by Jill Winters
“Anything?” Nicole said now, breaking his train of thought.
His gaze shifted to her. She was standing on the opposite side of the room, her head barely clearing the fourth bookshelf, blinking at him, looking content, naive. This might be easy, after all. He had her trust. Which meant he could get access to the library again. It wasn't like he could do any real digging with her here anyway. “You pick something for me,” he told her and gave her an easy smile.
“Yeah?” she said. Her mouth curved into an almost mischievous grin. “You trust me?”
He nodded. “Absolutely.”
In fact—they trusted each other. But ultimately, Nicole was the one who would get burned. Michael knew this and remained nonplussed about it. He had to. This was business; it wasn't personal. Besides, he could always rationalize that the painting had never rightfully belonged to her or her aunt anyway.
“How about this one?” Nicole said, grabbing a book off the shelf. When he eyed the title of her selection, he couldn’t help getting an uncanny kind of feeling, given what he’d just been thinking about trust. “Embers by Sandor Marai,” she said.
***
They got back to the kitchen just in time to watch Michael's chili bubble over the pot and spurt red-brown splotches across the stove. “Oh shit—” he began, then caught himself. “Sorry.”
“Really, you can curse in front of me, I won't break. Here, let me get a towel.”
He turned the heat off. “No, I'll do that.” When he took the towel from her and started cleaning up the spills, unfortunately his elbow knocked the wooden spoon that was sticking out of the pot and sent it flying. “Oh—where—”
“It's okay, I got it,” Nicole said quickly. “Um, can you hand me that towel back? Chili's all over the floor now...” she added, trying not to laugh.
Just then, the doorbell rang.
“I'll go see who that is,” Nicole said, swiping the floor quickly, then dropping the towel and spoon in the sink.
When Nicole peeked through the window by the front door, she found herself... confused.
Red curly hair piled high and a cheery grin caught under the porch light. What the—Vickie Finn had actually invited herself over anyway? Who did that?
Grudgingly, Nicole swallowed a sigh. Might as well be neighborly. Especially since she was in a very good mood at the moment. When she opened the door she discovered that Vickie was not alone. A tall man holding a covered dish stood beside her. He had an elongated, string bean quality about him, from his drawn, narrow face to his long, thin body.
“Hi!” Vickie enthused. “I hope you don't mind us dropping in like this. This is my husband, Todd. We just thought we'd stop by and say hello.”
“Hi, nice to meet you, Todd. Sure...come on in.” Once Nicole stepped aside, Vickie bounded into the foyer, while Todd walked more cautiously behind her. Seeing the woman now, Nicole tried to picture her as Ginger had described—a hundred pounds heavier—but she could not reconcile that image with the lithe, trim body she saw before her.
“Have you eaten yet? I made you chicken divan,” Vickie said, motioning to the dish in her husband's hands. She began sniffing the air. “Mmm...something smells fantastic...” As if pulled by the spicy, rich aroma of Michael's chili, Vickie walked deeper into the house. “Whatever you're making, it is putting my chicken divan to shame.”
As they trailed Vickie to the kitchen, Nicole concluded that Todd was not a man of many words. Although to call him the “strong silent type” would be premature, at best.
“Michael?” Nicole called, stepping into the kitchen just two steps behind Vickie. There he was, stirring the chili with a dishtowel slung over his shoulder. It was an odd yet charming sight, him with his shaved head and powerful body, in such a domestic context. “You remember Vickie? And this is her—”
“Ooh, Nicole, I didn't realize you had company,” Vickie said, almost cooing at the sight of Michael at the stove. There was something suggestive about her tone, and a look to Nicole as if they shared some little secret.
Nicole acted oblivious. “Yes, Michael's cooking dinner and you're both welcome to join us.” Blech.
“Yeah, stay,” Michael said with generic friendliness, “there's plenty here.”
“Okay, we will. I just hope we're not intruding,” Vickie added, doling out another sly look to Nicole.
“No, you're not intruding,” Nicole lied. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Yes, whatever you have, thanks,” Todd said.
“I'd love some white wine,” Vickie gushed and went to stand by the stove. “Mmm...this smell is heavenly...” Shutting her eyes, she breathed deeply through her nose, then purred.
