Have Your Cake and Kill Him Too

by Nancy Martin

  "So ChaCha inherits Fitch's Fancy as well as Cupcakes?"

  "I think so. The police want to talk to you about it all, but Emma is keeping them at bay until you're stronger."

  "Where's Libby?"

  Lexie shook her head in wonder. "She's fine. Emma says she managed to find herself a handsome fireman. Trust Libby to find a date during a disaster."

  "And Rawlins?"

  "Rawlins is looking a little shell-shocked, but he's fine, too."

  "Did he make it to the Spring Fling?"

  "A little late, I hear, but yes. He's got photos for you to see."

  I smiled, but it didn't last. "And Clover? Jane? Where are they?"

  "Clover has been arrested for Zell's murder. And Jane? Is that the shy girl? I don't know where she is."

  Jane would need help, I thought. "You should meet her, Lex. She's going to need someone to talk to."

  "Whatever you say, sweetie."

  I touched the IV bandage on the back of my hand. "I don't want to turn into one of those women who just stares into space, but I feel as if I've been hit by a bus."

  "You're allowed to stare for a day or two, but for after that, I have a better idea. Take my mother's yacht."

  I laughed. "Just like that? And go where?"

  Lexie grinned—relieved, I think, to see me smile. "You think I'm kidding, but I'm not. Mother wants to take a Mediterranean cruise in May, so she's having the dinghy moved from Venezuela to Turks and Caicos for its annual checkup. You could jump aboard at any island you choose in between and go along for the ride. What do you think?"

  "Are you going?"

  "Unfortunately, I have my job to keep me warm, and things are very hot right now. I might be able to join you next weekend, but that's about it. You could take anyone you like to keep you company, sweetie. Emma or Libby. Take Delilah. Take Richard, if you like."

  "To tell the truth," I said slowly, "I'd rather be alone right now."

  Although she kept smiling, there was concern in her face, too. "Well, then, what could be more perfect than your own private yacht? It would just be you and the crew and the deep blue sea. Even the chef will be aboard, so you won't have to think about a thing but your tan lines. Pack a few books and a bathing suit. I'm a firm believer in the restorative power of the sun. Let me take care of your banker while you're away. I've been known to have some influence with those guys. Relax on the boat for a week and see how you feel."

  I felt the prickle of grateful tears in my throat. "You're very kind."

  "So you'll go? You said yourself there's a lull in the social scene right now. The timing's right."

  "I don't know. . . ."

  I had to talk to Richard. And there was Libby's insanity to settle. And I wondered if Emma was still working at the Dungeon of Darkness or if she had started coaching Pointy Fitch instead. There was so much to do. I put my chin into my hand, feeling tired just thinking about all the difficult conversations I needed to have.

  Lexie came over and touched my shoulder.

  I said, "I'm going to break up with Richard."

  Lexie waited.

  "He was using me, Lex."

  Lexie didn't show surprise. "His story about the Abruzzo family came out this morning. It certainly lacked . . . facts. It barely made sense. One of the uncles murdered a cop? The boy is missing, presumed dead? And lots of innuendo about Michael."

  I didn't want to read what Richard had written. I understood the truth now, and I no longer cared what the rest of the world knew. Least of all Richard.

  At last, Lexie said, "Do what you think is best, sweetie."

  "It's best if I don't see him again."

  "And Michael?"

  When I didn't answer, Lexie smiled a little. "You've danced on the end of the diving board long enough, Nora. Is it time to take the plunge?"

  I shook my head. "He's too much for me, Lex. I'd like nothing more than to come home every night to sew buttons on his shirts and raise his children, but he's not that kind of man. He'll never be the kind of man I should be with."

  "So? Sweetie, Cary Grant is dead. And it's not about should anyway. For most of us it's about want. And you want him."

  "No, I need a quiet life."

  "If you say so." She checked her watch and got up. "I've got to run or the entire Chinese economy will collapse. But keep the yacht in mind, will you? I'd love to do you a good turn, and your very own Caribbean cruise might be exactly what you need right now."

