“Is the chocolate coconut any good?”
Oh, for crying out loud, what was wrong with that woman? Suddenly, urgently, Libby wanted to know the answer to that question. She pushed off the bed and marched out of the room, fueled by something she hadn’t ever really wanted to confront before, but now she had to.
She’d just sent a dreamy lover packing because she wanted something so badly that she couldn’t even put it into words, and someone had to be blamed. Donna Chesterfield had just stepped on a land mine.
“The chocolate coconut is awful.” She made a lot of noise on each step, like a drumbeat to the argument she wanted to have. “And so are you for barging in here at midnight and interrupting my night without even a phone call of warning.”
Mom turned from the coffee drawer when Libby entered the kitchen. “Honey, you know I’m a night owl, and when you and Jasmine moved back here, you gave me a key and said this house was my house whenever I wanted it, and tonight, I wanted it.” She shifted back to the drawer and plucked out a K-Cup. “Oh, cinnamon pastry. Perfect! Want one?”
“No coffee for me.” She yanked open the fridge, spied an open bottle of Chardonnay, and seized it with a little too much desperation. “This is what I need.”
“He was leaving, right? I mean, he wasn’t answering the door carrying his shirt and shoes. Did I read that right?”
“Yeah, more or less.” Libby slid onto a stool at the island and poured a large glass, then took a healthy swig. “I just booted him out,” she said after swallowing. “Would you like to know why?”
“Not for his bad looks.”
Libby watched her mother get a cup and then find the milk, sugar, and spoon, her brain ticking away on all the possible routes this conversation should take. Was she going to blame her mother? Demand an apology? Just talk about it and work it out? Get help?
“I kicked him out because I wanted him to stay.”
Mom crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes to a dramatic squint, as if some imaginary director had said, Donna, give your best dubious look and make sure they see it in the back row!
“You see, I have a problem, Mom,” Libby said. “I can’t seem to have casual sex or easy flings or one-night stands or anything that doesn’t end up with a visit to a wedding planner followed by another to a lawyer. Why do you think that is?”
“I know exactly why it is,” she said, dumping too much milk in her cup. “You married a wuss, and then you married a prick. Please don’t try and blame your bad choices on some silly notion that you attach too much significance to sex.” She lifted the cup to her lips. “You didn’t place much worth on sex in high school, as I recall finding condoms in your room when you were barely sixteen.”
“Because I was reeling from the fact that my father wasn’t my father.”
Mom looked away, suddenly interested in rinsing her spoon at the sink, her back to Libby. “Yes, well, you know what a difficult spot I was in.”
Actually, she didn’t. “Twice? So difficult you had to make up another lie?”
“We’ve been over this,” she said on a sigh. “Old news. And now you know the truth.”
“Do I?”
She whipped around as if the words had hit her right in the back. “Yes, Liberty, you do. And that is going to get you the thing you are owed, a lovely piece of expensive real estate in the middle of a town poised for growth and success.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
Her mother drew her brows together, another practiced stagelike expression, and Libby sighed, wishing Sam were here to deliver this particular blow as legal news. And that her mother had bothered with basic communication during her flights of fancy to act in other countries.
“Law Monroe was Jake Peterson’s closest friend and, when Jake died, his roommate.”
The frown softened to something more genuine, something a little more like…fear. “That man who just left? He knew Jake?”
“He knew him, loved him, and was promised the Toasted Pelican when Jake died.”
Donna’s jaw dropped, also unscripted. “What?” she croaked. “But Sam said he’d checked all those possibilities, and he filed that notice in the legal journals. I thought we were months and months past the possibility of this happening.”
“He doesn’t have a physical will, just a verbal promise that Jake made on his deathbed.”
“Oh.” She huffed in relief, folding herself onto another barstool at the island. “Then screw him. We have birth certificates. Does he have anything else? Anything…else?”
“We’re about to have DNA, which will obviously be in our favor.”
Her eyes popped. “Excuse me?”
“Law and I found a men’s toiletry kit in the restaurant. It was full of personal items that contained his hair and skin. Sam has it at one of the best DNA-testing facilities in Florida, comparing it to ours. He used a courier as a witness to take our samples and sign an affidavit that the kit belonged to Jake—”
“But you can’t be sure!”
“Pretty sure. Sam thinks it has a good shot at holding up in court.”
“Only if it’s a match.” She slipped off the barstool and leaned closer. “You can’t take that chance and have the whole thing blow up in our face.”
“Why wouldn’t it be a match?” Unless her mother had lied.
“Because you can’t trust those labs. Plus, how do you know that thing you found really belonged to Jake?” she demanded.
“It had his initials on it, it was in a closet he used as an office and personal space, and Law recognized it right away as Jake’s when we found it.”
“Law?” She lifted one brow like a single arrow shooting north. “The man who says the Toasted Pelican was left to him.”
“Yes, that same Law.”
“Hah.” She snorted with derision. “How convenient that he was with you when you found it, this man who has no will but claims Jake left him the Pelican.”
Libby stared at her. “He’s not lying.”
“And he’s sleeping with you.”
