Fortunate Harbor (4 page)

“We have handouts,” Gaylord said, without preamble. “Rena will pass them out. I’ll explain as she does, so not to keep you later than we must.”

Dana was watching Rena slouch along the front row, handing out sheets of paper, and she missed the next sentence.

“What?” Wanda demanded. “You’re closing the Dancing Shrimp?”

Dana put her hand on Wanda’s arm. “Is that what he said?”

“Darn straight he did.”

Gaylord looked bored, an expression Dana thought he’d probably cultivated since childhood. “Hear me out. Rena and I are not interested in running a typical Florida seafood joint.” He said “joint” as if he was talking about something distasteful.

“We’ve decided to renovate, then reopen as a tapas and wine bar. Palmetto Grove has nothing like it. We feel we’ll be successful and
challenged
.”

“The Dancing Shrimp was plenty successful until you started making all these changes,” Wanda said.

“Let him finish,” Dana whispered.

“Our contractor predicts the renovations will take perhaps two months. Since business drifts off in the summer, we plan to close in July and August, and reopen in September. We’ll call the new place Gaylord’s, and we’re bringing in a chef from one of the finer restaurants in New York to help us execute our menu.”

“I’d like to do some executing myself,” Wanda said, but this time not loud enough for anybody but Dana to hear.

“It will be a very different kind of place,” Gaylord went on. “Sophisticated. Tasteful. We will be striving for a different look, a different feel, a different taste, of course. Because of this, after a great deal of discussion, we’ve made a list of staff we’d like to have with us for this next round. Of course the rest of
you have not failed in any way. It’s just that we need a special sort of look and attitude in every aspect of Gaylord’s, and you won’t be happy here once we’ve transformed.”

“Let me see that.” Wanda snatched a paper away from Rena, who had finally made it to their row. People were beginning to murmur in front of them. Some were giggling.

“So is this the list of the ones you’re kicking out or the ones you’re keeping?” Wanda demanded.

Dana took her own copy and saw her name there, but not Wanda’s.

“I hope you won’t think of it as kicking anybody out. We feel it’s only fair to be straightforward about our needs. Those are the people we hope to keep.”

“Every single one of these names is wrinkle-free.” Wanda glared at him.

“I told you we have a special look in mind. It’s certainly not personal.”

“Not personal?” Wanda jumped to her feet. “I’ve worked here—done good work, too—ever since I got to Palmetto Grove. Customers ask for me by name. Some of them tip the hostess just to be at one of my tables. Just because I’m over fifty—”

“Yes, you have been an exemplary employee, and we’ll be sure to tell your next employer that very thing.”

“Seems to me we could sue you for age discrimination.”

“Our attorney says you can’t, but you can always try. It is, however, an expensive and time-consuming affair, I’m told. And despite our best intentions, it might have an impact on your remaining months with us. After all, we’re letting you know well in advance about these changes.”

“I’m not remaining here even a minute, much less months!” Wanda turned and started toward the back.

Gaylord seemed to realize he’d been given the cue to end the meeting. “We’ll be happy to talk to anybody individually who needs help with planning for the future,” he said. “In the meantime, that’s all we needed to tell you today. Go home and think about this, then get back to us about your plans. Meantime, our routine will be business as usual here until the Dancing Shrimp becomes Gaylord’s.”

Dana grabbed Lizzie’s hand and pulled her to her feet, then started after Wanda.

They reached her just as she was opening the door.

“You’re quitting?” Dana asked. “Before you have to?”

Wanda held the door for them, and the three stepped into a late-afternoon haze. The sunny sky had darkened, and Dana knew immediately that plans for visiting the beach had ended.

“I’m the best server they have.” Wanda glanced at Dana. “Present company excepted, of course.”

“No, you’re the best, and they’re nuts. A tapas bar? Why didn’t those two stay in Manhattan? Heck, even in Manhattan, a tapas bar has to be old news.”

“Funny thing. Last night Ken told me I ought to quit. And I just did.”

Dana put her hand on Wanda’s arm. “I’d quit in protest, only I need this job. But I’ll be looking for something else. I can’t take July and August off. Especially not if I’m living out on the beach with you.”

Wanda smiled a little. “Well, at least something good came out of today. You’re still coming to dinner? Even though I’m officially blacklisted?”

“Of course I am.
We
are.” She put her arm around Lizzie’s shoulders.

