by Wendy Wax
“D’licious,” he agreed, waving his hands, which were encased in a pair of too-large rubber gloves. Max was under the table licking up the bits of egg that surrounded Dustin’s chair.
“What do we say to Grandma?” Kyra asked Dustin as she stole a glance at the clock on the wall then turned her gaze to the coffee table, where the car keys typically ended up.
“Thank you, Geema!” Dustin crowed.
“You’re both very welcome,” Maddie said, hiding her smile at the speed with which Kyra located and pocketed the car keys.
“If you don’t mind keeping an eye on Dustin, I . . . I have a couple of things I need to take care of.” Kyra didn’t quite meet her eye as she laid a kiss on Dustin’s head and moved toward the door.
“Things?” Maddie asked.
“Umm-hmmm.”
“Dustin wanna do things, too!” Dustin clambered down from the step and held out his arms. Maddie peeled the large yellow gloves from beneath his armpits and down his arms.
Kyra checked the clock again.
“It’s ten fifty,” Maddie said. “Where exactly are you going?”
“Oh, you know. Here and there. Not far,” Kyra babbled. “I won’t be gone long.”
“Kyra . . .”
Her daughter looked up as if she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
“I really don’t think this is a good idea.”
“I . . . don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kyra protested.
“It would be better to just stay away,” Maddie said gently.
“Stay away from what?” Kyra adopted an expression of surprised confusion, but any mother worth her salt could read a daughter’s face like a road map. It would take more than feigned indignation to make Maddie believe she was headed out to run errands.
“Kyra.”
“Fine.” Kyra sighed. “It’s not like there’s any chance of keeping a secret when we’re living on top of each other like this anyway.”
“If you’re going, we’re going with you.” She picked up the leash and attached it to Max’s collar then handed Dustin his sweatshirt.
“Where we going, Geema?” Dustin asked as his mother pulled open the cottage door.
“If I’m not mistaken, I think we’re going to Bella Flora to get a look at the person who’s going to live there.”
Two
Kyra breathed deeply as she drove south on the narrow two-lane road, but each breath carried its own little dart of panic that sent fear of who and what she’d find at Bella Flora shooting through her. She turned onto Gulf Way, her thoughts jumbled and her gaze slightly unfocused. The familiar scenery rippled and shimmered before her eyes, giving the mom-and-pop hotels and expensive new homes on her left and the low wall and crossovers that bordered the beach on her right a fun-house vibe.
The blocks were short and the avenues that stretched from the bay to the gulf were even shorter. At the Hurricane restaurant her foot eased further off the gas pedal so that the minivan passed Eighth Avenue, Pass-a-Grille’s main street, at what could only be called a crawl. The closer they got to Bella Flora the slower she drove and the sharper and more pointed the panic became. What if the tenant was Daniel Deranian or Tonja Kay or one of their emissaries? What if he/she/they were trust fund babies with no respect for other people’s property? What if they looked unstable or had a herd of children who would abuse Dustin’s mini–Bella Flora playhouse? The number of things the new tenant would be free to do in and/or to their home bombarded her. How could she let some stranger sleep in her bed? Hang their clothes in her closet? Lie on their couch? Mix drinks in the Casbah Lounge? How on earth could she have let this happen?
“We can still turn around,” Maddie said. “It’s not too late.” She hesitated. “No one will ever know we even thought about doing this.”
But though Kyra was driving as slowly as any newly arrived retiree, Bella Flora’s gravitational pull was simply too strong to resist. So was Kyra’s urge to protect her even though it was far too late for that.
They passed a couple pushing a jogging stroller. That couple was Nikki and Joe. So much for a lack of witnesses.
And then she came face-to-face with Bella Flora. Rising out of the low-walled garden. A pale pink wedding cake of a house with banks of windows framed in white icing trim and bell towers that topped a multi-angled barrel-tile roof and jutted up into the brilliant blue sky.
“Are we going home?” Dustin asked uncertainly.
