The House on Mermaid Point

by Wendy Wax

  “I told you not to pry that tack loose with your teeth.” Deirdre’s chiding carried no heat. “And I wish you wouldn’t go up on the roof anymore. I thought I was going to have a heart attack when I saw you strolling around up there.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s part of the job,” Avery said. “And I’m too grateful that we don’t have to replace the whole thing to care how many times I had to go up there.”

  “I need a drink,” Nicole murmured. “This place could really use a pool bar. With waiters.”

  “You know we can’t drink down here.” Maddie was so tired that opening her eyes seemed a major accomplishment.

  “Doesn’t matter.” Nicole spoke slowly, as if forming each word required effort. “I don’t think I have the strength to get a glass to my mouth anyway. And my hands are so numb I’m not sure I could even hold a glass.”

  “Too bad it can’t be dispensed intravenously.” Avery yawned.

  There was laughter. But they did it quietly and with as little movement as possible.

  Kyra and Dustin left the pool to sit on the edge of the Jacuzzi on either side of Maddie. Their feet dangled in the water. Troy and Anthony moved in for a close-up when Dustin slung a chubby arm around Maddie’s shoulder. “Geema hug.” He looped his other arm around her neck and squeezed mightily. Maddie breathed in the combination of little boy mixed with sunshine. The heady scent began to revive her.

  “I can’t believe season one of Do Over starts airing next week.” Avery’s head remained tilted back, but her eyes had opened.

  “I know.” Maddie gave Dustin’s thigh a gentle squeeze. “I get butterflies in my stomach just thinking about it.” A successful first season would give them something to build on and a continued income, small though it was.

  “I haven’t been near a television since we got here,” Deirdre said. “I certainly hope the network has been promoting it.”

  “I hope they didn’t make us look too bad.” Nicole aimed the comment at Kyra, who had been in on the final editing. Kyra looked at Troy. Troy stared back.

  “It could have been worse,” Kyra said. These were virtually the same words she’d used when the topic had been raised at Christmas.

  There was a brief silence as each of them thought about the upcoming day of reckoning. Maddie wanted to believe Do Over would be a hit, the solution to their monetary problems. But if season one didn’t pull a big enough audience, even William Hightower’s name might not be enough to save them.

  “Do you think Will would be okay with us watching on his flat-screen?” Avery asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Maddie said truthfully. She was still replaying the apology he’d directed her through. He’d seemed so hostile and then so . . . not. “I’m not at all clear on how much cooperation we can expect from him.”

  “Well, I’m not sure I want to see myself in high-def on a screen that big,” Nicole said.

  “We’ll get to see Max again.” Kyra smiled. “As far as I’m concerned he totally stole the show.”

  “Gax!” Dustin clapped his hands.

  A cell phone rang close to Maddie’s ear. Beside her, Kyra lifted the phone, looked at the screen. There was a sharp intake of breath. “Mom, will you keep an eye on Dustin?” She was up and walking toward the beach, the phone pressed to her ear, before Maddie could answer.

  “Maybe I should write the book that publisher approached me about.” Nicole’s eyes scanned the water. “You know, in case Do Over doesn’t . . . do as well as we hope. I was thinking I might call it Sister of Slime: How I Raised a Financial Criminal with No Conscience.”

  “Maybe you should,” Avery replied. “He stole from you, too. It’s completely unfair that you’ve lost your business and your reputation just because you’re related to him.” Nicole had once had a significant presence on both coasts.

  “Are you sure Heart Inc. is . . . finished?” Maddie’s eyes were pinned to her daughter, who was now pacing the beach, the phone pressed to her ear.

  “I think we can safely say that too many of the high-net-worth individuals who were my clients have a lot less ‘worth in their nets’ thanks to Malcolm. I haven’t been invited to an A-list dinner party in so long I’m not sure I’d know which fork to use.”

  “Maybe you need to develop a new market.” Deirdre had managed to arrange herself in the Jacuzzi to maximum effect. Her sleek one-piece bathing suit made her a testament to “sixty as the new forty.” Did that mean Maddie was now only thirty?

