Fortunate Harbor (28 page)

“It was a lovely evening. The best. I’m sorry it ended…” She didn’t want to say more, since Lizzie was sitting right there.

“You ought to get her home.”

She nodded. “We’ll head out now.”

“I’ll drop by this weekend to see how you’re doing.”

Time to say no. Tonight was just another example of how
any
kind of relationship complicated her already-complicated existence.

But this was Pete, who had helped her daughter breathe again. Pete, who took her at face value and didn’t ask for anything she didn’t want to give.

Pete, the man she was falling in love with and couldn’t seem to push away.

Not yet.

She managed a smile. “We’d like that.”

“Lizzie,” he warned, “I’m going to kiss your mother. She needs it. She was worried about you.”

“Go ahead,” Lizzie said.

“Pete—” But Pete stopped Dana’s words with a sweet kiss she couldn’t seem to break away from.

“Now let’s get Miss Lizzie out to the car,” he said when it had ended.

Twenty-five minutes later, as Dana turned off the bridge onto the road to Happiness Key with Lizzie sleeping beside her, she realized it was time to move again. Perhaps past time. Unfortunately, for once she couldn’t do what all her instincts screamed she must. For better or worse, she was trapped at
Happiness Key. With Pete. With the women who offered unqualified friendship. With memories of past summers in this place and the legacy that had come with them.

“It’s your fault, Fargo,” she whispered. But even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t true.

How could she blame a dead man?

Wanda was sprawled on Tracy’s sofa as if she belonged there, Tracy’s cordless phone nearly welded to her ear by now.

“That’s right, Dana. No, not Diana. Day-na. Right. All I can remember is that she lived in Fresno, and she asked me to stop by and see her if I ever came through town, and I—” Wanda stopped, shaking her head in disgust. “Well, thank you for your time. You have a good weekend now, you hear?”

Tracy put a can of diet cola on the coffee table for her friend. “Another bust.” It wasn’t a question.

“The man never heard of a Dana Turner. Nice enough about it, though.”

“So how many people have you called?”

Wanda glanced at the list of phone numbers belonging to Fresno Turners that Tracy had printed from the Internet. Some of them had come with interesting addendums. Professions, ages, the names of others in the household. Even Tracy was a
little shocked at how much people could find out by consulting the online White Pages.

“Thirty,” Wanda said, looking up. “With a lot more to go.”

“Does the word
futile
mean anything to you?”

Wanda set down the telephone and stretched. “It will the minute you come up with a better plan.”

“When we were trying to find out about Herb’s life, at least we had papers to go through. We don’t have squat about Dana, just the info on Lizzie’s birth certificate. Knowing she was born in Fresno, and her full name is Elizabeth Anne Turner just isn’t enough.
E.A.T.,
by the way. How’s that for an acronym?”

“Works for me. You’re the one that’s obsessed with food.”

Tracy had to admit it was true. Not only was she on a diet, she had to phone at least one of her teammates every day to offer support—that was one of Kitty’s ironclad rules. So what else did she have to think about?

Dangerously close to rummaging through the fridge, she went back to the subject of Dana Turner’s past. Getting a copy of Lizzie’s birth certificate from the center had been good luck, but so far that was all the luck they’d had.

“I don’t know what you’re going to find out even if you get a hit. Who’s going to tell a stranger something important on the phone? And there’s nothing else of interest on Lizzie’s birth certificate except her mother’s name, which we knew. Not even Dana’s middle name.”

“Well, now we know the father’s listed as unknown.”

“So what would be the reasons for that?”

Wanda listed possibilities. “Maybe she really didn’t know? It happens. Or maybe she just didn’t want Lizzie to trace him once she’s older. Or maybe he asked her not to, because he was
married and didn’t want his wife finding out. Or maybe she thought he’d try to take Lizzie away if she made it official.”

“Maybe none of that matters, Wanda. If they’re running away from something or somebody, wouldn’t they just change their names?”

Wanda and Tracy had already gone through this. Wanda’s theory was to start with what they knew and work from there. But she’d also admitted that Tracy had a point. There just wasn’t any good reason to go through the motions if the birth certificate was a fake and they didn’t even have the right names. If Dana Turner was really Heidi Schirmer or Zelda Young, then they were wasting their time.

Wanda glanced up at the clock. “I gotta get home. Besides, I’m sitting where CJ sleeps. I don’t like lolling around on the man’s bed.”

“He’s not here enough to call it that. I’m not sure what he does all day, but he doesn’t do it here.”

“At least he got himself a rental car. Now when’s he going to get himself another place to live?”

