Ocean Beach

by Wendy Wax

  She had no idea whether Giraldi took note behind the sunglasses; he certainly couldn’t have missed the display or their obvious interest. But he didn’t rubberneck or comment. The only heavy breathing was coming from her.

  “Oh, you’re a person of interest all right,” he said, so softly she almost missed it. “At least to me.”

  They ran in silence for a while as she tried to absorb what he’d said. The sun continued to rise over the Atlantic, growing brighter and warmer as it glinted off the turquoise ocean and painted the sky a clear, bright blue.

  Nicole picked up her pace despite the ache of protest in her calf muscles. Sweat trickled down her back while Giraldi’s impressive golden-brown chest barely glistened. Spotting the lifeguard stand where he’d joined her, Nikki fought the urge to slow to a walk.

  “I haven’t even seen Malcolm since he went to jail,” she said, careful not to gasp for air. “And the only bank account I knew anything about was the one up in the Panhandle, which I already reported.”

  “I know,” he said, giving nothing away.

  “So, what is it you want?” she asked, coming to an abrupt halt, partly from irritation and partly because she was too winded to talk and run at the same time.

  Giraldi removed his sunglasses and looked down at her, compelling her to look at him. “What I want is the same thing I wanted last summer but couldn’t ask for without creating a conflict of interest.” He smiled and this time there was nothing impassive about it or him. His fine brown eyes glinted with humor. “What I want, Nicole Grant, is you.”

  Chapter Five

  Deirdre Morgan stared down into her daughter’s sleeping face, treating herself to the view of it wiped clean of the anger, resentment, and hurt that were normally aimed at her when Avery was awake.

  When she’d looked her fill, Deirdre leaned close so that her face was only inches away from Avery’s and said, “Rise and shine!” She rocked back slightly, anticipating the eruption.

  “Jesus!” Avery jerked awake, her eyes flying open. “You’re going to give me a heart attack!”

  Avery looked in vain toward the awkward kitchenette in the corner for something resembling a coffeemaker. “I had my alarm set. And I don’t remember asking for a wake-up call.”

  “Sorry,” Deirdre said. “But I figured you’d want to get up to do a walk-through downstairs before Troy and Anthony show up.”

  Avery’s tone turned suspicious. “What makes you think that?”

  Deirdre shrugged and stated the obvious. “Because that’s exactly what I would do.”

  Avery reached out and pushed Deirdre back far enough to slide out of bed. “Yeah, well. Kyra wants to shoot the downstairs without them around. And I need to figure out how to put this poor house back together again.”

  “I forgot how grumpy you are when you wake up,” Deirdre replied. “Do you want me to go out and get you a cup of coffee?”

  “I’m not grumpy!” Avery bit out. “I’m just tired from listening to you snore in my ear all night.”

  And most likely from clinging to her side of the too small bed all night. Several times Deirdre had worried that Avery might actually get so close to the edge that she’d fall off.

  “I am not grumpy,” Avery said a little less grumpily. “And I don’t need you trying to act all mother-y all the sudden. It’s a little late for that.”

  It was more than a little late. Deirdre had been trying to make up for her choice of career over her family for years, but it seemed that her attempts had been so unwelcome and, possibly, inept that Avery had simply stopped noticing.

  Deirdre turned and walked toward the closet. “I thought I might join you. I’d like to get some photos and take notes on the decor.” Keeping her back turned and her tone casual, she said, “I’m assuming you’ve asked Chase to consult on crew and a construction schedule.”

  There was a pause. In the murky reflection of the armoire mirror she saw Avery’s cheeks go red.

  “He’s swamped,” Avery said flatly. “And it’s not like I can’t handle this on my own.”

  She stomped into the bathroom and there was the sound of water splashing in the sink. When she came back into the bedroom, she’d swiped on mascara and lipstick and tamed the worst of a fairly virulent case of bed head. She rummaged through her suitcase and pulled on a pair of modest khaki shorts and a baggy blue T-shirt, which was safer than yesterday’s outfit but not at all flattering. Deirdre had left her room in both the closet and the armoire, but Avery had so far made no move to claim it. Perhaps she was afraid that allowing their clothes to touch might be construed as an acknowledgment of an actual relationship.