  “Maybe you could service a less exclusive clientele,” Avery mused. “What about targeting people fifty-plus?”

  “According to my latest bulletin, AARP is already doing that.” Maddie wasn’t about to admit that she’d bookmarked the site for the day when she was ready to think about dating again.

  “Maybe you could focus on women of a certain age who are looking for boy toys,” Deirdre teased.

  “I’m a matchmaker, not a madam.” Nicole sighed. “Or at least I was.”

  Maddie couldn’t imagine wanting a younger man, let alone undressing in front of one. What kind of man could she see herself with? An image of Will Hightower pulling off his T-shirt and diving into the pool came to mind. She pushed it away.

  Out on the beach, Kyra ended her conversation, then stood staring out over the ocean. When she came back to the Jacuzzi she had a strange look on her face.

  “Is everything okay?” Maddie asked.

  “Sure.” Kyra’s flushed face and set shoulders implied otherwise. Kyra was no better at lying than she was. “I’m just going to take Dustin back to the boat and get him ready for bed.”

  Maddie gave Dustin a good-night kiss and watched Kyra carry him off.

  A boat cut through the nearby channel. She looked up, hoping it might be William Hightower back from another day of fishing, but the boat passed Mermaid Point and disappeared under the Tea Table Bridge. At least no one could sneak up on you here. Especially not at low tide when the depth surrounding the island shrank to mere inches.

  Nicole yawned. “I don’t think I’m going to make it to sunset, so I just want to say that the only good thing I can think of right now is that Joe will be here tomorrow morning and we have a whole twenty-four hours off. If anybody needs a lift, we’re going by boat to Cheeca Lodge. The first thing I plan to do when we get there is crank up the AC to igloo and soak in a real live bathtub for a really long time.”

  “Seriously?” Avery asked. “You’re going to spend a night with Joe Giraldi and all you’re thinking about is air-conditioning and bathtubs?”

  Nicole smiled wickedly. “I didn’t say I was planning to soak and chill all by myself.”

  • • •

  Nicole and Giraldi were long gone by the time the rest of them were ready to leave the island the next day. Maddie found Hudson Power in the boathouse and asked him if he could run them over to Bud N’ Mary’s.

  “I can, but you could probably handle it.” There was a slash of dimple when he smiled. He was a kinder, gentler, and infinitely less complicated man than William Hightower. And far easier to ask for help.

  “No, not yet.” Maddie looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was listening. “The whole docking thing isn’t exactly coming naturally.” She’d discovered during a recent lesson that it was, in fact, possible to accidentally accelerate in reverse. “And I’m still worried about staying in the channel.”

  Hudson laughed, but Maddie knew it had only been his experience and quick reflexes that had kept her from ramming the dock.

  They set out for the marina with Hudson, four adults, and one toddler crammed into the Jon Boat, Troy and Anthony trailing them in the rubber dinghy. Hudson was preparing to pull into a vacant boat slip when the first shouts reached them.

  “Look this way, Kyra, luv!” Nigel Bracken stood at the front of a pack of paparazzi. His long face was sunburned, his pale skinny
arms a splotchy red. A potato-faced photographer stood next to him, a Hawaiian shirt covered in neon flowers straining against his gut, flip-flops slapping against his feet as he elbowed one of the other photographers out of the way. Others wore fishing caps with lures hooked in the crowns, brand-new boat shoes, and Florida Keys T-shirts from which price tags still dangled.

  “Where’s your drinking buddy Wild Will, Maddie?” another shouted.

  Maddie felt her heart drop at the thought that Will’s drinking was assumed. She put her arm around Kyra’s shoulders in an effort to help block their shots of Dustin.

  “Wow.” Hudson cut to idle speed. “You don’t think they actually believe they’re blending in, do you?”

  “I don’t think they aspire to blending in.” Avery craned her neck to see them more clearly. “But then, I don’t know that they have any aspirations other than getting a money shot of Dustin and catching the rest of us looking bad.”