“Once,” she said. “We slept together once.” And all Libby really wanted to do was wallow in that right now, not defend a man she hadn’t seriously considered would lie to her about this.
She rolled her eyes to the ceiling and shook her head vehemently, all Drama Mama again. “Isn’t that just perfect, though? He finds the thing that you think will help your cause and hurt his, but it turns out it’ll hurt you and help him.”
She blinked at her mother, heat rising. “Even Sam didn’t go there,” she said.
“I’m sure this Law character made it seem very natural and probably even let you think you’d discovered this alleged toiletry kit.”
“Nothing alleged about it,” Libby said softly. “It was definitely a toiletry bag, and I did discover it.”
“How?”
“I told you. It was in the closet Jake used for an office.”
“When did you find it?”
“A few days ago.”
Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “After you’d been in that restaurant for a year and, I assume, in that closet more than once.”
Every night. She just looked down.
“Had he been there alone before you?”
She didn’t have to answer, because her mother, who clearly had given Sam the cross-examination gene, was absolutely right.
“And did he guide you straight to this discovery, or did you just come upon it by yourself?”
Don’t forget the cash. I need both hands for this. In the closet?
And she’d thought he was just being thoughtful. And desperate for sex. But maybe he was being cunning and distracting her while guiding her right to the actual discovery…that he planted.
Oh Lord. They’d never even considered that. Even Sam believed him!
“I see you agree,” her mother said, calmly seated again, sipping her coffee.
“I don’t know. Sam honestly didn’t even think about that angle since I was sure…” She closed
her eyes, hating that the idea had ever been planted. She’d trusted him. The hardest thing in the world for her to do. Well, after casual sex.
“Libby, we have to get this DNA test pulled.” Mom popped off the seat to grab her handbag on the counter. “Let’s call Sam and tell him to cancel it and not file any kind of motion, or whatever he does, because this could ruin everything I want for you.” When Libby didn’t answer, her mother took out her phone and pointed it at her. “That son of a bitch owes you an inheritance after ignoring you for your whole life.”
Jake wasn’t a son of a bitch, was he? Not the Jake she’d come to know from Law. But maybe that was part of Law’s…game.
“Don’t call Sam now,” Libby said. “It’s late, and he’s in some hotel for a deposition this week. We’ll call him tomorrow, if I decide to pull that DNA test.”
“What’s to decide?” Mom demanded. “You know I’m right, and I would bet a million bucks it’s going to come back without the remotest match because it’s probably some fake thing he made so you look like fools in front of the judge.”
“Law wouldn’t do that.”
She sniffed, as if that said so much more about her opinion of “this Law character” than words did.
“He’s trying to help me,” Libby said. “He wants this decision to be fair and square. And so do I.”
“Fair and square is giving a man’s property to his biological offspring, and that is you and Sam. And is that why he’s sleeping with you, because it’s fair and square?”
God, Libby hoped that wasn’t true. But if it was, she was glad she booted him out. Except, it wasn’t true.
Was it?
“Has he found anything else? Or should I say, have you with his help?”
Libby frowned. “What else would he find?” But even as the words came out, she remembered the picture. But Libby had found that, right? Libby had thrown that book across the room and it fell out.
Or had he planted it?
Sighing, she dragged her hand through her hair, trying to even think of why he would do that. Because that picture supported her mother’s story. And if Charity’s date was right, it really supported it.
“What?” her mother demanded. “What is the other thing that you conveniently found that will ruin this for me? For you,” she corrected quickly.
Libby picked up the wine glass, drained it, and put it back down again before standing up to get the photo out of her bag. “Well, I can prove you wrong,” she said as the wine hit the black pit of fear lurking in her stomach.
“How?”
“Because I found this in Jake’s belongings.” Belongings that Law had packed and had access to the night before, knowing he’d convince Libby to go there with him the next day, but she kept that to herself. “He certainly wouldn’t hand me a photograph of you and Jake together, which would be something else that would help us in court and hurt him.”
“A picture of us together?” Her mother’s voice rose and cracked. “Where would he get something like that?”
“From Jake, who kept it, because…” She found the photo in the side pocket of her bag, but held it to her chest like a poker player saving the winning card for last. “According to Law, Jake talked about you and said he loved you.”
Color drained from her mother’s face. “He…what?”
“He has a take on Jake, Mom. He says he was a guy who helped people, especially Law. He says he knew you came back to town with kids and had absolutely no idea we were his.”
She was as white as the coffee cup in her shaky hand now. “Let me see that,” she ordered on a strained whisper.
Libby took a step closer, still clutching the photo and holding her mother’s gaze. “Why would he set this up and have Charity Grambling confirm the date it was taken, which was, by the way, exactly the date you would have conceived if July 28, 1971, was your due date, which I’m pretty sure it was.”
She slowly set the cup down and took a step closer. “Let me see that, Liberty.”
“Why would he help me discover that if he was playing me to steal my inheritance, Mom?”
She swallowed and reached out her hand, and Libby gave her the picture. Adjusting her glasses to see through the bottom of the bifocal lens, she held the photo in front of her face, dead silent as she stared.
