Sunshine Beach

by Wendy Wax

  “Thank you for talking to us!” Annelise shouted again as she strained toward the phone, her hands tightly clenched on the table.

  “My pleasure,” the special agent said. “I got your message and I wanted to let you know that we have a name for the officer in the photos.”

  Renée felt her sister’s start of surprise.

  “Who is he?” Renée asked.

  “His name is Heinrich Stottermeir.”

  They waited for Agent Giraldi to continue. “He was pretty high up in the SS. Not a particularly nice fellow from what I’ve heard so far. But he was born and raised in Frankfurt.”

  The photos had made it clear that he’d had some sort of connection to Annelise and her family. “He and Ilse’s brother Erik were childhood friends, started their careers together in the Hitler Youth movement. Erik joined a panzer unit. Heinrich moved up the ranks of the secret police.”

  Renée thought of the photo of him with his arm around Ilse, Ilse’s brother on her other side. “I have someone doing a record search in Germany, but a lot of civil records didn’t survive the bombing. The Nazis, on the other hand, were quite compulsive about record keeping. Heinrich Stottermeir was reported missing and presumed dead on the Russian front in December of 1944.”

  “Oh.” Annelise drooped in disappointment. There was a tinge of the breathiness that had been absent in her voice thus far. “If he was already dead, then he couldn’t have been here.”

  Renée leaned forward, her eyes on Joe’s face. “But we saw him,” Renée said. “We have the sketch, and I know I saw him somewhere near the hotel.” After all the years of refusing to consider Annelise’s insistence on an intruder, all she wanted now was for someone to prove it to be true.

  “We’re going to follow this lead as far as it will take us,” Joe said.

  “But what is there to follow if he was dead eight years before our father was killed?” Annelise wrung her hands in distress.

  Renée slipped an arm around Annelise’s shoulders, but she wasn’t sure whether she was trying to give or receive comfort.

  “It wasn’t unusual for MIAs and other reports from a battlefield to be wrong. And I am curious what someone that high up the chain of command would have been doing on the Russian front,” Joe said. “That late in the war there were certainly Germans who had reason to ‘disappear.’”

  Annelise’s eyes were wide. “But how will we ever know for sure?”

  “We may not,” he said gently. “It’s still an avenue we have to look into.”

  “But how?” Annelise asked again.

  “I’ve been checking in with friends in different areas of intelligence. One of them referred me to a guy who was originally with the OSS, the predecessor of the CIA. He’s retired in Sarasota. I have an appointment to see him. I’m taking the photo and note you sent me, in case he’s fluent in German. I thought I’d come up to share what I find out and check in with Officer Jackson.”

  “We’d appreciate it,” Renée said truthfully. Annelise nodded but remained silent.

  “I’ll be there Wednesday afternoon. Why don’t we meet at the realty office at three?”

  “That would be great. Thanks.” Renée prepared to hang up, but Joe didn’t move.

  “So, um, how’s the renovation going?” he asked.

  “There’s a bit of a holdup,” Renée said. “Some problem with the roofs and support beams I think.”

  Joe nodded. “And, how’s everyone at Bella Flora?” he asked tentatively.

  Renée bit back a smile. “As far as I know, everyone’s fine.”

  “Good. That’s, um, good,” Joe said. “I’ll see you both on Wednesday, then. At three o’clock.” There was one last hesitation before he disappeared from Renée’s iPhone screen.

  “What was that about?” Annelise asked as Renée levered herself out of her seat and then stood, waiting for the kinks in her body to straighten out.

  Slowly Renée moved to the refrigerator to retrieve the pitcher of iced tea. “Let’s just say I don’t think it’s everyone at Bella Flora that Agent Giraldi is concerned about.”

  “Nikki?”

  Nikki’s eyes blinked open only to close as they encountered the glare of some kind of overhead light. Footsteps quick and sure moved closer. She tried to concentrate on the voice, tried to figure out why it felt familiar, but reaching a conclusion required too much effort. She didn’t have the energy to slog through the cotton wool that seemed to have been stuffed inside her head. The footsteps drew nearer—multiple sets.

