambling problem, didn’t I?”
Riley shifted in her seat, remembering what a rapt audience she’d been as a child, soaking up Grams’ glamorous love stories. As a proud descendent of Husband Number Two—the only one who’d died rather than getting tossed aside in favor of a newer, more glamorous love—Riley gloried in the drama of Grams’ descriptions of European travels and men who let her down. Who needed telenovelas when Grams was your grandmother? “He gambled away your love. That’s what you told me.”
Grams snorted. “More like he gambled away our home. Lost the Dorothy in a poker game.”
“How terrible!” Riley was sucked into the drama like she always was. She found herself leaning forward, teetering on the edge of her seat. “William stole your building in a poker game?”
“I didn’t know it was William.” Grams covered Riley’s hand with her own. “That good-for-nothing Number Three said he didn’t know the guy’s name, but he described him. Sounded like William. Back then, I didn’t want to know. Not really.”
“But you guessed?” Riley eyed the tarts. They were so good, and she could work the calories off pulling weeds or maybe finally installing the new drainpipe.
“When I got a letter from some lawyer saying I could live rent-free for the rest of my life, well, who else could it be but that skirt-chaser William trying to make up for all the times he cheated on me? I accepted the terms, and you know the rest.”
“Terms?” Riley lost interest in the tart. She’d heard about Grams’ rocky first marriage but never about any lease conditions. “What terms?”
“The usual.” Grams elegantly flipped her hand, a leftover move from her beauty pageant days. “No subletting, no pets. Funny thing, too, you know it didn’t become a fifty-five-plus building until I turned fifty-five? I’d complained to the manager about the couple downstairs fighting at all hours of the night. Next thing I knew, they were gone, and no one under fifty-five was allowed to rent. I always knew someone was looking out for me. Even in the bad ol’ days.”
The “bad ol’ days” were the years right after the divorce from Number Three. It was the end of Grams’ luxurious lifestyle. She’d done the best she could, raising her only child, Riley’s mom, on the salary she made as an office manager for a local accountant, but it was no secret she missed her high-roller lifestyle.
“You should’ve told me.” Riley filled her in on Caleb Donovan’s appearance yesterday, and Grams paled.
“So he’s dead. William’s dead.” Grams swallowed and gathered the Prince to her ample chest. “Oh, the greatest love of my life is gone! What will I do now? I can’t possibly go to my hair appointment while I’m in mourning.” A single tear dripped into the Prince’s coat.
“I’m sure you’ll rally by this afternoon. You never miss your weekly ’do date with Kelly.” Used to and certainly amused by Grams’ dramatics, Riley did a quick search on her phone. “Besides, he’s alive. I guess Caleb must be part of Rainy Day now.”
“That bastard!” Grams straightened so quickly, the Prince was offended and jumped to the carpet where he put his full attention to cleaning his back paw. “How dare he still be alive after all this time!”
Riley laughed. “Grams, I’m sure you’ll outlive him. You’ll outlive everyone.”
Grams smiled and poured herself another cup of tea. “That’s what I’m counting on, Riley. That and you keeping the Dorothy away from the bastard and whatever he has planned.”
Riley rose to go, looping the long strap of her cross-body bag over her shoulder. “I’m not sure what you expect me to do. He owns the place.”
Grams took a long sip, eyeing her over the rim of the dainty, flowered cup. “We women have our ways. You know what I’m talking about.”
“Grams, don’t be disgusting.” She leaned down and kissed Grams’ powdered cheek. “I’ll find out what Caleb Donovan is up to, and I’ll stop him.”
“Kiss that cutie-pie dog of yours for me.” Grams held Riley close for a moment and then let her go. “And if you see that bastard William, tell him I’m dead.”
* * *
The main reason Riley liked her current job was that it kept her close to Grams. Mom had done her best by Riley, but working her cruise-line job to pay for private schools hadn’t left them a lot of mother-daughter bonding time. It was Grams who watched Riley while Helen was away for weeks at a time, who signed field trip permission slips, who came to watch Riley kick ass in her high school debates.
“Where’s that puppy dog?” Riley added her sandals to the pile of shoes collecting outside her front door. At some point, she’d have to bring them inside, but her shoe-buying addiction meant she could put off that chore indefinitely. Inside, she shook out her hair and clicked her tongue for LouLou.
LouLou usually met her at the door, a furry tornado of excitement. It was raining, though, so she might be in one of her thunder caves.
“LouLou?” First, Riley checked her closet. LouLou loved to snuggle up with Riley’s dirty laundry and chew on a shoe or two while waiting out a storm. Nope, no LouLou. Next, she checked the bathroom. LouLou sometimes scrambled into the old 1950s iron tub between the curtain and the side. Still no poodle.
