Half Moon Bay

by Meryl Sawyer

  “Oh, Shelly, that’s terrible.” Trevor’s voice broke into a husky rasp. “I knew your family had been killed in the crash, but I never realized—”

  “What an ordeal,” Clive added.

  “Please, don’t feel sorry for me.” Shelly managed a smile, but her lower lip trembled. “I just shared my experience with you so that you would know that I’m not winging this. I know how much you hurt. I could tell you that time will make it better, but it’s not true. Time gives you the ability to cope, but the pain never goes away. You just learn to live with it.”

  The heartfelt emotion in her voice ripped him apart. Her tone conveyed the extent of her suffering and her deep mourning for the family she obviously loved and still missed. He’d thought of her as being not quite human, but the opposite was true.

  She felt more than he’d ever suspected. And loved with astonishing intensity.

  Matt saw her in a new light. This sensitive woman was capable of a depth of emotion that he could only imagine.

  “On some level we can all share your grief because we’ve all lost a loved one,” she continued, sympathy still lingering in her voice. “Didn’t your mother die when you were young, Matt?”

  She would ask.

  He resisted the urge to shout: Don’t go there! Everyone’s eyes were on him, expecting a response. “My mother died shortly after my thirteenth birthday.”

  They waited for him to elaborate, but he left it at that.

  Clive bailed him out. “It was a long time ago. Matt probably doesn’t remember much.”

  “He has never dealt with it,” Shelly interrupted. “If Matt had, he could talk about his mother’s death.”

  Honest to God, he was going to put both hands around her sexy neck and strangle her. Then he reminded himself that Shelly couldn’t possibly know about his problem. Discussing his mother would bring to the surface things he would much rather forget.

  “Clive, what about your mother?” Trevor asked, taking him off the hook.

  “My mother is still alive. I call her first thing every Sunday before she goes to church.”

  “You’re lucky,” Trevor said with uncharacteristic bitterness. “My mother turned her back on me. Even when she knew she was dying, she didn’t send for me.”

  “She’d already given you what counted,” Shelly said. “Character determines fate. That’s what my mother always said. Character is developed at an early age, and it’s strongly influenced by your mother.”

  “You’re right,” Clive responded. “My mother always encouraged me. She always told me I could do anything, and I believed her.”

  Shelly stared at him and arched one eyebrow. Matt knew she wanted him to say something. “Trevor, I know you’re upset because your mother sided with your father, but Shelly is right. You’re the best person I know. Let’s give your mother some credit for that.”

  “Mother wanted me to be perfect,” Trevor said in a broken whisper. “She couldn’t accept it when I wasn’t.”

  “It’s time to let it go … let her go,” Shelly said. “Your mother is buried in a grave miles from here, but I truly believe death releases your spirit. That’s how we get to heaven. Your mother, my mom, as well as Matt’s mother, have entered the spirit world.

  “They are with us now in a way that they never were during their lives. They are part of nature now. Smell the roses.” Shelly waited while they all sniffed the roses she’d given them. “The beauty of the rose and its unique scent embodies the spirits of our mothers. They are with us always now.

  “Their spirits are part of the roses.” She gestured with her good hand at the sun, half hidden by the sea—one of the postcard sunsets that had made Key West famous. “They’re part of every magnificent sunset, and they’re with us each morning as the sun rises.

  “Our mothers haven’t left us. They are with us every step of the way. They are a part of all the things we love, from a drop of dew on a blade of grass to the blue sky overhead. If we realize this, then we haven’t lost our mothers. Instead, we are much closer to them than we ever were.”

  Clive nodded thoughtfully while Trevor’s faint smile held a touch of sadness. Matt had to admit Shelly’s words had moved him. It was comforting to think of his mother being a part of nature. Before, she’d been lost to him.

  Memories fade, he reflected. He could barely recall the details of his mother’s face, but the power of her love remained as strong as ever. He thanked God that he’d gotten the chance to sit with his mother when she was dying. Over and over he’d told her how much he loved her.

  And how much he was going to miss her.

