Fortunate Harbor (30 page)

“Bay told me she was gone for the weekend.”

“Else why would you appear?”

“You have to admit, she’s more fun to be with when she’s not around.”

He smiled. “Since you had to walk from the car to my door, you’ll need to rehydrate. What would you like?” He went through a long list. She waited, aware that her palms were sweaty and her hands were not as steady as she might have liked.

“Water,” she said, when he’d finished.

“With ice? Without ice? With lime? Without? Sparkling. Plain. Imported or domestic. From the refrigerator or the tap?”

“If I ever start missing you again, I’ll remember this moment.”

“That sounds promising. Have you missed me?”

“From the tap. With ice. No fruit.”

He started toward the kitchen, and she followed. The house looked exactly the same. She wasn’t sure why that seemed significant, but it did. Yes, a woman’s flip-flops were parked near the door, but out of the way, as if they weren’t supposed to be there. There were no other signs Sylvia was in residence.

And that was when she realized why it was important.

Nothing in the house had changed. Sylvia wasn’t adding her own little touches. No new pillows on the sofa, no pictures on the wall. Even the straw place mats were the same ones Tracy remembered from any number of fabulous meals.

Sylvia was staying here, but this was not her home, or at least not yet.

She almost smiled. By then, though, Marsh was handing her a glass.

“So?” he asked, after she’d taken a long drink.

“I have a problem, and you’re the only person I could think of who might be able to help me.”

“That’s me. Helpful R Us.”

“It’ll take a while to explain.”

“I’m not charging by the hour today.” He gestured to the next room, where a comfortable couch flanked a fireplace. She remembered doing some extraordinarily delightful things on that couch. If Bay hadn’t been sleeping upstairs at the time, their life might be on an entirely different track right now. Scruples didn’t always pay off.

She settled on the sofa with her water. He settled beside her, one arm stretched along the back, his hand not quite in reach of her shoulder, as if he had carefully gauged.

Marsh was wearing khaki shorts, and of course he was barefoot. His shirt had more pockets than a billiard table, and the fabric was a shade of cocoa that enhanced the brown of his eyes. He had trimmed his hair since she’d last seen it, but it was still just long enough to pull back in a ponytail.

“I like the way you’re looking at me,” he said.

“I’m just checking to see what, if anything, has changed.”

“Conclusion?”

“Not on the outside.”

His smile didn’t quite make it to his eyes. “You look healthy and happy.”

And fat. She was wearing shorts with an elastic waistband, the only shorts from her California wardrobe that still fit. The blouse was stylishly pleated at the front, a great look for a pregnant woman, not so much for anyone else. Healthy and happy were definitely not what she was after.

She nodded, simply to acknowledge his words. “Let me tell you a story.”

“I’m all ears.”

She was careful not to name names or explain her associa
tion with the “woman in question,” but Tracy told him as much about Dana and the neighbors’ concerns as she could without pointing fingers. Then she explained what she had discovered on the Internet.

“So I found these three cases. They’re all long shots, but I won’t know how long until I get more information. And I’ve looked up the names on Google, you wouldn’t believe how many times. I need a database system with more oomph.”

“Why doesn’t Wanda just go to her husband and ask him to check?”

“Wanda doesn’t want Ken involved.”

“More like Wanda doesn’t want Ken to know what she’s doing.”

She smiled a little, because Marsh knew Wanda too well. “That, too.”

“Because if he did, he might have to do something, then Wanda would lose her assistant.”

She wasn’t surprised Marsh had guessed Dana’s identity. He was, of course, a lawyer, and talented at putting facts together. “Marsh, I need information and no action here. If you look into this, can you promise you won’t tell anybody if you dig up something suspicious?”

“No.”

She put her water down and scooted forward to stand. But Marsh put his hand on her shoulder to hold her back. “I’m assuming I won’t find anything so suspicious I’ll have to do anything,” he said. “Because I’m only going to delve into the first layer. The rest of you can take it further, if there’s any need to.”

“So, in other words, if you see Dana staring back at you from a Wanted poster, you have to act. If you just get us some in
formation that doesn’t necessarily lead anywhere, you’re okay with that?”

“It’s up to you, Tracy. I’ll be glad to run the information through LexisNexis, but you’ll have to accept the consequences.”