“Let's eat,” Nicole said quickly, as she couldn't take much more of this display. Catching her gaze for a moment, Michael grinned as though he’d read her mind.
Everyone took a bowl of chili except for Todd, who couldn't eat spicy food. Instead he took solely from his wife's chicken dish, which had been set on the table. As they ate, Vickie mentioned more than once how much she would love “a tour” of the rest of the house. To Nicole, it seemed a bizarre request to harp on. Aunt Nina's house was not a sprawling mansion, nor was it a historic landmark. What did she think she'd find that was so interesting?
And when she wasn't talking about “seeing the house,” she was flirting outlandishly with Michael. Considering the way Vickie had behaved with that guy, Danny, at the Squire, Nicole had to assume she was just a shameless flirt, not a serious philanderer. Otherwise Todd Finn was a complete eunuch to just sit there in the process.
“Todd, you know that Michael's a bona fide hero, don't you?” Vickie said now.
“Yes, I heard about what happened the other night. That must have been scary for you, Nicole.”
“Yes, it was.”
“If Michael hadn't come along when he did, who knows what could have happened,” Vickie added unnecessarily. It was not something Nicole liked to keep contemplating.
“So, Todd, you and Vickie both run the inn?” Michael said conversationally. (Pleased, Nicole wondered how he often seemed to know when she wanted the subject changed.)
“Yes, it's definitely a team effort,” Todd replied. “I do the books and Vickie's more the guest services end of things. We bought the place about twelve years ago. It had been called The Sea Horse then, I think. Calling it 'Cape Town Inn' was Vickie's idea. Right, honey?”
To say that Vickie wasn't paying attention would be an understatement. She was wholly preoccupied with theatrically licking the chili off her spoon.
“Honey?” Todd persisted.
“Huh? What?” she said, glancing over at him.
“Cape Town Inn was your idea, wasn't it? The name? That was brilliant.”
“Yeah, I think I came up with that. Speaking of the inn, Michael you're more than welcome to come stay at our inn—free of charge.” At that, Todd sat up a little straighter. Panic quickly crossed his face. Undoubtedly, business was slow enough this time of year without giving it away. Vickie added, “It's not like we're booked this time of year. It's just a matter of hospitality.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that,” Michael said, “but I'm happy where I am.” Obviously Michael would have to realize that Vickie was attracted to him, but the question was: did he return the attraction? The thing about Michael King was, he was damn impossible to read.
Vickie lightly touched his arm. “So, I never even got to ask you the other day at the Squire what you do for a living.”
“I work in sales.”
“Squire?” Todd questioned, his voice still mild but his eyes focused, now studying his wife.
“The other day at lunch,” Vickie explained.
“Oh...what day was this? Where was I?” Todd asked.
“What am I, your event planner?” she quipped and then rolled her eyes at Nicole, as if they shared the joke about how stupid her husband was.
“I didn't realize you had lunch together...I mean, I thought you said
you ran into them on the street one time.”
“No, that's not what I said.”
“Well, we didn't really have lunch,” Nicole began, trying futilely to clarify.
“I guess I was confused...”
“This isn't about you,” Vickie said irritably. “So anyway Michael...you're in sales. Selling what, pray tell?” Tipping her chin up, she flashed a smile. Todd stabbed a fork into his piece of casserole. The truth was, Nicole felt bad for the guy. Granted, Vickie wasn't stripping her top off at the table—yet—but she was obviously flirting with another man while her husband sat right there. The whole thing was uncomfortably emasculating.
Or could Nicole be assuming too much? After all, Todd was probably used to his wife's antics by now? Suddenly curious, Nicole asked, “So how did you two meet?”
“We were high school sweethearts,” Todd stated proudly. “Sophomore geometry class together. Her last name was Cochran. Mine was Finn. And the rest was history, right honey?”
Briefly, Nicole and Michael exchanged confused looks. Then Nicole said, “What's the connection? I mean, with your names?”
“Because the seating was alphabetical. She was in the first aisle, I was in the second. Our desks were right beside to each other.”