  “Nik?” The voice was warm and comforting. The hand that clasped one of hers was callused but gentle. This time when she opened her eyes a face had replaced the glare. Maddie.

  Avery stood behind her. Nikki blinked again. Ray Flamingo sat in a leatherette recliner.

  “Wow. You look like you landed on your face,” Avery observed. “It’s a bloody mess.”

  Nikki’s hand moved of its own volition to her cheek. She winced as her fingers made contact.

  “You’re gonna have a real shiner,” Avery said. “Maybe two.”

  Maddie shot Avery a look.

  “Sorry. Just sayin’ . . .”

  Nikki closed her eyes and groaned. Even that hurt.

  “What happened?” Maddie poured a glass of water from a plastic pitcher and brought it to Nikki’s lips.

  Nikki’s eyes narrowed. “You!” she said to Ray.

  “What?” He stood and moved behind Avery and Maddie.

  “You poured water down my throat. I thought I was going to drown.”

  “I was trying to hydrate you,” he sniffed.

  “I don’t think ‘hydrate’ is supposed to be a verb,” Nikki said as memory slammed into her. “And hydrating against someone’s will?”

  Avery and Maddie turned to look up at Ray.

  “She did not pass out because I gave her a drink of water.”

  No, she’d passed out because she had a brain tumor. Or cancer. An incurable kind. Like her mother.

  “The paramedics thought you were dehydrated, too,” Ray said. “And that you might have had a concussion from hitting your forehead on the pavement.”

  “There were paramedics?”

  “Yes,” Ray said. “They brought you to the hospital in an ambulance. “

  “I was in an ambulance?” Oh, God. How could she not remember this?

  “Oh, yeah. I raced right behind it all the way down to the hospital. You were starting to rouse when they were wheeling you into the emergency room.”

  “Wheeling me?”

  “Yeah. You know, on the gurney.” He leaned in to get a closer look at her. “You really don’t remember?”

  She shook her head. Which was when she discovered that her face hurt.

  “So what happened?” Avery asked.

  Nikki couldn’t remember anything after the forced hydration. Definitely a brain tumor. She looked up at the clock on the wall but had no idea how many hours might have been lost.

  “We were in the Rearden Lighting parking lot. We had an appointment to pitch them on sponsorship,” Ray said.

  “Right.” Nikki nodded carefully, trying not to use any of her facial features, all of which were throbbing.

  “One minute Nikki was getting out of the car. The next she was planting her face in the concrete.”

  “That would explain the gravel marks on your chin and cheekbones,” Maddie said.

  Nikki ran her tongue over her cracked lips and came away with dirt and grit. It encountered something jagged in her mouth and she groaned. “I must have bitten my tongue. And”—she stuck two fingers in her mouth—“I think I thipped a tooth.”

  “That’s a nasty bump on your forehead, too,” Avery observed. “It kind of looks like a baseball.”

  Nikki’s fingers moved to her forehead. She winced. “Oh, God. D
oes somebody have a mirror?”

  “No,” Maddie said before anyone else could answer. “There are no mirrors here.” She moved as she spoke so that Nikki couldn’t see whatever was behind her. “The nurse said the doctor will be in shortly.” She gave Avery and Ray a look. “I’m sure the swelling will go down. In a few days no one will be able to tell anything happened.”

  “I don’t know,” Avery said. “That’s one of the biggest honking . . .”

  Maddie cut her off with her “I’m the mother here, don’t mess with me” look. Ray grabbed Avery’s elbow. “Come on, girlfriend,” he said. “Let’s go make sure there’s enough money in the meters.” He yanked Avery out the door.

  After they left Maddie puttered, refilling Avery’s water, repositioning the straw, straightening the paper pillow behind Nikki’s head. In the quiet Nikki attempted to assess the damage. Her head, which had felt oddly light and puffy, now pounded. Her face felt like one big scrape. The tooth was definitely chipped. Her nose seemed to still be in one piece; was she imagining that it tilted to one side?

