by Jana DeLeon
“My little mermaid,” Bea said as she squeezed. “It’s been too long.”
Alayna relaxed into the hug, her chest tightening. It was Bea who’d taken care of her when her parents were killed. She’d immediately purchased a home downtown just a block away from her store and moved out of the beach cottage and into a place with enough space for two people. Back then, she’d rented the beach house, but when it was vacant, Bea and Alayna had spent time there, Alayna falling asleep on the couch, listening to the sound of the surf.
She’d been an angry and confused fifteen-year-old. Right at that cusp of adulthood and really needing her parents’ guidance. Bea had been patient and kind and somehow instinctively knew when to push and when to draw back. When Alayna had finally realized that Bea was suffering their loss as much as she was, they’d learned to lean on each other. And they’d made it through.
“I’ve missed you,” Alayna said when they finished hugging. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to visit more often.”
Bea waved a hand in dismissal. “You were busy working on your career. You can’t just up and vacation based on an old woman’s fancy. Besides, it’s not like I don’t know what’s involved with starting and running a business. No time for much of anything but work and sleep, especially in the beginning.”
Alayna nodded. What her aunt said was true, and even more true for Manhattan and the restaurant business. Even after grueling twenty-hour days, she’d go home with the constantly nagging feeling that she’d missed a trick. That there was something else she could do to make her restaurant more popular, to improve the menu, to motivate her staff. The only time she had given her mind a break was when she was with Warren.
She’d have been better served to make more trips back home.
“So have you settled in?” Bea asked. “Is the cottage going to work for you?”
“Why? You trying to get rid of me already?”
“Hell, no! I already told you the place is yours for as long as you want to be there. I’m hoping that’s a good long time. We have a lot of catching up to do. I’ve got years’ worth of island gossip to impart.”
The doorbell jangled and they looked toward the front of the store as a group of women walked in.
“We can start tonight,” Bea said. “I’ll pick up Chinese takeout and wine and see you at seven. Get the table and chairs out of storage. Maybe it will be nice enough to eat on the patio.”
“Let me cook for you at least,” Alayna said.
“There’s plenty of time for that later.”
She gave Alayna’s arm a squeeze and headed off. Alayna watched as her aunt greeted the customers with a huge smile and sighed. She’d come down to the bookstore for a couple reasons. First, she loved it and wanted to see it, and she loved her aunt even more. Second, she knew Bea couldn’t grill her while she was working. She’d hoped if Bea saw her in person that it might delay her aunt visiting the cottage, which would postpone the embarrassing talk that Alayna wasn’t quite ready to have. But it looked as though her life was going to be on display again that night.
It’s just as well, she thought. It wasn’t as if Bea didn’t already know the basics. Alayna had given her enough information that she was reassured that Alayna’s attorney had things under control and there was nothing she could do to help. And since the media were always quick to jump on juicy stories about old-money families with social standing, Alayna guessed her aunt knew more than she’d let on during their phone conversations. If she hadn’t seen the stories herself, someone on Tempest Island would have been sure to tell her. It was just the way the island was. Everyone knew everybody and most everything about everybody.
She headed for the small toy section that always had a collection of jigsaw puzzles featuring marine life. She’d managed to read a bit while sitting outside this morning, but at night, she had a harder time focusing on the words. A puzzle would be a good way to occupy her mind that didn’t require a lot of thought. Between that and the television, she might be able to tolerate nights better.
Ten minutes later, she headed out of the store, clutching a puzzle of colorful seashells and a roll-up mat to hold it so it could be moved out of the way when she needed to use the kitchen table. Since she was already downtown, she decided to do some grocery shopping while she was here. Things were cheaper at the stores on the mainland, but she didn’t feel like making the twenty-minute drive over the bridge or dealing with the traffic and crowds of the bigger city. Right now, the island was fairly quiet and she really enjoyed it that way. Vacation season wouldn’t go into full swing until kids were out of school. Until then, the island was mostly occupied by locals and day-trippers from the mainland. When summer hit, you wouldn’t be able to walk downtown without bumping into someone.
The island market didn’t have a huge selection, but what they carried was high quality. Seafood was fresh from the ocean the day before and other meats came from a local butcher. The vegetables and fruit were all organic and many supplied by local farms. It was the same with the canned items—sauces and relishes and candied foods, all supplied by local businesses and individuals. The variety was nowhere near what she could acquire easily in New York, but she certainly wasn’t going to suffer eating any of the items in her basket.
She picked up fresh vegetables, chicken, scallops, pasta, good dinner wine, and splurged on a couple of incredible-looking steaks. Then she threw in some baking staples, easy fixings, beer, and snacks and called it done. The next time Bea came for dinner, she’d whip up the steak and some twice-baked potatoes. Her aunt might protest her going to the trouble if she knew ahead of time, but if Alayna was ready to put the food on the table, Bea definitely wouldn’t turn it down.
And Alayna loved doing things for Bea—even small things—because Bea had done so much for her. Her aunt had been the one who insisted Alayna had talent and should attend culinary school. Alayna had never thought she’d even get in, but one of the top schools in the country had accepted her. The life insurance her parents left had been carefully managed by Bea and covered her tuition and living expenses while she was in Austin at school, with a little to spare.
