Summer Island Sisters

by Ciara Knight

  “But you can. You work here.” Dustin nudged him toward the truth. “I paid you so that you could get the job done now.”

  “I can’t accept direct payments. Only gifts.”

  “Then we’ll call it a gift.”

  He held up one knobby finger and shuffled away.

  Dustin turned to Trevor. “See, I told you it’d work.”

  Mr. Mannie disappeared through the back door.

  “I blame you. If you hadn’t convinced me to come here and help you with your business, I wouldn’t be in this situation,” Dustin huffed.

  “If you hadn’t come here, you wouldn’t have gotten away from the dreary northwest, the big city politics, and closer to one Trace Latimer.”

  “Who?” Dustin attempted to hide his Summer Island crush, but based on Trevor’s crossed arms, legs, and attitude, he wasn’t successful. “You mean Rhonda. Yep, she’s been helping me with this small-town business stuff, unlike my best friend.”

  “I’m here watching you make a fool out of yourself, aren’t I? Besides, I warned you about Rhonda and her reputation.”

  Dustin laughed. “I’m not dating her. She’s a nice, simple woman trying to do good things for her community.”

  Trevor smacked his forehead as if ending a mosquito assault on his skin. “You can’t be that naive. That woman doesn’t care about her community. She only cares about sticking it to Jewels and her friends. It’s some sort of childhood feud that never ended. You better be careful.”

  “You might want to talk to your girlfriend about letting old grudges go. Rhonda’s only wanted to be friends with them.” Dustin was thankful when the back door opened again.

  “Got someone here to help.” Mr. Mannie shuffled out of the back door, pink bunny ears bouncing, followed by a man dressed in a police uniform. “That’s the man. He’s offering bribes.”

  Dustin shot his palms out as if to block the officer’s advance. “Whooa, wait a second. Not a bribe. A gift.”

  Trevor tugged at the back of his dress shirt, popping a button. “Let’s go before you make things worse for yourself.”

  The officer, adjusting his oversized belt of weapons, stood with feet hip-width apart. “Let me ask you. Did you give Mr. Mannie a hundred dollars for new slippers or for him to illegally lift the stop work order on your hotel?”

  Dustin looked to Trevor, who back stepped to the exit sign, looked to Mr. Mannie, who had a you-think-you’re-so-smart toothless grin, and then looked to the officer, who reached for his cuffs. “Gift. New slippers. See you at the town meeting.”

  Trevor yanked Dustin out the door. He didn’t resist this time. Before they reached the end of the sidewalk, he turned to face the building. “You’ve pulled me out of a flaming bureaucratic mess and thrown me into a bonfire crazy town.”

  “I tried to warn you that the scummy tactics you’re used to incorporating into your business plan will only damage your reputation in Summer Island.” Trevor pointed up the street to two women power walking toward them. “Looks like Jewels and Trace are done at her dad’s place already.”

  Dustin’s pulse skipped and face planted at the feet of one blonde-haired, blue-eyed, so-wrong-for-him Trace Latimer.

  “You might want to wipe the drool off your chin.” Trevor laughed like a seal in heat and abandoned Dustin’s side once again for something better.

  Jewels Boone.

  Watching Trevor scoop Jewels into his arms, spinning her around, made Dustin’s sushi lunch swim. Trace didn’t seem to notice since she was making a beeline to the building. He cleared his throat. “Hi, Trace. I heard you were going to be back in town this week. What’s been going on?”

  Pathetic.

  Why did this woman always twist him up? He never had problems talking to women. Heck, he never had to open his mouth since women tended to throw themselves at him. Maybe that’s why he found Trace so intriguing. He didn’t understand her. The woman attacked her philanthropic pursuits with passion and prickles.

  Trevor had told him stories he’d heard from Jewels about how Trace had camped out for weeks in front of a courthouse to stop some big business from developing a condo due to impact on ecosystems, spent a year in frigid Antarctica to protect penguins, and months fighting some oil tycoon off the coast of some third world country to stop drilling. If only she could have passion for humans. She certainly had none for him, and he wanted to know why.