  “Ms. Grant?” The doctor stood inside the doorway. She was an attractive woman with chin-length dark hair, a firm jaw, and clear gray eyes framed in dark rectangular glasses. Her white coat covered what looked like a runner’s body. “I’m Dr. Gracen. You took quite a fall.” She came to the examining table. “Can you follow my finger?” She held up one no-nonsense finger and moved it back and forth, up and down.

  “Good.” She jotted something on her clipboard. “So, we ran blood work when you first came in.” The doctor hesitated. Looked at Maddie. “I have something to share with you that is of a . . . personal nature.”

  “Oh. Excuse me.” Maddie turned to go. “I’ll just step out.”

  “No.” Nikki reached for Maddie. She did not want to find out that she was dying without someone else present. Someone who would care that Nikki’s life would be over. Her thoughts turned to Joe, whom she’d shoved out of her life. Her hand clenched tighter to Maddie’s wrist. “Maddie’s like family to me.” Better than family because she didn’t judge her or want her to go do something illegal on her behalf. “She can hear whatever you have to say.”

  “Okay.” The doctor moved closer. She had a strangely expectant look on her face. “So in addition to dehydration, we found hCG levels that indicate you’re . . .”

  Maddie started in surprise. Nikki had no idea what the doctor was talking about. “HCG?” Had she heard those letters together during her mother’s illness?

  Nikki swallowed. “Is—is that hereditary?” she asked, trying to brace for the bad news.

  “I’m sorry?” the doctor said.

  Maddie’s brown eyes plumbed Nikki’s. Her mouth had gone slack with shock.

  “What do I have?” Nikki whispered even as she tried to swallow back her fear. “How long do I have to live?”

  Dr. Gracen’s brow furrowed. “Under most circumstances, motherhood is not considered a life-threatening condition.”

  “Unless you have a teenage girl.” Maddie’s lips twitched. “Then there are times you long for death.”

  “What are you talking about?” Nikki couldn’t seem to process what was being said. Between her galloping heart and the pounding in her head, her hearing had gone muzzy.

  “You’re pregnant,” the doctor said. “HCG is called the pregnancy hormone. Based on your levels, I’m guessing you’re about six weeks along.”

  “How could this have happened?”

  Maddie and Dr. Gracen simply stared at her, brows raised.

  “I’m too old. My eggs are . . . I thought my eggs had expired!” Blood whooshed in her veins, pounded in her ears.

  Dr. Gracen laughed. “We’re talking the miracle of birth here, not the dairy aisle at the grocery store.”

  “Joe will be so thrilled,” Maddie said, her face glowing with excitement. “Now you can stop worrying that you can’t give him the family you think he deserves.”

  “No.” Nikki shook her head in a vain attempt to clear it. This could not be happening. It should not be happening. She was too old. She’d been told she couldn’t have children. She wasn’t meant to be a mother. “You can’t tell him. I don’t . . . I can’t . . . I have to think about this before I . . .”

  “Of course you’ll be the one to give him the news.” Maddie was still positively glowing with happiness. “Renée said he’s coming in on Wednesday. Something about the intruder they think was in the family apartment that night. He’ll be over the moon when you tell him.”

  “No. I’m not. I can’t.” Nikki shook her head, trying to clear it, hardly able to hear her own words over the roaring in her head. She heard Malcolm’s voice, though. His snide comments and threats about Joe. Joe. “I’ll tell him later. When I’m ready. When I’m sure that . . .” She didn’t finish the thought or the sentence. For the second time that day her world went black. But at least this time she was already in a hospital with a doctor at her side. And no concrete was involved.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Bella Flora’s doorbell chimed with increasing frequency late Monday afternoon as guests began to arrive for what had been billed as a casual cookout but which Avery envisioned as a rallying of the troops and an opportunity to try to explain to Annelise and Renée what was, and was not, happening.

  Maddie had been in preparation mode since early that morning making bowls of homemade potato salad and coleslaw, forming hamburgers stuffed with a cheese, bacon, and mushroom mixture that would have had Avery salivating if she hadn’t been so nervous.

