by Kendel Lynn
Sid’s phone buzzed and she pulled it from her handbag. “Oh, it’s Brad Jerome from the ATV rental place.” She hit the red decline button. “He can leave a voicemail. Probably trying to make sure I don’t sue them for my broken boogie board. I may have sold it a little too well the other night.”
“Did you say Brad Jerome? That’s his name?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Because Jona’s last name is Jerome.”
“Jona, the Isle producer?” Sid asked.
“Yep.”
“Maybe it’s just a coincidence? Though, I guess Jerome isn’t as common as Smith, but it’s also not terribly unique like Wigglesworth or Sotomayor.”
“Well, coincidentally, Jona Jerome offered Isle House for the BBQ today because our previously pristine and properly permitted beach was wrecked, likely by ATVs.”
“And, coincidentally, a Brad Jerome works at an ATV rental hut.”
“Too convenient to be a coincidence, right?”
“You want to go back? Stop in Island Rentals?” Sid glanced at her watch. “We can be a little late. Later. We’re late.”
“And do what? Ask Brad if he provided his sister or wife or some branch of the Jerome family a bunch of ATVs to damage the beach and cause tens of thousands of dollars in damages, not to mention break about ten laws? That public beach belongs to Sea Pine Island, and it’s turtle nesting season.”
Sid sighed long and deep. “But not tonight after the BBQ, ’kay?”
“For what?”
“To break in and read contracts or trace genealogy or test tread patterns or whatever you have planned.”
“Fine, not tonight,” I said. “But definitely tomorrow.”
“Thank you. Tonight is romantic.”
“Where’s Milo?”
“He’s meeting me at Isle House. I’m arriving with you, but going home with him. Where’s Nick?”
“Hopefully meeting me there. But with his big special DEA task force case, it’s hard to tell.”
“El, your whole relationship is hard to tell,” Sid said. “Me? I know where I stand at all times.”
“It’s straightforward for you two,” I said. “You started from scratch only a year and a half ago. First date, first kiss, first everything. So much easier to track and trace where you stand. Ransom and I have history. A lot of history.”
“That shouldn’t change the present. Or your future. I’ve never known you to not know what you want. Go get it.”
“Slow your roll. It’s only been eighteen months or so.”
“You two started twenty years ago in college. You’re now forty. What are you waiting for?”
“The other shoe to drop,” I said. “You know, the day he texts me to say he had to go. It wasn’t our time. Again. Look at his DEA case. It still pulls him in. He’s not fully on the island, just like before. He wants to go to Barcelona and Monterey and what if he decides to leave me behind? Again.”
She reached over and took my hand. “Sweetie, you were teenagers. He loves you. He came back to you. He wants to take you to Barcelona and Monterey, not the DEA.” She kissed my hand and held it in hers. “Don’t you dare forget that you are everything. You go get your happily ever after. Fear will only stand in your way.”
Tears stung my eyes and tickled my nose and I blinked them back. “You are everything, Sid. Thank you. I love you.”
“You know, even with the Post-it, Meredith and Derek got married,” Sid said. “He proposed with his mother’s ring.”
“And then they married on a Post-it.”
“And then they married with rings. Because, forever.”
“I don’t think Ransom believes in forever.”
“Do you?”
I squeezed her hand, but didn’t answer. We’d arrived at the Ballantyne Beach BBQ and Down the Isle set. My plate was definitely much too full to worry about forever.
SEVENTEEN
(Day #8: Saturday Afternoon)
Isle House dazzled in its antebellum grandeur. The power washed paint practically glowed in the mid-afternoon sun. Every flower bed and planter held mounds of fresh soil bursting with blooms. Valets darted about setting up ingress/egress flow while Rusty’s crew loaded the Freightliner with boxes and crates. Catering staff smoothed table linens and stacked plates. Hickory smoke carried by the light breeze promised sweet and tangy brisket slathered in sauce.
