Kurstin gave her the Big Sigh. But she let it pass.
It was Hayley who had trouble switching gears when her friend graciously changed the subject. The truth was, if she’d been surprised when Kurstin went into the family business, she had been downright astounded to learn Jon-Michael had done so as well. And that, by all reports, he was every bit as dedicated to the work ethic as his father had ever been. The concept was so foreign that Hayley simply couldn’t picture it. Much as she hated to admit it, she had tried. The visual refused to gel in her mind’s eye.
Jon-Michael, who had valued adaptability and innovation above all else, who from the day he could first string two words together had questioned every established truth and norm, working with Richard? Jon-Michael, whose bitterness in the old days regarding their father's neglect had made his sister's look pale in comparison? The mind boggled.
Richard had fully expected his only son to join the family enterprise—a prospect she recalled consistently prompting, “Yeah, that’ll never fucking happen,” from Jon-Michael. She itched to grill Kurstin about his reasons for such an about-face. She wanted to know specifically what he and Richard butted heads over.
Instead she bit her tongue and filled Kurstin in on the upcoming interview she had scheduled for tomorrow at Lincoln High School.
Jon-Michael lifted his upper body out from under the hood of Hayley's Pontiac the next morning and wiped his hands on the rag he had stuffed in his back pocket.
The car was a piece of shit and he didn’t know what the hell he was doing working on it. Not that he couldn't get it running again, of course, because he could. It would never be a piece of precision machinery and it sure as hell wouldn’t carry her back to New Hampshire if she developed a sudden urge to return there. But he could have it running sweet enough to get her around Gravers Bend on a fairly reliable basis. His aptitude with machinery was not the issue. The problem was how he’d allowed himself to be talked into working on the damn thing in the first place.
Okay, Kurstin was persuasive and could probably sweet talk the devil out of his cloven hooves. He sure as hell hadn't presented much of a challenge when she rousted him out of bed an hour ago to do this. Besides–he admitted it—he was curious.
Hayley had hardly said a word to him in nearly thirteen years and he was…interested in seeing how those years had treated her. In the past two/three years in particular a whole a lot of shit had rained down on her and he just wondered: had the events aged her?
Not so you would notice, he decided a short while later when the garage door opener whirred, the doors lifted, and she drove one of his father's spare cars in. He didn’t plan pulling back into the shadows; he simply followed through on a split-second, subconscious decision to observe before they interacted. Barring an unlikely sudden craving on her part to hang around the garage, his presence here would pass undetected. Her vision would still be adjusting from bright daylight to the garage's dim interior. Standing in the shadows, he watched as she climbed out of the car and slammed the door.
Damn. He thought he was prepared. He wasn’t.
She still had the same thick, so-dark-brown-it-was-nearly- black hair he remembered. It was all twisted up into one of those girly, vaguely French-looking do’s, but nothing could tame the myriad flyaway tendrils that escaped around her forehead, temples, and nape. She still had the same long nose, same curvy lips, the same poreless skin, unlined as far as he could see.
A silent breath of mirthless laughter slid up his throat. Yeah, big surprise. She was Kurstie’s age, thirty to his thirty-one. Not exactly a senior citizen. And running his gaze over her, he didn’t fail to notice her little cupcake breasts were exactly the way he remembered them in the little bikinis she had run around in with his sister, as was the ass that was surprisingly round on a woman built along such lean lines. Gimme, his body whispered.
His body could be a mindless testosterone-driven animal, however, so he sternly ignored it.
She punched the button to activate the garage door. Watching her skirt swish around her calves as she ducked beneath it, leaving the garage and him behind, he tried to visualize her naked and wondered if that view remained unchanged as well.
Not that he would know the difference. He couldn’t remember a goddamn thing about what it had looked like before.
That was where the curiosity stemmed from, of course. Hell, it was so obvious it was damn near Freudian. He’d made love to girls before Hayley and to women after, and most of their faces had long ago faded from his memory. But he had never slept with anyone else where he’d been unable to recall a single detail of the encounter afterward. It was bound to make the woman involved stand out in his mind. Who would not be curious about the female who had featured in the one night of his life to which he hadn’t the slightest recollection?