  There was a rap on the bedroom door. When Avery pulled it open, Kyra stepped into the room. Dustin had been strapped in a carrier and hung in front of her, face forward. His mouth was open in a gummy smile. Deirdre felt the oddest tug in her chest.

  “They didn’t have slings or papooses or any of that when you were born,” Deirdre said to Avery, remembering how alien and frightening motherhood had seemed at the time.

  “Would you have packed me in one and taken me with you when you ran away from us if they had?” Avery asked, the words flying out of her mouth like bullets. The words hurt far less than the ancient hurt that had propelled them.

  “You were thirteen when I left,” Deirdre said. “I doubt they make them that large.” The room swam briefly and she was horrified to realize that tears were a real possibility. “And I don’t know how many times I can explain and apologize.”

  “You’re right,” Avery said. “It’s pointless. You can stop now.”

  Kyra’s sympathetic look was almost as tear inducing as Avery’s rejection. The girl handed Avery a mug of still-steaming coffee. “Drink this,” she said. “All of it.”

  Avery did as instructed. But Deirdre was watching her daughter’s face, and although she could see that the warm jolt of caffeine was welcome, it didn’t erase the old hurts or assuage the current anger. And it didn’t turn Deirdre into the mother she had never been.

  Outside in the morning light, The Millicent looked far better and far worse than Avery had expected. As she stood on the front stoop face-to-face with the heavy wooden door set in the circular two-story entry, she could see every fabulous detail from the chrome anchor doorknob in the center of the door to the etchings on the glass transom above it and the hand-carved bas-relief of fanciful sea creatures that surrounded it.

  Unfortunately, she could also see the dire shape they were in. If it hadn’t been for all the jostling and what was supposed to pass for whispering, she imagined she might have been able to hear the house’s silent scream for help.

  “I don’t feel good about going inside without Max’s permission,” Maddie said for what might have been the fourth or fifth time.

  “That’s assuming we can get in,” Deirdre said. “Too bad we didn’t think to ask for a key.”

  “Shhh,” Kyra said over Dustin’s head as she filmed what was supposed to be a stealth reconnaissance, but that had somehow turned into a group field trip. “We don’t want to wake up Max. Or Frick and Frack.”

  “Maybe it’s not locked,” Deirdre said as Avery began to feel around for a hidden key.

  Avery ignored her as she upended an ancient flowerpot then shooed everyone off the front step so that she could look underneath the welcome mat.

  “I really think that if Max wanted us to have access, he would have given us a key,” Maddie said.

  Avery looked under a rock and moved a loose brick. When she still came up empty-handed, she asked Kyra to go up on tiptoe to feel around above the door, but all she dislodged was dirt and bits of spiderweb.

  Glad she’d come prepared, Avery pulled out a nail file she’d pinched from Deirdre’s makeup bag and bent down to try to fit it in the lock.

  “Hey,” Deirdre said, “is that mine?”

  “We can’t break into the house!” Maddie said, shocked.

  “Shhh.” Avery tried to quiet them. “We’
re not breaking in. We live here and Max is expecting us.”

  “In an hour,” Maddie pointed out. “What if he’s walking around naked or something?”

  There was a group wince at the thought.

  “Maybe you should try the doorknob,” Deirdre said quietly, her gaze still on her nail file.

  “Or what if he hears us and the fright gives him a heart attack?” Maddie asked, offering yet another worst-case scenario.

  “He’s ninety,” Deirdre pointed out. “I doubt his hearing is that good.”

  Avery sighed as she tried to insert the tip of the file at the right angle. “We’re going to see and probably touch every inch of this house, I don’t think a walk-through is going to violate anything. We don’t have time to debate this.”

  “Avery, I really think you should try the knob,” Deirdre said again.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Avery said, jiggling the file in an effort to jimmy the lock. “That’s…” Her voice trailed off as the file snapped in half.

  With a sigh, Deirdre reached around Avery, grasped the bottom curve of the anchor, and gave it a gentle twist. The door creaked open.