  “Damn.” Kyra clutched Dustin more tightly, then pulled his baseball cap lower to shadow his face. “I knew I should have worked harder to come up with a disguise.”

  “I don’t think the burqa would have worked here,” Deirdre said. Kyra had arrived disguised in one at Christmas.

  “No, and I don’t think there’s a sleeveless bikini cover-up version, either,” Avery teased.

  “This place is way too small for disguises,” Deirdre said. “And as long as we’re together and one of us is holding Dustin, it’s pretty hard to pretend you’re someone else.”

  They huddled in the boat trying to come up with a game plan, covering their mouths to try to foil the professional lip readers who hovered on the dock like a flock of pigeons whose homing systems had somehow short-circuited.

  Maddie sighed. “Islamorada is way too small to lose them.”

  “I don’t think they’re organized enough to follow all of us,” Avery reasoned. “When we hit the parking lot we’ll be heading in different directions. If there’s any way to park in the middle of a lot of cars or around the back of wherever you’re headed, do it.”

  “What time do you want me to pick you up?” Hudson asked.

  “It’s going to be a long week,” Avery said. “I’d like to stay off Mermaid Point as long as possible.”

  “If we lose them let’s meet up for an early dinner at the Shrimp Shack.” Maddie handed out a list of local restaurants she’d culled from her guidebooks. “Otherwise we can meet back here at seven.” She turned to Hudson. “Is that okay for you?”

  “You bet.” He eyed the photographers still squawking at them from the dock. “You can reach me on the cell number I gave you if your plans change.” He backed the boat away from the dock, which sent Nigel and his brethren shouting after them, their words swallowed by the breeze. “I’m going to drop you on the other side of the dry storage. If we’re lucky it’ll buy you at least a small head start.”

  • • •

  “I’m never leaving. They’re going to have to pry me out of here with a crowbar.” It was Sunday morning, and Nicole suspected her smile was every bit as satisfied as the rest of her. “And if it weren’t for Avery Lawford I wouldn’t even know what a crowbar actually looked like.”

  She and Giraldi sat on their private terrace at the Cheeca Lodge dawdling over breakfast, the Atlantic Ocean spread before them. The previous day she’d had a facial for which her face practically fell down on its knees in gratitude, followed by a couples massage on the beach that Joe had organized. Afterward they’d retired to their oceanfront suite where they’d made the most of the air-conditioning, the marble bathtub, the king-sized bed, and each other.

  The trade wind teased at her bare skin and the silk wrapper she’d pulled on over it. “I don’t know if I can make myself go back.” Her lips were swollen from Joe’s kisses; her limbs, heavy from their lovemaking. She didn’t know how he’d gotten such an incredible room on such short notice during what she now knew was the height of tarpon season. And she didn’t care. She felt human again, better than human. She studied his eyes, which could be so warm and reassuring, the dazzling smile that lit his face. For someone who encountered the worst of human behavior every day in his job hunting down financial criminals like her brother, he remained surprisingly positive. He actually seemed to believe in relationships in a way that she, who had been married twice and brokered countless more matches, couldn’t fathom. The fact that he came from a large, loving family both fascinated and frightened Nicole, who had grown up with a mother beaten down by circumstances and a younger brother who had never learned to give but only to receive. Or more accurately, to take.

  Joe topped off their coffees. She watched the subtle play of muscle across his bare chest and arm as he set down the carafe.

  “My family’s coming down for the Fourth of July.” He buttered a piece of toast, added jelly. “Everyone’s hoping you’ll be there.” His tone was casual, but she saw the slight tightening of his jaw, the “tell” that this mattered to him. He tried, but she knew he didn’t understand how alien she found it in the bosom of his gregarious Italian family.

  “I’m not sure we’ll be off that weekend.” She reached for a piece of toast she had no interest in eating so that she wouldn’t have to meet his eyes. “But I’ll see what I can do.”

  “They’re not axe murderers, you know,” he said quietly. “They really like you.”

  “And I like them. They’re lovely people.” She carefully buttered the toast. “They couldn’t be nicer. But your mother asked me when I’m going to make an honest man of you.”

