Ignoring the work piled on her desk, she’d allowed her worries to carry her out of her office and past the Sunshine Room. The back deck was blessedly empty. She appraised the acres she owned equally with her brother. Opportunity had spilled all of this at her feet. Once she’d despised the gift, viewing it like a millstone.
Was opportunity visiting her life once more?
Clasping the deck’s railing, she let the memory of Daniel’s kiss glide through her senses. He’d waited for opportunity, a vexing spirit, to reveal the proper time to begin a courtship. He wanted to start now, but she needed to resolve the problems with her brother first. How to do so wasn’t entirely obvious.
“Miss Wayfair?”
She shook off her musings. “Daisy. Hello.” The bubbly maid wasn’t in uniform. “Coming in for your shift?”
“I’m off today.” The girl fussed with her hair. “Mind if I ask you something?”
“Go ahead.”
“Is your brother filming in Ohio? I played Juliet in high school. My biggest role—so far, anyway.” She toyed with the buttons of her ivory blouse. “If he’s hiring, I’d love to audition. Can I try out for a small role? I’ll work hard.”
“I’m sure you were wonderful in your high school play.” Needing to let the girl down gently, she added, “Unfortunately, you’ll have to wait for your screen test. My brother isn’t filming here. In fact, he’s leaving soon.”
“You’re sure?”
“I hope so.”
Disappointment framed Daisy’s mouth. “I guess the Sirens are out of luck too. They just went up to his room. I thought they were here to audition—”
Linnie never heard the rest. She sprinted from the deck.
The Sirens weren’t here to audition. They’d come for blood.
Chapter 9
Frances opened her arms wide in a failed attempt to block the stampeding women.
She’d been trying to cool tempers since last night’s meeting for battle planning at Silvia’s house. During the intervening hours, she’d begged and cajoled, and spoken with most of the Sirens personally. Although a heartening number of the women had agreed not to come, the others remained firmly in Silvia’s camp.
Deaf to her plea, Silvia charged toward the suite. Her warrior’s cry echoed down the corridor. Frances risked whiplash as her attention ranged down the corridor then up again, taking in the doors to the other guest rooms. Thankfully none flew open. On such a temperate summer day, Linnie’s guests were already down at the beach.
Her relief switched to shock as the others pushed her aside.
She careened into the wall. “This is no way to conduct ourselves!”
Her objection merely quickened their strides.
The cluster of simmering women invaded the suite. They were met by the orange-haired girl in Freddie’s entourage. She let out a high-pitched shriek that went right through Frances’s molars. Cradling her jaw, she heard something crash to the floor.
She rushed in, an unwilling witness to a skirmish of the mentally unhinged.
Splitting into two groups, her comrades wrested the tactical advantage from Freddie and his startled minions. Desperate for escape, the besieged filmmaker jogged left, then right. Frances nearly pitied him as awareness of his impending capture rippled across his face.
Then he made the foolish decision to leap onto the four-poster bed. A cheer went up as a group of Sirens cornered him.
They began poking at his feet with sticks artfully decorated with silver glitter and gold paint. Tiny sleigh bells hung from the glitzy weapons—a pièce de résistance Silvia had insisted they add during the late-night meeting. By midnight the Mendoza kitchen was a mess of glitter and wax, and Frances had given up on talking Silvia out of the plan.
Now the bells jingled with fury as Freddie attempted to bat the women away. Distressed by the melee, Frances pressed her hand to her heart.
Penelope Riddle, in her haste to reach the bed, bumped into her angry general. Silvia’s left shoe rocketed high into the air. It landed out of sight with a bang as Penelope threw the upper half of her body across the bedspread. Heaving and grunting, she lunged unsuccessfully for Freddie’s legs.
Beneath her skirt, something popped. She froze, belly down.
At the other end of the lavishly appointed suite, the second group cornered his bodyguards. Sirens pelted their quarry with herbs fashioned into waxy, pea-size balls. Despite her disgust at the Sirens’ lack of decorum, Frances silently gave Silvia points for ingenuity. She’d melted the bars of wax with a jug of honey, making the balls easy to mold and rather sticky. They also smelled good. After Frances gave up on bringing Silvia to her senses, she couldn’t resist tossing in a handful of peppermint.