  Great. Avery handed Deirdre both halves of her nail file.

  “I’m still not sure we should do this,” Maddie said, following them in.

  No shushing was required. They fell silent as they stood together in the circular entry, their gazes drawn upward.

  The high domed ceiling was ringed in triple bands of concrete. An umbrella-shaped chandelier with shimmering panels of sculpted glass hung from its center and a Moroccan tile floor radiated outward. Straight ahead an oakrisered staircase angled gently upward, its rounded stepped wall open to a high-ceilinged rectangular living room that stretched to their right.

  They moved left into the dining room, another long rectangle with a high ceiling banded in concrete. Avery felt a burst of adrenaline as she took in the expanse of glass block cut into the front wall and the matched set of casement windows that would flood the room with natural light once they were repaired and cleaned.

  “That porthole mirror is great,” Deirdre said, following Avery’s gaze before moving toward a bird’s-eye-maple and mahogany dining room suite. “I’m pretty sure this is Ruhlmann.” Deirdre’s hand practically caressed a stair-stepped chair back; her voice pulsed with pleasure as she uttered the well-known Deco-era designer’s name.

  Deirdre’s flushed face and tone of excitement drew Avery back to the hours they’d spent together in antique shops. Despite years of trying, she’d never been able to completely block the fact that her love of the clean-lined Deco style had been discovered at the side of the mother who’d abandoned her.

  Deirdre led the way into the kitchen, which was large and roomy, with a corner banquette that overlooked the driveway and a curvy run of cabinets that would have looked right at home in a private railcar or the hold of a ship.

  “I don’t think this kitchen has been touched since the day it was installed,” Deirdre said.

  “It all looks original all right,” Avery said, taking in the plain white cabinets and the chipped tile countertops. The built-in oven, cooktop, and vent hood were turquoise. The refrigerator was wide, boxy, and white.

  Avery ran a hand over a lightly singed cabinet above the stove. “There’s been some sort of fire here. And the tile work is pretty beat up.”

  “I can’t wait to get my hands on this kitchen,” Deirdre said happily. “We’ll need to talk about whether to restore to original or renovate.”

  “That will depend on preservation codes and whether Max is planning to live in The Millicent or put it on the market,” Avery said, her tone sharp with the sudden need to wipe the too-happy smile off Deirdre’s face.

  “The man is ninety,” Deirdre pointed out for the second time that morning. “And obviously not up to the task of maintaining this house. He has to be thinking about selling.”

  She and Avery stared at each other.

  “Well, fortunately that decision’s not up to us,” Madeline said in her best mother voice as she peeked inside a walk-in pantry and a laundry/mud room. A half bath opened to the pool.

  They whispered and shushed their way back through the foyer to the living room. With their backs to the fireplace, they studied the baby grand piano that dominated the circular sunroom. Like the dining room set it was made of bird’s-eye maple and banded in mahogany and brass. Its raised split lid gave it the look of an airplane poised for flight.

  There was a noise from behind the closed door to what had to be the master bedroom. They looked at each other. The thud that followed sent Maddie moving toward the bedroom door. “Mr. Golden, are you okay?”

  There was no answer and no further sound.

  “Mr. Golden?” Maddie called again.

  “He probably didn’t hear you,” Avery said, but her voice wavered uncertainly.

  They all moved toward the door.

  “Did anybody bring their cell phone?” Maddie asked as she knocked again. “He could be lying there unable to get up.”

  Deirdre pulled out her cell phone while Madeline knocked more loudly and raised her voice. “Mr. Golden? Mr.—”

  The door swung open.

  Max stood in the doorway. He was neatly shaven and his hair was slicked into place. He wore a blue velvet smoking jacket belted at the waist. A silk paisley cravat was knotted at his neck. The unlit cigar was clutched between two fingers as he opened his arms wide. “Good morning, beautiful ladies,” he boomed. “I trust you all slept well.”

  Kyra moved closer. Dustin waved his feet and hands at Max; his toothless smile lit up his face.