God, she wished they were only coming home from a trip to the grocery store or some other mundane errand and not about to watch some stranger move in. Eyes blurred with tears, Kyra pulled into a parking space. The blue Mini Cooper in the next spot belonged to Avery Lawford.
Max gave a happy woof as they joined Avery and Chase on the sidewalk. A minute later Nikki and Joe arrived, the twins sound asleep in the stroller. Kyra was trying to decide who looked the most embarrassed when a lone figure walked up the path from the jetty. His Gatsby-style pants fluttering lightly in the breeze, and wearing a mint green vest buttoned over an oxford shirt, Ray Flamingo, former designer to the stars, walked up to them. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
“Don’t even try to pretend you were just out for a stroll,” Avery said.
“Who me?” Hands in pockets, Ray turned to face Bella Flora. “I didn’t realize a house could send a distress signal until today.”
“You know that whoever is renting Bella Flora has spent a lot of money to live in her,” Joe said gently. “There’s every reason to expect that person will treat her well.”
John Franklin’s Cadillac pulled up in front of Bella Flora at exactly eleven A.M. The car was a classic, like its octogenarian owner and driver. Kyra’s father, Steve, who now worked at Franklin Realty and had been responsible for finding Bella Flora’s mystery tenant, was with him.
With Max straining against his leash they trundled over to meet them.
“You all look a little more like a lynch mob than a welcoming committee.” John Franklin had a ruff of white hair around an otherwise bald scalp and a long face dominated by the droopy brown eyes of a basset hound. Those eyes looked worried as his hands tightened on the handle of his cane. “Is there a problem?”
“That depends,” Kyra said.
“On what?” her father asked.
“On whether the tenants look as if they can fully appreciate their luck in getting to walk through Bella Flora’s front doors. If they don’t, I might need help stringing them up from the reclinata palm out back.”
Chase and Joe laughed. Maddie, Avery, and Nikki exchanged worried glances.
“We don’t necessarily have to deliver a welcome basket,” Ray said in a conciliatory tone. “But I don’t think we need to be contemplating violence, either.”
“Neither do I,” Maddie said. “In fact, I’m not altogether sure we should be here.” As usual her mother seemed intent on keeping the peace. And preventing Kyra from committing a stupid act. If only that had happened before Kyra took the loan out against Bella Flora. “But clearly we’re all curious to see who’s moving in. So I think we should at least act like a welcoming committee. We can also let them know that we’re nearby if they have any questions about the workings or idiosyncrasies of the house.”
They milled relatively quietly until a car turned off of Pass-a-Grille Way onto Beach Road, passed the Cottage Inn, and pulled into Bella Flora’s brick driveway. The car was low, sleek, and silver with tinted windows that revealed little.
They inched closer, stopping just short of the garden wall as John and her father walked up the driveway. Kyra wasn’t the only one holding her breath as the driver got out of the car. Through the palms and tall bushes she could see only slices at a time; a lone male head of blond hair atop a body that seemed tall and well formed. There was a flash of blue denim and some kind of dark jacket or blazer. He moved with a
confident stride that Kyra chalked up to arrogance. Did that mean he would be careless with other people’s possessions? Or did it mean that he was used to nice things and would take care of theirs?
She moved in an attempt to get a better look, but everyone was jockeying for position. Between the bushes and trees, John and her father’s backs were the only things clearly visible. Her father froze briefly. John Franklin’s normally hunched shoulders went stiff. Murmurs of what sounded like surprise reached them.
Heart pounding, knees pressed against the concrete, she leaned over the garden wall in an attempt to see more. The tenant cocked his head, and she sensed him peering between John and her father as if looking for something or someone. Dustin dropped her hand and moved toward the driveway. A prickle of unease raised the hair on the back of her neck, but she knew from the blond head and build that it wasn’t Daniel Deranian. Was it another movie star? A famous athlete or musician?
“Lookit, Mommy. Lookit who’s here!” Dustin shouted as he ran up the driveway.
