by Maria Geraci
“Should you be drinking if you’re trying to get pregnant?”
“Wow. I’ve never heard you sound so preachy before. It just so happens I started my period today.”
Shit. Kitty wanted to bite her tongue. “Sorry.”
The kitchen door burst open and Pilar marched in. “You haven’t started talking without me, have you?” She looked at the expressions on their faces and frowned. “What’s going on?”
“Shea got her period today,” Kitty said, sending Pilar a “be nice” message with her eyes.
To Pilar’s credit, she managed a sympathetic face. “That just means you and Moose get to have more sex,” she said.
Shea gave them a noncommittal look. “I guess so. The thing is, I’ve been thinking about maybe going back to work too.”
Pilar’s eyes lit up. “Thatta girl! Whispering Bay is in desperate need of a top-notch interior designer.”
Shea rolled her eyes. “I’m not sure yet.” Her voice picked up in enthusiasm as she said, “I’m interviewing a nanny next week. Her name is Hilda and she comes highly recommended from a couple who also uses Elise.”
“Elise the toilet trainer?” Pilar asked.
“Elise the child elimination expert,” Shea corrected.
Kitty giggled. “She sounds like a kiddy hit man.”
“Ha-ha,” Shea said, clearly not amused. “But whether I decide to have another baby or go back to work, I definitely need some child-care help.”
“Good idea,” Pilar said. She turned to Kitty. “So what’s Brenda talking about? Was this Steve character really at your house yesterday?”
“I tried calling you,” Shea said. “But I got your voice mail.”
“I meant to call you back,” Kitty said, “but I’ve just been so busy with this condo deal. Speaking of which, what’s up with everyone’s reaction? I thought at least Frida would be happy. More people in town means more business for the Bistro.”
“I don’t think Frida looks at it like that. So Steve wasn’t at your house yesterday?” Pilar asked again.
Kitty thought about the best way to answer. “He came by the house to bring me a bottle of wine as a thank-you present. Remember the Fourth of July? After you guys left the beach, I went over to say hi and the two of us talked a little.”
Pilar and Shea gave each other the look that Kitty hated.
“I apologized for the thong thing and then I gave him a ride to the bus station in Panama City. His stepson had run away from home and he was helping his ex by going after him.”
Shea shook her head. “Runaway stepson? Man, Christy’s right. The guy has a lot of baggage. Do you think it’s true about him cheating on his ex?”
“How should I know?”
“You are telling us everything, aren’t you?” Shea asked. “It’s just us now, so you don’t have to pretend anymore.”
“I get a really bad vibe from this guy, Kit,” said Pilar. “He’s not kosher. First, he’s a plumber, then he’s not. And then there’s this thing about him cheating on his ex. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. Plus, the fact he’s only been divorced a few months isn’t good. Liz is right. You’d be his fauxship.”
“His what?”
“His transition relationship gone bad,” Pilar clarified. “And you’d only end up getting hurt.”
Sometimes Kitty really hated the words Pilar made up. She took the martini from Shea’s hand and tossed it back. She should tell them to relax. That she wasn’t involved with Steve. Except for some occasional earth-shattering sex, that is.
She looked at their faces. Besides her parents, Shea and Pilar were the two people in the world she loved the most. She told them everything.
But she didn’t want to tell them any more about Steve Pappas. If she did, she’d have to tell them about the dinner in Mexico Beach and how they had white-lied their way into a four-million-dollar house and then ended up having sex on the back deck and almost setting the place on fire. She wondered if Steve had gotten the cabinet fixed today. It would probably have to be special ordered. Her stomach ached just thinking about it.
She didn’t want to tell Shea and Pilar about Steve’s ex-wives and she didn’t want the two of them dissecting their nonexis tent relationship or asking a bunch of personal details about him. Details she didn’t really know anyway.
Just this one time, what she did know, she wanted to keep all to herself.
So she did something she hadn’t done since the sixth grade when she accidentally ran her bike over Shea’s new Madonna album.
