He’d overlooked the way Sal’s good grades proved to be the product of his paying some brainiac kid to do his reports for him. Benny shook his head as he drove.
When he had called Sal a fraud to his face, his brother had laughed at him and spewed his lifelong motto. The words rang in Benny’s head now. “I’m just doing what works for numero uno.”
Inside the precinct a young officer sat at the front desk. He looked up expectantly when Benny approached, no recognition in his eyes.
Before the man could get a word out, Benny’s question barked from his lips. “Sal Benedetto still here?”
“Your name, sir?”
“I’m his brother, Benny. He here?”
The officer gave him the once-over with his new-cop eyes while reaching for the handset of the desk phone. He mumbled into the speaker and nodded his head a few times before putting the phone down.
“Down the hall, second door on…”
“Yeah. I know.” Benny stormed past him and maneuvered the corridor.
Sal stood at his desk, front and center of the backdrop of his wall of framed bullshit. Benny didn’t meet his eyes, but rather scanned the frames. In the spot where he’d seen the photo from the local rag now hung a freeze-frame photo of Sal’s kids screaming with glee as they plunged down the log flume ride at an amusement park.
“What’s up?” Sal asked. Sal had done his best to sound nonchalant, but Benny wasn’t fooled. He saw the flash of worry in his lying eyeballs. Benny knew it well.
“New addition to your wall?” Benny pointed to the shot of his nephews and niece.
Sal didn’t even turn in the direction of the photo. He continued to look straight at Benny. “Yeah.”
“Where’s the one that used to be there?”
Sal shrugged his shoulders like it was no big deal. “It broke.”
“You can stop the crap right there, Sal.”
Sal sat down and sighed aloud. “Sit down Benny,” he said, pointing a fat finger to his guest chair. “It’s been a long day. Just come out with it.”
Benny remained standing. “You first. Tell me about Clyde Stone.”
“Not sure what you mean, brother.”
“Okay.” Rage stoked inside Benny’s gut, bubbling through his system. “I’ll clarify it for you. Clyde Stone is not some nobody that you couldn’t be bothered getting one of your guys to look into. Is he?”
Sal didn’t react, just continued to look tired and bored.
Benny stepped closer to the desk. “Clyde Stone is an associate of yours. As a matter of fact, his karate school is where you got your black belt, the same school that donated money to your PBA.”
“And?” Sal almost yawned with boredom and Benny had all he could do not to slug him one.
“And he wants to snatch The Cornelia Inn out from under Sarah Grayson. For Christ’s sake, Sal! She’s a nice lady that just wants to live her life and run her goddammed inn. Until you came along and friggin’ dragged me into this with you.”
“My turn?” Sal asked, unfazed.
Benny’s mouth clenched so tight his jaw ached.
“Yes, Clyde Stone and I are associates, Benny. And he’s going to be a very rich man, very soon. He’s opened up an opportunity for me—for us, if you’ll just calm down and let me explain.”
“Whatever it is, I’m not interested.”
Sal started to laugh. “Not interested in a piece of a multi-million-dollar townhouse community in one of the sweetest little spots along the Jersey coast?”
Sal waved his hands at him. “Benny, Christ, think about this. You’ll see Clyde’s got it sewn up if you’ll take your eyes off the broad with the piece-of-shit bed-and-breakfast. He’s going to turn that whole strip into a ritzy resort town. Think The Hamptons, little brother. We can be in on the ground floor of his project. Do you have any idea what that could mean for us?”
“What the fuck, Sal? We filed complaints against Sarah’s plan to expand a small part of her facility so she could throw her only kid a nice wedding, because it would ‘upset the town’s peace.’ Isn’t that how you put it, Sal? Leave little Ronan’s Harbor as it? And now you’re telling me it’s been part of a scheme that’ll demolish half the town?”
“Not demolish. Improve. Trust me on this, for crissakes. When are you going to stop thinking small, Benny? Clyde’s got the zoning guy down there—who, by the way, owed me a favor—in on it.”
