“Not him again,” Wendy said. “Get rid of him.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. Drive a spike through his heart or something. He’s a kook.”
“I see that,” Drue whispered. “Also, I think that only works on vampires.”
“I’m on my way,” Wendy snapped.
Kaa had seated himself and was leafing through the latest issue of Modern Maturity when the door from the back hallway opened and Wendy entered.
“Mr. Kaa?”
“Yes?” He ripped a page from the magazine, folded it in half and stood up. “When do I see Mr. Campbell? My issue is still unresolved.”
“Still? I thought you’d seen a doctor about that problem.”
“That doctor was an incompetent quack.” Kaa gestured at the front of his robe, where Drue now noticed an impressive bulge. Her lips twitched as she turned away, trying to stifle a giggle.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” Wendy said, her composure intact. “Your accident was three years ago, as I recall, and your case was settled. We referred you to the best urologist in town.”
“And yet this persists.” Kaa thrust his pelvis forward and Wendy instinctively jumped backward.
“I see that,” Wendy said, quickly losing then regaining her composure. “I’m sure that must be, uh, socially awkward. I promise I’ll have Brice look into the matter and get back with you as soon as possible.”
Drue didn’t dare look up. She found a tissue in the box and coughed into it.
“I will be back tomorrow. And the day after that too, unless something is done,” Kaa said, striding out of the office.
When he’d gone, Wendy looked over at Drue. “He was in a construction accident. Fell two stories from an improperly erected scaffolding, and his fall was broken by a cement mixer. He had broken ribs, broken pelvis and a head injury. Before the accident his name was Grady Lee. Afterwards, he started dressing up like that, and he had his name legally changed to Kaa. Brice sued and got him a decent settlement.”
“About that improperly erected thing?” Drue fell into another fit of giggles.
Wendy’s placid face crumpled and she began to snigger, which turned into guffaws. “Oh my God,” she cried, swiping at the tears running down her face. “I can’t even…”
“So … uh, what causes his condition?” Drue asked, handing Wendy a tissue.
“Damned if I know,” Wendy said, sinking down onto an armchair. “He keeps showing up at the urologist’s office, with that … thing. Last week, their office manager threatened to call the police and have him charged with indecent exposure. He’s been back to the neurologist’s office too. Same story. Nobody knows what to do about it.”
“Find him a concubine?” Drue suggested.
Wendy burst out laughing again, but suddenly stopped. “Oh God,” she gasped.
“What?” Drue stood up, alarmed. “Is something wrong?”
“I think I just peed my pants,” Wendy said. “And it’s your fault.”
* * *
The phones began ringing and didn’t stop for the next four hours. It was nearly one when Marianne appeared and announced that she would take over the reception desk for the rest of the day. “Wendy says you should go to lunch,” Marianne said.
Ben was sitting at a table in the break room, typing furiously on his laptop, but he stopped abruptly when Drue joined him at the table, and closed the lid.
“You don’t have to stop working just because of me,” she said, unwrapping her turkey sandwich.
“It’s okay. I’m done.” He tore open a bag of chips resting alongside his own half-eaten sandwich.
“What are you working on?” she asked. “If it’s not top secret.”
“Nothing,” he said, flushing. “Just a kind of side hustle.”
“Lucky you,” Drue said. “Wish I had a side hustle.”
“I thought you did,” Ben said. “The Jazmin Mayes thing? Anything interesting going on with that?”
Drue smiled enigmatically.
“I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours.”
Ben raised an eyebrow.
“Get your mind out of the gutter,” she said. “I’m talking side hustles.”
He hesitated, nervously tapping his fingertips on the lid of the laptop.
“Okay,” he relented. “It’s a video game. But you’ve got to swear you won’t tell anybody.”
“That’s it? You’re playing video games on your lunch hour? Sorry, but that’s not exactly classified information, Ben.”
“It’s my video game,” he said, puffing up slightly. “I’ve been working on it for the past two and a half years and now I’m this close to taking it to market.”
