Grilling the Subject

by Daryl Wood Gerber

  “Me?” I squeaked.

  “Your father and that Ava Judge. They’re trying to throw me off my game.”

  “What game?” Rhett whispered.

  “Property rights.”

  “I’ve hired a lawyer.” Sylvia flourished her cell phone. Her lawyer’s name gleamed across the top. I knew him. He was a real shark.

  “Dear, don’t,” Ronald mumbled.

  “Don’t what? Don’t tell it like it is? The legal route is the only route.”

  Ronald leaned on his cane and struggled to pull a twenty-dollar bill out of his wallet. It fluttered into the air. He groped for it, missed, and teetered forward. I reached for him. So did Rhett. Surprisingly, so did Sylvia. Ronald grasped her hand, but his cane skittered and lost its hold on the walkway, and he pitched forward with Sylvia in tow.

  “Holy mother of—” Sylvia landed on her rump. She glowered at her husband and, grunting, clambered to her feet. She brushed off her clothes. “See what you’ve done, you doddering fool?”

  He crawled on his knees and gathered the twenty-dollar bill, then used his cane as a prop to support himself as he rose.

  “Don’t,” Sylvia continued to rant. “I repeat, don’t try to manage me, Ronald. Those two are banding against me. The entire neighborhood is. Including him.” She seared Shane with a glance.

  “I don’t own the house yet,” Shane argued.

  “Minor detail.” Sylvia poked her husband’s chest with her forefinger. “Listen to me. It’s our property. You don’t intend to back down and give it to them because they insist, do you?” Sylvia barked out a laugh. “What am I saying? Of course you do. You always take the easiest road.”

  “The doors are opening,” Emily said.

  Sylvia swiveled her head to the right. “Look, there’s Tina. I’ll get her to secure the two best seats.” Abandoning her husband, she charged in the direction of their niece, a long-limbed, dark-haired, twenty-year-old who was an usher at the theater. Tina often stopped into The Nook Café to talk about food with Katie. She hoped to become a chef, but first she needed to graduate from junior college. She didn’t seem thrilled to see Sylvia approaching.

  “Well, that was fun,” Shane gibed.

  “Fun? Ha!” Emily said. “She’s so evil, I’m surprised no one has done her in yet.” She cut a quick look at Ronald. “Sorry, sir, that was rude of me.”

  “Forget it,” Ronald said. “You’re not the first to utter the words. You won’t be the last.”

  Chapter 4

  After the movie, Rhett and I headed downstairs to The Nook Café. The sun was setting as we arrived. An orange-pink glow graced the horizon. A number of families with picnic baskets and blankets were filing through the archway between the café and Beaders of Paradise to take the stairs to the public beach below. Their happy chatter mixed with the caws of hungry seagulls made me smile.

  Rhett opened the door to the café and allowed me to pass through first. A solo guitarist seated at the far end of the restaurant was singing a lovely rendition of “Cielito Lindo,” a song I remembered from my school days, the title roughly translated as lovely sweet one. A few of the engagement party guests sang softly along with the chorus, “Ay, ay, ay, ay.”

  “Hey, you two.” Bailey, dressed in a sparkly summer shift with metallic sandal heels and noisy, fun jewelry, dodged a knot of people and met us at the entrance. “I’m so glad you’re here! Hello, handsome.” She kissed Rhett on the cheek. “And you. Very chic.”

  She gave me a boa constrictor–worthy hug. Oof! This close up, I could feel her heart chugging double time. Was she nervous or excited?

  “Follow me,” she said. “I’ll show you to your table. There are nametags at all the places. I know, because I put them there.” Nervous. She was talking so fast I could barely make out the words. “How was the movie?” She threw a look over her shoulder. “Tell me all about it. Were there lots of people?”

  “Slow down,” I said. “Breathe.”

  “I am breathing.”

  “Calmly.”

  Bailey giggled. “Yeah. I guess I’m a little uptight. I want the night to be perfect with a capital P. Tell me about the movie.”

  “It was a blast. Even though everyone knew the ending, we all cheered when Gary Cooper won.”