He paused to plaster an effusive grin across his face. “This is a done deal if you’ll just shut up and let the big boys deal with the logistics.” Sal spewed a caustic chortle. “Maybe you could just go bake us a celebration cake, or something.”
Forty-eight years worth of pent-up frustration raced through Benny, whirling through his veins like a tornado stirring up every memory he had of Sal’s underhandedness.
A sudden calmness moved through Benny’s system, enveloping him like the sight of a safe harbor on his horizon. He knew without question the refuge bore the name Ronan. And, wrapped within that visceral knowledge was the image of the woman that loved the little town. Sarah.
“I’m out.”
“Benny, be serious…”
“I’ll contact an attorney in the morning. Buy me out.”
“I can’t.”
“What do you mean you can’t?”
“Every cent I own is tied up with Clyde.”
“Then it goes on the market first thing in the morning. We sell, we split it, we’re done.”
“No way.”
“Tell you what, Captain. Either this is exactly what we do or I’ll go right to your Chief and let him know about the little “favor” you’re cashing in on in Ronan’s Harbor—the favor that will negatively affect the lives of everyone in that town.”
“By ‘everyone in town’ you mean that chick you’re looking to nail.”
“You can’t rile me, Sal. Not anymore.”
Sal bolted from his chair. Obviously he knew Benny wasn’t kidding. His brother had never threatened to expose Sal before, no matter what the hell he’d done. Ever.
Right now all Benny wanted was to make things right. How it played out with Sal and Clyde’s rotten deal didn’t concern him in the least.
He turned to leave.
“Benny,” Sal implored. “I’m your brother. We’re blood. Why are you doing this?”
Benny faced him squarely. “I’ll tell you in language you’ll understand. I’m just doing what works for numero uno.”
He went through the door and closed it tightly behind him. He had things to do.
Chapter Eighteen
Sarah put Benny’s shopping bags on the main kitchen’s counter and switched on the lights, needing somehow to avoid the dark. For truly, that’s where she was in every aspect of her being—in the dark.
After slipping the perishables into the fridge, she looked around the room. The square, functional area was the very heart of her inn. Here is where Cornelia DeGraff’s staff had fixed meals and prepared celebrations.
It had been where she and her seasonal helpers made breakfasts for her guests. During those times the kitchen brimmed with succulent aromas of breakfast sausages, quiche, and rich coffee. She breathed in now, the scents absent. Would those smells ever return, or was her inn doomed?
Benny’s image floated through her mind. She’d come to accept this as commonplace now. She liked him.
What did it matter that he’d been the one to step in and halt her plans? Maybe he’d actually helped save the wellbeing of Hannah and Ian’s wedding guests. The foundation might have crumbled right out from under the reception, risking everyone’s safety.
She made her way into the hallway and went into the sunroom. She switched on a table lamp bathing the area in low, golden light. The sheeting over the furniture had an eeriness that gave her a chill. Ghosts of her dream loomed at her now, aloof and intangible.
One shrouded mound was the stack of boxes packed with wedding supplies she’d accumulated in the weeks since the planning had
begun. She slowly removed the draping and dropped the dingy sheet into a pile on the wooden floor. She sat down on the bunched fabric and pulled a carton close, nestling the box in the crook of her outstretched legs.
She opened the flaps exposing square glass vases stacked on top of each other, cushioned by sheets of bubble wrap. She lifted one into her hands. She recalled the day she, Hannah, and Gigi had gone to the floral wholesaler and selected the vases. Hannah’s bright-eyed approval appeared in her thoughts.
Hannah. It was time to tell her daughter about the condition of the inn. And, it was time for Sarah to admit that the likelihood of a wedding reception taking place here was about nil.
She placed the vase back in the box, refolding the flaps over it. She checked her watch. It was after ten already, too late to call. The news would only disturb her sleep.
In the morning she would contact Hannah and then, dear God, she’d call Gary—so he could work on the arrangements of moving the wedding to his club. He’d gloat, she was sure, but right now even that idea mustered no animosity.