“Good for you,” Drue said. “I hope it sells a million copies.”
“It better,” he said. “Now it’s your turn. Tell me what’s happening with your secret project?”
“As a matter of fact, there’s a lot going on,” Drue said, trying to subdue a yawn. “Last night I tracked down Jazmin’s former boyfriend, who had some interesting things to say about some ‘porn parties’ the hotel’s head of security used to throw.”
“Gross,” Ben said, popping a potato chip in his mouth. “But what’s that got to do with Jazmin’s murder?”
“I’m getting to that,” Drue said. “Did I tell you that I talked to one of the police detectives who’s worked on the case since day one?”
“No.”
“Yeah. I did. She says that Jazmin’s murder wasn’t just some random stranger-on-stranger thing. Rae says it was violent and it was personal, and she’s sure it was a man. A man who knew Jazmin.”
“Rae?”
“Detective Hernandez. She also told me that Gulf Vista’s management deliberately obstructed their investigation, right from the start, and maybe even tampered with the murder scene.”
“Interesting,” Ben acknowledged.
“It gets better. I also managed to track down Jazmin’s best friend, another housekeeper who was working with her the night she was killed.” She uncapped a bottle of water and drank. “Neesa, that’s Jazmin’s friend, told me some really nasty stuff was going on with the guy who was head of housekeeping. At first, they put up with his sexual harassment because they couldn’t afford to lose their jobs, but eventually, she said, both she and Jazmin traded sexual favors for ‘bonuses’ and time off.”
“So, what? You think this Herman guy maybe killed her? Why? I mean, if she was doing what he wanted, why’d he want to spoil a good thing?”
Ben wiped his fingers on a paper napkin, which he balled up and tossed in the direction of the trash can.
“Swoosh,” he said, when he landed the basket. He turned back to Drue. “What’s it got to do with the mom’s lawsuit? I mean, even if this guy did kill your girl Jazmin, it still doesn’t get her mother any more money from the hotel. Right? It happened at work. The hotel has video of her working.”
“She’s not ‘my girl Jazmin,’” Drue said, feeling the blood rise in her cheeks. “She was a person, Ben, and she didn’t deserve to die like she did. She was working and taking college classes and trying to be a good mom. And you’re right, none of this guarantees more money for Yvonne Howington. But maybe knowing who did it and why is almost as good as money. Maybe it means a sick bastard gets locked up for the rest of his life, and doesn’t get to prey on women anymore.”
“You know what Brice would say about all this, right?” Ben asked.
“Put up or shut up?”
“That too. But mostly he’d point out that’s a lot of ‘maybe’s.”
The break room door opened and Marianne stuck her head inside. “Drue? Wendy needs you right away.”
40
Wendy was lying on the sofa in her office. “Close the door,” she told Drue. “Please.”
The office manager’s face was pale, and she had her legs propped up on a stack of cushions. She wore a chic turquoise A-line dress, the first actual maternity dress Drue had seen her in
, but she’d kicked off her spike-heeled Manolo Blahniks.
“Are you all right?” Drue asked.
“Not sure,” Wendy said, her voice shaky. “I’ve started spotting.”
Drue sank down onto the floor beside the sofa. “What do you want me to do? Should I call Dad? Or an ambulance?”
“No! Don’t call anybody. Your dad is in court, and I don’t want him to freak out. And I sure as hell don’t want an ambulance. I called my obstetrician’s office. The nurse says a little spotting isn’t anything to be concerned about.”
“What’s a little?” Drue asked now, feeling slightly freaked out herself. Until her mother’s illness, she’d never really been around sick people. She’d felt so helpless during Sherri’s swift decline, powerless to stop the relentless advance of the cancer. She swallowed back a sudden spasm of anxiety-triggered nausea.
“It’s just … spots,” Wendy said. “The point is, the nurse says I probably need to go home and get some rest. Brice drove us to work this morning, so…”
“I’ll take you home,” Drue said quickly. “Can you walk?”