Kyra detached herself from the wall and the group to race after him. The breath caught in her throat as the tenant stepped around the two Realtors and reached down to pick up Dustin. She blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.
Troy Matthews, network cameraman, personal nemesis, and perpetual pain in the ass, stared down at her. A satisfied smile spread across his smug, freshly shaven face.
“What are you doing here?” she asked through gritted teeth as the rest of the group moved up behind her.
“Moving in,” he said easily.
“You?” She didn’t understand. She’d never seen him in anything but scruffy jeans and T-shirts. His hair had always been shaggy and his annoyingly handsome face had generally been covered in stubble. When she’d not so politely asked him to take a hike almost a year ago, he’d left in a beat-up car. If he weren’t currently holding the key to Bella Flora, she would have bet money that he’d stolen the Porsche he’d arrived in. “You paid two hundred and fifty thousand dollars up front to rent Bella Flora?”
“Yep.”
She could barely breathe. Her brain could not seem to process what was happening. Apparently the group behind her was having the same problem, because they remained silent. “But why?”
“I really like this stretch of beach, and I needed somewhere quiet to work on a new . . . project.” He shrugged as if shelling out a quarter of a million dollars in rental money was nothing more than a hotel night.
Her gaze narrowed as she studied him. In all the years she’d known him, he’d dressed and acted like any other cameraman. Now everything about him shouted money. She sniffed suspiciously, wondering if she’d be able to smell it, but only an agreeably woodsy citrus scent tickled her nostrils. She swallowed. Told herself to remain calm. But it was as if someone had reached up while she wasn’t looking and realigned the stars in the sky. “Is this some kind of sick joke?” she demanded. “And what’s with the whole stupid cloak-and-dagger thing? Why didn’t you tell me?”
He shrugged again but didn’t snap back at her. “We didn’t part on the best terms. Would you have said yes if you’d known it was me?”
She glared at him but said nothing.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
“You need any help with your things?” her father asked, his surprise already giving way to an infuriatingly amiable tone.
“No thanks, I didn’t bring much. As I recall Bella Flora’s pretty well equipped.” He shot her a wink as he set Dustin on his feet and patted Max on the head, which was when she realized that instead of staying out in the pool house as he had before, he’d be taking over the master bedroom. Her master bedroom. “Which is a good thing in case I need to exercise the option for the second six months.”
“I don’t understand,” she sputtered in anger, her heart palpitating wildly. “Where did you get the money to do this? How on earth can you afford it?” The last time she’d seen him, he’d been working for room and board and acting as if he didn’t have two nickels to rub together.
He shrugged and flashed the shit-eating grin that had always accompanied the taunting eyes. “You can’t always judge a book by its cover, Kyra. Not everybody’s into flash and trash. Some of us would rather be judged by our actions, not our possessions.”
Kyra pulled herself to her full height as heat and adrenaline rushed through her. She felt as if her head might explode at any moment. “There is absolutely nothing in your past behavior that has ever made me see you as anything but a gigantic pimple on the face of humanity.” She bit out the words, her anger making her blood begin to boil. “And I don’t care how many banks you’ve robbed or illicit drugs you’ve sold to get enough money to shove us out of our house. You could be the richest man in the world and you’d still just be a goiter on its butt as far as I’m concerned.”
“Kyra, honey. I know this is a surprise to all of us.” Maddie turned to Kyra’s father. “This is a surprise to all of us, isn’t it?”
Steve Singer and John Franklin nodded.
“But at least we know Troy loves Bella Flora and will take good care of her.” Her mother’s tone held a warning note, but Kyra was beyond caring.
“Maddie’s right,” Avery said. “Troy is way better than a stranger.”
“It’s true,” Nikki added almost apologetically.
Her father and John Franklin stayed mercifully silent.
Troy stayed silent, too, but there was nothing merciful about it. He studied her through narrowed eyes as if she were a bug under a microscope. The fact that his sun-streaked blond hair appeared freshly cut and layered stoked her anger even further.