And that was aside from the sick knowledge that before the night was through, he had done something that shamed him to the bone once he’d sobered up.
Jon-Michael thrust the memory aside, rolling his shoulders impatiently. What the hell—forget it. It was a long time ago and he was a different man than he had been then. Hayley had moved on and so had he. There was no point in beating himself up over an action so ancient it creaked, regardless how piss-poor it had been. No point at all.
Picking up a five-eighths ratchet, he bent back over the Pontiac's engine.
"Congratulate me," Hayley demanded.
Kurstin looked up to see her friend sliding into a chair across the dinner table. “For?”
"I am now officially among the employed."
"Congratulations! The interview went well, I take it?"
"Aside from the principal’s curiosity about my husband’s murder, yes, pretty well. I got the job, anyhow. That's the good news."
“Aw, I’m so sorry, Hayles." She looked up from snapping out and placing her linen napkin in her lap. "That must have been rough.”
“I’ll live.” But she looked weary.
So Kurstin stretched a leg under the table to poke her friend with her toes. “You said that was the good news. That sounds ominously as if there’s bad news to go along with it."
"Well, I’m officially hired as Lincoln High’s brand new student counselor. But school doesn't start until September." Her shoulders twitched in a tiny shrug that could not quite pull off a sense of nonchalance. "The bottom line is I'm employed but I still don't have a job. I need to find summer work so I can start bringing in a paycheck."
Kurstin considered her friend for a moment. Then slowly, reluctantly, she asked, "Do you still know how to mix a Tequila Sunrise?"
"Sure. I bartended all through college—which you well know." Hayley sat up straighter. "Why? Do you know of a bar here in need of one?"
"As a matter of fact, I do." Kurstin bit her lip. Oh, she was bad, so bad, to be doing this. On the other hand— "Remember Bluey's down on Eighth Street?" It was for a good cause after all. That was the thing to remember.
"I'm hardly likely to forget it," Hayley replied dryly. Her mouth curled up at one corner. "You and I got kicked out of there in, what? Our senior year?"
"Summer after senior year," Kurstin agreed sadly. "They even stripped us of our fake ID, the bastards."
"After it took us the better part of the summer to lay our hands on them, too." Hayley grinned at the memory. "My God, I haven't thought about that in years. Do they still offer up the hottest blues and jazz in three counties?"
"They do." Kurstin shifted uneasily in her seat, feeling guilty. She couldn’t do this; Hayley would never understand. "On second thought, maybe it’s not such a superlative idea," she said.
Hayley looked at her in patent surprise. "Are you kidding? For once one of your adjectives is right on the money. It is an excellent idea!"
"No, trust me; it's not for you," she insisted. "I know they need a bartender, but now that I think of it, it’s a bit of a step down from school psychologist, yeah? I mean, you didn’t go to school all those years for this. Forget I mentioned
it." She waved a hand. "We’ll find you something worthier of your education."
"Okay, you’re scaring me here. It’s not like you to be such an elitist. So tell you what." Hayley gave her a look. “I’ll be a snob about it next summer. This summer I only have forty-seven dollars to my name. And chances are I can make more in tips tending bar than I’d make in salary at any office job I’d qualify for."
"Are you sure?"
"Absopositively."
Hey, I tried, Kurstin assured herself righteously. Truly, a woman could not do more than that. "Well, if you're certain. I'll call the owner and set up an interview."
"I can't get over this." Hayley planted her elbow on the table and her chin in her palm and smiled across the table at her. "I cannot reconcile my old trouble-making buddy with the respectable wheeler dealer, mover and shaker you've turned into. Omigawd!” she straightened in her chair. “Have you become a Gravers Bend Junior Leaguer?"
"Hardly."
"Thank God. Still, you’re a very big fish."