“Don’t be so dramatic. I’m not dying.” Wendy swung her feet onto the floor and slipped on her shoes and grabbed her Louis Vuitton tote.
“Let’s go,” she told Drue. “And not a word about this to the rest of the staff.”
As they passed through the reception area, Wendy paused beside the reception desk, waiting while Marianne completed a phone call.
“Drue and I are going out to lunch, and then doing some shopping,” she said. “Her phone line will be off-line for the rest of the day. Tell any of my callers that I’ll be back in the office in the morning, but do not forward any calls to me, unless it’s life and death.”
Marianne looked astounded. “You’re going to lunch, together?”
“Girl time,” Drue said lightly, tucking her arm through Wendy’s.
* * *
On the twenty-minute drive out to Brice and Wendy’s house at the beach, Drue kept surreptitiously glancing at her passenger.
“Would you quit it?” Wendy said finally. “I told you. I’m fine. I just saw my doctor. I’m not hemorrhaging and I’m not going to have the baby in the front seat of your car.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Drue said. “I wouldn’t want to mar OJ’s pristine upholstery or anything.”
Wendy looked around the car with obvious distaste, taking in the discarded water bottles and fast-food wrappers on the floor, and the cracked and peeling vinyl dashboard and seats.
“How old is this car anyway?”
“Not all that old,” Drue said. “How do you feel?”
“Will you stop?” Wendy said. “I’m only pregnant. I’m not dying.”
“Great,” Drue said, “because I was just thinking about how Dad will never forgive me and totally blame me for the rest of my life if anything goes wrong with you and this baby.”
Wendy gave a weak smile. “Yeah, he is pretty over-the-top about this whole baby thing. I had no idea how emotional he’d get. He’s driving me crazy, treating me like I’m some kind of fragile bone-china teacup.”
“Well, you are the vessel carrying his son and namesake,” Drue pointed out.
“This all must seem pretty absurd to you.”
“Doesn’t matter what I think,” Drue said. “If you two are happy about the baby, I’m glad for you.”
“Seriously? You’re not jealous? Not even a little bit? I know you and Brice didn’t have a very good relationship, back in the day.”
Drue shrugged. “It’s true we didn’t have the typical daddy-daughter relationship. But I wasn’t the only kid in the world growing up with divorced parents. And yeah, he wasn’t really involved in my life most of the time, but I’m fine with that. I’m not one of these people who want to gaze at my navel and talk about my toxic childhood. Shit happens. You go through it, and then you get over it.”
Wendy stared out the window, her long red hair obscuring Drue’s view of her face. “Sometimes you don’t ever get over stuff. You know, my dad died not long after Brice and I got married. He never forgave me, wouldn’t even come to our wedding.”
“He didn’t approve of the age difference?” Drue asked.
“Among other things,” Wendy said. “His loss, not mine.” She started to say something, but shook her head.
“What?” Drue asked.
“I guess I’ve had forgiveness on my mind a lot lately,” Wendy said. She looked straight at Drue.
“I’ve been pretty shitty to you, haven’t I?”
“Yeah. You have. We were friends once, until you decided we were frenemies. I was a kid back then, going through a lot of shit, and when you dumped me, it hurt. I was devastated.”
“I know,” Wendy said softly. “I should have handled it differently. I should have stood up to my dad and admitted that the Disney trip was my idea. I was too chicken.”
“He was kind of a bully, your dad, right?” Drue asked.
Wendy’s eyes filled with tears. She nodded. “Maybe that’s why I fell for Brice all those years later. Because he was the opposite of my dad.”
“Daddy complex?” Drue raised one eyebrow.
“No,” Wendy said firmly. “Brice is a good guy, Drue. You’ll probably never know just how good.”
She grimaced slightly and pressed her hands on her abdomen.
“What? What is it?” Drue asked.
“Just a little cramping,” Wendy said. “It started when we got in the car. It’s probably nothing. Just take me home.”
“No way,” Drue said. She signaled and made a quick right turn into a shopping center parking lot. “You’re either going to your obstetrician’s office or the emergency room. Which is it?”