Not that the men under attack seemed delighted with the scent. They shrank back with fear. A waxy bullet went astray, hitting a slender woman partially hidden behind the drapes. She gave out a bloodcurdling scream.
The evidence of her terror galvanized the giant oafs. Grabbing her, they fled into the corridor. Freddie’s assistant with the snippy disposition, Miss Orange Hair, shot out behind the others.
They’d barely gone when Linnie rushed into the suite. “What is going on in here?” She slammed the door behind them.
Her appearance froze the angry warriors. Briefly Frances closed her eyes to concentrate on bringing her blood pressure back within normal limits. She opened them in time to glimpse Silvia pushing her way to the front of the crowd, the stick in her fist jangling.
Frances said, “Cool your jets, Silvia. Haven’t you engaged in enough silliness for one day?”
At the criticism, Silvia slashed her stick through the air. “Why did you come? You ought to side with us.”
“I am on your side. I just want you to calm down.”
“No way. We let sleeping dogs lie before Treat and Sarah left Sweet Lake for retirement. They’re gone now, and he shouldn’t have come back.”
“It’s unlikely he returned with the intention of bringing you to full froth.” Seven years gone, and Silvia continued to view the video as a personal affront.
From atop the mattress, Freddie piped up. “Thank you for pointing out the obvious, Frances. I never meant to inflame Silvia by posting the video on YouTube.”
“Don’t mistake my words, young man.” She regarded him with disgust. “I’m not defending you.”
On a corner of the bed, Penelope flailed helplessly. Her muffled cries brought statuesque Norah Webb forward, allowing Frances to snatch the jingling weapon from her fist. Together they hefted Penelope to her feet. The quivering Siren’s lacy slip hung askew. She began whimpering, and Frances whispered soothing words. If this nonsense went much further, they’d all surrender the last of their dignity.
Having calmed her embarrassed comrade, Frances wheeled on the others. “We’re Sirens, not hooligans. All of you will stop this insanity at once.” Linnie glanced at her with gratitude, but Silvia muttered choice words. “Silvia—you too. We’re all furious with Freddie, but we don’t wish him harm. At least not in the physical realm.” On the spiritual plane, he’d get his comeuppance in good time.
“Speak for yourself.” Reaching across the bed, Silvia made a clumsy jab at his ankles. He leapt out of range, banging into the headboard. “The video has been out for years. I shudder to think how many people have viewed it.”
“Your faces were blurred. Your anonymity is safe.”
“What about the damage to my psyche?” She made another jab at her quarry.
With desperation Freddie looked to his sister. “Send them away!” He appeared convinced his attackers would draw blood, and the sticks were sharp. “I can’t abide having my room overrun by unhinged women.”
A grin threatened to overtake Linnie’s mouth. “Your video, your problem.”
“That was ages ago!”
“Doesn’t mean they forgive you.”
“Of all the—my YouTube fame is long past. Get them out of here!”
Penelope’s ras
py breaths accented his protests. Frances regarded the poor woman, slouching against the wall. A pity about her damaged slip—she’d dressed stylishly for battle in an emerald-green dress and fake pearls.
Steering her into a chair, Frances broke into the argument. “Freddie, I have a solution,” she said, recalling the superb idea she’d mulled over this morning. “Thanks to your YouTube fame, you received the funding to launch your film company.”
“Debatable, but what’s your point?”
“The Sirens are in no small way responsible for your success. Give some thought to the prospect of bad karma following you around for the rest of your life. No different than physics, if you catch my meaning. Every action brings a reaction, especially on the spiritual plane.”
Freddie bristled. “Frances, I do believe the hounds of senility are baying at your window. What are you trying to say?”
“Give us a cut of your next picture,” she said, relishing the surprise leaping onto his face. “Bad karma’s a bitch. I advise you to steer clear.”
From behind her spectacles, Penelope blinked rapidly. “He’ll give us money?”