Sid and I followed the path to the back where the enormous pool flowed with sparkling cool water. Tables for two and four mixed with luxury loungers and tented cabanas. The tiki bar was stocked and manned with cut fruit and colorful mixers.
Inside the main kitchen, Carla, Chef, and Jane bustled amongst uniformed staffers. They filled a long line of milk glass punch bowls with charred cabbage slaw, peach and plum salad with basil, watermelon pickles, and lemon mayo potato salad. Stock pots held maple bacon baked beans, and split corn on the cob awaited its turn on the grill to be topped with that delicious herbed goat cheese butter.
Tess wiped a variety of cake stands in the dining room. The entire table, a reclaimed-wood stunner, displayed twenty-seven single-tier cakes. Each beautifully decorated masterpiece was an original. Red and blue and pink and green, white and orange and aqua and citrine. Flowers, swirls, and decadent shapes all perfectly placed.
“The Down the Isle crew is upstairs,” Jane said, straddling the doorway between the kitchen and dining room. “Make sure they stay put. They are not invited.”
“They’re providing the house we’re standing in and the ocean view we’re looking at,” I said.
“Which we overpaid for, thanks to you,” she said. “Guests arrive in ten, so make it happen.”
“I’ve got the cakes, Elliott,” Tess said. “They’re almost ready for the tables. You talk to Jona. She’s in the production suite, third floor. I’m happy to never speak to her again.”
I left Sid with Tess to prepare the procession of cakes to the table rounds on the lawn. With a deep breath and a vague idea of how to politely request Jona not join the party, I climbed the two flights of stairs to the top floor.
When I had visited earlier in the week, it was simply a long empty room with a stunning view overlooking the pool. Today, the heavy plantation shutters were closed tight against the windows, and monitor screens were mounted on stands across the wide expanse. Must have been ten total. Six blank and four playing different shows.
Jona huddled with three other people, all with identical Down the Isle press credentials clipped to their waists and black over-ear headphones slung around their necks. “I want two angles from the front behind the preacher,” Jona said.
“It’s a clerk,” a girl in side braids said. “County, I think. Or a Justice of the Peace. Maybe.”
“Don’t care,” Jona said. “Make sure both front angles show the aisle. The full aisle. Centered like a runway.”
Before I interrupted their camera angle discussion, I noticed Juliette on one of the screens. I stepped over to watch. With my busy week—chased by thugs, almost arrested by the DEA, Jane Doe in the scrub, ATV-wrecked beach—I hadn’t yet streamed a single episode. As I glanced at all four screens, the ones with different shows, I realized they were all Down the Isle episodes, or possibly outtakes, featuring Juliette, Daphne, and Tucker in various combinations.
Once I started watching, it wasn’t Juliette who held my attention. It was Daphne. She and Tucker sat on the porch swing in the garden. Ocean waves rolled gently in the background while magnolia branches swayed in the foreground. Tucker brushed a lock of Daphne’s hair from her face, slipped it behind her ear.
I stepped closer to the screen to listen. The volume was low, but I heard every word.
“This is what the rest of our life looks like,” Tucker said.
Daphne laughed. Easy, languid, normal, as if the camera wasn’t even there. “We’re sta
ying in the house forever? Not sure that was part of the package.”
“We’ll build a swing on our front lawn,” he said. “In San Francisco, we can still visit the beach. Might even see it if we really want to. Expensive, but worth it.”
“Yes, but in Nashville, we can visit the mountains. And you can see them for miles and miles. No extra cost.”
“California has mountains.”
“They’re not the Appalachians.”
“Wherever you go, I go,” he said.
“He really loved her,” Jona said from behind me. “Like a forever kind of love. The audience devoured those two love birds. Our ratings shot up as word spread. One blogger called it their love bubble. Hard to stop a love like that. But she tried.” Jona pointed to another screen. She tapped two buttons and the volume rose.
Juliette and Daphne sat on a bed with a plastic box between them. It was divided into a dozen compartments, each filled with beads in different shapes, sizes, and colors. Daphne braided threadlike cords while Juliette examined tiny treasures.