Wendy sighed heavily. “Okay, maybe you’re right. Dr. Dillard’s office is right next to St. Anthony’s.”
She closed her eyes and her face contorted again. She took her phone from her purse. “I’ll call to let them know I’m coming in. Happy?”
“Delirious,” Drue said. She pulled back into traffic. “Can you put the address in your phone so I can get directions? I don’t want to get lost.”
After several minutes had passed, Drue pulled into the parking lot of the midrise office building that Wendy pointed out. “Her office is on the fourth floor.”
Her face contorted again and she gasped and grabbed Drue’s arm. “Another cramp.”
Drue’s heart was pounding in her chest. She couldn’t think straight. “What should I do? Can you walk?”
Wendy nodded. “I think so.” She clutched Drue’s arm tighter. “I’m scared,” she whispered.
Drue pulled up to the curb, put the Bronco in park and jumped out. “Me too.”
A uniformed security guard marched up, his hand extended like a stop sign. “Ma’am? Did you see the yellow curb? This is a no-parking zone. You can’t—”
“Fuck off,” Drue said, opening the passenger door and taking Wendy’s hand. “This woman is four months pregnant and she’s having contractions. I’m taking her in to Dr. Dillard’s office. Unless you want her to bleed to death right here on your yellow curb?”
She dropped the keys into the speechless guard’s outstretched hand. “Just park it somewhere, okay?”
Wendy didn’t speak again until they were in the elevator. She was still clinging to Drue’s arm and leaning heavily against her. “They’re probably not contractions and I wasn’t going to bleed to death,” she said.
“He didn’t know that. And neither did I,” Drue replied. Her hands were shaking as she watched the lighted numbers on the control panel change during their agonizingly slow ascent. “Who puts an obstetrician’s office on the fourth floor?” she demanded. “How many babies have been delivered in this thing?”
* * *
Drue had never been good at waiting, especially in spaces that were dubbed waiting rooms, which, for her, had an unfortunate association with all the hours she’d spent in rooms like this one during Sherri’s final w
eeks of illness.
“Hi,” she said, approaching the reception desk. “I brought Wendy Campbell in about thirty minutes ago? Can you tell me what’s going on?”
The clerk looked up from her computer screen. “Sorry. Patient privacy regulations.”
Drue leaned across the high polished wooden countertop. “I’m not some random stranger. Mrs. Campbell is my stepmother, and I’m really concerned about her and the baby. Look, you don’t have to say anything. Just nod yes or no. Is she okay?”
The clerk glanced around, then, pursing her lips, gave an almost imperceptible nod.
“Good,” Drue said. “Thanks.”
Brice rushed into the waiting room fifteen minutes later.
“Dad.” Drue jumped up.
“Where is she?” Brice asked. “How is she?”
“In with the doctor. They won’t tell me anything.”
* * *
She’d skimmed the pages of a year’s worth of Parents magazine and was starting to have strong opinions on co-sleeping, toilet training and caring for cracked nipples when the door to the back office finally opened an hour later and Brice emerged with Wendy on his arm.
“She’s fine,” Brice said, before Drue had a chance to ask. “The baby’s fine too.”
Wendy offered her a wan smile. “See? Crisis averted.”
“The doctor says it’s premature labor,” Brice said. “Not that unusual in a higher-risk pregnancy.”
“The baby’s heartbeat is strong, and he’s perfect,” Wendy added.
“So what happens now?” Drue asked, following them out into the hallway. “I mean, how do you stop a baby from coming?”
“Bed rest,” Brice said. “I’m taking her home now.”
“Do you want me to come too? I could, I don’t know, hang out or boil water or whatever.”
“No,” Wendy and Brice said in unison.
“But thanks,” Wendy said, softening. “I’m just going to go to bed and hibernate for a while.”
“And I’m going to stick around and watch her for the rest of the day,” Brice added. He threw his free arm around his daughter. “Come on now, close it up. Family hugs. Right?”
Sunset Beach Page 25