  “Let’s hear it for men in white hats.” Bailey spun around and high-fived me, nearly knocking me off balance. “Oops. Sorry.” She steadied me. “Don’t know my own strength.” She scooted ahead and stopped at a setting for ten. “Here we are. This is the head table. Jenna, you sit there.” She pointed. “Rhett, you’re next to her.”

  “Ooh,” I cooed, noticing the table decorations. Yes, the tables were covered with white tablecloths, per usual, but the centerpieces—a trio of tall rectangular vases filled with blue orchids and floating candles, each vase tied with blue gingham ribbon—were new and elaborate. On a side bar to our left sat an array of similar floral vases as well as photographs of the happy couple and their families. “Did you put all this together?”

  “I did.” Bailey buffed her nails on her bodice. “With my mother’s help.”

  “Where is your mom?”

  “Over there.”

  Lola stood with my father near the plate-glass windows. He was dressed casually in a white linen shirt and beige trousers; she was dressed similarly to Bailey in a shimmery shift and heels. They were staring at the view and chatting out of the sides of their mouths. Or were they arguing? About Bailey marrying Tito? When Bailey first announced they were engaged, Lola worried that they were rushing things. They had only known each other a short time, and at first, they had been antagonists. Well, Bailey mostly, not Tito. In fact, the scrappy journalist had tried to win her over by playing secret admirer. He sent her all sorts of tokens. Neither she nor I realized they were for her. Soon after we put two and two together, and, following his stand-in performance as a magician during one of our events, she fell for him.

  “No!” Dad spun toward Lola and stabbed a finger into his palm. Something snagged in my gut. They weren’t discussing Bailey and Tito, that was for sure. “It’ll be her undoing.”

  She who? Why?

  “I swear, that Sylvia—”

  “Darling.” Lola put a hand on Dad’s arm.

  “She’s a nuisance to everyone in the neighborhood.”

  Uh-oh.

  “Please.” Lola rubbed a hand along his back.

  My father blew out a long stream of air and seemed to calm down. He was not a hothead by nature. Allowing one’s emotions to rule one’s actions had been drummed out of him during his stint with the FBI. Sure, there were others who had served with him who weren’t in control of their actions, but Dad was cool and calculating. He could see all sides of an argument. That was what he had tried to impart to my siblings and me; I wasn’t as good a learner as the other two.

  Blowup defused, I said to Bailey, “Where is the groom-to-be?”

  “Late. Big story over at The Pier. Lover’s quarrel at Boardwalk Hot Dogs.” She winked. “I hear it’s steamy.”

  I groaned at the pun.

  “I think he also got sidetracked by the stunt show.”

  “Where is that being held?” I asked.

  “Midway down The Pier,” Rhett said. His sporting goods store was near the street side of the boardwalk. “They’ve set up a mock Old West street in front of the playhouse.”

  “Twice a day, a troupe of players puts on a show,” Bailey said. “I hear it’s great. Real shoot-’em-up cowboy stuff like you’d see in the movies. The Wild West Extravaganza group hired some guys from Hollywood. You and I”—she motioned between the two of us—“should go see it this week.”

  “You’re on.”

  A waitress passed near us carrying a tray of hors d’oeuvres.

  A delighted smile spread across Rhett’s face. “Mmm, Bailey, what smells so goo
d?”

  She hooked her thumb toward the kitchen. “Katie has worked up an incredible menu, keeping to this week’s Wild West theme.”

  “Cowboy food for your engagement party?” I said, amazed. “Not French?” Bailey had been telling me for weeks that she’d wanted something upscale with lots of tasty appetizers and elegant cheese platters. My mouth had been watering for days at the thought of onion soup, warm Brie, and pommes frites.

  “Nope. Barbecue. Tito suggested the idea. Katie is making her famous dry-rub ribs.”

  “Tonight? Yes!” I cheered. Who needed hard-to-pronounce French food anyway?

  “With baked beans, cornbread, and biscuits.” Bailey laughed. “I know. It’s not your typical engagement party fare, but who cares? If my man wants it, he gets it.”

  Rhett elbowed me. “I like the way she thinks.”

  Teasingly I gave him the evil eye. “Don’t expect that kind of royal treatment from me.” He could cook circles around me.

