Letters and Lace (The Ronan's Harbor Series) (7 page)

She felt the heat of blood rushing to her cheeks.
Calm down there, Barney Fife.
“Well I think it’s abominable that someone would lodge such a complaint.” She stood straighter.

“The bottom line, Mrs. Grayson, is that you have side-stepped proper channels. A town member bringing it to our attention is not the issue.”

Gigi stood now, pressing close to Sarah, their shoulders melded like two comrades in a foxhole.

“How long does this process take?” Sarah asked.

“Minimum three to four months, perhaps as many as five,”

“The wedding is June first. That’s two months away.” Panic squeezed her vocal chords making her sound like a cartoon mouse to her own ears. “The invitations have already been mailed. What am I supposed to do now?” She cleared her throat.

“I suggest you petition immediately and perhaps consider an alternate location,” Mr. Pallis said. His head angled at a challenging slant, giving Sarah the thought that it wouldn’t take much to slap the sphere right off its long scrawny post.

“Sarah,” John Reynolds said. “If you have any further questions, please feel free to contact me.”

And just like that the meeting ended and Sarah watched dazedly as a clerk came out of the wings with a black garbage bag in her hands and fussed about, filling it with empty Styrofoam cups and napkins used by the councilmen.

Another clerk approached her with paperwork, asked for a signature, and dashed off with a promise to give her a copy.

The men stood from their chairs and talked among themselves in hushed tones, all impervious to the fact that they’d just dropped a bomb on her life.

She turned her gaze to Gigi. “So that’s that?”

“My pea shooter’s in the car,” Gigi said.

The clerk returned with paperwork, offered a conciliatory “thank you,” and strode away. Sarah folded the papers and shoved them into her purse.

Shuffling through the crowd of exiting attendees, Sarah eyed the room. When the bottleneck dissipated she saw him—Benny Benedetto stood alone in the aisle in a black windbreaker with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. His eyes bored into hers.

The hairs on the back of her neck came to attention, and she reached to rake fingernails over the surface. She willed her body to “knock it off.” This was not the time to delve into her encounter on the dance floor.

“Your Rottweiler is here,” Gigi said under her breath.

She pulled from his gaze and shook her head. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Are you kidding? Think about it, Sarah. Why the hell would a guy brand new to town come to one of these boring town meetings? He wanted to see you.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Doubt coated her words and she couldn’t help but let her eyes flutter back his way. Was that true? The bright lighting didn’t detract from her memory of him. He was still appealing, cute in a broody kind of way.

Gigi nudged Sarah again. “At least maybe tonight won’t be a total waste. Go talk to him.”

“For crying out loud, Gigi, my world is crumbling. Let’s just get out of here.”

“Only if you look at me and tell me you are really not interested.”

“I’m not.”

“Look at me.”

Sarah met Gigi’s gaze and couldn’t keep the smile from forming on her lips. “Okay, we’ll just say ‘hello.’”

They did a ridiculous-feeling sideways stride along the pew-like benches toward where he stood. She felt his gaze on her skin.

“Hello.” Her heart throbbed like a time bomb.

“Hi, Sarah,” he said. His voice was low. Well, maybe not low, but far from exuberant.

This is a mistake,
her mind warned.

He gave Gigi a nod accompanied by a slight smile. “Gigi.”

“Hey there.”

“What, uh, brings you out tonight?” Sarah could almost feel Gigi’s mental thumbs-up approval.

Benny shrugged a big, toned shoulder. “Keeping up on town doings.”

Silence hung in the air, thick and choking like smoke. Sarah’s mind reeled with absurd comments she’d never say.
Remember being wrapped around me on a dance floor the other night? See these lips you kissed? Want to do it again?

She had to get the heck out of there. Her body had taken over her mind and she had the stark thought that the man was not even interested. Embarrassment coated her like varnish.

“Well, it was nice seeing you again. Good night, ladies.” He proceeded to move into the line of departing attendees.