The wind continued to howl through the old windows, whistling a sad tune. She pulled her sweater closer around her frame as she shut the light.
Then she heard it—a noise that wasn’t the wind blowing against the house. It sounded more like a series of clicks followed by a rattling, like a door on a hinge.
She closed her eyes and listened again. The only sounds she heard were the thumps of her own heartbeats racing in her chest.
She left the sunroom and made her way toward the staircase, cowering low. Lamps in the entry and in the living room’s window cast soft light. She was too frightened to attempt turning them off.
What if someone was out there? Her eyes darted to the parlor windows, their panes exposed by the pulled-back lace curtains. All she could see beyond the glass was nighttime’s inky blackness. Could someone see her inside moving about the rooms? A cold shudder danced over her skin.
She needed her cell phone. Realizing she left it on the main kitchen’s counter, she crept down the hallway. The stove’s hood light was on, as was her nightly habit. It gave her enough light to spot her phone. Crouched low, like a soldier in an ambush, she edged to the island.
The outside noises sounded again. This time she heard a banging followed by a hard-hitting sound. Holy shit! Who’s out there?
Sarah scooted her folded self close enough to grab her phone. She slid to her knees behind the wall of the island, tucking herself between it and the refrigerator. Her heart raced against the whirling thoughts in her head. Was she making a big deal out of nothing? It was windy tonight.
Maybe the sounds were from a shutter that had come off its hinges. Or perhaps a tree limb had fallen close to the house. Her instincts told her it was something more.
She wasn’t taking any chances. Not these days. Her collection of anonymous notes told her this was a potential problem. She dialed Benny’s number cringing at the loudness of each digit’s tone when her finger tapped it. She waited, breathless, for him to answer. Pick up, pick up, pick up.
****
Benny was back in his Jeep just ten miles before his exit off the Parkway. In the morning he was going to town hall to blow the whistle on that little toad of a zoning officer. Then he hoped he could convince the mayor to lift the red tape and grant Sarah her approvals. Vindication filled his empty belly, satisfying him.
His first priority tonight was what gave his senses a zing. He needed to see Sarah, tell her what he knew, and make her a promise. Benny never made promises, but this was one he could offer with confidence. He would do everything he could to undo the shitty mess she was in due to him.
There was one more part to tonight’s plan. He was going to kiss her until they both needed air.
His cell phone rang, the bold sound emanating from his dashboard Bluetooth device. He clicked the button on his steering wheel, engaging the call.
“Benny.” Her voice was a raspy whisper filled with such urgency that it stabbed him in the center of his chest.
“Sarah, is everything all right?”
“No,” she said. He could hear her breathing. “I think someone’s outside.”
“Call the police.”
“If it’s the guy that’s been writing the notes, when he sees their lights he’ll vanish again. I really need to be done with this once and for all. It has to stop. I can’t live like this. But, I’m scared. Really, really scared.”
“Sarah, don’t be foolish. Who cares if the guy runs chicken shit when he sees a squad car pull up? Call them. I’ll be right over. I’m about five minutes away.”
He steered off the exit and took the local road toward Ronan’s Harbor, crossing the still-wet surface of the bridge. He navigated the streets onto Ocean Avenue and down Dolphin.
When he turned onto Tidewater Way he saw flashing lights dancing in the darkness ahead, ricocheting in a series of colors across the wet roadway. He pressed the brake pedal as he approached what turned out to be two cruisers in front of a massive, fallen old tree. Its trunk and branches reached nearly the breadth of the street.
An officer in a black rain coat stood from his task of placing flares in a row. He held up a hand as the vehicle came near. Benny lowered the driver’s side window when the officer came around the vehicle.
“Sir, you’ll have to go down Dolphin. Tidewater’s closed,” the officer said.
Benny craned his neck. There were no flashing lights down the block near The Cornelia Inn and there was no sign of a cruiser hovering near there either. Damn it to hell, he said silently. That stubborn woman didn’t call them.