She was still trying to get herself under control when Chase stepped forward to shake Troy’s hand. Joe did the same. Her mother made Troy promise to be sure to let them know if he needed anything.
Their ready acceptance of the man who had always been so judgmental, so quick to expose her every flaw or misstep, sliced through her. With a huff of disgust, Kyra turned on her heel and pushed her way back through the traitorous crowd. She strode toward the minivan not wanting to see Troy fitting the key into the lock and disappearing into Bella Flora.
For the first time, getting away from here and going on location seemed the lesser of evils. Troy Matthews had never been one for quiet solitude and reflection. If she were lucky, he’d get bored hanging out playing lord of the manor before they even got back. There was no way he could want to live there by himself for even six months, let alone a year.
“Oh, Kyra?”
She whirled at the sound of his voice and grimaced at the white-toothed smile he flashed at her.
“Feel free to stop by anytime. After all, mi casa es su casa.”
Three
The year was in its infancy and it already sucked. The suckage had begun on New Year’s Eve when Bitsy slipped into her lone remaining evening gown and accompanied her former next-door neighbors, current hosts, and sole remaining friends from her former life, Eleanor and John Wyndham, to a rash of New Year’s Eve parties. She’d subjected herself to the possibility of spending the evening as a pariah stranded alone in corners in hopes of learning something about Bertie’s whereabouts. Yet in Palm Beach, where gossip was practically an art form, no one seemed to have the smallest scrap of new information about her absent husband. In the end she’d been showered with a deluge of faux sympathy and grilled for intimate details to share with others.
“God,” Bitsy groaned when they’d gotten back to the Wyndhams’ and John had gone up to bed. “I feel like a bone that’s just been gnawed by a whole pack of dogs. And I have absolutely nothing to show for it.” Sherlock, the French bulldog that Bertie had also left behind, padded into the foyer and nudged her in greeting.
“This is the first time you’ve been back since Bertie’s vanishing act. You know how things work here when a potential tasty morsel present
s itself.” Eleanor smiled sadly.
Sherlock snuffled at the sound of his former master’s name. Bitsy wasn’t sure if it was a snuffle of despair or dismissal.
“At least we didn’t run into Alex Binder,” Eleanor continued. “He’s constantly telling everyone what a perfect fit your home is for him and his new wife. Who is absolutely gorgeous. And young enough to be his granddaughter.”
Bitsy sighed with a weariness that had nothing to do with the lateness of the hour, and stroked Sherlock’s head. “I’d say it serves Bertie right that the house he lavished so much love and money on belongs to a man he detested. Except I loved that house, too.” Bitsy’s eyes filled with tears. Almost as much as she’d loved Bertie.
“I’m so sorry for everything that’s happened, really I am.” Eleanor slid her arm around Bitsy’s shoulders and led her up the grand staircase. Sherlock followed at their heels. “I think you’re brave and marvelous. John and I’ll keep our ears open for any mention of Bertie. I promise I’ll let you know if either of us hears even a scrap of anything.” Her smile was sad but warm. “I hope you know you’re welcome here anytime.”
“Thanks.” Bitsy swiped at the tears that blurred her vision. “That means a lot.”
Bitsy hugged Eleanor good night and slipped into the lavish guest bedroom that was double the size of her entire cottage at the Sunshine Hotel. As she slid between the Porthault sheets and closed her eyes, she told herself that her upcoming meeting with her former money manager could provide a clue to Bertrand’s whereabouts and maybe even help her regain her fortune. She drifted off to sleep clinging to this possibility and dreamed of Bertie being yanked out of his girlfriend’s arms in whichever country they’d been hiding. As he was dragged back in handcuffs, he proclaimed his love for Bitsy and swore that he’d only fled with her assets in order to protect them for her.
She woke feeling hopeful as if her dream portended a silver lining to the dark cloud of her situation. That notion began to dissolve in the early morning light. It evaporated completely in Gene Houghton’s office two days later.