Sarah pulled her eyes over to Gigi. “I’m an idiot.”

“No, he is.”

Sarah’s heart hiccupped. Her mouth pinched into a tight pucker, one that felt perfect for shooting peas.

****

Sarah and Gigi drove back to The Cornelia together, sitting in the front seat of Sarah’s car as animated as crash test dummies.

Finally, Gigi spoke. “You better not be beating yourself up over there.”

Sarah asked sarcastically, “What specifically about this night are you referring? My bombing with the town over the complaint, or my pathetic approach to a guy clearly anxious
not
to speak to me?”

“Don’t. You’ll fix the town’s issue and so what about the guy. He’s probably gay.”

Sarah didn’t share Gigi’s confidence. The town problem was far from solved, and she guessed that it would be quite a while before she’d allow her guard to waver again when it came to men. Of one thing she did feel confident: No way, no how was Benny Benedetto gay.

A car was parked in her wide driveway and she groaned with recognition.
What the hell is Gary doing here?

“Look. It’s Captain Viagra,” Gigi announced as if it was a good thing.

Sarah smiled despite his presence. She loved Gigi’s nickname for her ex-husband. “Perfect end to a perfect night. Just perfect.”

“Want me to go in with you?”

“No, Gary I can handle.”

“Looks like Pippi Longstocking’s with him.”

Gigi knew Gary’s shiny new wife’s name was Piper and not Pippi. It was her way of easing Sarah’s tension.

Sarah was grateful. “Don’t leave; wait till I get rid of him.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Gigi said. “We for sure need a drink after this fun-filled evening.”

As soon as Sarah opened her car door, Gary emerged from his ridiculously oversized SUV. He hopped to the ground from its lofty carriage as though he were young and spry. His pained grunt gave him away. She smirked.

“What’s going on, Sarah?” he asked, leaning back against his vehicle. He shook his head at her, his face a shadowy scowl in the glow of her outdoor lighting.

“What do you mean
going on
?”

“John Reynolds called me.”

Well that explains John’s mood at the meeting.
“It’s nothing, Gary. I’m handling it.”

“You are, huh? Didn’t I tell you it was too much to take on Hannah’s wedding? Seriously, Sarah you’re your own worst enemy.”

I can think of a worse one, Captain Viagra.
She sighed like a bored southern belle “It’s not your concern.”

“It most certainly is. Hannah’s my daughter, too.” Even in the dim light she could see the vein in his forehead bulge to the surface like a blue snaking highway on her GPS screen. “I proposed that we have the wedding at my club. It would have been so elegant, but you and your hairbrained ideas…”

Sarah turned her gaze to the truck’s interior. Piper had unbuckled her seatbelt and knelt on her seat, reaching back to the bolstered child in her seat. Toddler Tina looked pissed at the stuffed toy her mother dangled at her.

“Your family’s waiting, Gary. You should go.” She turned away from him, determined not to look back.

“You call me if you get in more hot water, Sarah Doodle.”

She made like she hadn’t heard the all-too-familiar condescending nickname; wishing, if fact, that she really hadn’t.

****

They shared a bottle of chardonnay in Sarah’s apartment. Sarah pulled a bag of chips from the pantry, plied it open. “Here, help me eat these so I don’t O.D. on them.”

Gigi reached into the bag and withdrew a cluster of the delicate golden slices. “Anything for you, pal.”

“So, okay, what happens if there isn’t enough time?” Sarah asked between her crunching mouthfuls. “What am I supposed to do with sixty people on June first?”

“Well, I’m sure Captain Viagra has a solution.”

“Yeah, but over my dead body…”

Sarah buzzed through a sequence of chips like a beaver jawing on a log. “I could try talking to Mrs. Mayor, Gretchen Reynolds, at the Garden Club meeting on Friday. Maybe she can lean on her husband.”

“It’s worth a try. Maybe you can find out who initiated the complaint and you can approach them and see if they’ll relent.”

