Fortunate Harbor (34 page)

“You’re not going right to the police?”

“You think I should?”

“No!”

“You gonna keep trying to undercut me?”

Frieda took longer on that one. She finally shook her head.

“You gonna consider going into the bread-baking business and leaving the pies to those who know how to make them?”

“I don’t know if I’ve got what it takes anymore. All the joy went out of baking bread when the worry came in.”

Wanda felt another stab of sympathy, and this time she couldn’t overcome it. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose the joy of baking pies. Her entire world would feel darker and more threatening.

“Just give baking nothing but bread a try again,” she said. “You make up some circulars. I’ll even keep them on my counter and send folks that want some your way.”

“You would do that?”

“Call me an idiot.”

Frieda sniffed. “Frieda’s Fabulous Bread.”

Wanda almost smiled. “How’re you gonna trap those mice?”

“Any way I can.”

“I suggest you get to it.”

“You never answered my question.”

“Which question was that?”

“You ever fail at anything?”

Wanda considered. “A couple of times I nearly failed at giving somebody a second chance.”

“When?”

“Tonight, for starters.”

“It’s…nice of you, I guess. Not to turn me in.”

Wanda waited.

“You think maybe we’re going to be friends?”

Wanda didn’t have to think twice. “Not a chance in the world.”

Frieda sniffed again. “Well, at least I won’t try and fail again.”

Wanda settled herself, leaning back against the door, to supervise the vermin eviction. “You ain’t no slow leak, Frieda. You do catch on eventually.”

During the summer, Tracy’s job expanded to weekends. Theoretically she didn’t have to be at every match, meet and tournament, but it wasn’t unusual in July and August to have two or three important events running simultaneously over the weekend. When that happened, she was happier in residence, making certain everyone stayed out of everyone else’s way.

Truthfully, hanging out at the rec center was something to do now that her social life was as fascinating as an amoeba’s. In fact, if her distant memory of college biology was correct, the asexual amoeba could divide itself for company, something Tracy had yet to perfect. CJ had dropped by a few times, once to tell her he would be spending a week in California holed up with his attorneys. Marsh, of course, had as good as disappeared forever.

She spent this Saturday out on the ball field and beside the pool. When she finally headed toward her aging Bimmer and opened her cell phone to check the time, she wasn’t surprised
to find she had never turned the thing on. What would be the point? Who would call that mattered?

Now she saw she had two messages, both from CJ. She didn’t check, figuring she could do that once she put her feet up. Too exhausted to even stop and pick up fast food for dinner, she headed back to her house, sure she had something there she could munch on, even if Kitty wouldn’t approve.

She was almost home when she noticed the cars. Three of them parked along the roadside by her house, with a glistening late-model panel van bringing up the rear. Before she’d even parked, she heard music from the direction of her yard. Only one person came to mind.

“CJ!”

Thunderous, she pulled into her driveway and cut the Bimmer’s engine. When she opened the car door, the song blaring from a radio was something she recognized from a decade before. She heard laughter, men’s laughter. And over both, the familiar rumble of her ex-husband’s voice.

She was circling the house toward the back when the smell hit her. Wood smoke. Roasting pork. Barbecue sauce. At the back corner, she stopped and stared. Men, half a dozen or so, were standing around an unfamiliar grill in what passed for her backyard, sucking on beer bottles and laughing uproariously. Two unfamiliar picnic tables draped with blue tablecloths stood off to one side. A man and a woman wearing white aprons were bringing bowls to adorn them.

CJ, standing at the grill, noticed her first, although one of the other men turned and gave her a smile that could have toasted a cheese sandwich. CJ handed his spatula to the man closest to him and strode toward her.

“What—”

He sliced his hand through the air to stop her. Then he grabbed her arm and led her back the way she’d come, far enough that they wouldn’t be heard.

“I called you twice,” he said.

“I’m no longer required to keep my cell phone by my side so I can be at your beck and call.” She shook off his hand. “What’s going on here?”

He lowered his voice even more. “I had to make a judgment call, TK. I’m sorry, but when you didn’t answer, I decided to go ahead with this.”

“That part I can see. Who are they? And where did all the stuff come from?”

He actually looked proud. “It’s amazing what you can accomplish if you’re in the know. Nanette’s favorite caterers took care of everything. They brought in the grill, the tables, the food. You use the best, you get the best.”

“Who-are-all-those-men?”

“Shh…” He took her arm, even though she tried to shake him off again, and pulled her farther away. “Listen, don’t spoil things, okay?”

“If I punch you in the stomach, will that spoil anything?”