She lied to them.
“I’ve already told you everything. Now let’s go back and play Bunco.”
25
Kitty spent Saturday morning at her office, wrestling with her Quicken account. Her listing on Ocean Avenue hadn’t gotten any nibbles so she’d scheduled an open house for tomorrow. She hated doing open houses. Especially in the summer when it was so hot. The traffic usually consisted of curious neighbors, but clients always loved to hear she was spending her Sunday afternoon working for them. In Kitty’s opinion, the only way to spend a Sunday afternoon was sitting in her beach chair by the edge of the Gulf, sipping a cold brewski while reading a novel.
The loud beep of the fax machine made her jump. Ted’s attorney/real estate shark Teresa had been faxing Kitty mountains of paperwork every day. Just hours after the meeting with Earl Handy, Ted’s company, Ferguson and Associates, had made a formal offer for the beachfront property. They’d given Earl four days to respond and time was up. Kitty was anxious to see if Earl would accept the offer or if he would try to up the price. From what Kitty knew of Earl, he would definitely counteroffer.
The fax machine froze and a button began to blink. She scooped up the two pages that had gone through. One was the cover sheet from Teresa and the other was blank.
Damn it. The machine was out of paper.
She scoured the office cabinets but there was no paper anywhere. Even her computer printer had only a few sheets left. Becky had always taken care of office supplies.
Kitty looked at her watch. It was almost one and her stomach was making scary animal noises. She’d close up, get a bite to eat, and then head over to Al’s Office Supplies.
She was locking the door to her office when Steve’s truck pulled up. He wore a pair of dark slacks and a collared shirt—sort of corporate casual. She’d never seen him in anything other than jeans or shorts. Or naked. Don’t think about that . . .
“Want to grab lunch?” he asked. He seemed in a good mood. All smiles and acting friendly. She wanted to ask if he’d gone by the house in Mexico Beach to take care of the cabinet, but she didn’t want a return of the tenseness that seemed to follow that conversation the other night.
“Lunch?”
“Yeah, it’s the meal you eat between breakfast and dinner.”
“Ha-ha.”
He grinned. “So what do you say?”
What did she say? She’d love to go to lunch with him. Or dinner. Or breakfast.
Or better yet, dinner and breakfast.
“I’d love to, but I need to make a run for office supplies.”
“I could tag along,” he offered.
She glanced around the small parking lot. No sign of Brenda or any of the other Babes. Still, it was best not to take any chances.
“Sorry,” she said, regretting the fact she didn’t have time to suggest they eat lunch in another town, “but I have a busy afternoon.” As soon as she said it she almost changed her mind, but Whispering Bay was just too small. If she was lucky enough to avoid running into one of the Babes, then she’d run into someone who would tell one of the Babes. Somehow, the whole thing would come back to bite her in the ass.
“Then how about dinner?”
His persistence was flattering. It was more than flattering. It was making her feel all hot and flustered. And downright desirable. This was looking a lot like a date.
“You buying or making?” she asked, trying to sound casual.
&nb
sp; “Whichever you prefer.”
Kitty thought about it a minute. Her new air conditioner had been installed yesterday so there was no reason Steve couldn’t comfortably cook for them. But if Steve made dinner at her house, there was no doubt in her mind they’d end up in bed again. Did she really want that?
Hell, yes.
She was on the verge of asking him to cook for her when her mother’s voice suddenly niggled in her ear whispering about the cow and the free milk analogy. He’d been so sure the other night they’d end up in the sack together that he’d put a condom in his back pocket. Maybe for once, her mother was right about something. She shouldn’t make it so easy for him.
“How about we go out? Maybe in Panama City?”
“I know just the place.”
She studied his face. “Are we celebrating something?”
“Maybe. I just got some encouraging news.”
“A new job?”
“Even better.” In his circumstances, what could be better than a new job? “I’ll tell you all about it tonight. Pick you up at six?”