She took out the sheets of notes she’d made and handed them to him. “Like I said, all long shots. We have no idea what we’re looking for, or even if there’s anything
to
look for.”

He didn’t even glance at the notes as he set them on the table. He still hadn’t removed his hand from her shoulder.

“Was I your only solution? Or do you have any other reason for coming today?”

“You’d really like me to get down on my knees and beg for forgiveness, wouldn’t you?”

“All kind of lascivious thoughts come to mind with that image.”

They smiled at the same time. “Not going to happen,” she said.

“A man can hope.”

“I’ve missed you.” That much she could honestly say. “I haven’t missed the fights.”

“I did come up with a solution.”

“Did you?”

“We should introduce Sylvia to CJ and see where it goes.”

“With all the problems waiting in California, they’d never run out of things to talk about.”

“He could be her new full-time job. Match made in heaven.”

Their gazes were locked, and neither seemed inclined to look away. “He’s been sleeping on my couch,” she said, “but he’s moving out today.”

“Why don’t I come take his place? I’ll leave Sylvia here with our son. That should dislodge her even faster than a job at a top tier law firm.”

“You could start out on the couch….”

They were leaning toward each other, and Tracy’s heart was pounding in her ears.

Outside, a car door slammed. Tracy ignored it, but Marsh pulled back and got up.

“Were you expecting somebody?” she asked, thinking perhaps he was worried Bay had been returned early for some infraction. But Marsh didn’t answer. He went to the window and looked out, then he turned, and his expression said it all.

“Sylvia.” It was not a question.

“Isn’t there some expression about the bad penny turning up and turning up and turning up—”

“She’s home early.”

She heard the “home,” and, worse, she saw that the promise of a moment that might have led to the return of something wonderful was gone.

“I should go,” she said.

The front door slammed so quickly Tracy knew Sylvia must have identified her car and run full tilt up the stairs. “Marsh, are you home?” she called. “I couldn’t stay away. I missed you and Bay too much.”

Sylvia had not only seen Tracy’s car, she had sensed danger and was planning an all-out assault.

Tracy got to her feet. This was Marsh’s game now. He could tell Sylvia that he and Tracy were on their way out, and the house was all hers. Then he could take Tracy’s arm and guide her to his pickup. So what if Tracy’s tires were in shreds when she returned and the paint job keyed? She could cope.

But before Marsh could do a thing, Sylvia entered the room, followed by Bay. “Look what I found,” she said. “Bay called
me
on my cell to see if it was all right if Adam spent the night.

Isn’t that sweet? He knew I’d be driving home, and I’d probably be tired tonight, so he checked first to be sure. Of course I said yes. So here they are. I picked them up myself.”

As if for emphasis, Adam appeared, carrying a backpack.

Sylvia was chalking up points. She might be tired, but she was going to prove she was too good a mother not to let Bay have a friend over. In fact, she had even gotten the boys herself. What a gal. Of course now Marsh couldn’t leave with Tracy, not with Sylvia in charge. Not with two boys to be responsible for. Not with her lack of parenting skills.

Sylvia’s gaze flicked over Tracy. “Nice to see you again,” she said. “It’s been a while. Would you like to stay for supper? The boys and I are going to make spaghetti.”

Earthworms with arsenic sauce. Tracy knew better. “I was just leaving.” She smiled at Bay and Adam; then the smile, which had been perfunctory, broadened. “Hey, guys, something tells me it’s video game night. Guitar Hero?”

Bay’s eyes flicked to his mother for permission. What could Sylvia say but yes? She gave a short nod.

Tracy laughed affectionately. “I bet you’ll be up half the night. You might need another friend or two to share the fun.”

“Jeremy,” Adam said, poking Bay in the side. “And Frankie. I bet they could come, too.”

“I’m on my way,” Tracy said. “I’ll just let myself out. Marsh? Sylvia?” She smiled her brightest smile. “Have an awesome evening.”

She hedged one quick glance at Marsh. His expression was veiled. She wondered if he was imagining the night to come or wishing his family hadn’t come “home” when they did. After all, for a moment there, he’d almost had the best of all possible worlds. Tracy on his couch, Sylvia in his guest room.