  “By the way,” Bailey went on, “you’ve got to try the stuffed mushrooms that are being passed around. They have a real kick. Jalapeño peppers are the secret.”

  “Will do.”

  She left us to greet other guests.

  Rhett slung an arm around my back. “How are you feeling? Any more sightings?”

  “Of . . . ?” I searched his face. “Oh, that. Nope. No more mysterious strangers jumping from behind cars or trees. No one is out to get me.”

  “Care for a glass of wine?”

  “You bet.”

  He went in search, and I joined Lola and my father. Dad eyed me coolly.

  I raised both hands in defense. “Am I intruding? Got a big secret you can’t share?”

  My father’s nostrils flared.

  “Hey,” I said, “no matter what it is, I’m not the enemy. Seriously, what are you two discussing? You certainly don’t look like you’re at a celebration party. You’re all frowns.”

  Dad forced a smile. “It’s nothing.” He extended an arm. I curled into it for a hug.

  “Is this your way of saying don’t worry my pretty little head?” I chided.

  “Something like that.”

  I broke apart and leveled him with my gaze. “Dad.”

  “Jenna.”

  “Are you two arguing about Sylvia Gump?”

  Lola swatted my father’s arm. “I told you people would hear us.”

  “Only Miss Big Ears,” my father teased.

  Yes, I had big ears. Not in the Dumbo way. I could hear well around corners and down halls. Back at Taylor & Squibb, I was always on the alert for office gossip to avert getting ambushed at a meeting. If my boss was unhappy, I wanted to know as soon as possible.

  “What’s going on with Sylvia?” I asked.

  “Nothing.”

  I tilted my head. “Saying nothing is not going to make me go away. Did you and the other neighbors reach an agreement at your meeting last night? Did Ava come up with a brilliant idea how to stop Sylvia from what she’s doing?”

  “Poor Ava,” Lola said.

  “Why poor Ava?”

  “Sweetheart.” My father rubbed Lola’s arm. “Let’s keep it between us.”

  She sneered. “This from the man who was talking so loudly his daughter heard him halfway across the room.”

  “Don’t start.”

  “Cary, Jenna can keep a secret.”

  A frisson of worry zipped through me. “What secret?”

  Lola lowered her voice. “Sylvia has been doing nasty things to Ava, targeting her, trying to get a reaction. She told her gardener to move Ava’s trash cans yesterday so the trash pickup wouldn’t empty them.”

  “How silly.”

  My father said, “She also had her housekeeper park in front of Ava’s driveway so Ava couldn’t move her car. I went for a stroll and caught the two of them shouting.”

  “Ava and the housekeeper?” I asked.

  “Ava and Sylvia. Ava was so mad, I worried she might pop Sylvia in the nose.”

  “She wouldn’t.” I gasped.

  “There were threats exchanged. Ava raised a hand. Sylvia put up her dukes.”

  Lola tsked. “It was outright cruel what Sylvia did. Ava needs her car for business. She had to call a tow truck to move the obstruction.”

  “Why is Sylvia acting like this?” I asked. “Does she need to be on sedatives? Is she going through a midlife crisis? I saw her upstairs with Ronald a bit ago. She pushed him straight into Shane Maverick.”

  My father said, “I know Shane.”

  “How?”

  “He purchased the house next to Sylvia, on Azalea Place. It’s in escrow. Sylvia is up in arms about it. She said she put a bid on the house, but Ava blocked her from getting it.”

  “Blocked her how?”

  “Ava asked for city council intervention claiming Sylvia, by owning too many houses, would create a monopoly of some sort.”

  “What would Sylvia want with two houses?” I asked.

  “She doesn’t want two,” Lola said. “She wants to buy all the houses that go on the market.”

  “That’s nuts.” I glanced between Lola and my father. “She doesn’t have that kind of money, does she?”

  Lola rolled her eyes. “I guess she does very well with her jewelry business.”

  “Ronald has a penny or two,” Dad grumbled.

  Lola added, “I think she wants to throw up roadblocks to Ava, in particular.”

  “Because she thinks Ava is the rabble-rouser?” I asked.