  Chapter 19

  They all tossed the lavender roses into the sea just as the sun, a molten red, slipped into the sea, leaving the water glazed with golden light.

  “To Trevor’s mother,” Clive said, taking up where she’d left off. “May she rest in peace.”

  “We thank her for giving us Trevor,” Matt added. “A wonderful person and a true friend.”

  There might have been a hint of moisture in Matt’s eyes—or maybe it was just her imagination. Clive was teary-eyed, and Trevor made no attempt to hide his tears of grief.

  Tears dribbled down her cheeks and sluiced off her chin. “Good-bye, Mother,” she whispered under her breath, realizing this service had brought her own feelings about death to the surface. “Character does determine fate. I’m going to get Dexxter just as soon as I can.”

  She held up her right hand. The fingers were still curved inward, and trying to straighten them only caused her to wince with pain. She couldn’t scream and she couldn’t use her right hand. Great. She had better come up with a doozy of a plan for getting Dexxter Foxx.

  “Hey, Shelly.” Matt put his arm around her and pulled her close. “Don’t cry.”

  She wiped her face with the back of her hand and mustered a smile. “It went all right, didn’t it?”

  He gave her a quick hug and kissed her forehead. “You were great. Let’s give them a chance to be alone.”

  Trevor and Clive sat at the back of the small boat, talking quietly. She sat on the bench behind the wheel, while Matt hoisted the anchor. The boat glided out of the shallow water and into the channel. A crescent moon rode high in a velvet black sky, and crystal-bright shards of stars glinted down at them.

  How romantic, she thought with an inward sigh. Matt put his arm around her, a casual gesture, but to her it seemed intimate, seductive. Watch out, she warned herself.

  Given the way he’d kissed her and caressed her breasts, Matt would be making love to her if she weren’t very careful. Then he would discover she wasn’t Rochelle Ralston. For a moment she toyed with the idea of confessing the truth.

  An image flashed across her mind: The thunderous roar and the blast that knocked her to her knees. Dexxter hadn’t hesitated to have a federal marshal killed. If she involved Matt and Trevor, no telling what might happen to them.

  “You’re awfully quiet,” he said. “What are you thinking about?”

  She said the first thing that popped into her mind. “Chocolate.”

  He smiled that adorable smile, telling her he was up to something. “Right. Chocolate body paint. I brush it on you, then lick it off, right?”

  The powerful image of his mouth on her bare skin evoked the memory of the way he’d kissed her earlier that day. Suddenly, her knees seemed weak and she was glad to be sitting. Think like a bad girl, she told herself. “Yeah, right, Jensen. The last thing I need is body paint.”

  “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

  “Don’t forget I’m a psychopath,” she reminded him.

  “Yeah, right.” He pulled her closer until the back of her head was resting against his sturdy shoulder. She was thankful for the noise of the engine. It kept Matt from hearing the rapid thud of her heart.

  They were approaching the Key West dock where Sunset Key homeowners had moorings adjacent to the water shuttle that went out to the private island every hour. A throng of pe
ople jammed the dock. She assumed someone on the island must be having a party, and everyone was waiting to be ferried across the channel.

  Key West was famous for its offbeat characters, and it seemed that every one of them had assembled on the dock. Now they were waving at them.

  “What in hell is going on?” Matt wanted to know.

  “I think they’re singing,” Clive said from the back of the boat.

  Matt turned off the motor, and she spotted Bubbles as well as Zeke and Zoe among the group. A song swelled out from the crowd with a lilting note.

  “I once was looost … but now I’m found.”

  “It’s all of your friends,” Matt said to Trevor. “They’re singing ‘Amazing Grace’ for you.”

  Bubbles must have gathered them, she decided, instantly forgiving Bubbles for not coming with them.

  “‘A-maz-ing Grace … how sweet the sound / That saved a wretch like meee / I once was looost … but now I’m found.’”

  The song brought tears to her eyes, and she gazed at the group through blurry eyes. “There’s no sweeter sound than a chorus of friends’ voices.”