  Trace narrowed her gaze. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d go chasing some woman back to city life by now,” Trace said in a glacier tone.

  “Is that what you think of me? A womanizer?” If he were honest with himself, he knew she wasn’t far from the truth. He had been voted Most Eligible Playboy in the Northwest two years in a row. But he’d come here to change that. To follow his best friend down the path of sunshine and happiness and a real future with the right woman. But he’d stumbled into the wrong, so wrong for him, abrasive, hauntingly beautiful Trace. And like gum to a shoe, he’d been stuck on pause and rewind. This needed to stop.

  She laughed. “I know your type. You use your charms and good looks to sway a girl’s opinion. Don’t worry. I won’t fall for your manipulations. I’m immune.”

  The woman was too hostile and too rude. “I knew you were attracted to me.” Why was she so hostile? “Sorry you’re scared of your feelings.”

  “Scared? No, hon. I just don’t want you ripping apart a Summer Island historical site. Not going to happen. I’m not going to be manipulated into backing down. I’ll make sure you don’t destroy the charm of the Summer Island Hotel.”

  “You’re the reason I can’t fix the hotel.” Despite his attraction, and a hint of respect for her bold move, he didn’t lose. Especially to some tree hugger who knew nothing about real business. “I heard you were difficult and stubborn. Maybe Rhonda’s right and you’re insecure.”

  Her face turned northerner-lobster-sunburn color. “Go back to the big city and take over heartless companies. You’re out of your league here. I’ll best you every time.” She wrenched open the Summer Island Courthouse door. “Word of advice. Don’t listen to anything that woman says. She only wants to stir up trouble.”

  “Best me? You obviously don’t know who I am.” That came out more arrogant than he’d meant, but it was the truth. He was a powerful businessman who knew his way around the conference table.

  “I’ll win. These are my people.”

  Before he could respond, she bolted inside the courthouse, obviously plotting her next sinister move to thwart his business. He wouldn’t allow it. She wanted to play dirty? He’d dig himself into the mud pit of small-town politics.

  Chapter Three

  This was Trace’s hometown, not Dustin Hawk’s. She would win the fight to preserve the historical charm of the hotel if it meant she had to be the zoning police. That was tomorrow’s problem. Today, she needed to make up for past sins and stop the demolition of her father’s home. “Hey Mr. Mannie, what’s been cooking in that smoker of yours?”

  Mr. Mannie slid his glasses up his nose that had grown as fast as his body had shrunk in the last few years. “Don’t go tricking me into spillin’ no info. Not gonna work.”

  “What?” She hopped up on the table against the wall and forced a beachy calm despite the acidic waves in her gut. “I’m only here to spend some time with my favorite Summer Island gentleman. You’re an extinct breed.”

  His shoulders lowered below his dangling earlobes. How a man with everything sagging and aging and sun-damaged still looked handsome, she would wonder the rest of her days. Had to be his eyes, those silver ones Jewels’s neighbor and Summer Island lifer, Mrs. Watermore, called Sinatra blue. “I know why you’re here. Nothin’ I can do ’bout no order to tear your pop’s place down. Don’t mean I agree with it, though.”

  “Who does? That’s what I’m confused about.” Trace swung her legs and tilted her head in a schoolgirl-on-the-playground way. “My town would never demolish the home of a great man. A man who looked ou
t for the residents for decades. A man who organized and ran sandbagging before hurricanes. A man who fought the state politicians when they wanted to seize sections of our land. A man who pulled you out of a mangled car and breathed life back into your lungs. No, the town would never destroy the legacy of that man.”

  Mr. Mannie pounded his fist against the front desk. “Now why’d ya go and make me feel like that for?” He shuffled over to a computer left over from the brick and mortar store days, hunt-and-pecked for almost two minutes. “Can’t tell you no secret town business. I’d be fired. Can’t lose this job. It’s all I’s got. Except keeping watch on my town.”

  Mr. Mannie was the unofficial neighborhood watch president of all things of interest. And he did that well. Living on the stretch of beach from Sunset to her father’s place, he watched all the happenings on that side of town, while the owner of Summer Sweets, Mrs. Graysen, handled the other side. No one could get away with anything in Summer Island without it ending up on the Salty Breeze Gossip Line in minutes. The SBGL worked faster than 10G.