Vickie rolled her eyes. “Todd, that was a million years ago.”
“Not to me,” he said, looking straight at her with this intense stare, “I remember every detail.” His voice had dipped to a silky, more intimate one, as if he was trying to have “a moment” right there at the table. Vickie seemed not to notice and blissfully drank her wine.
Still, Todd kept looking longingly at her. It all seemed kind of...pathetic.
Nicole darted a glance at Michael and instantly, his gaze found hers. Their look held for a few seconds. Heat rose to her cheeks. Casually, they broke the eye contact, but still Nicole could feel something happening between her and Michael and it suddenly excited her beyond belief.
But she couldn't rule out her competitor yet. Nicole had to hand it to the woman—she had wanted to do dinner, she had wanted to come to the house, and when push came to shove, Vickie Finn had gotten her way.
Chapter Twenty
It was a windy night; leaves noisily rustled against the balcony. Too keyed up to sleep, Nicole called her sister. After she filled Alyssa in on Vickie, Tinsdale, Aunt Nina's garden, and the Preservation League, she finished with Hazel. “Michael says she's just bitter. Though I'm not sure why.”
“Hmm, sixty, single, and built like a Mac truck. Let's put our heads together...”
“Okay, fine. I see your point.”
“Look, it’s a classic case. She’s a spinister.”
“A what?”
“A sinister spinster,” Alyssa explained. “A spinister.”
Nicole couldn’t help but laugh, and Alyssa sounded pleased and almost giddy when she said, “I just made that up!—but I’m sticking to it.”
“How could something you just made up be a ‘classic case’? But, now that I think about it, Hazel did have a rough break. Ginger told me that her husband was lost at sea.”
“Lost at sea?” Alyssa echoed. “There's an expression you don't hear much in real life. What happened?”
“I don't know the details. And you know what else Ginger told me?”
“I thought Ginger was the quiet one. When is she doing all this unburdening?”
“Just listen. Apparently Ginger used to baby-sit Vickie, and it turns out that she used to be really overweight. But it's weird, because I could swear that Vickie referred to herself once as 'prom queen.' Or was it 'homecoming queen'? Either way, why would she deliberately lie about herself like that?”
Alyssa said, “Why does everyone named Andrea suddenly pronounce their name Andr-AY-uh?” Ever the confounding lawyer. “Think about it. Besides, maybe she didn't lie. Maybe she was popular, but just not attractive.”
“But isn't the prom queen usually for the best-looking girl? And then the best-looking guy is the king?”
“What is this, an eighties movie?” Alyssa said. “Now let's get to the bigger issue.”
“Which is...?”
“Michael.”
A smile crept over Nicole's face. Michael...
“You two seem to be getting pretty friendly. I can tell that you like him.”
“I do like him; we're friends. As much as you can be friends in only a few days.”
“It's more than that,” Alyssa argued. “Look, he rescued you and he's all strong and courageous and mysterious. Face it—it's a classic case.”
“Another one?” Nicole said with sarcasm. Yet, at the mention of Michael, she dug her body a little deeper into the covers and wondered about him right now. She wondered if he was sleeping...if he slept on his side or his stomach...if he snored...
“I think you maybe should make a move on him,” Alyssa suggested.
“You make it sound so easy.”
“Why not try? You guys seem to be hitting it off really well.”
“True, but if he were interested, he'd make a move himself,” Nicole pointed out.
“You're so passive,” Alyssa said. It seemed more of an observation than a criticism. “Has he ever asked you if you have a boyfriend?”
“No.”
“Hmm. Maybe he has a girlfriend and that's why he hasn't made a move. Because if he asked you if you had a boyfriend, he'd have to answer the same question and admit that he was dating someone already. That could be what's holding him back.”
The thought dampened Nicole's excitement instantly. Like tucking her in with a soggy quilt. Acting nonplussed, she played it off. “Look, nothing is going to happen. He's leaving as soon as his boat's fixed.”
“It’s taking long enough,” Alyssa commented. “You know what I think? I think he can leave by now, but he wants to stay. I bet his boat’s fixed already and he just likes being with you.” Nicole had not even thought of that, but the general idea was appealing to consider. Could Michael be stalling his departure for her?