Alayna knew that Bea had hoped she’d return to Florida after graduating, but Bea also knew that Alayna’s big dream was to be a chef in Manhattan, where she could continue to learn from some of the best and, maybe one day, open her own place. Alayna had put in several years at restaurants in Austin and Dallas to get her résumé strong enough to land a chef’s position at a top restaurant in New York. Then Bea had stepped in, even taking weeks away from her bookstore to help Alayna find an apartment and get moved.
Alayna smiled at that memory as she tucked the groceries in the back seat of her car. Her first studio apartment hadn’t been much larger than a walk-in closet. She had a foldout couch that served as seating and bed. The wall opposite held a kitchenette with a two-burner stove, tiny oven, and microwave. She’d barely managed to fit a toaster and her blender on the limited counter space. The bathroom had been a tiny square with shower stall, toilet, and pedestal sink. The shower was so small, she’d banged her elbows every time she lifted her arms to wash her hair and there never seemed to be hot water available, no matter what time of day she used it.
The good ole days.
Before she started trying to make a name for herself in the big bad city. Before she knew the stress of working for five-star chefs and managing ridiculous work hours. Before she’d tried her hand at launching her own restaurant.
Before Warren.
The beginning of the end.
She opened the driver’s-side door, but as she started to duck into her car, she paused. Something felt off. She glanced around, trying to figure out what was causing the discomfort, but all she saw was people and shop owners going about their business. She gave the street a final glance before climbing in her car and pulling away.
But the uncomfortable feeling remained.
Mateo watched from a sedan parked across the street as Alayna loaded groceri
es into her car, then drove away. He’d observed her since she’d driven into town earlier. First, visiting the bookstore that he knew belonged to her aunt—the same aunt providing her the cottage she was staying in—then doing some local shopping. Her behavior here on the island wasn’t any different than it had been in New York or on the long trip to Florida.
She was definitely cautious. Skittish, to be more precise.
Back in New York, she’d only left her apartment during the day and when she exited the building, she got directly into a car driven by the same service every time. No cabs. No Uber. She was dropped off right in front of whatever place she was going, went directly inside and when leaving, reversed the process. Her blinds remained drawn twenty-four hours a day and if she received a delivery, she had the front desk sign for it. At least, that’s what she’d done when he’d attempted to get a closer look at her building by pretending to deliver a package.
On the drive to Florida, she was just as careful. She never stopped anywhere unless it was centrally located and occupied by multiple patrons. She stayed in a hotel with single entry and card access for other doors and didn’t stray out of the hotel after dark or before sunrise. She’d lived on convenience store snacks and fast food the entire time, never taking the time to sit down in a restaurant. He’d thought the thunderstorm might delay her and then he’d have more of a chance to observe her. Maybe even a chance to access her hotel room, but the storm was gone by daybreak and she’d resumed her solitary and cautious trek to Florida.
At first, he'd thought her behavior in New York was to avoid the press that had hounded her for weeks after Patterson’s arrest. But when the press finally cleared out, she still hadn’t altered the way she did things. She was definitely spooked. But was it simply because of everything that had gone down or because she was hiding something? The client seemed to think Alayna had something of value but wasn’t aware. Mateo didn’t buy that for a minute. If she didn’t know what she had, then why was she so scared?
The item he was looking for wasn’t in her car or her meager belongings unless it was in the backpack, which he’d never had an opportunity to search. Or maybe it was in the boxes she’d prepared to ship to Florida that hadn’t yet arrived. When he saw her go into the grocery store, he could have made a quick run to her house and searched the backpack as this was the first time he’d seen her that she didn’t have it on her, but he decided it wasn’t worth the risk. Not yet. He’d be patient until the boxes arrived and then wait for an opportunity to get a look at all of it at the same time.
In the meantime, the client claimed he was working another angle and maybe that would pan out. Then Mateo would know exactly where to look. Right now, his orders were to search but stay out of Alayna’s line of sight. The client didn’t want to tip his hand until he was certain that the prize he sought was in her possession. But sooner or later, the client would grow tired of waiting. Even a patient man would only wait so long.
Then Mateo would be able to put the pressure on Alayna. Force her to tell him what he wanted to know. It was the part of his job he looked forward to the most.
Chapter Seven
Alayna smiled as Bea unpacked four containers of Chinese food onto the patio table. She’d bought enough for an army and Alayna would bet she’d refuse to take any with her when she left. She’d seen her aunt give her a critical once-over in the bookstore and knew one of Bea’s first priorities was going to be putting the pounds back on her. If the food tasted as good as it smelled, it wasn’t going to be difficult to go along with her plan.
“When I got there I couldn’t decide,” Bea said. “So I got several different things. We can pick around at all of them and figure out which ones we like the best for next time.”
“Next time, I’m cooking for you. It’s been too long. No arguing.”
“I’m stubborn. I’m not a fool. I haven’t had a great meal here since you moved away.”