  “You’re right,” Trevor said, his voice choked with emotion. “I once was lost, but I found friends on Key West. I found myself actually.”

  That’s what she intended to do, she thought. Just as soon as she took care of Dexxter, she was going to start a new life right here in paradise.

  Matt turned on the motor and pulled the boat into the slip, then cut the engine. The group had finished the song, and everyone rushed up, offering Trevor condolences.

  “We’re throwing a wake at Pepe’s,” Bubbles informed them the minute they stepped onto the dock. “We’ve taken the whole place.”

  “Thanks for doing this,” she said to Bubbles.

  “It was the least I could do for Trevor,” Bubbles said, her eyes on Matt. “If it weren’t for him, I’d be in a flophouse in Bahama Village, turning tricks.”

  “That’s Trevor, all right.” Matt’s tone echoed respect that bordered on reverence. “It’s good for him to see that people appreciate him.”

  People were hugging Trevor. Many of them had tears in their eyes or were crying. It occurred to her that she didn’t know this many people. She had never allowed herself to make friends.

  “Friends are the family we choose for ourselves,” Matt said. “Trevor’s family deserted him, but there are plenty of people who care about him.”

  “Pepe is making margaritas and his special conch chowder,” Bubbles told Matt.

  It was clear that Bubbles intended to monopolize Matt, which was fine. She hung back as the group moved off the dock, heading toward the restaurant. Her leg was aching; she should take the next water shuttle back to Half Moon Bay and elevate her leg. Turning her back to the group, she leaned against a piling and waited for the shuttle.

  “Hey, where do you think you’re going?”

  Matt had come back down the dock to find her. The pit of her stomach tingled, and she had to admit she found his attention flattering.

  “My leg is bothering me. I’m going back to the house.”

  “Good idea. I’m coming with you. Just let me tell Trevor.”

  She would be all alone at romantic Half Moon Bay with Matt. I don’t think so. Bad idea. “You go to the wake. I’ll be all right. I’m tired. I’ll probably go right to sleep.”

  “Well … if you’re sure.”

  She dropped her lashes quickly to hide the hurt. A tiny part of her had hoped he’d insist on coming with her. “I’m positive. Go to the wake, and explain to Trevor why I’m not there.”

  He leaned down and kissed her, a swift brush of his closed lips against hers. It was a chaste kiss with no trace of the passion she’d seen that afternoon on the terrace. He turned and was up the dock in a few powerful strides.

  She sensed that something had changed between them. His attitude toward her seemed different. She wasn’t sure what this meant, but it worried her.

  The shuttle motored up to the dock, and a few passengers disembarked. She was the only one to return to Sunset Key. The shuttle took her to the far end of the island, where there were guest cottages clustered around a pool. Rather than walk the distance—she was limping badly now—she took Trevor’s golf cart to the opposite end of the island.

  There had been a few lights at the cottages, but the stately homes around Half Moon Bay were dark. The only light came from the artful lanterns along the paths and from the sliver of a moon overhead. The faint sound of music usually drifted over the channel from Key West. But tonight the wind was blowing the other way. It was eerily quiet as she parked the golf cart and went into the pitch-black house.

  “Why are you so jumpy?” she said out loud as she threw on the lights.

  From behind the potted palms, from down the hall, from the open terrace door, cats padded up to her. Bingo greeted her with a gruff, “Meow.” Others rubbed her legs or circled her. Jiggs stood off to one side, his henna fur glowing in the light.

  “I’ll bet you guys are hungry, right?”

  Ignoring the ache in her leg, she made her way to the pantry, taking care not to trip over one of the cats. They hadn’t been fed since morning, and with the wake, it wasn’t likely anyone would return until after midnight.

  She found their food in the pantry, noting the catnip was now on the top shelf in a glass jar with a lid. Feeding Bingo first seemed like the best idea. The orange terror would certainly take the others’ food.

  Once she had all eight bowls filled and the cats eating, she opened a can of dog food for Jiggs. The henna rinse had improved his appearance, she decided, but the fur on his sawed-off ear stood up like a doggy cowlick. He was hardly television material.

