“Don’t insult me.” Spin sat on one of the patio chairs and let out an audible sigh. “So tell me. Am I right? It’s a man. You didn’t shove his clutch anymore?”
Jacquie didn’t respond.
“I’d been around the block a few times before I met my Wally, and it was no picnic. Men can be assholes.” Gazing at her over the rim of the glasses, Spin asked, “Ever heard of a Judge Harrison?”
“No.”
“Good. Because he was the biggest asshole of all time.”
Jacquie needed something to settle herself, and longed for the soothing smoke of a Virginia Slim. “Harrison’s a former boyfriend?”
“Humph!” Spin’s spider-veined hands cupped the arms of the chair. She had yellow-gold paint on her fingers. “Get a pad of legal paper and come back here with a pen, too. You’ll find them in the rec hall. Go on.”
A moment later, Jacquie came back and asked herself why she was even doing what this woman asked. She sat down once again, pad on her lap. “Okay.”
“Okay,” Spin repeated. “Start writing exactly what I tell you.”
Jacquie suspended the pen over the paper and began to write as soon as Spin started talking, slowly enough for Jacquie to get the words down.
“Way back when we first met, I knew you’d be a special person in my life. I fell in love with you and you said you loved me. You are the heart of my heart, and no matter what has happened, I feel like I have been cheated out of my future with you.”
The pen in Jacquie’s hand paused, and she slanted a glance at Spin. “Who’s this letter to?”
“Keep writing,” Spin declared, “or I’ll lose my train of thought.” In a resolved tone, she continued, “It makes no difference whose fault it is. But I find myself thinking about you constantly, even though I am to blame.”
Jacquie abruptly set the pen down. “I can’t write this.” Tears swam in her eyes, stinging them. “You’ll have to get someone else to do it.”
“Someone else can’t. They haven’t lived it like you.” Spin’s gaze was all-knowing. “I was young once.”
Swallowing, Jacquie couldn’t trust herself to speak. How had her life gotten so screwed up? She’d loved Drew with all her heart, would have done anything to stay with him. But he’d fallen out of love with her. And she’d cheated on him. There was no going back.
“You need to write this letter,” Spin said, her voice wizened yet wise. “For yourself. Never mail it to him, of course, because it only shows him your weakness for him, but it’ll be the first step in getting over the relationship.”
With those words, Jacquie silently began to cry.
“Now, now. I’ll help you get through it.” Spin reached out to the attractive woman, patted her hand and felt a breath of fresh air fill her lungs.
Spin Goodey-Leonard suddenly had purpose.
Twelve
Raul Nunez was ruining Lucy’s life, what little there was left of it. When she took stock, she came up far short from just a year ago. Gone were her suburbia home, padded bank account and comfortable client list.
Now she lived in a teardown shack with rusting motorhomes in the back, her bank account was slowly dwindling, she needed an oil change on her car—but didn’t want to spend the money—and the hospital bill had come and the insurance wasn’t covering $895 of it.
Her life, in a nutshell, was in the crapper.
And that eccentric Raul Nunez was making her existence in Red Duck hellish. He had such clout that getting a cooking job was next to impossible. She found out he’d done this to other personal chefs who’d come to town to infringe on his private territory. It was ludicrous. No man could keep up with the work he had, and she was sick of people calling her to ask if she could make his famous lobster bisque!
The last time someone asked, she’d said of course—replicating recipes was her specialty. She was determined to meet with a client, even if it meant she’d do so under false pretexts. Once they sampled her lobster bisque, they’d hire her. No doubts.
But she never got the opportunity. Raul called her to say he’d sue if she so much as breathed another consonant about cooking a personal recipe of his.
She’d taken a day to be indignant over it, then decided this war had to come to an end. And she was willing to knock pride onto the chopping board. Lucy was waving her white apron. She had to have Raul’s cooperation here.
She tried to reach him by phone, but he wouldn’t pick up. He must have had her caller ID earmarked and was screening her out, the god-in-his-own-mind chef. Over a latte, he had mentioned he thought he was a god, touched by Apollo.
What a crock of stew.
But Lucy just couldn’t think about Raul the Weasel right now. She wanted to enjoy today for all it offered, and the sun felt so good warming her face.
Sue Lawrence had invited Lucy and her sons to go “docking” on Overlook Dam. The Lawrences had a seven passenger Bayliner, and when Matt found out they’d be going on it, he could hardly wait. Jason and Nutter played on the same team, and Lucy hoped the trip would help Jason cement a new friendship. Nutter seemed well-adjusted, and Jason definitely needed to hang around boys who were on the right track.
Lucy had insisted on bringing food for everyone. She’d made roasted chicken sandwiches for the boys and went gourmet for the adults. Olive-oil-grilled rosemary bread with fresh mozzarella, baby spinach and tomatoes. Sue packed chips and pop. Beer for Dave.
The water level on Overlook Dam had reached full elevation from the spring thaw, its surface like a rippling layer of teal-blue glass. Boats motored through the main body, leaving wakes from water-skiers daring enough to brave the frigid lake in wet suits.