“That can’t be true. There are several nice restaurants on the mainland.”
Bea waved a hand in dismissal. “They’re nothing compared to your fixings. And way overpriced. The only time I grace the doorstep of one of those so-called fancy places is if someone else is footing the bill. And you know how these old coots are down here—afraid to part with a nickel.”
“Maybe they’re being frugal because they’re retired.”
“Please, they’re just cheap. The last one I went out with was wearing a watch that cost more than my car and always wears trousers and a tie. I put on my best dress and he expected me to eat burgers at that shack on the beach. I told him he could find a place that took reservations or eat alone.”
“So what happened?”
Bea scowled. “Not important.”
Alayna laughed. “Sounds like the best possible outcome. Do you really want to date a man who wears trousers and a tie to the beach?”
“It was a moment of weakness. Sam had moved the week before and my weekend was looking rather sparse in the way of fun. I don’t know why I thought Trousers-at-the-Beach could change that. Maybe I’m getting senile.”
“You’re not old enough to be senile.”
At sixty-two, Bea didn’t look a day over fifty. Most of the time, she didn’t act a day over twenty, except when it came to business. It was one of the things Alayna loved most about her. That she refused to grow old gracefully. At the moment, Alayna felt as if life had prematurely aged her personally and without consent.
“Get that wine open and let’s dig into this before I get the vapors,” Bea said. “I had half a tuna sandwich for lunch, then spent the whole afternoon stocking. I thought I was going to pass out when I walked into the restaurant to pick up the food.”
“You should eat a bigger lunch,” Alayna said as she poured the wine. “At least bring a whole sandwich and not just half.”
Bea threw her hands in the air, then plopped down in a chair. “I did bring a whole sandwich. That damn cat snatched the other half while I was trying to explain to Agnes Paulson that the true crime section is not providing serial killers with instructions. That woman is like a broken record.”
“I’d spend less time beating my head on that brick wall and more time guarding my lunch.” Agnes Paulson had been crazy as long as Alayna could remember.
“Or I could just get rid of the cat. Not like I was looking for a cat when he wandered in and refused to leave.”
Alayna opened the cartons and spooned out a little of each item onto her plate. “You know Shakespeare isn’t going anywhere. I don’t know why you pretend you don’t love him.”
“Fine. The furry nuisance can stay, but he needs to keep his paws off my lunch.”
“Then I suggest you stop bringing tuna.”
“Tuna’s easy. I like easy when it comes to the kitchen.”
“I know you do. So bring me up to speed on some of the local gossip. What’s the biggest thing that’s happened lately?”
Bea grimaced. “Well, the word ‘biggest’ doesn’t really factor into this story, but Old Franklin decided he’d take up boogie-boarding last week. Had his bathing suit ripped right off of him, and does he have the good sense to use the board to block those-that-shouldn’t-be-seen? No. He strolls right out of the Gulf wearing nothing but what he was born with and dragging the board by its cord.”
Alayna gasped. “Oh my God!”
Bea nodded. “Nelly was there with her niece’s daughter and said it was fairly horrific. She threw her straw hat over the child’s eyes.”
“Did he walk all the way home like that?”
“No. Young Franklin was there and almost had a heart attack running down the beach with a towel. Nelly said he was praying as he ran.”
Alayna choked and grabbed her drink. Old Franklin was ninety years old if he was a day. His son, Young Franklin, was the island preacher, having followed in his father’s footsteps.
“Sunday’s sermon was about modesty,” Bea said. “The whole congregation sounded like they had whooping cough.”
“I imagine so,” Alayna said as she broke into laughter.
“Everyone except for Old Franklin, of course. He’s adamant that the Lord made him that way and if it was good enough for God then the rest of the island can get over it. My poker group has a pool on when Old is going to give Young a heart attack. Buy-in’s twenty bucks, if you’re interested.”
“Let me think on that one.”
They talked freely while they ate, Bea bringing Alayna up to date on all the gossip that one small island could produce. Most of it was harmless stuff, but there was the occasional scandal of an affair and the robbery of the pizza place, although Bea claimed everyone knew it was the owner’s son who did it, including the owner.
When they’d eaten far too much food and polished off the entire bottle of wine, Bea pushed her chair back and studied Alayna for several seconds.
“So,” Bea said. “Are you done with this business in New York?”
“No. I still have to testify at the trial.”
Bea frowned. “I thought they had a ton of evidence against him.”
“They do. The only thing I can attest to is some of the dates when Warren was out of town and that he used my laptop a couple times when he was at my apartment. They lifted evidence off of it. I agreed to testify in exchange for no charges.”
“Charges for what?” Bea asked, clearly frustrated. “Letting the man you’re dating use your laptop? Good Lord, it’s not like you were hauling bags of money around the city for him.”
“I know. And my attorney said we could fight it if they pushed the issue. But he also said it would be faster and cheaper to take the deal. Fighting it could have taken years and tens of thousands of dollars.”
“That’s crap. The whole thing is crap.”
Alayna nodded. She couldn’t disagree.
“When will the trial be?”