Freddie wheezed an indignant breath. “I’ll do nothing of the sort.”
“If you don’t, I shall wash my hands of this affair,” Frances replied, lacing her voice with venom.
“Idle threats.”
“In lieu of today’s attack, my comrades were thinking about slathering your body with honey and hog-tying you in the woods. It is summer. They would’ve hung you upside down by the biggest wasp’s nest in the area.” A tall tale if there ever was one, and she experienced delight when the scoundrel’s eyes widened. “Care to guess who talked them out of the plan?”
Beside her, Silvia stomped her unclad foot. “What good is money? I want my breasts rescued from cyberspace!”
Freddie gave a pitying look. “Perhaps we should discuss a payout.”
“A payout for our pain and suffering—and you’ll also repay your sister,” Frances replied. “She’s waited ages for you to make amends.”
“Sounds great,” Linnie agreed.
He hopped off the bed, taking care to keep his distance. “I suppose it is time to settle my debts.” Even in boxer shorts and an Ohio State jersey, his loose-limbed beauty drew appreciative glances from the few Sirens who still had working ovaries.
Tilda especially was entranced. Pointedly Frances cleared her throat, and the realtor pulled her attention from Freddie.
His sister sent him a cynical glance. “You’re back in Ohio to settle old debts? Talk about a first.”
“New debts, old debts, and one especially poignant debt,” he supplied, and Frances wondered at his meaning.
“I don’t believe you.”
“As if anyone ever does.” He pulled on a purple robe luxurious enough for royalty. “The most misunderstood hero of my generation.”
Silvia fished around in the pocket of her blazer. “You’re nobody’s hero,” she informed him. “You’re a demon. Go back to hell. Leave Sweet Lake in peace.”
“Why is everyone intent on booting me out?”
She tossed a handful of foul-smelling herbs at his feet. “You need to ask?”
“Fine, Silvia. I’ll leave Sweet Lake in obscurity. Are you satisfied?”
“Not even a little.”
Frances steered her temperamental comrade aside. There were more lucrative ways for him to make amends.
“Three percent will do the trick,” she told him.
“What?”
“You’ll pay the Sirens gross points on your next film. Three percent.” The money wouldn’t mollify Silvia, but some of the women lived from one paycheck to the next. Frances had never experienced the lack of money, but she despised how a deficit of funds weighed on the others. Satisfied with her quick thinking, she added, “The time has come to settle up, young man.”
“Are you deranged? I’ll do nothing of the sort!”
“You’ll also grant us access to all financials, pre- and post-production. Keeping an eye on the books is the only way to stop you from monkey business.”
Freddie looked at her with disbelief. “You’re demanding access to all financials?”
“You’ll put our agreement in writing.” The thrill of conquest squared her shoulders.
“What about my breasts?” Silvia, hunting for her missing shoe, looked up with outrage. “They’re worth infinitely more than money. Why, they’re out there floating around in cyberspace.”
In vain Frances searched for her patience. “Silvia, you’re sixty-five. I’ll wager your breasts have not found their way to a porn site.”
Freddie shooed the twittering flock toward the door. “Frances, I’ll have Daniel draw up the papers you require. Now, if you lovely women don’t mind, I must dress. I have an online meeting with my crew in less than an hour.”
Mildly pacified, the women shuffled out. The door clicked shut behind them.
Linnie studied him closely. “Will you keep your promise to Silvia and leave? I’m partial to Sweet Lake’s obscurity.”
“She didn’t press for an exact date.”
“Freddie—”
“I’ll leave, all right? Not soon, however. Circumstances force me to stay longer.”
The news was disheartening. “You’ll continue staying at my inn?” A vision of all-night frat parties jarred her temples.
“Our inn.” He reached for the pack of cigarettes on the antique bureau, lit one. Smoke curled around his head. “As for the other matter? If you’re about to ask, don’t bother.”
The implication was obvious. “I’m not asking,” she said, pouring steel into her jelly spine. The effort wicked the moisture from her mouth, but she soldiered on. “I’m telling you to do the right thing.”
“As if I’d know how.”