“Come on out, LouLou.” Riley checked under her bed, a less usual but not unheard of hiding space. Under the breakfast table. In the office? Living room? Riley wouldn’t let herself panic. LouLou was around here somewhere.
The rain outside picked up weight, hitting th
e covered patio at an angle and soaking the two Adirondack chairs. LouLou wouldn’t be out on the patio in this kind of weather, but Riley was running out of options. She slid open the door.
“LouLou?”
Spray filtered by the three floor-to-ceiling screens misted her hair and made her clingy white T-shirt even clingier. Riley checked under the Adirondacks, inside the igloo-shaped dog house LouLou never used, behind the giant potted aloe.
That was when she found it. Not her dog. The hole in the corner of the screen, low to the ground and just big enough for one terrified poodle to make a run for it.
Riley ran for the screen door and flung it open. “LouLou!” Her shout was drowned out by a crack of thunder so loud the patio roof shook. “LouLou!”
Still barefoot, Riley ran into the storm and out to the street. The rain blinded her, or maybe it was her tears. Lightning flashed. “LouLou!”
Chapter 6
“Lance, call me.” Caleb didn’t say any more, didn’t really even need to say that much, but somehow he couldn’t give up on contacting his brother. He slid his phone into the back pocket of his khakis and rested his hands against the tile countertops of Unit 207. He couldn’t start work on the building until the permits were approved, but he’d returned to the Dorothy today for another walk-through. Should units be combined to make more spacious accommodations, or should he jump on the small space-big style trend with minimalist Japanese décor and the ability to shoehorn more condos onto each floor?
There were a lot of decisions to be made before he met with architects and designers. He wanted the ideas to be his and his alone. He’d always been the numbers guy on his father’s projects, the second-in-command. Now, he wanted to be involved in all aspects, which meant he had a lot to learn, and he relished the challenge of launching a project on his own. The Dorothy wasn’t just another Donovan property; it would be a Caleb Donovan creation.
Or, if his brothers ever bothered to return his calls, perhaps a Donovan brothers creation. Not likely, though, and not what he wanted, either. Working with family again? Family he hadn’t talked to in years? It seemed a recipe for drama and disaster, his two least favorite things. His brain traveled through options, trying to find a loophole in Grandpa William’s conditions. What would satisfy his grandfather but leave Caleb with the Dorothy, free and clear? If it were his father on the other end of this deal, a large profit margin would be enough to sway him, but the way Grandpa William reminisced about the past lately made Caleb worry the only way out of this mess was to see it through.
Unable to solve that particular dilemma at the moment, Caleb looked out over the dog park, or rather, empty lot. He better not start thinking like the locals, but it was hard to think of it as anything else with the constant stream of dogs and owners passing through the area all day. He even recognized Lady, regally resting her head on one of the hacked-up tree stumps.
Like every day this summer, the storm blew in around five o’clock. Lady and the other dogs were called in by their owners, and one by one, they left through the gap in the corner of the lot where one chain-link pole listed far from the other. Some people had umbrellas, but most simply made a run for it, their dogs trotting beside them.
Today, he was nice and cozy inside, enjoying his solo trip through all the Dorothy’s possibilities. Measuring tape in one hand, he sketched out configurations on his tablet while rain beat against the windows. Maybe Grandpa William was right and residential property could be his thing. It was different to think of designing a home rather than a vacation getaway fantasy.
Thunder rolled and lightning lit the room while he debated the pros and cons of solar panels. The rain seemed to be letting up, but with another crash of thunder, it poured even harder.
A yip pulled his attention from the puddle and out the window. A soggy mess of a small dog sat outside, paw raised like it was hurt. The dog shivered. Caleb looked up at the sky that wasn’t about to clear anytime soon, shrugged, and headed out to get the dog.
The dog stayed where it was, shaking and obviously too terrified to move. When Caleb got close, he squatted and held out his hand to be sniffed.
“Hey there, little one. What’s going on?” He opened his hand and turned it palm up. The dog gave a tentative lick.
“Let me see that,” Caleb said, gently turning the dog’s paw. A small sliver of glass bisected the pad. “Ouch, I bet that hurts.”
The dog whined and nosed Caleb’s hand.
“Okay, buddy, let’s get you inside so we can get you patched up.” Caleb kept his voice soft, and the dog didn’t object when he placed one hand under its belly and lifted. The dog shivered and shook, pressing itself into Caleb’s side and burying its nose in his armpit.