“It’s fated,” Juliette said. “I mean, our grandparents are married, and we’ll be married.” She sighed and held a bead up to the light. “How romantic.”
Daphne twisted the cords tight, sliding beads every so many turns. She remained silent, and it seemed Juliette didn’t notice.
“I finally get the family I always wanted,” Juliette continued. “Tucker will inherit the family business, you know. And it’s on the island. I’ll start my business on the island. It’s so perfect. We already picked out our house.”
“You did?” Daphne finally responded and with surprise. “When?”
“Well, I picked it out,” Juliette said. “It’s near our grandparents. On the same exact street. It’s my dream house, and I know Tucker feels the same. He told me.”
“But it’s so expensive that close to the beach,” Daphne said.
“Where there’s a will, we’ll make a way,” Juliette said.
“I think he loved them both,” Jona said to me. “In his own way. It wasn’t all for the cameras.”
“What wasn’t?” I asked.
“The love bubble,” she said, pointing to the other screen with Tucker and Daphne lazily swinging on the lawn. “He and Juliette had their moments, too. And he charmed Farrah. Hot and heavy. That kept those two up late, I can tell you that. Plotting and planning.”
“You mean Daphne really did get Farrah kicked off the show?”
“Damn right she did,” Farrah said. She marched into the room, placed one hand on her hip.
“I’ve been calling you,” I said. “I’d think you’d want to tell me your side of the story.”
“I’ll tell you now. Daphne knew Tucker and me had a real connection. Not some ancient fated Juliette Greek tragedy. Not fantasy living in a fairy tale. Real real. Daphne looks all sweet and innocent, but she caused nothing but chaos.”
“She’s really good at it,” Jona said. “And I’m counting on it. Spectacular chaos. You’ll see. The entire viewing audience will see.”
Took me less than a second to catch her drift and the smug glance she exchanged with Farrah. “You think she’s coming back?” I said. “That she’s not actually missing? That’s she’s going to create chaos at the wedding?”
“We’ll find out tomorrow,” Jona said.
Juliette spoke from behind Farrah. “What are you saying? I don’t understand.”
Farrah whirled around. A wicked grin lit up her entire face. “Oh, you will, and I want a front row seat for that clown show.” She pushed past Juliette with a solid shoulder check. She practically hopped down the staircase.
“Wait!” Juliette shouted, running after her.
Jona frantically motioned the crew. “Go, go, go.”
Two crew members grabbed cameras, hoisting them on their shoulders as they jogged out of the room.
“Oh shit,” I said and sprinted. I slammed down the steps, my flats slapping the polished wood. I passed the first camera, then the second.
All the while Daphne’s texts about ‘not going thru with it’ with a secret someone flashing in my mind. She wasn’t just cheating on Alex, she was cheating on Juliette. No wonder she was stressed out about the wedding. The maid of honor was dating the groom.
Juliette rounded the lower staircase as Farrah whipped open the front door. She raised her hands in victory as if she’d just stuck the landing and was waiting for the judges’ score.
Party guests were arriving on the far side of the front lawn. Farrah waved merrily.
Juliette grabbed the neck of her top, dragging her into the house. “You liar!”
“Don’t touch my weave, bitch!” Farrah slapped Juliette’s arm down. “Oh look,” she said, pointing toward the patio doors visible through the kitchen. “It’s Tucker. Let’s go ask him if I’m a liar.” She bumped the cake table with her hip and Juliette gasped. I gasped. Tess hollered, “Bitch!”
“What the bloody—” Jane said.
Chef put his arm around her, tucking her out of the way as we all sped past.
“I got this,” I said.
“Guests are arriving!” Jane said.
We spilled onto the pool deck. There stood Millie Poppy next to Tucker. His face paled as Farrah and Juliette burst forward.
“You and Daphne?” Juliette said. “Still?”
“What do you mean?” Tucker said.
“Daphne’s not missing,” Juliette said. “That’s what I mean. Are we getting married tomorrow?”
