“This is delicious, Bernard, thank you,” she smiled, mopping up a drop of pesto with a baguette crust and chasing it with a sip of Merlot.
“You’re welcome, but please, call me Cort. Anyone who knows me well knows that Bernard is way too formal for me,” he admitted.
“Cort it is then. I like it – it suits you,” she nodded, unconsciously giving him a flirtatious glance.
A slow smile spread across the detective’s finely chiseled features as he eyed her speculatively.
“You are one dangerous lady,” he remarked.
“Dangerous? Me? How could I possibly be dangerous to a big, tough cop like you?” she flirted blatantly this time.
“I never even considered dating after my wife died,” Cort replied slowly. “I just didn’t see the point. I figured I’d be more effective in my job if it was my sole focus,” he explained. “Friends tried to fix me up, and I avoided blind dates like the plague. And yet, there’s this beautiful pie-maker who seems to have caught my attention…” he trailed off, gazing at her.
“I knew it, it’s the pie isn’t it?” Marilyn teased, his sweet compliment making her blush. The detective just chuckled, recognizing her ploy, and letting the moment pass. “I dated a bit after I left Daniel, but I found that I didn’t have the time and energy to invest in a relationship while trying to be both mom and dad to my daughter and keeping a roof over our heads. Besides, I’m really picky. I vowed I’d never settle for someone who was less than exactly what I wanted. With Daniel I always felt like I gave and gave and gave, and didn’t receive anything of value in return,” she said, articulating those thoughts for the first time. She didn’t open up easily, but something about this man brought out the trust in her.
“Sorry,” she apologized, raising her wine glass. “It seems you’ve added too much truth serum into the Merlot,” she giggled nervously, hoping she hadn’t said too much.
“It’s company policy,” he joked, completely straight-faced, much to Marilyn’s relief, and she cracked up. “Actually, I feel honored that you shared that with me,” Cort said, turning serious again.
“Really?”
“Really,” he nodded.
“I’ve never told anyone else those things,” she confessed. “Well, except for Madge, who owns the house next door, the one that creepy Tim lives in, but she moved to California, so my secret’s safe, I think,” she smiled.
“Scout’s honor,” he replied, raising two fingers.
“Why am I not surprised that you were a boy scout?” she asked, sipping her wine.
“Guess I never outgrew it,” he shrugged.
“I’m glad,” she said, biting her lower lip shyly, driving him mad without knowing it.
“Me too,” he agreed, utterly bewitched by the lovely, down-to-earth creature in front of him.
Chapter 10
Tiara’s head swam a bit, and it was strangely difficult to focus. Jace Chesterton’s entourage, with Marilyn’s daughter in tow, had descended upon one of the local bars, drinking their supply dry, doing body shots on the bar, and accidentally tipping over tables when they tried to dance on them. They had been ever-so-politely asked to leave, because no bar or restaurant owner on the island wanted to be trashed in one of the blogger’s notorious reviews, and had moved the party to the RV in which he traveled when not carousing in local establishments.
The tricked out RV sported a bar and hot tub, where clothing was optional, and all sorts of intoxicants flowed freely. Tiara usually wasn’t okay with the sort of irresponsible behavior in which Jace regularly engaged, but she’d had so much to drink, that her decision-making process was way out of kilter. She drew the line, however, at being nude in the hot tub, having had the good sense to prepare for any sort of evening by wearing her swim suit under her cut-offs and cami.
They had been cruising the bar and beach areas in the RV for a couple of hours when Tiara started feeling really awful. The rolling motion of the vehicle, coupled with her over-indulgence in alcohol, and having consumed various types of fried and battered bar food made her stomach churn in an alarming fashion. Standing slowly, while the room spun around her, she lurched for the bathroom, barely making it before ejecting an entire evening’s worth of bad food and worse drink. Tears of shame and discomfort streaming down her face, she laid her head on the marble toilet seat, embarrassed and miserable.
“So, clearly you need to go home…” she heard Jace’s cameraman’s voice coming through the door. “Give me your address and I’ll use GPS,” he sounded annoyed. Tiara couldn’t think clearly enough to remember the address of her apartment, and mumbled Marilyn’s.