It was a relief to be out of the downpour, but when Caleb tried to put the dog on the countertop for a closer examination, it clung to his arm.
“Poor little guy,” Caleb said, raising its chin with his finger to see its hot-pink collar. He flipped the tag. “LouLou? How can that be you? I thought you were a poodle, not a drowned rat.”
LouLou blinked trusting eyes at him, and he couldn’t believe he hadn’t recognized her immediately. Sure, she was about half the size she’d looked yesterday with her poofy curls plastered to her skin, and her fur was so pale that when wet it simply blended into the pinky-gray of her skin. Still, he should’ve recognized that sweet face and smooth tongue. Riley must be going out of her mind with worry.
“I bet someone’s looking for you right now.” He kept a steady stream of small talk while he extracted the glass from her paw and wrapped a fast-food napkin he found in his pocket around the injury. “Don’t worry, we’ll find your Riley and get you home safe and sound.”
LouLou nosed at the makeshift bandage, perhaps catching a whiff of burrito, then huffed and lay down on the counter, wrapped paw gingerly held an inch above the tile like she was afraid to put it down. Caleb checked her collar again and found a phone number under her name, but when he called it, no one picked up and the voicemail was full. He didn’t question the impulse, just saved the number in his phone under Riley-LouLou.
“What next?”
She tilted her head like she was listening to him but didn’t offer a plan of action.
“Shall we take you home?”
When he placed her on the floor, she lifted her injured paw and leaned against his leg. So that was out. He’d definitely be carrying this poodle around, at least until he found something more secure for the wound than a Taco Bell napkin.
Riley’s grandmother! She lived across the hall. With LouLou held tight under his arm, he knocked on the door hard enough that the number six danced against the cream-painted wood. He waited a few moments and pounded again. No answer. Now what? Riley’s place, of course. He held the dog on the elevator ride down, but like her grandmother, Riley wasn’t home, either. Maybe they were out somewhere in the storm together?
Caleb thought of the people leaving the dog park, the ones who must come every day, must see Riley and LouLou every day. Someone knew this poodle. All he had to do was find a dog park regular, and LouLou would be all set with a sitter until Riley got home.
“We’re going to be very wet, LouLou, but don’t you worry because we’ll be together.”
LouLou seemed content enough in his hold, even when he walked through the front lobby, out the entrance, and into the rain. She shivered and snuggled closer to him, twitching whenever thunder rumbled, but she didn’t try to escape or run. Surprised at her trust, he held her tight against his side and knocked on the door of the single-family house to the east of the apartment building. No one answered, so he dashed across the street to the next house down.
A deep bark warned him not to knock again on the hunter-green door, but a dog in the house was a hopeful sign. He knocked again, and the dog barked louder. The door opened a crack, then widened to reveal Lady’s owner holding Lady back by her jew
el-encrusted collar.
“LouLou!” she said, waving them in from the rain. “However did you end up with Riley’s dog?”
“I was at the apartments, and she was outside in the rain. She’s hurt.” He held up LouLou’s paw, and Lady gave it a thorough sniff, tail wagging hard enough to create a breeze.
“Damn kids and their beer bottles.” The woman gave a sniff every bit as loud as Lady’s. “I’ve got some creams and gauze in the kitchen. Follow me.”
“I met Lady yesterday, but I didn’t catch your name. I’m Caleb.” He followed her through a living room cluttered with handmade political signs declaring Keep Our Parks, Give Bees a Chance, and I Can’t Believe I Still Have to Protest This Shit.
“Oh, I know who you are, Mr. Donovan.” She pulled a plastic bin out from under the marble-topped breakfast bar and lined up small scissors, a roll of gauze, surgical tape, and an antiseptic cream. “Name’s Eliza. Bring poor LouLou over here.”
Eliza made short work of doctoring the cut, telling him about how she’d lived in this neighborhood her whole life. “Before all that development down on South Beach, you know? Good place to raise a family.”
“Did you?” Caleb kept his hand on LouLou the whole time, and she switched back and forth between licking his hand and Eliza’s.
Eliza let out a surprised cackle. “No, I did not, but this neighborhood’s like a family to me. Know everybody on this block and the next one over.”
Caleb smiled. “Does that mean you know where Riley might be?”
“Probably out looking for this mutt.” Eliza put the supplies away with short, economical movements. “She’ll be overjoyed to see her little troublemaker, won’t she?” Eliza touched her nose to LouLou’s and got a tongue up her nostril as a thank you. “For you.” Eliza slipped the poodle a treat out of her pocket and fed another one to Lady.
“What should I do?” Caleb rubbed the back of his wet head. “She doesn’t pick up, and her voicemail is full.”