She closed the front door quietly and saw that Sylvia had nearly penned in her car, but Tracy hadn’t been raised in L.A. for nothing. She backed out without scratching the paint. She couldn’t say the same about her heart. But she was fast getting used to that.

Tracy liked the Naughty Nibblers. Today she was cheering on her comrades while simultaneously trying to invent an emergency that would keep her from stepping on the scale. Kitty had scheduled the weigh-ins for Mondays, right before lunch. Last week Tracy had dropped a pound, which was not, in the scheme of things, anything to crow about.

She knew why she hadn’t lost more. After struggling with calories the entire week, she had left the encounter with Marsh and Sylvia and taken a detour straight past the drive-through window at The Captain’s Catch for their ultimate deep-fried seafood basket, which contained a sampling of every creature to be found in the gulf—and some from the swamp, as well.

She had eaten every single bite.

Okay, so last week hadn’t been stellar, but she’d only had that one—albeit gargantuan—lapse. This week she had lapsed consistently. Never with quite the same flair, but she wasn’t sure long runs on the beach at dawn were going to make up for slices
of Wanda’s raspberry cream pie, or Janya’s eggplant, with its thick buttery tomato sauce and homemade chapatis to sop up every drop.

“Lillian, you’ve lost four pounds altogether. Congratulations.” Kitty’s green eyes were shining. Nothing made Kitty as happy as somebody else losing weight.

Everybody clapped, and Lillian, a blond woman in her late sixties who needed to lose about twenty-five more, beamed.

Sid had lost five altogether. Like Lillian, Bart had lost four. Betty had only lost three. Yolanda, in her forties and formerly a heavy smoker, had lost only two, because she was also trying to cut down on cigarettes.

“Okay, Tracy,” Kitty said, with a huge smile.

Tracy didn’t like that smile, and right now she didn’t like Kitty. Was the woman a sadist? Didn’t she know how humiliating this was? Then she remembered that Losing to Win had been Gladys’s idea, spurred on by Henrietta. Tracy was never going to forgive any of them—or Mr. Moustache, either, who had gotten her into this fix because of a stupid bird.

“It’s been a tough week,” she prefaced.

“The hardest time to lose weight,” Kitty said agreeably. “But it’s also a good time to learn what our triggers are and how we relieve stress. I’m sure it’s taught you something, right?”

“Right. How much I love to eat.”

The women giggled. Mr. Moustache, who had come to lend support, along with half a dozen other shuffleboarders, gave a snort that could have meant almost anything.

Tracy didn’t have a prayer of getting out of this. Gladys was on the sidelines watching, along with Woody and several other staff members. She stepped up to the scale, refusing to look down.

“Three pounds altogether,” Kitty said. “Good for you,
Tracy. Now think how well you’ll do when you don’t have a tough week.”

Tracy looked down, and indeed, she had lost three pounds in the two weeks of the contest. She put on a smile and stepped down. Everybody was applauding.

Lillian took Tracy’s hand. “It’s easiest to lose weight when you have as much to lose as I do. But you’re doing great.”

Now Tracy’s smile was more genuine. “Don’t tell Kitty, but I think I sweat off every pound running in this heat. It’s all water.”

“Whatever you’re doing, keep it up. I want that morning at the spa.”

After all the weigh-ins were finished and the staff team—which had taken the name Staff Affection—had been declared the week’s winner with a total loss of twenty-six pounds, Gladys grabbed Tracy.

“I almost forgot. Marsh Egan left something for you at the front desk when he dropped off Bay.”

Tracy was surprised at the things Marsh’s name could still do to her body, the subtle ripples of pleasure in parts she’d almost forgotten she had.

“Did he?” She sounded normal. That was encouraging.

“He was in a hurry, or I’m sure he’d have brought it down to the rec room.”

Maybe she
hadn’t
sounded normal. Gladys looked sympathetic.

Since Gladys obviously knew something, Tracy realized she had to address the subject. “From the day Sylvia arrived, our relationship hasn’t exactly been progressing.”

“Men can be such idiots, can’t they?”

“You think?”

“He overcompensates with Bay. He always has.” She
looked as if she was debating before she spoke again. “This isn’t my business.”

“Make it yours. I don’t mind.”