"In an exceedingly small pond." She slanted Hayley a look. "You’re giving me infinitely more credit than I deserve. It happens I hired the granddaughter of Harve Moser, the guy who owns Bluey's, for a summer filing job at the factory. And I heard through one of the regular band musicians his bartender quit without notice last week." She shrugged and tried not to look as guilty as she felt when she thought about who that musician was. Well, what the hell. Hayley had said it herself: she needed a decent paying job and she needed it now.
Kurstin nevertheless hastily changed the subject. "I had somebody over to look at your car," she said and picked up the little hand bell to the right of her plate, giving it a brief ring. The door swished open a moment later and Kurstin’s cook and housekeeper Ruth, carrying two salad plates, entered the room. She smiled at Hayley as she set hers in front of her, gave her a quiet, “Welcome home,” then exited as quietly as she had entered.
Hayley felt as if she had stepped onto a movie set. "This is too spooky. Last week I was slapping together tuna sandwiches for lunch. Now I'm being waited on like visiting royalty. I can't get used to it."
"Never mind that," Kurstin advised with the carelessness of someone accustomed to a lifetime of being served. "About your car—“
"I wish you hadn't done it. You know the shape my finances are in. I don't have any idea when I’ll have enough money to pay a mechanic."
"Forget paying. It was done as a favor to me."
Bitterness surged up Hayley's throat. "How very grand for you," she said flatly. "Must be nice." The words echoed in her head in the wake of the sudden silence following them, and she set down her fork. "I'm sorry," she said in stricken contrition. "That was so uncalled for."
"No, I’m the one who should be sorry," Kurstin said. "I'm trying to take over, just like I always do. I want everyone to be happy, so I bulldoze situations into whatever configuration I think works best to accomplish my ends." She pushed salad around the plate with her fork for a second then set her silverware aside as well. "Regarding which, I suppose I had better make a clean breast of it and tell you the truth about…"
The doorbell rang and Kurstin cast her a beleaguered glance across the table. "Oh, for God’s sake," she said impatiently, rising to her feet. "Now what?"
“Never say you’re going to answer that yourself?” Hayley demanded in faux shock. “Is it the butler’s night off?”
“You’re so droll. We still make do with Ruth and Ernesto.”
Hayley raised her eyebrows at her and Kurstin flashed her a sheepish smile. “Okay, and a cleaning company that comes in once a week.”
The doorbell rang again and breathing, “I’m coming all ready,” Kurstin whirled away to answer it.
Two
"Hi, Kurstin, it is that time of year again!” a female voice exclaimed. “I hope you have the decorations all ready to go, because you are on my To-Do list and I need to cross you off."
Hayley briefly closed her eyes. It had been a long time since she’d last heard that voice, but she recognized the cheerful, determined tones greeting Kurstin when her friend opened the front door. Oh, please, Kurstie, not tonight, she prayed. Get rid of her. Please, please. I don't care how you do it; just get rid of her. She also didn’t care if it was selfish. She simply was not up to making catch-up chat tonight.
"Consider me crossed," she heard Kurstin say. "They’re in a box up in the attic and I will have Ernesto bring them down in the morning so I can drop them off at the country club on my way to work."
"Oh, let’s not put off until tomorrow," the voice insisted. "I am here now, so if you will just have him run up and fetch them, I’ll take them with me and you will not have to bother any further."
"Ernesto’s off the clock, Patsy, and I am not rousting him out of his cozy apartment after the long day he’s put in on the grounds," Kurstin said firmly. "Plus, I have company. So, I'm afraid tomorrow will simply have to do."
"Is Hayley here? Oh, I must say hello!"
"Tonight isn’t a good time," Kurstin demurred. "We’re in the middle of dinner and Hayley is very tired—"
"For heaven's sake, Kurstin," the voice said, coming closer, "I will only take a moment. I am sure she wants to see her old friend."
"Hayley, look who’s here," Kurstin said seconds later as she all but trod on the heels of the woman striding into the dining room. Shrugging helplessly, she flashed a grimace of apology. "It's Patsy Dutton."
"Beal, Kurstin," Patsy corrected her. "It has been Beal for seven years now."