“Sounds good.” She got in her car, trying very hard to remain composed while he watched her drive away. Maybe he’d gotten a job in the area. Which would mean he was staying in Whispering Bay. Which would mean that one of the strikes against him was potentially lifted. Maybe tonight was the start of a real relationship. Something that could lead to a permanent thing between them.
She forced her mind to steer back into reality. His “good news” could mean he’d gotten a job anywhere. Maybe he was even getting back with his old partner from Tampa. It was best not to get her hopes up. And it was probably best not to even think about sleeping with him again. She’d already determined she wasn’t a two-night-stand kind of girl. It did crazy things to her mind.
She headed to Al’s Office Supplies, stocked up on paper, then made a quick detour through Dolphin Isles. She just couldn’t help it. The petty, insecure part of her had to see what was going on. She turned onto the subdivision’s main road and slammed on her brakes.
Parked in front of the Calypso model home was Shea’s white Lincoln Navigator.
26
Walt Walters stood in the foyer of the model home, talking on his BlackBerry. He must have spied her coming up the walkway because he didn’t look surprised to see her. He put one finger in the air to signal he’d be right with her.
It was the first time Kitty had been inside the Calypso, Dolphin Isles’s newest furnished model. From what she could see, it looked identical to the other floor plans. A large foyer that opened into a great room with vaulted ceilings, lots of white tile and white walls. As a matter of fact, there was lots of white everywhere.
Walt finished his call and clipped the BlackBerry onto his belt. “Looking for a job, Kit?”
As if. “No, thanks, business has never been better.”
“Really? Well, that’s super. Just super.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “That Becky is a real spitfire. She’s already sold her first home. You must be really missing her.”
“I’ve always been a one-woman operation, Walt. Much simpler that way. But I’m thrilled for Becky. She’s a nice kid.”
Walt smiled like he didn’t believe her. He wore black slacks and a bright yellow cotton polo shirt with a Dolphin Isles logo over the front pocket.
“Let me guess,” Kitty said, pointing to his outfit. “The theme this week has something to do with bumblebees?”
“We’re undergoing new management and this is the official company look,” he said, ignoring her barb.
She picked up a brochure from the foyer table. Dolphin Isles, brought to you by TNT Properties was printed in minuscule letters at the bottom of the back flap. “Who’s behind this TNT? Ever met any of the bigwigs?”
“I talk to the owner on a near-daily basis,” Walt said, which was a smooth way of not directly answering her question.
“Sure you do.”
Walt’s eyes got all slitty. “As a matter of fact, TNT is planning a big expansion. There’s talk I’m up for head salesperson for the whole enchilada.”
“Oh? What’s next? Dolphin Isles Two: The Revenge?”
Walt stuck his hands in his pockets and smiled his smarmy Grinch smile. “Something like that.”
Great. Just what Whispering Bay needed. Another Dolphin Isles.
She was saved from responding by the sound of the front door opening. It was Nathan. Walt’s BlackBerry buzzed. He slinked off into a corner of the living room to answer it, giving her an opportunity to speak with Nathan privately.
“It’s Mets Girl,” Nathan said. “I thought that was your car out there.” It was the first time Kitty had seen Nathan in town. He wore board shorts, a threadbare Hawaiian Tropic T-shirt, and a Yankees baseball cap.
“Oops,” Kitty said, knocking the baseball cap off his head, “sorry about that.”
Nathan grinned and picked up the cap, then hastily hand combed his dark hair back from his face.
“What’s up?” Kitty asked, trying not to stew over what Walt had just told her.
“I’m getting a job working on-site here.”
“What about college?”
“My mom and I had a long talk. She’s cool with me taking a year off school.” Nathan’s face screwed up. “You know, that was all bullshit about her taking the money from my bank account.” He shrugged. “Steve sort of apologized to me, though.”
“He did?”