  “And good morning to you, young man,” Max said to the baby with a courtly bow. “I see you’ve got the best seat in the house.”

  From the room behind Max, the Lifetime cameraman’s voice rang out. “That’s perfect, Max. Just like we rehearsed it. That’s most definitely a take.”

  “Come in, come in,” Max said, motioning with the unlit cigar. “Welcome to the inner sanctum.” He stepped back to allow them to enter the large sun-filled space.

  The bedroom was the largest they’d seen in the house. It had a parquet floor, two closets, and a short hallway that led to a bathroom. But it was the room itself, or rather the room’s decor, that grabbed the eye and refused to let go. Two out of three bedroom walls were covered in a black-and-white-striped silk that had faded and yellowed over time. A turquoise silk chaise and a ladies’ dressing table in the same vibrant shade anchored one end of the room. The other had been turned into a sitting area that was dominated by a black leather recliner that had molded itself to Max Golden’s posterior and that faced a tabletop television. The walls were covered in framed black-and-white photos. Maddie tried but wasn’t able to make out their subject matter from where she stood.

  Troy and Anthony stood next to their equipment, which had been set up across from the recliner and was currently aimed toward the bedroom door and them.

  “I thought we agreed on a nine-thirty start,” Kyra said to Troy.

  “Me too,” the cameraman said. He made a show of consulting his watch. “But it’s only eight-thirty now. Yet here you are.”

  Madeline could actually feel Kyra wrestling for control. Dustin must have felt it too because he’d stopped waving his arms at Max and was craning his neck to look up at his mother. Avery and Deirdre stood next to each other, together but separate, watching the interchange with interest.

  As always, Maddie wanted to step in and mediate, as she’d done when Kyra was a child, but Kyra was no longer a ten-year-old fighting with her younger brother. Or even the twenty-three-year-old who’d fallen in love with a movie star on her first feature film and come home pregnant and unemployed. Maddie held herself back. Ready, but back.

  Kyra’s shoulders rose then fell as if she’d drawn in a breath and expelled it. Maddie hoped Kyra was counting to ten, or higher if necessary.

  Maddie drew a breath, too, then slowly let it out and was relieved when
Kyra said, “It looks like we both have to work on our time management skills.” Her tone turned less conciliatory. “I’m looking forward to talking with the network so that we can clarify who’s shooting what, when.”

  Kyra unhooked Dustin from the harness, handed him to Maddie, then raised her camera to her shoulder. “In the meantime, maybe Max can tell us about his personal space. Assuming that hasn’t already happened.”

  “No, we just shot his welcome.” The cameraman didn’t add that what he’d really wanted was their reaction, but then he didn’t have to.

  “I love to see young people so intense about their work,” Max said with a wave of his cigar that drew all of their attention back to him. “I haven’t worked in years,” he said. “I finished out my comedy career playing lobbies full of retirees. And now I’ve got two cameras pointed my way.” He shook his head as if in wonder, then shot Dustin a wink. “If Millie were here, we could do one of our routines. It never was the same without her.”

  “I bet you two were fabulous,” Kyra said, moving toward Max. “Will you show me some of the photos on the wall?”

  “Of course,” Max said, opening his arms wide.

  “If it’s okay with you, Max, I’m going to scope out the bathroom and make a few notes,” Avery said. “And I think Deirdre wants to get photos of the bedroom suite. It looks custom made.”

  “I believe so.” The old man smiled. “Millie loved nice things. She had an interior designer friend who used to practically live here.”

  Without further discussion, Kyra began to pan her camera across the photos while Madeline held her grandson close, trying her best to keep him out of camera range. Kyra’s camera froze mid-move. “Oh my gosh,” Kyra said. “Is that Frank Sinatra?” The camera panned to the next photo. “And Jackie Gleason?”

  “Why, yes, of course,” Max said, somehow managing to play to both cameras. Deirdre stopped shooting photos of the furniture and came over to stand next to Madeline. They all strained forward to see.

  “Millie and I made regular guest appearances on The Honeymooners. And we opened for Frank at the Fontainebleau a couple of times.” He beamed at them.