“Got it. We’ll head over there now. Clean up in there if it needs it, cuz I’m not gonna,” he ordered.
Tiara felt another wave of nausea and vertigo roll through her and clutched the edges of the marble again as her guts revolted against the mistreatment that they’d suffered. When she’d finished, she splashed water all over the sink trying to rinse out her mouth, and eventually gave up. The RV came to a stop and she opened the bathroom door slowly to find everyone in the hot tub, including Jace, staring at her. Some of them looked at her with disdain, others were openly laughing, seeming to enjoy her discomfort.
“Baby girl, you need to grow up and take your liquor like a woman,” Jace slurred, each of his arms around a different nude woman. “If you can’t hang, ya gotta go home,” he stood, thankfully wearing boxers with Batman symbols on them. Stepping out of the hot tub, he strolled over to where Tiara stood, head in hands, leaning against the bathroom door. He grabbed her arm hard enough that if she’d been coherent, it would have hurt, and propelled her toward the door of the RV. Manhandling her down the steps as she started to turn green again, he let go of her as she fell to her knees on Marilyn’s front lawn, spewing painfully once more.
“Gross. You need to get it together,” Jace sneered, holding onto the stair rail and stumbling back up the steps. He closed the door behind him, and the RV tore away from the curb leaving Tiara curled up in the fetal position on her mother’s lawn beside a puddle of her own sickness, crying in her misery until merciful darkness overwhelmed her, leaving her unconscious.
**
A burning fury rose up within the man standing in the shadows, watching innocence shatter before his eyes. He waited. When the tail lights of the RV had turned the corner, rocketing far away from the suffering girl, he emerged, looking to the right and left, making certain that no one was in sight. He made his way stealthily across the lawn, the smell of the mess beside her assaulting his keen sense of smell. He ignored the stench and bent down to scoop up the unconscious young woman as if she weighed no more than a feather.
He ran across the front lawn and up the porch steps, taking care not to jostle her unduly, and set her gently on the porch swing while he deftly jimmied the lock on the front door. Picking her back up, he went swiftly into the house, and mounted the stairs to her old bedroom, laying her on her side on the bed, in case she heaved again. He moved quickly to the kitchen, finding a bottle of water and a stock pot, which he put beside the passed-out girl. Brushing her hair back from her forehead, he slipped back down the stairs and into the night, a phantom who had completed his task…almost.
**
“I had a lovely night, Cort,” Marilyn said softly, as they stood on her front porch.
“Me too,” he smiled, running a thumb along her jawbone.
Her stomach fluttered with butterflies as he moved closer and she tilted her face up to his, ready for his kiss. He brushed his lips softly over her cheek and whispered, “Good night, beautiful.”
“Good night,” she replied, disappointed that he didn’t actually kiss her, but still spellbound by his nearness.
She watched him go as he headed down the steps, stopping at the end of the driveway and walking tentatively into the yard. She fished her keys out of her purse and went to unlock the door, which gave way and swung inward before she even got the key in the lock.
“Cor
t!” she called, as he moved away from whatever had captured his attention on the lawn. He came trotting back up the driveway, up the steps and onto the porch.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, not even remotely out of breath.
“I went to unlock the door, and it swung right open,” she said, wide-eyed. “What were you looking at in the yard?”
“Apparently someone tossed their cookies not too long ago,” the detective grimaced. “Let me go in first and check things out,” he advised.
“Okay,” Marilyn nodded, her heart beating fast. “Be careful,” she whispered as he opened the door wide. She paced back and forth on the porch, waiting anxiously. After what seemed like forever, Cort came back out.
“Well?” she asked, her eyes searching his face.
“Your daughter is upstairs…not feeling too well apparently. My guess is that whoever brought her home jimmied the door to get her inside,” he said, obviously uncomfortable.
“What do you mean not feeling well?” Marilyn demanded. “Is she hurt, is she okay?” she clutched at his arm.