“Well, not in so many words. But he’s going to—”
Her cell phone went off. “Excuse me,” she muttered, fumbling to find her phone in the chaotic mess of her purse.
Walt shook his head, silently admonishing her as he motioned to the BlackBerry now re-clipped to his belt. Kitty ignored him and picked up the call on the sixth ring. Ted’s number flashed across the screen.
“Where the hell have you been?” Ted boomed.
“Excuse me?”
“I expected after today’s catastrophe you would have at least had the smarts to call me first. Meet me at your office. Now.”
No need to get all riled up, she told herself, taking a deep breath. This was just Ted being Ted again. Earl must have come back with an outrageous counteroffer. With an outward calm she really wasn’t feeling, she snapped her phone shut and placed it back in her purse.
“Anything wrong?” Walt asked. Like he cared.
“Of course not. It was just one of my clients calling to tell me how much he appreciates my attention to detail.” It sounded ridiculous, even to her, but she had to save face.
She turned to Nathan. “I have to go, but before I do, I need to warn you. This is the last place on earth you want to work.”
Nathan looked confused. “It is? But—”
“Trust me,” Kitty said. “I wish I could say more but I have to go.” She was almost out the door when she remembered her mission. “The white Lincoln Navigator parked out front—I think that belongs to the Mastersons. Have you seen them?” she asked Walt.
“Who?” Walt asked with mock innocence.
“Never mind,” Kitty said, her keys in hand. She didn’t have time to play games with Walt Walters. She had to save her energy for Ted and Earl.
She made the five-minute drive to her office in three. Ted was outside waiting for her. “I’m afraid I don’t know the latest development,” Kitty said, hearing her voice shake a little. “I was out getting office supplies when you called.”
Ted flung a piece of paper at her. “Read this.”
It was Earl’s counteroffer. Kitty quickly scanned the page until she found the glitch Ted was so furious about. She’d been right. Earl had counteroffered with a ridiculously high amount.
“I’m sure it’s a mistake. A typo or something.” She pulled her cell phone from her purse. “Let me call Earl and see what’s going on.” She got an answering machine with a male voice she didn’t immediately recognize. It must be Vince. Instead of leaving a message, she hung up. Earl seemed like the sort of person
who would respond better face-to-face. He was practically a recluse. He had to be home.
“I’m going to see Earl right now and straighten this out.”
“You better, because I can’t afford to pay this much for the land. Not without going for additional financing, and that might take a few months.”
A few months? By that time, her mother and Larry would have bulldozed the house.
“Don’t worry,” Kitty said, looping her purse over her shoulder. “I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to make this deal happen.”
27
A woman with short cropped gray hair answered the door. She was thin and wore jeans and Birkenstock sandals. Her face was tanned and unlined. “Whatever you’re selling, we’re not interested.” Her tone was more businesslike than rude.
“Mr. Handy knows me,” Kitty said, fishing inside her bag. She found a crumpled business card at the bottom. “I’m a real estate broker.”
The woman grudgingly slipped on a pair of glasses with rainbow-colored frames she kept on a chain around her neck. “ ‘Help me help you find the house of your dreams’,” she read. “Isn’t that a line from that movie . . . what’s it called?”
“Jerry Maguire,” Kitty supplied. I’ve been meaning to change that! she wanted to scream. Instead, she smiled and tried again. “May I please see Mr. Handy?”
“You’re Amanda Hanahan’s granddaughter, aren’t you? Earl told me about you. I’m DeeDee,” the woman said, “Earl’s housekeeper-slash-nurse-slash-companion. I see to it that Earl takes his medication and doesn’t piss anyone off enough to kill him.”
If her nerves weren’t in danger of exploding, she would have laughed. But the fact that Earl had mentioned her to his nurse was encouraging. “Is Mr. Handy available? I really need to talk to him.”
“He’s watching Perry Mason reruns. Might not be the best time to interrupt him.”
“He’ll want to see me. It’s a business emergency.”
DeeDee sighed. “Come on in.”