It was a reasonable question. CJ had slept on Tracy’s sofa for three nights. As a thank-you for the past two, he’d come back each evening with dinner, and he’d even cleaned up afterward. He brought bottles of good wine, flowers and his own charming company. He was attentive, helpful and easy to talk to. He hadn’t tried to get into her bed.

And he was overdue to leave.

“I think he’s working on it,” she told Wanda, because she hated to tell the truth. CJ hadn’t mentioned moving out, and, worse, she hadn’t asked him to.

Wanda looked skeptical. “You need some reminders about what the man did to you?”

Tracy wondered. Since her arrival in Florida she’d gotten used to living alone, even decided she liked it, but these days, since CJ had shown up bearing gifts and companionship, she had realized that deep inside, she craved more than just an acceptable place to lay her head. She wanted a home with somebody who loved her. And as bonded as she was to her neighbors, she needed a man in her life.

“Nobody knows better than I do what he put me through,” she said.

“Lordy, woman, there’s a ‘but’ in your voice.”

“I wonder, Wanda, if maybe I just dredged up all the things that weren’t right in our relationship and buried the things that were, you know?” She held up her hand when Wanda started to interrupt. “From what I could tell when the whole mess in California was going down, CJ really was at fault. He was responsible for everything that happened to us—to me. I was so furious—”

“You had a tiny right to be.”

“Maybe I did, and maybe I didn’t. Look how much help he was to the authorities here. What if he was telling the truth about California all along? What if he just screwed up a little, then things started snowballing before he could fix them? What if the authorities dug him a hole, herded him in that direction, and he just stumbled into it because there was no place else to go?”

“You don’t believe that.”

Tracy didn’t. Not yet. But she was steadily growing less sure where she stood on the guilt of one CJ Craimer.

“I’ll tidy up the rest of these calls at home tonight,” Wanda said, getting to her feet. “Kenny’s gone again.”

Tracy was relieved to be finished with the subject of her ex.

She walked Wanda to the door. “I wish Ken could run Dana’s name. The Internet’s fine as far as it goes, but that’s not far enough for us.”

“If we could, I’d ask him to look into missing children from the Fresno area.”

Tracy, who admittedly had been thinking about many other things, hadn’t thought about approaching the problem that way. “Wanda, that’s brilliant. Why didn’t you suggest it before?”

“Because I don’t want Kenny involved.”

“He wouldn’t have to be. There are all kinds of missing children Web sites, complete with photographs. That’s something I can check out tonight.”

Wanda looked pleased, but she quickly sobered. “It’s probably going to be a big waste of time. Even if Dana and Lizzie are running, kidnapping might not be involved.”

“Or it might be, at least technically. I just can’t shake the feeling she’s running from Lizzie’s father, afraid he’s going to snatch their daughter.”

“That sounds like a lot of time online.”

It might or might not be. Tracy could get lucky right off the bat or find nothing of interest after hours of searching. She was just glad to have something to do. Now she would be less likely to fill her evening with snacks. She would also be less likely to wonder what was happening at the other end of the key. Bay had told her that Sylvia was visiting an old friend in Sarasota for a few days. All weekend she’d had to fight the temptation to drop by his comfortable old Cracker house with some flimsy excuse, and see if she and Marsh could find common ground for one more heart-to-heart talk.

“You make those phone calls anyway,” she told Wanda. “I’ll do my research. And we’ll see if anything turns up.”

“You know, we could just ask Dana and swear ourselves to secrecy.”

“Could you really do that? What if she admits she committed a crime? Could you keep that a secret, too? Even from Kenny?”

“What are the chances she’d be dumb enough to confess? No, I think asking would be safe, except maybe she’d hightail it out of here.”

“I’d rather know what we’re dealing with. Then we can tell her we want to help. If we wait and do it that way, she’ll know we aren’t going to turn her in, because we would have done it already. If she’s on the run, she must wish somebody would help.”

Wanda stepped out to the porch. “Well, I, for one, have to be careful here. I can’t get Kenny into the middle of some dustup or other. If she’s done something really bad…”

Tracy’s own moral compass was spinning round and round with CJ, and she wasn’t sure where it was going to settle. “I’m not sure I’d be the best person to judge, and I’m not sure I’m up to making logical choices about Dana.”

“Then let’s leave that to our neighbors. We’ll do a little more work on this, then we’ll get together and have us a chat.”

Tracy watched her go. The sun was still high enough in the sky that she probably had hours before CJ returned. For a moment she imagined just getting in her Bimmer and heading down the road to Marsh’s house. Did she need an excuse to see him other than an apology? One of them had to make the first move or there was never going to be a reconciliation.