Tucker looked visibly shaken. Confusion, fear, anguish. He stepped forward. “She’s not missing? You found her?”
“Have you been seeing her behind my back?” Juliette said. Anger lit up her features and Tucker stepped back.
“Of course we saw each other,” he said. “We were friends.”
“I’m asking about being more than friends. Is she going to crash my wedding?” She laughed, bitterness and pain running deep. “The wedding she was invited to? My maid of honor sleeping with my groom.”
“We hadn’t slept together, but…”
“But what?” Juliette said. “You wanted to? You were going to?”
“She and I had a connection first,” he said. “Way before you and me. It…you pressured me…all that destiny…it just got so confusing.”
“Pressured you?” she said. “Confusing? Let me simplify it. Our wedding is tomorrow, Tucker. Tomorrow. You and Daphne had a couple of dates two years ago. Right? Right? The connection is supposed to be ours. What am I missing? You proposed to me, not her.”
“We had a connection first, Tucker,” Farrah said. “Tell her. We had sex in that very cabana the first week. And it wasn’t the only time. And then Daphne ruined it. You knew she lied about those beads, and you did nothing.”
“What?” Juliette looked horrified, her eyes wide, her face growing redder still.
“You ruined it,” Tucker yelled at Jona, then turned to Juliette. “You both did. All this,” he said with an arm wave as Millie Poppy stepped closer to Juliette. “This is you. Not me. Not Daphne. The family connections, the destiny, the whole thing. You poisoned Daphne’s mind, and she couldn’t do that to you. Even though you did that to her.”
“To me?” Juliette said. “Do what to me? Let me marry someone who doesn’t love me? Or worse, not marry you because she’s going to show up as I walk down the aisle and humiliate me on camera? Her way of getting back at me?”
“It’s not always about you, Juliette,” Tucker said. “Jesus.”
A crowd had gathered. Sid, Jane, Chef, Tess, Zibby, plus catering staff and guests who’d started to stroll the grounds. Jona expertly directed the cameras to film the scene. She worked silently, unobtrusively, so the action would flow naturally.
Farrah turned to Jona. “Since Daphne is in love, and Juliette is old news, I’m t
he next Eligible, right?”
Jona smiled. “Oh definitely, and this is the trailer.”
“I told you I’d get what I wanted,” Farrah said. “I always figure out a way.” She blew a kiss toward the camera and left with a sashay.
“How could you?” Millie Poppy said to Tucker. She opened her arms to Juliette whose anger melted into cries which quickly turned to sobs. She was nearly inconsolable.
Tucker looked disgusted and followed Farrah’s exit around the garden to the front.
“If you use a millisecond of that footage,” I said to Jona. “The closest thing to tv you’ll get is from the community room at the prison.”
“This is private property, remember? My private property. In your haste to host your fancy BBQ, we didn’t sign a contract or a waiver.”
“We’re only here because you wiped out our beach,” I said.
“I did no such thing.”
“You facilitated it,” I said. “That’s conspiracy. An accessory, aiding, abetting.”
“Sue me,” she said. “Dana, Wayne, why are you standing here? Go! Get Tucker and Farrah leaving. Run!”
“Stop!” I said. “It was a public beach, Jona.”
“Then it’s a fine,” Jona said. “I’ll happily pay. It’s a drop in the bucket compared to the publicity this will bring. I couldn’t have planned it any better.” She waved her arm. “Dana, go!”
“Dana, stop!” I said.
“Elli,” Zibby said. “The turtles.”
“Yes!” I said. “The turtles! You violated the Endangered Species Act when you tore up the beach, which contained Loggerhead Turtle nests.”
“So it’ll be a large fine,” Jona said. “Totally worth it. Dana—”
“Oh no, sister, that’s jail time,” I said. “Thirty days per egg.”
“Let’s see,” Zibby said. “One hundred fifty-nine nests times three hundred seventy-two eggs each. I know, those little turtles are like a rabbit mixed with a chicken. Those numbers are a superball lottery.”