“Just bring yourselves, then. No need to fuss with anything.
Come about six, and Tracy can show you the cottage afterward. You have a favorite pie?” she asked Lizzie.

“Chocolate!”

“French silk, then. Or German walnut. Maybe one of each. Something tells me I’m going to be baking and baking and baking to get over this.” She lifted a hand in farewell and started out to the parking lot.

“I like Miss Wanda,” Lizzie said. “And we’re going to be living at the beach? Really? With Olivia?”

Dana could feel the trap closing. The only question was who had forged the steel jaws, and she was afraid she had to take the blame.

By Sunday evening Tracy was convinced she had imagined her CJ sighting. Scouring the Internet until the wee hours of Saturday morning, she’d found news of his release. With one of his attorneys at his side, he had stated that he was thrilled to be out of prison and planned to spend every minute working toward full exoneration.

“Good luck with that,” she’d said, before she finally fell into bed.

Tracy knew she was a lot of things, not all of them desirable. But once she had been forced to examine her life, she had tried to do so without flinching. She hadn’t deluded herself that CJ had simply caught a bad break. He
had
, of course—unlike other white-collar criminals, who were still jetting off to Papeete and Santorini on their clients’ dollars—but Tracy was pretty sure CJ really had deserved prison. She remembered a steady stream of mystery guests sporting heavy gold chains and shoulder holsters, snatches of suspicious telephone calls, unex
plained bundles of cash in ice-cream cartons, unsavory “assistants” who’d stood out among the country club crowd like orangutans in Ralph Lauren polos.

So while CJ might hope for a not-guilty verdict down the road, she wasn’t going to take bets on it. If he got one, it would simply be due to his uncanny ability to cover his butt.

By Saturday afternoon the reports had dwindled. CJ was said to be holed up with his attorneys, working on strategy. Once a new trial geared up, he might be newsworthy again, but for now, the papers seemed to have more important crooks to cover.

This morning Tracy had finally broken down and called her mother, but good old Mom had only snarled recriminations. Still, there was no reason whatsoever to believe CJ was anywhere except Southern California, staying with a friend or associate who was probably afraid to say no. Considering the number of people who had lost money under his care, she hoped he moved in the dead of night—and often.

The only unanswered question was why Tracy had imagined him. Residue from her mother’s phone message? Or something far more insidious, like fear of getting naked with Marsh.

She had decided to tell her friends the story at dinner tonight and ask their opinions. She could almost hear Wanda’s interpretation. Even thinking about
that
made her ears itch. Janya’s response would be mature beyond her years. Alice, who could sometimes be a bit foggy, could also, in turn, say exactly the right thing. Of course, children would be present, so Tracy would need to edit carefully or wait until they left the table, which, being kids, they would do at the first opportunity.

Now she slipped on Target jeans and topped them with a frilly Vera Wang blouse, left over from her last life. She caught her long hair in an artfully messy ponytail high on her head
with a Dollar Tree scrunchie and chose Tiffany earrings with tiny diamonds that the Feds had passed over.

She was standing at her bedroom window, fastening the second earring, when she saw movement at the edge of what she considered her yard. Janya said that the leggy border shrubs, badly in need of trimming, were oleander, which had bloomed sporadically in bursts of pink and white last summer, although they were unadorned now.

Tracy was less interested in the shrubs than what had just gone behind them. She was sure she had glimpsed a man dressed in earth tones, fading into her scenery as if garbed expressly for that purpose.

CJ!

No, she wasn’t going there again. She ticked off the possibilities, starting with her unoccupied thumb. Ken Gray, the lone male resident of Happiness Key, although she’d never seen Ken walk his greyhound in her yard. She held up her index finger and stared at it. A fisherman? Somebody hunting alligators? There’d better not be any alligators within a mile of her house!

She held up her middle finger and realized exactly what that one connoted.

“Great.” She balled all her fingers into a fist. Somebody was in her yard again. It was time to put a stop to this. Just as soon as she found something to protect herself.

The utilitarian cottage had no fireplace, and consequently no poker. She ate very little meat, so she was minus a carving knife. She only played baseball at the rec center; she was not an archer, and she’d tried target shooting in college and found it a bore. She did have one mean golf umbrella, though. She grabbed it on her way out the door, brandishing it over her head like a club.

Death by umbrella.