"Yes, of course it has, my apologies. Patsy Beal, Hayles.”
Hayley offered a weak smile. "How…nice to see you again. It’s been a long time." Rising to her feet, she offered her hand.
Patsy ignored it, reaching out instead to grasp her to her breast in a fierce hug.
Hayley gave a start of surprise but she returned the embrace gamely. The Patsy she remembered had been almost painfully reticent about physical contact.
"It is so good to see you," the other woman whispered fiercely in her ear, then pulled back and held Hayley at arm's length, giving her a thorough inspection. She was so enthusiastic Hayley felt like a bitch for wishing she would simply go away and let them put this off for another day.
Looking into Patsy's face, she saw little had changed over the years. The other woman still wore her more-brown-than-blond hair in the same blunt-cut bob, still had those pale blue eyes that transmitted the same contradictory message made up in equal parts of vulnerability and aggression. Observing Patsy’s eagerness, Hayley felt guilty.
Patsy had been a friend back in high school, but they’d drifted apart once Hayley left Gravers Bend. And even in their closest days, the dynamics between the of the three of them had always left Patsy lagging several steps behind.
Where she and Kurstin had always taken a certain joy in seeing how many rules they could bend and routines they could alter, Patsy had been all about the regulations and staying within her comfortable old habits. Where they had laughed themselves sick over the joke of the moment, Patsy had never quite grasped the point of their humor or, worse, had gotten it ten minutes after they had moved on to the next funny thing.
Hayley swallowed a sigh. Ah, well. Patsy's heart had always been in the right place and it surely wasn’t her fault that she felt emotionally wrung out tonight. She smiled gently. "Sit down," she invited to atone for her lack of enthusiasm. "Would you like a cup of coffee?"
Kurstin bared her teeth at her behind Patsy's back but when Hayley just gave her the slightest of lopsided smiles, she cast her gaze to the ceiling and reached for the hand bell, giving it a little jingle.
The door swished open and Kurstin addressed the woman who poked her head out. "Ruth, would you bring Mrs. Beal a cup of coffee, please?"
Ruth nodded and the door swished shut again.
Hayley turned her attention back to Patsy. "I heard you say something about decorations for "that time of year". Don't tell me you head up the big Fourth
of July dance at the club!"
Patsy smiled proudly. "I do. They seem to like my work."
"I guess so! But why are the decorations here? Surely the country club has its own storage."
"They had a flood in the basement this winter," Kurstin explained. "So a few of us volunteered to store the supplies until the problem could be rectified. Little by little everything is being returned. Oh, good, here's your coffee, Patsy," she said as Ruth came through the door. “Hayley, eat your salad before it wilts," she commanded next. "Ruth, please hold the main course an extra ten minutes."
"I was so sorry to hear about your husband, Hayley," Patsy murmured. She picked up her eggshell porcelain cup and blew gently across the top of the steaming surface before taking a cautious sip.
"Yes, I received your condolence card at the time. That was so thoughtful." But I really don't want to talk about it now. She willed the other woman to read the nuances in her tone and let it drop.
No such luck, naturally. It had been that kind of day.
Who was she kidding? It had been that kind of year. She could not go anywhere without people wanting to talk about Dennis.
“And here you are, back home and notorious again," Patsy continued avidly. When Hayley and Kurstin stared at her in disbelief that she dared bring up…that, Patsy cleared her throat. “That is, your husband was so heroic", she amended. "You must have been immensely proud of him."
Hayley murmured an appropriate response but something in her expression or voice must have given her away, because later, after Patsy finally took her leave, Kurstin silently studied her face feature by feature.
"Whoops," she said when her friend continued to scrutinize her without saying a word. She raised her linen napkin to her lips, dabbing them self-consciously. "Do I have spinach in my teeth?"
"No, I was just wondering…”
Kurstin’s voice trailed away, and when she showed no sign of picking up the conversation Hayley rapped her knuckles on the tabletop. "Hel-lo! You plan to spit out what you’re wondering about sometime tonight?"
Notorious Page 2