  “I don’t want anyone to lose their job, so I won’t say anything to anyone. It’s just that I can’t let my father down. Not again.” She bowed her head in I-abandoned-my-only-family-to-protect-sea-creatures shame.

  “Prodigal tomboy returns.” He took off his glasses, tossed them onto the desk, and looked at her with narrowed eyes.

  “That’s me, returned to set things right. Not only for me, but for the town. We need to stick together to preserve our history.”

  “Don’t disagree.” He patted his front pocket and pulled out his glasses case, looked inside, and then slid it back into his pocket. “Dagnabbit. I lost my glasses again.” He turned in all directions and then halted and blinked at her. With his gaze trained on her, he nudged the screen around toward her. “Guess I left ’em in the back. Return in two shakes of a shark’s tail. Don’t go doing anything wrong out here while I’m gone.” He pointed a knobby finger at the screen and then shuffled out of the room.

  Trace bolted from the table, hurtled a small stool, and eyed the screen. “Rhonda Shaker reported rat infestation. I knew it.” She fisted her hands. At the bottom of the screen, she found the name of the demolition company, and next to it was a note.

  Demolition handled by Dustin Hawk.

  Trace’s blood boiled like a volcano on doomsday. She’d take that Dustin Hawk and force him from Summer Island before she’d let him touch her father’s house.

  The front door opened with a smiling Jewels, obviously done consorting with her enemy’s best friend. “Oh, no. What happened, and who are you about to turn into chum?”

  Trace marched past her and headed up the street.

  Jewels reached her side, panting. “Wait. Tell me before I have to bail you out of jail again.”

  She halted at the ugly reminder. “That was once, and I didn’t mean for you to get thrown in with me. All over a stupid prank to bring awareness to the principal’s desire to murder animals.”

  “You put red paint all over her mink coat.”

  “It’s not like she needed it. Didn’t the woman understand you don’t need heavy coats in Florida? Besides, I did her a favor. It looked ridiculous. Almost as ridiculous as Mr. Mannie’s leopard print speedo.” Trace shivered at the vision.

  She stepped to the side, but Jewels blocked her advance. “Move, or you’ll end up collateral damage. Rhonda has gone too far this time, and Dustin is a puppet in her game. Either willing or unwilling, he means to tear down my father’s house.”

  She couldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t let someone else down. Not now, not ever again.

  “If that’s the case, I’ll help. I have connections, you know.” She winked, as if Trace hadn’t heard all about her spending every millisecond of every day with Trevor since they’d met. “We have until tomorrow morning before they’ll even attempt to tear down the house. Let me try to resolve this peacefully before you put Rhonda at the bottom of the ocean.”

  “You make that sound like a bad thing.”

  Jewels wrapped her arm around Trace in a straight-jacket grip. “Come on. I’ll call Rhonda and try to reason with her. Better yet, I’ll get Bri to do it. She’s great at negotiating. If that doesn’t work, I’ll go talk to Trevor to get Dustin to stand down. I can’t believe that Trevor knew anything about this. Maybe Dustin doesn’t know it’s your father’s house. He only arrived a few weeks ago.”

  Trace knew that yelling at Rhonda and empty threats weren’t going to change anything. And at that moment, she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t resort to more drastic measures, so she walked side by side with her best friend in hopes that Jewels would save the day once again. The way she’d saved Trace from jail after she’d let all the air out of the bus tires to stop the emissions from killing all the plant and animal and human lives on the planet. Trace had been hotheaded in her youth but thought she’d grown into a real civilized pro-rights fighter. That’s what Robert had told her, that she was the first activist he’d ever met who made him want to work harder to preserve the environment.

  How had she been so stupid?

  Jewels opened the front door of the house.

  Their mischievous pet ferret, Houdini, shot through the dog door and up onto his platform. He never liked missing any drama.

  Bri hopped up from the kitchen table and circled Trace, lifting one arm and then the other as if giving her some skin cancer exam. “I don’t see any blood.”