  I got up to give her a hug and reminded her to take the lilies. Lexie breezed out, but she left a surprisingly palpable charge of energy in her wake. Good friends might be hard to find, but the likes of Lexie Paine stuck around for good.

  I went home that afternoon, and Mr. Twinkles greeted me warmly on the back porch. Emma promised to put him in the paddock after she tucked me into bed. I found I could see him from my bedroom window. As soon as her back was turned, I watched her wild horse jump the fence as easily as a swallow flitting through the sky. He headed straight for my porch, and as I lay in bed I heard him knocking at my kitchen door.

  Libby telephoned. "I'll come over later," she sang. "I'll bring you all my potato soup and chocolate cake to build up your strength. I've given up on diets, and so should you."

  "Thanks, Lib. What's this I hear about a fireman?"

  She laughed gloriously. "His name is Sam! Isn't that delicious? And he's very strong. I'll bet he can carry me up a flight of stairs and still have energy to burn!"

  On Monday, Lexie came to the farm. She and Emma packed a bag for me, and she drove me to the private airstrip of a family friend. I don't know why I let them bully me into going. Chaz Cooper claimed he had to fly to the Caribbean on business, but when we were in the air in his small jet, I wondered if he was making the trip just for me. The steward brought me lunch, which I devoured over the blue Atlantic, and then I sat back in the leather armchair and napped.

  On the ground again, I kissed Chaz good-bye in the blazing Caribbean sun, and then I took a noisy cab alone from the airport to the docks where Lexie had told me her mother's yacht would wait for me.

  The driver let me off at a block of storefronts—some souvenir and T-shirt shops, two bars, a bait-and-tackle establishment. There was a small grocery store, too, the kind that catered to people who lived on boats. The shops faced a small harbor crowded with perhaps two dozen vessels. The water was such a clear azure blue that I could see the sandy bottom from shore.

  Anchored in the deeper water was a long, sleek, astoundingly expensive yacht with a gleaming white hull and cheerful yellow awnings over the salon deck. I'd spent some wonderful vacations on it with Lexie. She was an old-fashioned yacht—a little outdated now, but built in a day when boat builders knew what elegance and luxury were all about. Lexie's mother had bought the yacht from a Moroccan prince who had lavishly entertained movie stars aboard as he sailed from Monte Carlo to the Greek islands and back. A week aboard her meant seven idyllic days of comfortable cushions, sumptuous meals and plenty of solitude.

  I could signal her crew from the harbormaster's booth, but I wasn't ready to do that. Not yet.

  In front of the tackle shop, I sat down on a shaded wooden bench where I could watch the boats and decide. I put my suitcase on the ground and let the warmth of the bench radiate into the muscles of my back. Smaller boats bobbed along the quay, and the sun sparkled silver on the water around the yacht and beyond. I could hear tinny music from the radio of a wiry man in faded shorts who was painting a railing nearby. Two seagulls swooped around him, hoping for a handout.

  A stocky boy on a Jet Ski revved his engine and zoomed out from the beach toward the open water.

  I watched him go and looked out at the ocean, wondering if I'd been foolish to run away. That's what it felt like—as if I were trying to abandon my responsibilities, my family, my losses, and pretend they didn't exist.

  But they did, and the dull pain in my heart didn't feel as if it was going to melt in the Caribbean sun. I should have st
ayed at home and fought, I realized. I should have figured out what I wanted, made a plan. Found a way to make myself happy.

  In the tackle shop behind me, I could hear voices and the ringing of a cash register. An elderly couple in bathing suits and flip-flops climbed up a ladder from their small boat and strolled past me, holding hands and heading for a bar a few doors down. The woman laughed at something the man said and bumped her head fondly against his shoulder. Watching them, I was glad I could hide behind my dark sunglasses.