  Careful not to get in Maddie’s way, she’d filled a cooler with beers and soft drinks for Chase to take outside to the loggia and had helped Jeff settle at the wrought-iron table near the grill so that he could help supervise. Her heart had almost stopped with gladness when Roberto Dante’s houseboat, which she’d christened the House of the Rising Sun down in Islamorada due to the cabin roof’s streaks of pink and red paint, had appeared just off the seawall. Her heart had started beating again when the carpenter had beeped and waved before turning to head toward the St. Petersburg Yacht Club at Pass-a-Grille, where John and Renée Franklin had organized a boat slip.

  “I think his engine is smoking,” Chase said as the houseboat putted east through the pass into the bay for its short trip north.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s not his engine that’s smoking,” Avery replied. Although she’d never seen him handle a hammer while stoned, the carpenter’s tie-dyed clothing, long gray ponytail, and soul patch weren’t the only part of the seventies he’d clung to. “I hope the yacht club is a tolerant sort of place and that no one ends up with a contact high.”

  “It is kind of hard to believe he and Enrico are related.”

  Avery smiled at the comparison. Even Mario, a South Florida master plasterer and tile man who’d helped with the Art Deco Streamline home they’d renovated on South Beach, had been far more conservative. “Their life choices are pretty different, but the Dantes are all incredibly talented. None of our renovations would have turned out half as fabulous without them.”

  “It’s all in finding the right people for the right job,” Jeff pronounced just as her father always had.

  She nodded and smiled but she felt akin to a passenger on the Titanic who’d just realized there was no room left in the lifeboats. Nothing about this project had gone as hoped or planned; how exactly were they supposed to put a good spin on that?

  “It’ll be all right. We can pull off this renovation.” Chase squeezed her hand.

  “Not without money we can’t,” she said quietly.

  “Don’t look at the whole thing. Just focus on the next hurdle. Then the one after that.”

  Avery resisted pointing out that her legs were far too short for track and field. “Enrico’s waiting for Roberto at the yacht club and will bring him over as soon as he’s tied up. I guess we’ll hash thi
s out when we’ve got everyone under one roof.”

  Dustin played nearby in the playhouse replica of Bella Flora that his father had given him their first Christmas on Pass-a-Grille. The tool belt she and Chase had given him was strapped around his small hips. As she watched, he retrieved a child-sized screwdriver and pretended to tighten a screw.

  The doorbell chimed again. With Maddie handling kitchen duties and Nikki still MIA, Avery went to answer it. She opened the door to John and Renée Franklin, who flanked Annelise.

  There were hugs all around. Annelise carried a bakery box. Renée held a bunch of fresh-picked flowers and a bottle of wine. Avery escorted them back to the kitchen, where Maddie took the cake box from Annelise and accepted the fruits of Renée’s garden with exclamations of delight while Kyra filled bowls with snacks. Avery pinched a Cheez Doodle and examined its puffy cheesiness as Maddie made Renée, John, and Annelise welcome. Within moments each had a cold drink and were basking in Maddie’s attention as she pulled a vase from a cupboard and began arranging the flowers into an impromptu centerpiece. Avery popped the Cheez Doodle into her mouth, determined to enjoy its puffy perfection as the Franklins followed Kyra outside. She was licking the cheese coating from her fingers when the doorbell rang again.

  “I’ll get it,” Avery said. “But where’s Nikki?”

  “In her room,” Maddie said, giving the centerpiece a final tweak.

  “I don’t know why I asked. She’s been in there all weekend.” Avery pinched another Cheez Doodle, which she wasted no time examining.

  “She’s still pretty beat up. Said she was worried about scaring people.”

  The doorbell rang again.

  “I’m coming, hold your horses.” Avery devoured the Cheez Doodle and then began to lick the cheese from her fingers. It was a calming and satisfying ritual. “I’d really like Nikki to be a part of the discussion tonight.” With a last lick she left the kitchen and headed for the foyer.

  She opened the door to a stooped and wrinkled older gentleman with a shock of white hair hanging over one eye. A Colonel Sanders mustache drooped on either side of his mouth. “Ma’am.” He removed his planter’s hat and bowed slightly. “I do believe I’ve been invited to a cookout here.” The drawl was pronounced. The hand that swept the white hair off his wrinkled forehead was dotted with age spots.