She looked ridiculous, but she didn’t care.

Halfway around the house she faced the fact that this burst of derring-do was not about scaring away a stranger. No, she had to convince herself once and for all that CJ was not tormenting her. Then she could laugh at herself, a skill she still needed work on.

Someone was definitely crunching through the palmetto underbrush ahead, and she followed as quietly as she could. To her untrained ear, it sounded as if the man was attempting to be as quiet as possible. She had only rarely walked in this direction herself, because it was overgrown with clinging vines and led to the marshy side of the island facing the bay. Still, she wasn’t afraid of getting lost. She was just glad she could still see where she was stepping. This was, after all, the state that bragged about harboring every variety of poisonous snake in North America. Unfortunately, she was wearing skimpy little flats.

The noise stopped suddenly, and so did she, flattening herself against the trunk of a Sabal palm. She’d never been a fan of slasher movies, but they’d taught her how
not
to handle this sort of situation. Of course, if the man was CJ, she would have a few things to say to him.

The noise began again, a whisper of feet, the faintest brush of clothing against tree trunks. Her senses tingled. The stranger was making a serious attempt not to be heard. And now he’d moved west, as if making for the swampy cove just up the road. The fact that he was approaching it from this angle was suspicious. He could have parked and walked in. The place was normally deserted. She couldn’t imagine why he was hiding his approach.

He moved, and so did she. She’d left her house far behind
before she began to seriously question her actions. She was distant enough from the other cottages that if she screamed for help, nobody would hear her. She hadn’t grabbed her cell phone. No, she’d grabbed…an umbrella. At least if a thunderstorm began—unlikely, since there wasn’t a cloud in the sky—she was ready.

The noise stopped. She stopped, too. Then she heard crunching to her right. Was earth-tone man circling back? Had he spotted her? She squatted behind a stand of coastal willows and waited.

Frozen in place, she thought she heard a noise to her left. She might be in view from that direction. She was more than concerned, a bit less than panicked. She inched forward at a crouch. The bay was somewhere up ahead, after a stretch of what passed for marsh. If she cut right just before she reached that point and remained at the edge of the woods, she might outsmart him. She knew the best way back. She would be safe.

She had an athlete’s balance and coordination, but now the sun was sinking toward the horizon, and shadows hid sticks and briars, as well as dips in the sandy earth. Droopy Spanish moss brushed her arm; she barely avoided a spiderweb with a resident as large and colorful as a rhinestone brooch. The trees were thinning out, and soon she wouldn’t be able to remain hidden from any direction.

She picked up speed, making for the marsh so she could orient herself and head toward home. So what if the man was CJ? With luck he would sink into quicksand, never to be seen again. Besides, she no longer heard anyone moving. Maybe he had spotted her and gone back to his car, wherever it was. Maybe he was more afraid of meeting up with her than she was of him.

Maybe—

“Eeeee!” Just before she reached what she hoped was the marsh, Tracy slid around a tree and collided face-to-face with a man dressed in dark khakis and a forest green parka. She couldn’t help herself. She screamed, then screamed again for good measure. As she did she raised her umbrella, as if she was planning to hit a home run.

“Stay away from me!”

People materialized out of nowhere. A regular band of men and women, but this wasn’t Sherwood Forest, and this band wasn’t one bit merry.

“Shh…” The earth-tone man backed away, hands over his head to show he had no intention of harming her. “Shh…Please. Be quiet,” he whispered.

But it was too late for silence. Ahead of her, she heard the sudden beating of wings. Hundreds of wings, she realized, maybe more, but she was too confused to watch the flock of birds rising from the marsh beyond her. Her eyes were fixed on a group of old men moving in her direction, men she knew only too well.

“Tracy Deloche,” one of the men said, eyes narrowed. His pencil-thin mustache was trembling over indignantly pursed lips. “Who else would ruin a birding expedition we’ve been planning for weeks!”

“Birding?” She croaked the word. “You’re looking for
birds?
”

“Well, girlie,” he sneered. “We sure weren’t looking for
you!
”

Wanda could not believe Tracy’s explanation of why she’d been late.

Tracy, who looked as though she’d been dragged through the woods by her topknot, glanced up at her friends seated around Janya’s dinner table and finished the tale. “So, to make a long
story shorter, the birding club was there because somebody reported sighting a masked booby.”