Mom’s shoulders rose and fell in a silent sigh. Her throat moved with what had to be a painful swallow. Her shoulders dropped in resignation.
Thank God, Libby was right and Law could be trusted.
“I’m sorry, Libby. I know you care for the man. You yourself said you don’t sleep with someone unless you’re falling for him, and that’s certainly the case with that handsome and, I have to say, shrewd and scheming man.”
Libby frowned, the entire sentence making absolutely no sense at all. “That’s all you have to say about this picture? It’s proof you and Jake were together, and Law gave it to me and even took it to Charity to confirm the date, which adds up to him being my father. Law’s helping me.”
She lifted a brow. “Oh, right, because Charity could never be paid off or charmed by a man that delicious.”
Trust me, Lib. Charity goes full-out cougar on me.
“What…do you mean?”
Her mother smiled. A practiced smile. A well-directed smile. But a smile of complete victory nonetheless. “This man in the picture is not Jake Peterson, honey. I don’t remember his name, but I agreed to go to some Halloween pumpkin patch thing just to make Jake jealous, which was a complete failure, I might add. Did Law tell you this was Jake?”
“He thought it was him. His…nose.”
She nodded and glanced at it again. “Lots of people with noses, even prominent ones. I’m sure he’ll be able to prove in court that it’s not Jake, right after Sam files it as evidence or something, all designed to ruin our case. If I were you, I’d tear this to shreds. In fact—”
“No!” Libby reached for the picture, but it was too late. Donna ripped it in two, right down the middle. “Why would you do that?”
“Because this picture will blow up in your face, I promise you. Don’t take it to court. And don’t be fooled by someone who wants to steal what’s yours. And don’t let him near you or your business or your family.”
Libby just stared at her, stunned by the reaction, which, even for her mother, was over the top. “It’s too late,” she said. “He’s living and working at the Pelican.”
Her mother crossed her arms, still holding the photo. “Have you never heard the expression ‘possession is nine-tenths of the law’? Can’t you see how he’ll use that against you, worm his way into the place, and put his stamp all over it, making it his, not yours? Probably making money, too. Can’t you see that?”
Apparently, she couldn’t see anything, because her mother was right about all of that.
“Sam thought it was a good idea,” she said, sounding weak to her own ears. “He had some legal Latin term for why it would help us.”
Mom choked softly and turned back to the island, grabbing the open bottle of wine. “I’ll take this to bed with me. It’ll help my jet lag.”
Libby stood stone still as Donna Chesterfield executed the perfect exit stage right, closing a killer scene that was supposed to have been Libby’s big confrontation about the origin of her issues…but had ended up churning up nothing but doubt and broken trust.
God, that woman was a good actress. But was she right about Law?
It didn’t matter. The seed of distrust was well planted and already taking root.
Chapter Twenty
“Come on, Solomon. Aren’t you a tech type? Fix this bastard so I can update the songs.” Law turned the screw he was working under the jukebox lid, glancing across the bar to where Mark Solomon was perched on a ladder.
“High tech, not transistors.”
“These aren’t transistors,” Law said. “I did some research, and this is a 1971 Rowe MM6 with a solid pre-amp and tube-type amplifiers. I’m pretty sure the problem is
in the search unit on the records, if I can just get to it.”
From his ladder, Mark yanked a shelf out and handed it to Ken, who stood below him, ready to retrieve. “Anyway, I happen to like the music that thing plays. The eighties were good years, right, Cav?”
Ken added the shelf to the pile of rubble they were creating as they dismantled the bottle stacks. “I just think it’s a waste of time, Law.”
The two men had come over to the Pelican that morning to help Law with some heavy lifting, including taking down the eyesore that blocked the view from one side of the bar to the other.
They were almost done now, and while they finished up the last few shelves, Law had turned his attention to the jukebox, which had gotten even wonkier in the past few days. But he was determined to make the damn thing work.
“That jukebox is as ancient as the vinyl inside and pretty damn ugly,” Ken added. “I don’t even think it’s worth refurbing it, let alone making it play all the songs again. If you want a jukebox, get something hip and cool that’s been rebuilt to play digital music with touch-screen pads at each table.”
“Touch-screen pads?” Law made a face. “Not the vibe I want in here. I’d want to keep some things and honor the history.” He went back to work on the next screw. “Did you know there was actually a pelican living in here while they were building this place and they fed it toast?”
Mark snorted. “Mimosa Key folklore.”
“Also not true,” Ken said. “Beth’s grandfather was one of the island founders, and he told her they gave the pelican booze and it wobbled around the job site, and that’s how the place got its name.”
Law gave a dry laugh, finally getting the top free and slowly lifting the heavy glass piece that held yellowed tabs with old song titles. “Anyway, maybe I would want to get a new one in here if I were going to be the owner and proprietor, but once that DNA comes back and Perry Mason proves his case, I’ll be packing up and taking that job in Arizona. But I’d like a functioning jukebox for the rest of the time I work here. Music is important to the ambience.”
Barefoot at Midnight (Barefoot Bay Timeless Book 3) Page 20