“Well, after thinking about it, I’m not sure if I want to confront somebody crazy enough to slip late-night anonymous notes under my door. It’s just freaky.” She shrugged. “Anyway, how would I find out who it was?”

“Ask John Reynolds.”

She snickered. “He’d tell Gary that info before he’d tell me.” She had an idea. “You think it’s on the paperwork they gave me tonight?”

She didn’t wait for Gigi to respond. Instead she found her purse where she’d flung it on the kitchen chair and fished inside for the folded documents.

She brought them back to where Gigi sat licking her finger clean of chip salt. Sarah unfolded the papers and turned on a table lamp. She scanned the verbiage.

“Does it say?” Gigi asked.

“It’s refers to the complainant.” Her eyes rushed over the text. In a box at the bottom was a hand-written three-line summary of the meeting’s outcome. In essence, it was a polite way of conveying she had to do their bidding or there’d be no improvement to her inn. And no wedding, either.

She looked further. At the bottom left was John Reynolds’s signature as well as Zoning Officer Nicholas Pallis’s. On the bottom right just below where she’d scratched her name onto the designated line there was one more signature, a name etched above the line marked “Complainant.” Her mouth clamped tight.

“What?” Gigi said. “Why do you look like that?”

“The name’s here all right.”

“Who is it?”

“Benjamin Benedetto.”

“Are you kidding me?” Gigi darted over to look at the paper. “Well, holy shit.”

Sarah’s heart fell in her chest like a rock thrown from a cliff. For the life of her she couldn’t wrap her brain around the emotion. Whatever it was, it was fierce and hurtful.

“Hey,” Gigi said, starting to pace. “We can use this to our advantage.” She stopped and turned to stare at Sarah. Her eyes were wide with anticipation. “This guy, asshole that he is, probably still has the hots for you.”

“You’re nuts,” Sarah spat. “He was toying with me that night at the Pier House. Got his jollies. He’s a sicko.”

“No, Sarah.” She held up a hand. “Hear me out. But just as a sidebar, I love how pissed you sound. Usually you try to see the rainbow side of everything.”

“There are no rainbows in the sewer, my friend.”

“Listen. I say tomorrow you doll yourself up a little, go over to his place and cozy up to him, appeal to his brain, the one below his belt. You can make nice-nice and get him to withdraw the complaint.” Gigi lifted her hands into the air like she’d just discovered the nose on her face.

“Oh, I intend to pay a little visit to the man at Sixty Ocean tomorrow, before I go file the damned applications. But there will be nothing
nice-nice
about it.”

Chapter Five

Sarah drank her morning coffee while pacing around the kitchen. She didn’t care what it took, she’d handle this. It was one thing for Benny to formally complain about the wedding for whatever business it was of his. It was entirely another matter to shove a mysterious message under her door in the dark of night.

She spilled the rest of her coffee into the sink, rinsing it away with a forceful spray of water, enjoying the weapon-like feel of the nozzle’s trigger in her hand.

She knew if she showed up at his door and barked at him like the rabid dog she felt like, it might make matters worse. About that much, Gigi had been right. She needed to finesse the situation, use a soft approach, appeal to his kinder side. She clucked her tongue. That was assuming, of course, that he had one.

She decided to bring him muffins. She opened a box of bran muffin mix she had in the cupboard and dumped it into a bowl. Following the directions, she added the egg, water, and corn oil. She put the pan in the oven and dashed to get dressed.

As she lined a plate with the moist little buns it made her smile to think that maybe he’d get the subliminal message that an offering of fiber balls might relieve what he seemed to be full of.

Sarah carried the foil-covered dish with one hand on top to shield against the ocean breeze. She walked down the avenue toward his house wondering why she’d never really taken notice of the place before.

Sitting back from the street, it was a small, squat little structure with weathered brown cedar shakes. Next to the Morrison’s refurbished three-story stunner the Benedetto man’s house looked like an outbuilding.