Assuming she wanted one.

In the end, she went back inside and turned on her computer, typing in
Fresno
and
missing children.
Then, with a Diet Coke, a rice cake and a grimace, she began to dig into Dana’s life once more.

Pete arrived just as Lizzie was leaving. The girl opened the door, saw him on the doorstep and beamed a welcome.

“I’m going to Olivia’s for our sleepover! Mrs. Brooks is taking us to see a movie, then we’re going to Gonzalo’s.”

“Makes me wish I was eleven again.”

“No boys allowed.”

“Not until next year,” Dana said, after she’d kissed her daughter goodbye and watched her scamper off to Olivia’s house. “Next year boys will be invited, even enjoyed.”

“Is twelve the magic number?”

“It was when I was a girl. So far, neither Lizzie nor Olivia seems all that interested, but that won’t last.”

“I imagine the boys are going to be interested in both of them. Maybe I ought to teach a little Happiness Key self-defense class.”

Dana was so glad to see him, she suddenly felt tongue-tied. She just smiled, probably foolishly.

“So Olivia’s okay?” he asked.

She forced her tongue to form words. “A lot better, and probably not contagious. I think the movie is Alice’s attempt to keep them quiet while Olivia finishes recovering.”

“And how’s Lizzie?”

She realized they were standing on the porch, and she hadn’t even invited him inside. “Oh, come in. Where are my manners?”

“I’ve got a better idea. You come outside. Let’s go for a walk.”

“Now?”

“You know a better time? Premosquito, presunset, post-thunderstorm.”

They’d had one of their frequent storms earlier in the day, and while it had raised the humidity, it had also lowered the
temperature. Their world smelled fresh and new, and even here, a breeze whispered lightly against her bare skin.

“By the time we get back, Lizzie will be at the movies,” she added.

“That did cross my mind. I’ll have you all to myself.”

That sent a shiver racing through her. “Walking as foreplay,” she said. “Unique, but it works for me.”

He looked surprised. “Is that why you think I’m here?”

“One of the possibilities.” She lifted her chin. “Of course, it doesn’t have to factor in. We could play checkers. I’m pretty good, even if Lizzie’s better.”

“You strike me as a woman who’s good at many things. My hope is to see how many.”

Shivers again. Delicious and rare in her life. She savored them while she could.

“Come on.” He held out his hand and glanced down at her feet. “I’m going to show you my favorite fishing spots, and you’ve got the shoes for it.”

She was still wearing sneakers with socks, after her trip to buy food for an easy supper. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll blab?” she asked, taking his hand.

“You know, Dana, I’ve never been less afraid about anything. I’ve never met anybody less inclined to share information.”

How could she refute that? Although she was disappointed the subject had come up. “I’ve never been a big fan of chatter for chatter’s sake.”

“Me, either. And like you, I don’t trust everybody.” He stopped and waited until she looked up at him. “But I hope you know by now, you can trust
me
.”

She trusted nobody, but she smiled anyway. “I guess if you
don’t see all your favorite fishing holes in the local paper next week, you’ll realize you can trust me, too?”

“You mean I have to worry those shiners I’m so good at catching are going to end up in somebody else’s bait bucket?”

“The next time you catch something worthwhile, bring it over and we’ll have it for dinner. You clean, I’ll cook.”

Still hand in hand, they walked toward the point. Pete really
was
a man who didn’t chatter for the sake of it. He repeated his question about Lizzie, and Dana told him she was now vigilant about taking her inhaler along when she left the house.

They walked in comfortable silence. She was glad he had dropped the “trust me” and “secrecy” topics. She imagined he
was
frustrated at how little she told him. She was always torn between making up an elaborate past she could expound on at length or keeping her answers to a bare minimum. Both were suspicious. The elaborate past could easily be unveiled as a lie, and refusing to talk was a sign she was hiding something. In the end, not talking was simply easier than trying to remember all the facts of a manufactured life.

“First spot,” Pete said, pulling her to the right, not far beyond her house. “Have you been here?”

Years ago, “here” had been a playground for the children who visited Happiness Haven. A rickety swing set had resided just beyond where they stood now, along with a seesaw that had launched more than one child toward a concussion. The real draw had been a pirate ship the owner, who was the husband of Dana’s mother’s favorite cousin, had built from a beached dinghy, pilings and leftover timber. She imagined that now such a contraption would be the target of endless lawsuits, but she missed it. She had spent many wonderful hours walking the plank.

“Lizzie’s been all over the place,” she said. “I think maybe
we’ve walked through here to the water. It’s one of the places where the mangroves haven’t taken over again after the last hurricane destroyed so many.”