He eyed the officer and weighed informing him of Sarah’s concerns. Maybe it had turned out to be nothing after all. Or maybe she was sitting alone in her house with nothing but a goddammed garden trowel to protect her.
He took a deep breath and let it expel from his chest. He’d better investigate it himself first. The boys in blue would be on the street for a while and he’d be able to summon them quickly enough if it turned out something was indeed up. For the moment, he’d respect Sarah’s decision to keep them out of it.
“Sir?” the cop asked.
Benny snapped to the officer’s attention. He gestured to the tree. “That’s a big one, huh?” Benny asked. He tried to sound like an interested bystander rather than a man with a girdle of concern clenched around his torso.
“Yeah, you’ll need to access Dolphin.”
Normally that would have been fine news since that was the direction of his cottage. But, he needed to get to Sarah. What he wanted to do, should do, was tell the officer that Sarah suspected a possible intruder on her property. But, he knew he wouldn’t.
“I need to visit a friend at Four Tidewater.”
The officer shook his head. “The utility truck is on its way. It took down the phone lines. They’ll have this remedied soon enough but for now, sir, I’d suggest you go home and stay dry until that happens.”
Benny stared through the wet windshield. The rain had picked up again, coming down in hard pings on the hood of his vehicle. It would be a bitch to walk to her house in this mess. But he was in too deep now. “Okay if I walk it?”
“Buddy, is it that important you visit somebody tonight?”
A vision of Sarah trotting down the boardwalk wearing some fool rubber galoshes on her feet, wielding the midget shovel popped into his head. “Yeah, it is.”
The officer tilted his head as though he’d heard something pretty preposterous. This, Benny decided, wasn’t too far from the truth.
“Okay, you can hoof it if you want. Knock yourself out. But you’ll have to move your vehicle out of the way.” He motioned to where Tidewater intersected with Dolphin Road.
Benny thanked him and steered his truck to the side street. In a minute’s time a cloud had apparently burst open and the rain poured down in buckets. Damn it to hell.
He snapped on the overhead light in his Jeep’s interior and looked around for something to use as
a shield. He always kept an old sweatshirt in the back. Where the hell was it now that he needed it?
He looked under the seats and into the storage area in the back. There was the black plastic garbage bag filled with old linens he was supposed to bring to the town dumpster.
He climbed over the seat, grabbed the heavy sack, and dumped the articles into a pile onto the seat. He took the empty garbage bag into his grasp and poked a hole in the bottom seam creating a makeshift poncho. He found a Mets hat among the items he’d dumped out and even though it would probably saturate before he managed to take a couple of steps it was better than nothing. He donned the poncho-bag and slammed the cap onto his head.
He ran down the wet macadam as the rain pelted him. His feet sunk into the sogginess as he jumped onto a strip of lawn to circumvent the downed limbs. His footfalls made a squishing sound. Water slapped back at his pant legs with each step.
Ahead The Cornelia was dimly lit, the front porch light casting a cone of yellow over the front doorway. He gave the grounds a quick once-over as he trotted up the walk and up the steps. Nothing appeared amiss.
However, the night was very dark and anyone could be hiding behind a shrub or in the back of the house. The first thing he needed to do was find Sarah to make sure she was all right.
He rapped on the glass panel of the door. “Sarah, it’s me, Benny,” he said.
No response.
He knocked again, this time with enough force to risk breaking the glass. “Sarah,” he shouted now.
He peered inside but all he could make out in the wavy distortion of the door’s pane was the empty foyer. He’d give it one more shot before he kicked in the damned door.
A figure emerged from the hall beyond the foyer. He squinted to make out the short rounded being as it approached tentatively. Who the hell is that?
It was Sarah, crouched to half her height. She crept toward the door in her balled-up state, her legs jabbing out like a bottle dancer at a Jewish wedding. For crying out loud.
Letters and Lace (The Ronan's Harbor Series) Page 17