June was too early for the water to have warmed to a decent swimming temperature, but the air temp had risen, with an unseasonably high 76 degrees predicted by noon. Anyone in Red Duck and Timberline who owned a boat had come up to the dam.
Lucy and the boys had driven up with the Lawrences in their white Suburban, and once at the launch site, Sue and Lucy loaded the boat before Dave backed the trailer into the water.
In short order, Lucy learned what docking meant versus going boating. Halfway into Big Eddy’s Bay, a floating, square-shaped dock, with a middle section cut out for swimming, was anchored. There were already eight boats moored to it, and the dock itself was covered with coolers, lawn chairs and several dogs. Activity abounded; a father and son threw a football, while in the opposite corner, ladies gathered—some in bathing suits, others in shorts. A golden retriever jumped into the water to fetch a stick.
Dave docked the Bayliner and Sue set up camp on their part of the dock, while the boys joined a group of kids and hung out with them. Docking meant a day spent socializing. At times, a boat would cast off, take a water-skier out, but circle back and dock for more beer and chips, more talk about boat motors and life in town.
“Honey, do you want a beer?” Dave asked as he lifted the lid on the cooler.
“Sure.”
“Lucy?” he asked.
“That would be great. Thanks.” She rarely drank beer, but it sounded good today.
The heat felt delicious on her mostly bare arms. She’d put her tropical-print bikini on, with a pair of shorts and a T-shirt overtop. The bottoms didn’t reach far below her navel, but the French cut flattered her curvy figure. For a woman her age, she supposed she had a decent body. After all, she’d been pregnant with two kids, but thankfully didn’t have stretch marks.
A man came toward them and talked to Dave.
Sue said, “That’s Lloyd Zaragoza. He’s the mayor of the dock. He knows everyone’s business.”
“Oh.” Lucy turned her head to glance at Lloyd. He appeared as if he’d swallowed a small watermelon, his full belly taut and round, his flesh already tanned even though it was the beginning of the season. He wore body hair like a sweater. She felt under the gun as soon as he slanted an obvious gaze on her.
Lloyd came right up to her. “You’re new in town.”
�
��Uh, yes,” she replied.
“You need anything, look me up. I’m listed in the book under Z. Zaragoza.”
“Uh, okay.” She knew she never would, and she wasn’t even sure how to take the gesture. He had to be near sixty-five, the hair on his head thinning to silver strands.
“Tell me your story,” he said, but went right on talking. “I’ll be sure and keep it straight. Maybe. Depends on what you tell me, and sometimes why ruin a good story by sticking to the truth?” Then he guffawed at his own joke.
“My story?” she queried, not quite following him.
“What do you do in Red Duck?” he asked, staring intently at her. There was genuine interest and actually a warmth in his blue eyes. “What’s your line of work, sis?”
“Personal chef,” she replied, having a moment’s optimism. If this man was a busybody, he could put out a good word for her. It was apparent he liked to talk. To anyone who’d listen. “If you know of someone who needs a great cook, my card is on the bulletin board at Sutter’s.”
“Raul Nunez has done a few Christmas parties for me,” Lloyd said, and Lucy staved off a groan.
Raul. Raul! Raul!!!
“Of course you like Raul’s cooking, but mine’s just as good.” Lucy had come to a point where she was going to pull out all stops. “I’d be happy to set up an appointment with you and give you a sampling of my menu.”
“I might just do that.”
No firm commitment, but it wasn’t an outright “no” either.
Lloyd’s grandson, who was about four years old, ran past, water spraying off the wet ends of his hair. Lucy’s body clenched, the cold droplets on her bare arms causing her to shiver. The boy waved a plastic flyswatter and slapped at the deck, then the rails to the steps that led into the swimming area in the middle of the dock.
Outdoor insect control.
The distraction was all it took for the mayor to refocus his gaze on a group of men who’d gathered to check out a new boat that had just come in. The back motor case was lifted and they all stared at the inner workings.
Sue laughed when the mayor made an abrupt departure to see the new arrival’s beefy outboard engine. “He’s been widowed for ten years. I wouldn’t worry about him, but he is influential.”
Lucy merely twisted the top of her beer open and took a long and thoughtful sip.
“So what do you think of docking so far?” Sue asked, reaching into the bag of chips.
Lucy had no opportunity to answer. A large jet boat bore down on them, with music blaring so loudly she could make out the rapper’s bass line before she could even make out the passengers.
It seemed as if everyone on the dock paused in what they were doing, staring at the glittering horizon with hands shading their gazes, as the high-gloss black boat came into view.
Lucy recognized the musical artist as Usher—someone Jason listened to sometimes.
A chrome boom rose from the back of the sleek formula supersport boat. The diesel motor rumbled, a deep, throaty sound that ricocheted off the dam’s gravel banks. Lucy was able to see there were bikini-clad women on deck. Five of them. Long hair flowed like dyed rivers in the wind. Boxed blondes and brunettes.