Wanda shook her head vigorously. “The whole story was ridiculous enough. Now you’re joking, right?”

“I am
not
. The masked booby is a seabird, white, black tail, wingspan like so….” Tracy stretched out her arms and nearly hit Dana and Alice, who were sitting on either side of her. “Of course, I didn’t even glimpse one. Every bird for two miles took wing when I screamed.”

Wanda snorted. “I’ve lived in Florida all my life, and the only boobies I ever did see were the ones in my bedroom mirror.”

“Which could not be avoided,” Tracy said, with an edge to her voice. “Considering the expanse of that particular real estate.”

Wanda preened. “One of my finer features.”

“Look, this is humiliating enough, okay? I know what happened. And now, so do about fifteen men and women, including the shuffle board from the rec center.”

Tracy was a supervisor at the county recreational center, and well thought of, although she’d certainly had detractors along the way. The shuffle board—the official board who controlled the center’s extensive shuffleboard program—had been at the head of that list.

“You’re talking about those old men you nearly took down in the park last summer?”

Tracy sent her a dirty look. “Those would be the ones. Mr. Moustache, the hoverer…” She shook her head. “Who knew they crawled around on their bellies in the swamp? They said I ruined their life lists. We were becoming friends. Now they’ll never speak to me again.”

“They were crawling in the swamp? With gators and stuff?” Olivia looked fascinated.

Tracy smiled at the girl, but she still felt glum. “Just an expression. But they were tiptoeing around and peeking out from behind trees. They were being quiet, trying not to scare away the birds. I thought there was just one person after me, but I was more or less surrounded.”

“Well, dear, you had quite a shock.” Alice held up a bowl. “Finish this off. You need to eat to keep up your strength.” Alice was a grandmotherly vision, silver hair, silver-rimmed glasses, deep lines in her smiling cheeks. She hadn’t been young when her beloved daughter gave birth to Olivia, but some gifts were worth waiting for, even though now that her daughter was dead, Olivia was her sole responsibility.

Tracy took the bowl and began to spoon a generous second helping of spicy lentils on her plate. “I must be completely wacked out, you know? Up close, the guy I was trailing doesn’t look anything like CJ. Ten years older, darker hair, three or four inches shorter, and I can guarantee CJ would never wear a nylon parka. Just not possible.”

“So was this the same man you saw that first time?” Wanda passed the dish of eggplant and tomatoes to go with the lentils. Tracy emptied it, and Janya got up to clear the serving dishes, waving Alice back to her seat.

Olivia set down her fork. “Grandma, can I show Lizzie around? We’re done, aren’t we, Lizzie?”

Wanda was pleased the two girls were so enthusiastic about going off together. She saw Dana frown as her daughter pushed back her chair, and intervened before Dana could refuse.

“Perfectly safe,” she promised. “Olivia’s up and down that road a hundred times a day. Nobody much comes out this way.”

“Except a flock of tiptoeing bird-watchers,” Tracy mumbled.

“Well, I guess it’s okay.” Dana still looked worried.

Wanda supposed Dana’s caution was the result of having only one child. Wanda knew the downside of human nature. A cop’s wife got an earful every day of her life. But when her own children were as young as Olivia and Lizzie, she’d felt wrenched in two, one kid needing one thing, one needing the other. She hadn’t had time to worry about every little moment they were away from her.

“They’ll be fine, dear,” Alice promised, as she nodded to her granddaughter. “You two be back for pie in a little while, though.”

“And watch out for old men with binoculars,” Wanda called after them.

“Very funny.” Tracy reached for half a chapati to scoop up her eggplant, while the others, who had finished before her, began to send their empty plates around the table to Wanda, who stacked them neatly.

“So. Back to CJ,” Wanda said, once the girls were gone. “You think that bird-watcher was the man you saw Friday night?”

Tracy shook her head morosely. “I asked him if he’d been out there on Friday, and he said no. I don’t know what I saw.” She paused between bites. “I wonder… Maybe I was just nervous about Marsh being at my house. It was supposed to be a romantic evening. No kids. No papers we hadn’t signed. Just us. For the
night
.”

Janya came back to remove the dirty dishes. In a moment she brought in Wanda’s pies, then returned with dessert plates and cutlery, and set everything on a side table. “You did not want Marsh there? Perhaps he’s not the man you want to be with, now that you can?”