  “I wouldn’t mind hearing the answer to that one myself.” His tone was wry.

  “Then your grandmother plucked a hair from my head to use in an ancient family love potion. And your sister threatened to make me a pair of cement overshoes if I hurt you.”

  There was a flash of white teeth. “Deena’s watched one too many episodes of The Sopranos. We’re Italian but I’m pretty sure the FBI background check confirmed that we’re not ‘connected.’” He took the sagging piece of toast from her hand and set it on her plate. “I’d watch out for Nonna Sofia, though. Her potions are pretty powerful. Now that she’s pushing ninety she sometimes gets confused. I think she once accidentally brought two distant male cousins in Sicily together. Which is something neither of their mothers appreciated.”

  His dry delivery made her laugh. “I’m just not a spend-the-weekend-with-a-man’s-family kind of person.”

  “Is that right?” he asked. His tone said he didn’t believe her. But then, the FBI didn’t train its agents to fold at the first sign of resistance. Or even the second.

  Eager to change the subject, she added cream and sugar to her coffee and then told him that she was thinking about contacting the publisher who’d asked her to write her account of her and Malcolm’s childhood and how it might have led to his crime.

  Giraldi didn’t respond.

  She looked up. “What?” she asked. “What is it?”

  “I saw Malcolm. He, um, sent his regards.”

  “Did he?” She hadn’t seen her brother since she’d helped Joe put him behind bars in a correctional facility for the criminally selfish. Where he belonged.

  “He’s been offered a significant advance to write his own account. He’s already started.”

  She shook her head. He’d stolen everything else. Was he planning to steal this last opportunity to make enough money to get back on her feet? “But I thought criminals weren’t allowed to profit from their crimes.”

  “They’re not. But he’s claiming that the advance and any royalties will go to pay back his victims.”

  Jesus. Nicole could only imagine the pittance she, Avery, Maddie, and the hundreds of other victims would end up with. She didn’t believe for a second that his reasons for writing what would certainly be an unflattering portrayal of everyone but him could be remotely altruistic. “You don’t
believe that, do you? You don’t believe that his intentions are honorable.”

  “No.” Giraldi’s face hardened. In his quest to bring Malcolm to justice he’d seen firsthand the hundreds of families and charitable institutions devastated by Malcolm’s Ponzi scheme. “But there’s no telling what a judge might believe. Or, more to the point, how it might look to a parole review board.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Avery paced the beach, the phone pressed to her ear, on hold with the network yet again. This time she was not going to hang up until she had Lisa Hogan on the line.

  Behind her, roofers clambered up the scaffolding and across the pitched metal roof with the sure-footed grace of mountain goats, wide-brimmed straw hats covering their heads. The roofing company had been referred by Enrico Dante, who had handled Bella Flora’s roof.

  The crew had been barged in along with the necessary materials at sunrise, startling an indignant squawk out of their time-challenged rooster. They stage-whispered in accents from countries and islands Avery had never visited; as if anyone might have actually slept through their arrival and deployment.

  According to their foreman they would knock off shortly after lunch when the reflective properties of the metal roof would make it possible to fry an egg and any uncovered body parts that came in contact with it. The garage and boathouse roofs would be tackled next—all in all a week’s worth of repairs. As soon as she found and retained a lead carpenter, interior demolition would begin in the main house.

  The sun was already beating down mercilessly at nine fifteen A.M. as she watched a trio of wading birds, presumably in search of breakfast, duck their bills beneath water so shallow that it would have barely topped their ankles had they had any. She’d lost track of how long she’d been on hold, but she was beginning to wonder if she’d lost the connection.

  “The budget is way too high. I can approve maybe half of that.”

  Avery felt the rush of adrenaline at the sound of Lisa Hogan’s voice. “This is a network television program,” she said. “The word ‘shoestring’ is nowhere in the title. I can’t possibly renovate three separate structures, a pool with a pavilion, and the grounds on half of what is necessary.” She strode across the beach to the northernmost spit of sand in an effort to lose the shouts of the roofers and the clatter of tools on metal.