  A man came out of the tackle shop and stopped still in the shade. He wore jeans and carried a duffel over one shoulder and in his other hand a bag of something that smelled like bait. I turned my face away to compose my expression and hoped he would walk away.

  But he didn't, and I glanced up at last.

  It was Michael, gazing at me with the same dumbfounded stare that must have been on my face, too.

  "Lexie," we said together.

  He hesitated, then put his duffel on the ground next to mine and sat down on the bench beside me. He said, "She sent you down here to sail around on her mother's boat?"

  I took off my sunglasses. "Yes. You, too?"

  "Yeah."

  We sat, unable to speak or look at each other. I wondered if he could hear my heart beating in the silence that stretched between us. I wasn't ready. I hadn't decided how I should feel. And he couldn't say anything, either. So we sat.

  "I'll go home," I said at last. "You take the yacht by yourself."

  "No, no, you could use a vacation."

  "You'll enjoy the fishing," I said.

  "No, it's yours."

  "Really, I was just sitting here thinking I'd rather be at home."

  Another silence. Longer than before.

  As if we were strangers making polite conversation, he said, "Isn't it snowing up there again?"

  "Yes," I said, and took an unsteady breath.

  We were talking about the weather.

  The bruise on his cheek was almost gone now, but there was something new carved into his face. Something that made my chest ache.

  He continued to look out at the blue, blue water, yet slipped one hand around the back of my neck. His touch felt warm, but sent a shiver of anticipation along my nerve endings. He traced his thumb along my hairline, and I felt every atom of my skin come alive.

  I closed my eyes and said without thinking, "I've missed you."

  Another minute ticked by before he said, "Watch this."

  I opened my eyes. The boy on the Jet Ski was back. He cut a rooster tail in the water and skidded up onto the sand before killing the engine. It took him a clumsy minute to dismount and untie a box from the back of the Jet Ski, but then he headed up the sand, barefoot and wearing shorts and an oversized T-shirt with a necklace made of shells. The box, I thought, looked like a lobster trap.

  It was Carmine Pescara with a sunburn. He carried the box into the bar and disappeared.

  Michael said, "He's going to run his own restaurant. With a Jet Ski rental on the side."

  "Here?"

  Michael shrugged. "Why not? It could be a good life for him."

  "The restaurant didn't cost him eight hundred thousand dollars, did it?"

  With a truly happy grin, Michael said, "If it did, he got ripped off."

  I slid closer to him on the bench. He had managed to spirit Little Carmine out of a bad life and into a good one. Maybe a perfect one. At the sacrifice of his own happiness, perhaps, but Carmine Pescara was definitely going to live happily ever after.

  "Sometimes I get things right." Michael put his arm around my shoulders and stretched his legs into the sunshine. "I watched that cruise ship come in and thought maybe a trip would be nice. But now I just feel like going home."

  I knew how he felt. Relieved. Almost content. I said, "That's not a cruise ship, Michael."

  "What?"

  "That's Lexie's mother's yacht."

  He stared across the water. "That big boat?"

  "It's got three decks, see?" I aligned my thigh with his and pointed out the details of the luxury yacht. "The middle deck is completely private from the crew. There are chairs for deep-sea fishing and wonderful spots for sleeping in the sun. A very nice library and gold fixtures in the bathrooms. There's even a little theater with its own popcorn maker, although I don't think I'll ever eat popcorn again."

  He took my hand.

  I said, "The chef is from France, and he keeps an enormous wine cabinet on board. The owner's cabin was designed by a prince. It has mirrors on the ceiling over the bed."

  "Oh yeah?"

  I said, "Richard is moving back to New York."

  Michael turned to me. "I do love you."

  "I know." I touched his face and kissed him in the sunshine. "I love you back. And even though we're all wrong for each other, maybe we could take some time to work things out."

  He began to smile against my mouth. "Like a week, you mean?"

  "We could try to get to understand each other better."

  Michael smiled. "For starters," he said, "what's your view on topless sunbathing?"