She pulled Tracy a little farther into the hallway and away from exiting traffic. “Sylvia was perfectly clear about not wanting a baby. Marsh convinced her to see the pregnancy through.”

Tracy wondered why Marsh had never mentioned this.

When Tracy didn’t reply Gladys went on. “I think—I
know
Marsh feels responsible for Sylvia’s lack of interest in the boy. He feels like he pushed her into having Bay, and though I know he wouldn’t,
couldn’t
, change anything if he could do it again, he’s still suffered a lot of guilt. I believe…” She got closer. “Do you want to hear my opinion?”

Tracy gave a short nod.

“I believe he thinks the only way he’s going to move past his guilt is to make Sylvia see she can be a good mother if she tries.”

Tracy’s head was swimming. So this decision to let Sylvia have the run of the house wasn’t just about helping Bay have a relationship with his mom. At least some of it was about Marsh himself, and the responsibility he felt for placing the burden of a child on a woman who didn’t want one.

Only didn’t it take two, as her mother had always said, to tango? Wasn’t Sylvia
there
when Bay was conceived? How could the boy’s existence be Marsh’s fault entirely? Tracy knew Marsh, and she was afraid she knew Sylvia. Marsh would never have married a woman who was adamantly opposed to having children. Sylvia had either changed her mind after marriage or lied before it.

She was betting on the latter.

“I just thought you might want to know,” Gladys said.

“I wish it helped, but I still don’t hear Sylvia packing her suitcase.”

“She will, just as soon as something better comes along.” Gladys was not a judgmental woman, but her opinion of Sylvia was clear.

They were no longer alone, and by the time Tracy had chatted with a few more Losers, Gladys had left and returned with a large manila envelope. She handed it to Tracy.

“Patience,” Gladys said, “is a virtue.”

“Patience is not in my repertoire.”

“Then it’s a good thing to acquire, dear.” Gladys left the way she’d come, and Tracy impatiently headed downstairs.

The rec room was more than the rec program’s office. At times, like now, it was a rec staff gathering place, because Tracy welcomed company. Two staffers who weren’t on duty had brought lunches. Two more had dropped by to finish paperwork. Tracy had to wait until the place cleared out before she could open and examine the information Marsh had sent along. That, of course, was only after she’d accepted half a pastrami sandwich, three cookies and a slice of chocolate cake.

She took care of a few things that couldn’t wait, then she got up and closed the door. Finally she opened the envelope.

Inside were about a dozen photocopied pages, and a booklet entitled
Identity Theft: What You Must Know to Stay Safe.
She flipped through, looking for a note in Marsh’s bold handwriting, but there was nothing. Marsh had done the favor she had asked for, but not one thing more. No apology, no expression of affection, no reason for Tracy to think he wanted her to exercise the patience Gladys had touted in the hallway.

Disappointment erased any sympathy Gladys had generated. If Marsh was so emotionally involved with his ex-wife that he
was
still
trying to reconcile her to the birth of their son, then Tracy was blessed to be rid of him.

“Whatever,” she said out loud, and tried to believe it.

She forced herself to concentrate on what she
did
have: possible answers to the mystery of Dana Turner. Since she had no intention of stealing anybody’s identity, she slipped the booklet back in the envelope. Then she sat down, told herself she had thrown Marsh on the back burner of her life and began to read.

Thursday nights the neighbors usually got together for supper, and this Thursday was the chosen night to discuss what Tracy had discovered. It was perfect because Dana had sent regrets. Pete was taking the Turners and Olivia fishing for the afternoon, and Dana doubted they would be back in time for dinner.

This week was Tracy’s turn to host, an obligation she usually fulfilled with deli food, and tonight was no exception. On the way home she stopped by the supermarket and bought half a dozen containers of salads, and she had displayed them on a lettuce-lined platter, next to a basket of rolls fresh from the freezer case via her oven. Wanda had volunteered to bring pie, and Tracy had not tried to dissuade her.

Wanda showed up first, with what amounted to two pies, although both pans were filled with assorted leftovers from the day’s selection. Tracy carefully stored them in the refrigerator, although she wanted to dive right in.

“You ever get serious about that diet, I’m in trouble,” Wanda said.

“Like you don’t have the entire police force hoping you have a pie or two left every night.” Tracy poured iced tea into a
pitcher and handed it to Wanda to place on the table. “And I claim that slice of orange blossom special.”