  As if the lack of bloodshed was disappointing to Houdini, he raced down the gangway and disappeared into her room. The mischievous rodent unnerved Trace. Houdini liked to dig into stuff and she had a letter she’d written to Matt’s family she didn’t want discovered.

  “I’ll go check on Houdini. Be right back.” She slipped into the guest room and found him eyeing her hiding spot taped to the bottom of the dresser. “Don’t even think about it.” She ripped it free and slid it into the underwear drawer. She knew she should rip it to shreds, but she couldn’t. Despite the gag order, she longed to tell Matt’s family the truth about what really happened to their son. “Be good.”

  Houdini settled on the bed, so Trace returned to the living room “Did you get her to call yet?”

  “Call who?” Bri asked.

  “Would you call Rhonda and speak with her? I’m thinking she’ll be less threatened by you than one of us,” Jewels asked in her sweetest I-know-you’ll-do-this-for-me tone.

  Bri shrugged. “What for?”

  “She’s trying to tear down my home so she can have an ocean view. The woman’s been trying since she bought her house fifteen years ago. She’s tried a lot of stunts to get the property, but this is the closest she’s ever gotten to destroying my home.”

  Home. That word sent a zap down her spine. Matt would never make it home again.

  “Gotcha. Okay, I’ll call her. What can I say to convince her to change her mind?”

  “I won’t kill her,” Trace said.

  “Right. How about I speak with her about a compromise? That usually helps in business, right?”

  “That’s a great idea,” Jewels said.

  “Sure, I’ll compromise. I won’t kill her if she doesn’t tear down my place.”

  “I had something more constructive in mind.” Bri tapped her lips with her pencil. The girl still wrote with paper and pen instead of a computer. Trace tried not to mention how many trees were slaughtered for one manuscript. “If she wants a view, why don’t we agree that she can level the trees on the side of your home and the old clubhouse shack so she can see the ocean?”

  “What? No. Then I have to look at the hotel out my side window.”

  “A tiny window in the bathroom you have to stand on your toes to see out of? In a house you haven’t been in for three years?”

  Ouch. That stung. Trace bit her bottom lip, not wanting to offer any compromise, but knew she had to give something. “Old shack is fine, though. It wasn’t even good when we were kids.”

  Bri nodde
d. “It’s a start.”

  “Make the call.” Trace pointed to the cell phone on the table. “If she doesn’t agree, you two stay at the house while I pay her a friendly visit so you’re not accomplices.”

  Bri took her cell phone and went outside. Probably a wise move, considering Trace wouldn’t be able to hold her tongue. She paced the kitchen floor with Jewels watching her every move.

  “You think she’ll go for it?” Trace asked, her gut twisting with indecision. Part of her wanted Rhonda to refuse so she’d have an excuse to fight, but the other part only wanted to make things right for her father. She owed him this much.

  Jewels cleared her throat. “Hon, tell me what’s got you all torn up. I know you.”

  Trace rubbed the sting in her sternum. “It’s my father’s place.”

  “It’s more, and we both know it.” Jewels patted the seat by her side, but Trace couldn’t stop moving because each time she slowed down, the memories caught up.

  How could she tell her best friend she’d signed a gag order to avoid Robert Remming’s company filing a report implicating her in the death of Matt to the Brazilian authorities? It didn’t matter that she didn’t know what he’d planned. Ultimately, it was her fault. If she hadn’t told Matt all her war stories, he wouldn’t have been inspired to do something so stupid.

  Trace ignored her invitation and grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water. “Don’t you think I feel guilty about not being here when my father needed me most?”

  “He told me he sent you letters, but you said you didn’t get them.”

  “I didn’t,” she snapped. The thread keeping her temper tied down broke.

  “Then how is it your fault you weren’t here? God rest his soul, it was your father’s fault. He chose not to send for you and made me vow to let him be the one to tell you. And then it was too late. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”

  “No.” Trace set the glass down, unable to swallow the liquid or fear. “It’s not. I should’ve been here. I saw him last year and knew he wasn’t well. He hid it, but not well enough.” She gripped the counter. “Why didn’t he want me here?”