  “Exactly.” Dad sucked in a sharp breath and exhaled through his teeth. “Last night, at the end of the meeting—nearly the whole neighborhood attended—Ava asked those of us with property lines on the plateau to convene there. She talked each of us into building fences on our respective properties so we can delineate the area. When we do, Sylvia won’t be able to do what she’s doing. She’ll have a swatch about five feet by five feet.”

  “I told Ava if she isn’t careful—” Lola clapped a hand over her mouth; her eyes welled up. “Well, I can’t imagine what might happen. Right there, in front of all of us, she destroyed the brick wall Sylvia built.”

  “What brick wall?”

  “Didn’t you see it?” my father asked. “Through the binoculars. About yay high”—he raised a flat hand to his midchest—“beyond that hideous fountain.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Wow.”

  “Darling, talking about this is upsetting all of us,” Lola cooed. “Let’s not discuss Sylvia any more tonight. Make me a promise.” She pecked my father’s cheek.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “You, too, Jenna,” Lola pleaded. “No more worrying about what can’t be fixed this very minute. It’s Bailey and Tito’s night. Speaking of which, where is he?”

  As I started to explain, Tito Martinez entered the café. When I first met him, he had rubbed me the wrong way. He was super eager and in your face, like a dog itching for a fight. Now, in his yellow tweed jacket, open-neck white shirt, black trousers, and black loafers, he looked suave and calm. Working out at the gym was doing wonders for his carriage. He walked with a swagger packed with confidence, not ego.

  He swooped Bailey into a hug and planted a kiss on her lips. “Mi amor, let’s get this party started.”

  Bailey grabbed a cowbell from one of the tables and clanged it. “Eats!”

  I downed more than my fair share of ribs. I even ate a portion of apple pie à la mode. Heaven.

  When Rhett and I got home, he scanned the perimeter of my house, after which he came inside and peered into each closet and behind every door. Tigger accompanied him. Finding nothing and convinced I was safe, Rhett kissed me good night and left.

  I, of course, went to bed feeling like a weakling. I mean, c’mon. I needed my boyfriend to check out
my place? No one was hounding me. I was imagining things, right?

  * * *

  Wednesday morning, I dressed in leggings, tennis shoes, and a fashionably torn Cal Poly sweatshirt—fashionably torn because that was what was in vogue when I went to college at Cal Poly. At a quarter to seven, knowing a fast walk would do me wonders, I hustled to the beach to clear the cobwebs. The air was crisp. A light mist hovered over the ocean. The strand was empty of people.

  Near a smoldering fire pit—apparently someone had enjoyed a party late last night and into the wee hours—a seagull dive-bombed me. Had I drawn near to its breakfast, possibly a dead fish that it had dropped?

  “Sorry, buddy,” I yelled and darted away to escape its cawing craziness.

  In the mad dash, I caught sight of a string of horseback riders moving along the road parallel to me. In about a mile, they would ascend the hills. There were tons of fabulous trails to explore. What a fun day ahead for them.

  As I neared The Pier, I noticed a figure hovering in the shadows by one of the pylons. My pulse started to chug double time. Not only wasn’t I a fan of strangers in parking lots or elevators, I wasn’t eager to run into one on a deserted beach. I did a U-turn but stopped when someone—a woman—screamed. I whipped around.

  The woman was standing on The Pier and pointing. People gathered near her. All started jutting arms in the same direction as she, toward the hills behind me.

  One yelled: “Fire!”

  I pivoted and gaped. On the hill, near my father’s neighborhood, an orange-red fire lit up the sky.

  Chapter 5

  I darted into the cottage, fetched my cell phone and purse, told Tigger to stay put, and hightailed it to my father’s house in my VW Beetle. On my way, I telephoned Dad at home. He didn’t answer. I reached his voice mail. “Are you okay?” I yelled, then ended the call and tried his cell phone. He didn’t answer that, either.

  By the time I arrived at Pine Lane, my father’s street, my adrenaline was pumping double time, and my mind was fraught with worry. People in various stages of dress—some in robes, some set for work—were milling near a curb with a public outlook. No houses blocked the ocean view. Two police cars and two fire trucks had parked on the road. Firemen aimed water through hoses at the now-nonexistent blaze, which was not my father’s house, thank heaven, or any house. The fire seemed to have erupted in the open area down the hill where Sylvia had held her party the other night.