***
“Is he screwing her?”
Danny Keegan blew out a bewildered breath. “How the hell should I know? And who cares?” He reached across the roof of his car to grab his shirt.
“I'm asking what you think,” Vickie snapped.
She had called him a half hour ago and told him to meet her by Oyster Pond. Like Vickie, she'd attacked him as soon as their bodies met. No interest in getting in the back seat, she'd just crushed her mouth against his, pushed his jacket to the ground, yanked his shirt out of his jeans. They'd ended up having sex on the hood of his car, still half dressed. And now—like Vickie—she was gonna make him talk on about some topic he had no interest in.
“Hand me one,” Vickie said now, as Danny grabbed the pack of cigarettes out of the front pocket of his shirt. He lit one for himself, puffed, then handed it off to her.
“I think he's screwing her,” Vickie stated. Yup, he knew it, they were gonna have to talk on about some topic now.
“Okay. So what?” Danny said irritably. When Vickie had called him earlier, she'd been coming from dinner with those two people they had seen at the Squire. Danny remembered them well enough: the cute brunette and the dude with the shaved head. What was Vickie's obsession with whether or not they had something going?
“Why would Michael ever be interested in Nicole Sheffield?” Vickie mused, curling her lip. “She's so milk and cookies.”
Irrational jealousy began to churn a hole in Danny's gut. Stupid. It wasn't like he and Vickie were having some beautiful fucking storybook romance here. But still—was she bored of him already? “She seemed fine to me,” he replied.
Instantly, Vickie whipped her head over to glare at him. “What does that mean? Did you think she was hot?”
Now he was getting to her. For all her bossy, oversexed ways, Vickie's insecurities ran deep. Evasively, he shrugged, didn't make direct eye contact, but instead took another cigarette out for himself. Tapped it on the hood. Lit it.<
br />
“Well?” Vickie demanded.
As he blew out a trail of smoke, he gave a nod and admitted, “She was cute. Pretty face. If you wanted to do a three-way with her I wouldn't exactly complain.”
“Fuck you!” Vickie snapped, as she climbed her way into a sitting position. “You think I'd do a three-way? Go to hell!” Danny tried not to laugh. For a thirty-nine-year-old woman, Vickie threw some great tantrums. Of course Vickie had never actually confided her age to him. As a cop, he could find out almost anything about someone; age was the least of it.
Her husband had to be a world-class pussy not to see how she played around on him. How could he not see what his wife was up to? When Danny had teased Vickie about her sexual appetite once, she'd said that she “had a lot of time to make up for” but she never really explained what she meant.
Still sulking, she went about straightening her skirt and sliding off the hood. “Don't be mad,” Danny coaxed now. Maybe he'd pushed her too far. “I wasn't asking for a three-way, I was just saying...” Angrily, she slapped his hand away as he reached to stroke her neck. But she was never exactly cuddly. There was always something prickly about her despite her animated, chatty behavior with other people in town.
“Don't go mad...” he said. She slapped his hand again when he touched her arm. “Where are you headed?” Danny asked, climbing off the hood and zipping up his fly. “Back to hubby?” At the mention of Todd, Vickie rolled her eyes and blew some red spiral curls off her forehead. “Does he wait up for you?”
“Yeah, right,” Vickie said, slipping into her shoes. “He's supposed to be doing our bills tonight. I'm sure he'll smother me as soon as I get home. He's so fucking needy.”
“Yeah? It's bad?”
“Total cling-on,” Vickie said in disgust. “Sometimes...if you want to know the truth...”
“What?” Danny probed.
“He makes me physically ill,” she finished.
Quite inappropriately, Danny barked out a laugh. He couldn't help himself. “Then why the hell did you marry him?”
“Ugh, long story. Some things are just habit. Anyways, he's gotten a lot worse in the last several years. Always gawking at me.” It was no wonder. If I were married to a slut, I'd probably keep an eye on her, too, he thought. Interestingly, this was the first real glimpse into her marriage that Vickie had ever allowed. Overall, she never talked about Todd—but she and Danny didn't exactly have “deep” conversations.