“So what’s so all-fired important you made this a command performance?” Wanda demanded.

Tracy had hoped to get her friends together for this discussion earlier, but summer was taking its toll on people’s schedules. And meeting without Dana or Lizzie was tricky, particularly since she didn’t want Olivia to overhear the conversation, either.

“I want to wait until Janya and Alice are here,” she told Wanda. “So I don’t have to go through it more than once.”

“There’s that much, you can’t repeat it?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Must be, if you’re not willing to just spill it soon as you got the chance.”

Janya arrived next, followed closely by Alice. Tracy finished putting the food and serving utensils on the table, then poured wine for everyone but Janya, who took a small glass of juice.

They elected to stay inside, rather than walk down the road to their favorite beach, as they sometimes did. The thermometer had leaped to ninety-four in the afternoon, and even though it was a little cooler now, a passing storm had bequeathed humidity as thick as fog. Tracy’s air conditioner was rattling away, and even at that, barely keeping up.

They sat in the living room, but even the pale, fresh colors and the cool tile floor Tracy had installed herself didn’t provide much of an oasis.

“How’s business?” Janya asked Wanda.

“Good on days the Sunshine Bakery doesn’t have a sale. It’s like that woman knows when things are getting under way for us, and she does something to overtake me. A customer goes
in and buys a cookie on sale and maybe a loaf of bread, he’s not coming all the way to Wanda’s for a pie, too. He just buys what she’s got.”

“You think she’s outsourcing all her baked goods?” Tracy asked.

“They…have changed,” Alice said. “I go in. I check to see. The bread was always good. But the rest looks different and better.”

“I think she’s bringing them in,” Wanda agreed, “but I don’t know how she can afford to do it and still charge the same old prices. She’s going to run out of money soon enough. Or I am.”

Everybody protested, but Wanda shook her head. “There’s no call for her to lose money on pies. Ought to be room for both of us in this town. She could leave the pies to me, and I could leave everything else to her. But she’s not thinking like that.”

“She can’t afford to have your very good products next to her very bad ones,” Janya said. “Why would I choose a cake that is not well made when I could choose a pie that is?”

Wanda smiled a little. “You said it, I didn’t.”

Janya and Alice told the others about their week, but neither one in great detail. Janya hadn’t been her serene self for weeks now, but Tracy knew this was not the time to bring that up. They could only handle one crisis at a time.

“You know I have news,” she said, when the conversation turned to her. She explained about the Internet research and how little she had turned up.

“So I went to Marsh and asked him to run some names at his office. They have an awesome database. Marsh showed it to me once. As a matter of fact, CJ was the one who reminded me about it.”

Wanda’s head snapped up, and her eyes narrowed. “CJ knows what you’re doing? He knows you’re suspicious of Dana?”

“No, he mentioned the database in regards to his case back
in California. Point is, I realized that might be a good way to see if there was more than I could find. So I went to Marsh and asked for his help.”

Janya leaned forward. “You and Marsh are back together?”

“No.” Tracy gave a sharp shake of her head. “Let’s not go into that, okay?”

Janya sat back and folded her hands.

Tracy tried to explain. “It’s just I’ll be completely sidetracked if I start talking about how that witch of an ex-wife is still living with him and doing everything she can to come—” She stopped and swallowed. “See?”

Janya nodded.

“Anyway, I know Marsh did the search, because he dropped some papers off at the rec center. And he found things. That’s what I need to talk about.”

Tracy pulled out copies of everything Marsh had given her. She’d made a packet for each woman, and she handed them around. But she didn’t wait for everyone to read what they had, because that would take too long.

“You can read those later. The first thing you’ll see? The people we know as Dana and Lizzie Turner aren’t.” Everyone was looking at her now, the papers forgotten. “Lizzie, or Elizabeth, the real Elizabeth Turner, died almost ten years ago. You’ve got the obituary. She was born to a woman named Dana Turner. The real Dana was, is—I don’t know that part for sure—a member of a doomsday religious sect that lives on a communal farm outside Fresno, California. They have some seriously different ideas, like they don’t believe in marriage, or certain kinds of medical intervention, or being on the grid. They don’t have social security numbers—”