He released her again. Quickly. “They’re contractors. The best in the area. I’ve been talking to them about the houses I designed. They’re all so busy trying to drum up clients with easy money, I haven’t had much luck getting any of them out here. This morning I ran into Leroy—he’s the guy with the toupee—and I realized if I invited them for a cookout, I’d get at least some of them out here. So that’s what I did. A cookout and a look around the property. Serve barbecue and they will come.”

CJ wore his little boy smile, the smile she had once found so endearing. She still wanted to punch him.

“What were you thinking?” She slapped her hands on her hips. “Have I ever said I wanted you to go ahead with this so-called plan of yours?”

“I’m not going ahead with anything. They’re here to look the place over. One of them may or may not be interested in building a spec house for you. We’re in the early stages, and you can axe the whole thing if you’re not happy. But I’m just trying to help you.”

“Help?”

“Look, ever since I first heard about this property, I knew it was rich with promise. One of my associates knew the place backward and forward. He used to come here as a kid, and when he described it to me, I couldn’t believe nobody’d ever cashed in. Happiness Key has never lived up to its potential, and now you’ve made that harder by cutting yourself off from millions. But you can still make a good income here. That’s all I want for you. I owe you that, TK. Don’t make it impossible, okay?”

Her head was swimming. First, she was exhausted and dehydrated. Second, she was just exhausted. She had looked forward to raiding her cupboards and watching reality shows on television. She was in no mood for a party or another perplexing conversation with her ex.

“Change into something pretty, and come out and meet them,” CJ said, his gaze flicking over her rec center T-shirt and shorts. “The food’s to die for. You’ll be relaxed and happy in ten minutes or less, I guarantee it.”

CJ leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, then disappeared back the way he had come. To his credit, he did not pat her on the butt to get her moving, as he would have in their mutual past.

A few minutes later Tracy was staring into her closet when she realized why she was feeling so bugged. She was doing what
he told her to without question. Changing into something pretty and doing her duty as CJ’s hostess had once been her entire life. And now, when she’d had a chance to stand up to him and refuse, she had simply taken the more familiar path. Because now, like then, she was under the influence. Not of alcohol or drugs, but of a man who was absolutely certain he knew what was best for everyone.

The problem? In this case, she wasn’t certain he didn’t. And that part was familiar, too.

The guys were all friendly, and they all had names straight from Central Casting, like Buck and Skip and Leroy—who had a toupee that looked like seaweed. To a man, they admonished Tracy for signing the conservation agreement. They pored over CJ’s plans and made suggestions on better sites, shaking their heads in dismay when he explained that under the agreement, the houses had to be built on the footprints of the old cottages. They walked by her neighbors’ homes and made jokes about the shoe box designs and the condition they were in. They drank more beer than Randall’s could have fit in its refrigerator case, and consumed their weight in ribs and smoked sausage.

By the time they began to depart, Tracy had developed a splitting headache.

Inside, during her pursuit of ibuprofen, she found the caterers—a couple who called themselves Jack and Jill—rinsing dishes in her sink before piling them into plastic crates for the trip home. Jack was tall and blond, with what, in California, would be considered a surfer tan. Jill was dark-haired and petite, and every bit as capable as Jack at hauling mega pounds of supplies.

“We’re just about done, Mrs. Craimer,” Jack told her.

“Deloche,” she corrected automatically. “Tracy Deloche. CJ and I are not married.” Anymore…

“Oh, that’s right. Sorry. I did know that.”

“Everything was great.” Tracy manufactured a smile.

“We’ve packed up the leftovers and put them in your refrigerator. You and Mr. Craimer will have plenty to eat.”

This time she didn’t bother to correct him. “Great.” She thought about Kitty, who would be panic-stricken with all that rich food so close to Tracy’s mouth. This time her smile was more genuine.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” she said. “Thanks for everything.”

“While you’re here,” Jack said, “I’ve got the bill. Would you mind looking it over?”

CJ was outside saying goodbye to the men, and she didn’t want to switch places. “Sure, let me see.”

Jack rummaged through a notebook with slips of paper hanging out the sides and produced a bill with a copy in yellow attached. “Sorry, it’s not our neatest work, but this was really sudden. Luckily this picnic was stuff we could pull together quickly, and it was easy to figure out the costs.”

Tracy took the bill and scanned it. Despite the scrawl and a few notes along the side, she could see it was carefully itemized. The total surprised her, but if these were Henrietta’s favorite caterers, of course they hadn’t come cheaply, plus they’d been asked to pull off something of a miracle in the time allotted. She just wondered where CJ had come up with the money for everything. The amount was comparable to six months of her grocery budget.