  While Jiggs picked at his food, she called the clinic and got the producer’s number. She doubted he would be in, but she wanted to satisfy her curiosity. Suspicion still niggled at her.

  “Alley Cats Guest House,” a female voice answered at the number the producer had given.

  “I’m trying to reach John Rodgers,” she told the woman.

  “He checked out, but I think he’ll be back next week. Isn’t it a hoot? A producer staying at Alley Cats while he’s looking for a dog to star in a commercial.”

  It was a hoot all right, she thought as she hung up. Bingo had finished his meal and was now devouring Jiggs’s dog food. Maybe John Rodgers really was a producer, but it still bothered her.

  Jiggs was her only link to the past, the only way Dexxter could trace her.

  Suddenly, Jiggs’s good ear went up and he cocked his head toward the door. They had all left Half Moon Bay in such a hurry that she must have forgotten to close the door. Considering Bingo’s lust for blood, she thought she’d shut the door to keep him from dragging in a bird or something.

  From the deep shadows, a shuffling sound alerted her. She dove for the lights. Darkness engulfed the kitchen. There was enough moonlight for her to make out the silhouette of a man coming across the terrace toward the open door.

  She ducked into the pantry and closed the door. With luck the man would go into another part of the house and she could slip out. Where would she go then? What would she do?

  The only people on the island were way across the key at the cottages. Getting that far on her bad leg would be miserable, but it seemed to be her only choice.

  She heard the man walk into the kitchen. A strange clack-clack noise followed. Oh, no! Jiggs was scratching on the outside of the pantry door. The kitchen lights went on, seeping under the pantry door.

  “Hey, dude, don’t even think about getting into the catnip.”

  Matt’s voice. Relief nearly knocked her to her knees. She swung open the door and found Matt standing near the center island, cuddling Jiggs.

  “Shelly, what are you doing in there with all the lights off?”

  “I heard someone coming. I didn’t know it was you.”

  “This is Sunset Key, for christsake. No one bothers to lock their doors around he
re. What were you afraid of?”

  “No one’s around. I thought maybe Simon was sneaking around … or something.” It was a lame excuse, but she couldn’t think of a better explanation.

  Matt put Jiggs down on the floor. “I told you not to worry about him. After our little chat, Simon left for Key Largo.”

  “I guess I’m just jumpy. Living so long in Manhattan makes you worry if you don’t have a dozen locks on every door,” she said, and the corner of his mouth hitched up a notch, then eased into an engaging smile. Uh-oh. “What are you doing here?”

  “I brought you some of Pepe’s conch chowder.” He gestured toward the counter, where Bingo was circling a container, sniffing. “Why aren’t you in bed with your leg up?”

  “I had to feed the cats.”

  “Let me see your leg.” He sank down on his haunches and examined her leg, running strong, cool fingers up her calf. “It looks swollen. Does it hurt?”

  “Just a little.”

  He rose, his expression serious. “Let’s get you to bed, then I’ll bring you the chowder.”

  Before she could protest, he swept her into his arms. “You’ve got to take it easy for a few weeks.”

  “How did you get here?” she asked as he carried her across the deserted house.

  “I have Trevor’s launch. He won’t be needing it. He’s spending the night at Clive’s.”

  Just what she suspected. They were alone.

  He shouldered open the door to her room, then flicked on the light with his elbow. He gently placed her on the bed. “Get into your nightgown. I’ll round up some pillows to elevate that leg.”

  “I’ll be all right, honest. You don’t have to fuss over me.”

  He leaned close. “Fussing over beautiful women is my specialty.”

  Great, she thought as he left the room. What was she going to do about him? She changed into the faded Sunset Key T-shirt Trevor had given her. It hung to her knees, and normally she slept only in it, but tonight she kept on her panties.

  She propped the pillows up against the headboard and had just settled back, when Matt came in with more pillows. He gently lifted her sore leg by the heel and arranged pillows under it.