As the boat approached, she could make out the tall driver, who stood at the cockpit rather than sat. He wore a short-sleeved white shirt, unbuttoned, the open sides rippling behind him and exposing a muscular chest. Beige swim trunks slid low at his flat waist, resting on trim hips. A fat cigar was clamped between his lips.
Drew Tolman. Of course.
Wind blew the brown hair from his forehead as he slowed his speed to keep the wake low. Rap music blared, so loud the floating dock vibrated and seemed to bounce against the water’s surface.
Dave Lawrence was already at the mooring area to help Drew dock the forty-one-foot boat. Every man on the dock perked right up.
Rejoining Sue and Lucy, the mayor held back, his glassy blue eyes fixated on that boat. “Damn, but the Tolman-ater knows how to live life. I get a hard-on every time I look at that cruiser.” Then, remembering himself, he mumbled an apology beneath his breath. “Sorry, ladies.”
It struck Lucy that nobody was really interested in the women onboard—they wanted a look at that boat. And Drew pleased them by powering up the covering over the entire mechanical workings, exposing the huge motor.
Drew didn’t lack for assistance getting the nylon ropes tied to the dock cleats, everyone careful not to scratch the boat’s expensive paint. In fact, he didn’t have to do a thing to exert himself. Every detail was taken care of for him. Soon the ladies were helped off the starboard side and handed cold beers, bags of chips, sandwiches and even a football.
Gossip buzzed around the dock, and within a few seconds, Sue glanced at Lucy. “Laker girls. How did he manage that?”
Lucy shrugged, fighting to keep her cool. How could she have ever thought Drew might find her attractive? He cavorted with the Laker girls—they were gorgeous. He could have any one he wanted, and he had a girlfriend.
Funny how she forgot about her meeting with the Greenbaums whenever she ran into Drew. Common sense seemed to desert her at the worst times. Ridiculous and reckless on her part. She knew he had a checkered past. Wasn’t good material for a stable future, or a future, period. He’d never married. He’d never had kids, wouldn’t understand the meaning of compromise.
Drew was wrong for her in every way possible.
Sue took a sip of beer. “Dave told me that boat cost a quarter of a million dollars.”
Lucy’s mouth dropped open. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Nope. Drew’s very well off.”
“How is that possible?” Lucy stared at him, watched as his smile flashed while he took the cigar from his lips and brought the neck of a beer to his mouth to drink. She hated that her heartbeat thudded in her chest, that her mouth went dry, that her thoughts were scrambled. “He’s retired. Surely he didn’t make that much money as a baseball player?”
“He did very well in professional sports. He’s smart. Dave is friends with the president of the Timberline First Savings and Loan, and he said Drew is a savvy investor. He’s got more money than he knows what to do with.”
Lucy licked her dry lips, hating to sound overly curious, but she couldn’t help herself. “Do you know anything about the drug scandal?”
“Not much. Drew quit baseball in the middle of a season. He wasn’t hitting well at all, and the press blamed it on steroids. There was that big scandal involving both leagues. Drew never received a deposition like the other players involved, so nobody knows for sure if it’s true or not. It does seem strange that he’d quit while under contract. I think there was a lawsuit about it. I’m not sure. He was a really good player. But sometimes, he’d be out there on the mound and he didn’t look so great.”
“You watched him?” Lucy’s curiosity was more piqued than ever.
“I’ve always been a fan of baseball. Dave got me hooked on it. I watched Drew play for years. I never dreamed I’d ever meet him. When he moved to Timberline, he was the talk at the High Country for months. He still is,” Sue laughed. “You have to admit, there’s just something about that man…”
Lucy said nothing.
The mayor of the dock came over, grabbed five beers out of Dave’s cooler and juggled them against his gut. Ice water dribbled down his stomach and he flinched. Glancing at Sue and Lucy, he proclaimed, “Drew and Jacquie are off again. This time for good.”
“Lloyd,” Sue said, her tone skeptical. “We’ve all heard that before.”
“No. It’s true. Drew said so. They’re finished.” Slanting his gaze sideways and taking in a wide-angle view of Drew, the scantily clad women and the expensive boat, Lloyd added, “He’s got Laker girls with him. That man sure has the knack. Found out they were up at the lodge on a calendar shoot and he invited them out on the dam for the day.”
Lloyd scurried over to join the guys drooling over the motor.
Sue shook her head,
smiling. “Lloyd is going to wet himself one of these days.”
In spite of herself, Lucy laughed.
Nutter, Jason and Matt came over and wanted to know if they could take the raft and paddle it to shore.
Sue replied, “Yes, and take me along.”
“Mom,” Nutter whined. “It’s just the guys.”
“I need to go to the shore,” she said, not elaborating further.
Nutter wrinkled his nose. “Aw, Mom. Can’t you just go in the water?”
“No way. It’s only fifty degrees.” Sue held out her arm. “Help your mom up and take me to shore.”
Stef Ann Holm Page 14