“I’m guessing that sometime probably around mid-afternoon tomorrow, with the help of some spicy tomato juice and lots of water, she’ll be feeling much better,” Cort replied, giving her a knowing look.
Marilyn immediately knew the meaning of his subtle assertion, and her hands flew to her cheeks in her embarrassment and frustration. “She was drunk,” she stated numbly, shaking her head.
“As a skunk,” he confirmed ruefully. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it…we all went through that phase at one time or another,” he grabbed her hand and squeezed it briefly.
“I wouldn’t normally worry about her, but this is just so out of character for her, and it’s happened more than once over the past couple of weeks since that blogger bozo came to town,” she fumed.
“When he comes into the store to have his “pie experience,” he’s going to experience a lot more than he bargained for. I’m done being polite, that young man is going to be on the receiving end of some brutal honesty, and I swear if he…”
“Hey there, tiger, let’s take it down a notch,” Cort cautioned her gently, interrupting her before she could say anything that could be perceived as a threat in front of an officer of the law.
“I’m sorry…I hate that our wonderful evening had to end like this. That nasty young man just makes me so mad,” she grumbled.
“Go take care of Tiara,” he guided her toward the door. “Sounds like I need to call my guys to be on the lookout for a drunk driver,” he said, jaw muscles flexing.
“Thanks for being so understanding, Cort. Stop by for pie tomorrow?”
“I’ll definitely try,” he smiled. “Good night, Marilyn.”
“Good night.” She closed and locked the door behind her as a pair of eyes surveyed the entire scene.
Trudging up the stairs, she heard the all-too-familiar grinding sound of retching coming from Tiara’s old room and steeled herself for what looked like a long night ahead.
Chapter 11
Marilyn had been up several times during the night, helping Tiara. This had been no ordinary drinking binge – her daughter was in such bad shape that she contemplated taking her to the Emergency Room for alcohol poisoning. Instead, she kept a close eye on her and force-fed her water and sports drinks in an attempt to rehydrate her and lessen the impact of the alcohol in her system. The weak and suffering young woman hung over the toilet, with Marilyn holding her hair, more than once, apologizing in between waves of nausea. While her mother planned to have a serious talk with her once she was further along in her recovery process, at the time, she merely murmured soothing words and helped as best she could.
When it looked like the worst had finally passed, Marilyn brewed coffee, exhausted, but knowing that she needed to get ready to face the day, even though she was seriously sleep-deprived. She took her steaming mug of coffee out onto the back patio, and after setting it down on a small table, flopped onto her favorite lounger, taking deep breaths of the cool morning air. She was worried, she was angry, and she was more than determined that this was going to be the last time that her daughter got herself into this kind of predicament. Taking a sip of coffee, she leaned her head back, enjoying the feel of the first rays of the sun on her face.
“He left her,” Tim, her creepy neighbor’s voice startled her, almost making her spill her coffee. The former mortician had moved in several months ago, and had been a seemingly harmless nuisance ever since. He kept a close eye on things that happened at Marilyn’s house, and seemed to feel an obligation to report anything that he saw happen to Tiara, whom he always referred to as “she” or “her.” Marilyn found him strange to the extreme, but her initial fear of him had gentled into mere annoyance, though she usually attempted to be polite. Today, however, she was interested in her weird neighbor’s observation.
“What do you mean, Tim? Who left her? What happened to Tiara?” she sat up, putting her coffee back on the table.
“The twit in the RV,” he frowned, his usual flat affect tinged with disapproval. So it was as she had suspected, Jace Chesterton was involved.
“What happened, Tim?” Marilyn repeated, deliberately less urgently. If Tim felt that he was being pressed, he had a habit of shutting down and disappearing. She couldn’t take that chance this time, so she had to be careful.
“She needed help and he dumped her on the lawn,” the pale, paunchy man condemned Jace in a single, simple sentence. “He left her,” he repeated, his disgust more evident.
“He just left her on the lawn?” Marilyn exclaimed, aghast. “How did she get in the house then? Did you see who helped her?” she peppered the man with questions. He blinked behind his coke-bottle lenses, saying nothing, and she realized that she might have expressed too much emotion for his comfort level. Taking a deep breath, she tried again, more slowly.