“Then make this the first. Sell your shares of the Wayfair. I’ll pay—gladly.”
On a smirk, he nodded at her cheap dress and old pumps. “From the looks of it, you’re barely earning enough to keep the lights on. Do you equip guests with flashlights when you hand out room keys?”
“I’ll use the money you owe me and talk to the bank about a loan. If that doesn’t cover the price of your shares, I’ll borrow the rest from friends.” An embarrassing prospect, but she was desperate.
He waltzed toward the sitting room trailing plumes of smoke. Putting her anger in a fist hold, she followed.
“Here’s a novel idea,” she said, taking care to blunt the anger in her voice. “Let’s try five minutes of the truth. I’m sure you’re unfamiliar with the game, but you might like it.” She paused for effect. “Why did you come back?”
“Linnie, we were never close. I’m not about to share the reason for my visit.”
“You aren’t here to patch things up?” she asked, hating the hopeful notes in her voice.
He exhaled a stream of smoke. “Why bother? Your opinion of me is apparent.”
“Have you at least apologized to Mom and Dad?”
“How original.” He crushed the cigarette in the ashtray by his elbow. “Some advice, Sugarpop. If you and Daniel insist on working the same script, don’t use the same lines.”
“Daniel asked if you’d apologized to Mom and Dad?” The revelation lent a boost to her spirits. Nice to learn he’d gone to bat for her parents.
“He stole from your script while we drove to Cleveland. Nothing like redundancy to bore the audience.”
“Freddie, this isn’t a film. This is real life—the place where your actions have real consequences. You took most of the operating capital from the Wayfair’s accounts. Dad’s stroke was just a few months later. Can’t you connect the dots?” She hesitated, struck by the nervous twitch in his fingers as he lit another cigarette. Apparently the rebuke was having an impact. The prospect compelled her to ask, “Why did Daniel accompany you to Cleveland? I still have trouble believing he’s working for you.”
“Must you insist on asking questions I won’t answer?”
“Maybe I’m crazy enough to think you’ll play the honesty card for the first time in your life. Grow a conscience. People do change.”
“What a curious theory.” He drew heavily on the cigarette, exhaled. “I’ve never seen it happen. Does it involve a bunny materializing from a hat?”
“Magic isn’t required, but fortitude doesn’t hurt. You can’t see how other people evolve since you lack the talent.” If his actions hurt the rest of the family, he didn’t care.
Wisps of smoke floated around his head like a nesting of grey snakes. Purgatory, Linnie thought with sudden insight. For reasons still hidden, he’d put himself in a netherworld of regret. He’d never change, but a private sorrow haunted his eyes.
Which led to a curious observation. A host of unknown people inhabited the world he’d built in California. If an event in his life held the power to make him uneasy, was there someone he did care about?
Catching her appraisal, he blew smoke rings with feigned calm. “My turn,” he said. “I was under the impression you inherited all the brains. Linnie with the perfect grades and the spotless presentation. Was I mistaken?”
The reference to their childhood brought unexpected sympathy. “Oh, Freddie. There’s more to life than book learning. Look at all you’ve achieved.”
The kindness she offered merely hardened his gaze. “Poor Linnie,” he mused. “You’re missing the point.”
“Which is?”
“Are you suffering the delusion I have the authority to sell my shares? What makes you think I can?”
Incredulity brought harsh laughter from her throat. “Gosh, I don’t know. Because they’re yours?”
“When Mom and Dad gifted you this wreck of a mansion, did you read the contract they sent? I assume we both received copies in the mail.”
A sickly sensation pooled in her stomach. “Of course I did.” In truth she’d only read the first pages.
“The entire contract? Every last section of legalese?” When she looked away, he added, “Have you discussed buying me out with our parents?”
“I will,” she promised, sensing defeat. Something was wrong. The arrogance returned to her brother’s eyes, a cruel glint of triumph. Too quickly, she added, “They’ll back me up. I’ve turned the place around, proven I deserve to become the sole owner. Why wouldn’t Mom and Dad agree?”
Sweet Lake (Sweet Lake #1) Page 11