“Looks good,” she said, handing it back.

“Great. I’ll give you a copy. Here’s the slip for you to sign.”

Tracy frowned. “I’m sorry?”

“Mr. Craimer gave me your credit card. I already swiped it. I’ll just enter the amount since you’ve okayed everything, and we’ll be all set.”

“I’m sorry?”

He frowned, as if he wasn’t sure what to say next. He spoke slowly, as if that would make all the difference. “Mr. Craimer said you would be taking care of the bill? We have to have a card on file before we even buy a napkin. Our standard policy.”

“I think there’s been a mistake. Let me check with CJ.”

Jack held out the slip. “The card he gave me did say Tracy Deloche. Mr. Craimer said you would be taking care of this. Was he mistaken?”

Tracy stared at the slip, read the familiar number from the credit card she kept for emergencies in her desk, then stretched out her arm to take it. Her hand was shaking with fury, but she managed a credible signature. These were Henrietta’s caterers, and she couldn’t take a chance that they would complain to the rec center benefactress. CJ had out-maneuvered her once again.

CJ!

Jack looked relieved. “We’ll just finish packing up,” he said. “Not a moment too soon.”

He looked as if he could hardly wait to escape.

Tracy found ibuprofen and doubled the dose. Jack and Jill dismantled the tables and grill, packed them in record time, then roared away in their van, and the contractors peeled off one by one until only CJ and Tracy were left.

She had managed to be polite. She supposed the fact that she
could
be was a sign that she really had matured since her days as the pampered princess of Bel-Air.

CJ followed her inside, and she resisted the desire to lock the door behind him. In the kitchen he opened the refrigerator and gazed at the multitude of containers.

“You’ve got quite an assortment of leftovers. You won’t go hungry this week, that’s for certain.”

“Oh, they’ll have to last longer than a week, I think. Because that’s my entire grocery budget until Christmas.”

“Yeah, Jack and Jill are a little pricey, I know, but they’re the best. Who else could have pulled this off? I’m sure it’ll be worth it.”

“To whom?”

He closed the refrigerator. “To you. I’m sure not getting anything out of this.”

“Good thing, since apparently this was my investment. Totally.”

He looked perplexed. “Well, sure. I mean, if I had the money, TK, I’d have treated you, but I don’t have two nickels to rub together right now. Maybe if my case is dismissed, I can go after the government for some of what they took from me—us, but until then, I’m as good as penniless.”

“So you, the penniless pauper, planned and executed a party on my credit card which you just happened to find in my desk?”

He ignored the part about the desk. “Not a party. A business meeting. And it went well. It went
great
. Buck and Leroy are both interested in building the houses. They’ve got great ideas for financing—”

“I don’t care!”

He fell silent.

CJ towered over her, but Tracy put her hands on her hips, went up on her toes and stood nose to nose. “How dare you throw a party, dig up my credit card and use it to pay for this! These contractors are
your
friends, not mine! And I don’t have
the money, no matter how fancy their financing is, to build anything here on the key. Not now, probably not ever.”

The warmth in his eyes faded. “You never did have a head for business.”

“And you never had a thought for anybody but yourself.”

“Oh, is that right? You think I did this for myself? Just what am I getting out of it?”

“I’ll tell you. You got to play the big man again, CJ. You entertained those guys with my money, and you looked like the CJ everybody used to know. Only you’re not that guy anymore, remember? You’ve been to prison. You’ve lost everything. You’ve made everyone who cared about you miserable. There are people all over Southern California who wish you were still rotting in Victorville!”

“And you’re one of them? Only you’re in Southern Florida now, living on property I made sure you would keep if anything happened to me.”

“Scant comfort when the Feds were carting away my life, piece by piece.”

“What life was that? The one I’d made for you? The one I’d given you without a string attached? The only thing I asked for was loyalty and love. And clearly, TK, you had neither to offer. Because when the chips were down, you abandoned me so fast I thought I was watching one of those old Road Runner cartoons. And you left me alone to handle everything on my own.”

“Don’t you dare try to make me feel guilty!” She was shouting now, but she didn’t care. “You only told me the truth when you knew you were finally finished! I was one more detail you had to take care of before they took you away. And sure, you left me this place, but I’m still trying to figure out why, because you could have left me something I could sell or really
use to start over. But no, you left me Happiness Key, with conservationists crawling all over it to keep me from doing a thing.”

“I don’t have to put up with this.”