“Tim…did you see who helped Tiara?” she asked softly.
“My grandmother makes better Key Lime pie than you do,” he replied, disappearing back through the trees that separated their properties. Marilyn clenched her teeth in frustration. Tim had applied for a part-time baker’s assistant position at her shop when he’d first moved to Key West, thinking that he was qualified because his grandmother had taught him to make Key Lime pies. When she’d hired someone else for the position, he’d made no secret of his resentment, and whenever he wanted to avoid a difficult question or conversation, he’d bring it up and simply walk away. Simmering with a combination of frustration at her neighbor and anger at Jace Chesterton, she took a gulp of hot coffee, burning her tongue. She went back into the house, made sure that Tiara was sleeping peacefully, and headed to work.
Kelcie was waiting for her at the back door when she arrived.
“Hey kiddo, it’s going to be just you and me today,” she told her assistant as she unlocked the door and let them in.
“Is Tiara okay?” Kelcie asked, her chocolate eyes wide with concern.
Marilyn sighed, remembering her daughter’s misery the night before. “She will be,” she replied.
“My cousin, Keisha, said she saw her at a bar last night and she was so drunk that she couldn’t hardly walk,” the assistant offered, hoping to help. “I don’t think it’s such a good idea to hang out with Jace. I mean, he’s hot and all that, but he seems to just use people up and throw them away you know? Tiara is too good for him if you ask me,” she said firmly.
“I agree, Kelcie, and when he comes in today to try to do an interview, he’s going to get a tongue lashing that he’ll never forget. I should just call his mother and have a talk with her,” Marilyn fumed.
“It was on the news about a year ago that he cut his mother out of his will and refused to speak to her ever again,” she said.
“Really? Why?” her boss was intrigued.
“Because she called him out on his behavior in front of the camera,” Kelcie shrugged.
“Wow,” was Marilyn’s stunned response.
“Yeah,” her assistant nodded.
“Well, we’d better get busy, we’re going to have to do double duty today, but I’m going to pay you time and a half. It’s not your fault that my daughter made bad decisions.”
“You don’t have to do that, Ms. Hayes, I don’t mind working hard. Please don’t be too hard on Tiara,” she implored. “Jace Chesterton can be pretty persuasive from what I hear.”
“You’re sweet to be concerned, honey. Don’t worry, Tiara is a smart girl, I don’t think she’ll put up with being treated like just another party animal for much longer. And, I’m definitely going to pay you time and a half for today, you’ve more than earned it. Let’s get to work,” she insisted, grabbing a clean apron from a hook.
“Yes ma’am,” Kelcie smiled, donning her own apron.
The two of them got the baking and arranging out of the way in time for opening, and took turns manning the front counter throughout the day, eating their delivery sandwiches in the break room in case they got extra busy. Just before closing, the bell over the door jangled, catching Kelcie’s and Marilyn’s attention. Jace Chesterton and his cameraman walked in, all smiles and smugness.
“You have a lot of nerve coming in here after what you pulled, young man,” Marilyn snapped, hands on hips.
“Whoa, Mommy Dearest…what’s up with all the hostility?” he held up both hands in mock-surrender.
“Don’t you dare play innocent with me, you smug, irresponsible little…”
“Hey, hey…” Jace interrupted. “There’s no need to get crazy. I’m here for my vlog review,” he grinned, thinking that he could charm his way into her good graces.
“You can take your vlog review and…” Marilyn began.
The insolent young man leaned over the counter, the smile disappearing from his face. “Look here, little cougar…here’s how it’s going down. You’re going to give me a piece of your pie and a cup of coffee and I’m going to sit in your “lovely” dining area and eat it. If you want a good review that will bring in boatloads of business to this second-rate small-town establishment, you’ll agree to supply me with free pie for as long as you’re in business. If you want a bad review that’ll guarantee that you close your doors for good within a month, you’ll refuse the deal. Dig?” he smirked.
Death, Limes and Videotape: A Key West Culinary Cozy - Book 7 Page 4
