Shadows on the Sand (16 page)

I nodded. Was that it? Did she care enough about Jase to be bothered to the point of not eating? She’d only known him for a couple of weeks. Or was it another guy, big and burly and sometimes violent, who concerned her?

“Are you worried about Bill?”

She gave me what looked like a forced smile. She cut off a bite of pancake.
“Bill’s okay. I’m not the least worried about him.” Seeing my skepticism, she repeated herself. “Bill’s okay.”

I wasn’t convinced, and I didn’t think she was either. “Well, if something’s wrong, you know you can always talk to me about it, right?”

“I know, and I will,” she lied, all false sincerity. “Thanks.”

She was never going to seek me out, and I couldn’t force her to. It seemed I didn’t have Mary P’s magic when it came to needy sixteen-year-olds.

I rose and left Andi to her food as the café’s door opened and a stranger came in. He had brown hair and eyes and was solid looking rather than handsome, more workhorse than racing thoroughbred.

“Fred.” Greg stood and held out his hand. “Carrie, we’re going to take a booth, okay?”

“Sure. What can I get you, Fred?”

“Are those homemade sticky buns I see?” Fred eyed the display counter where the calorie-laden, scrumptious pastry lay.

“They are,” I said. “Want one grilled?”

“They slice them in half,” Greg said, “then butter and grill them. Delicious.”

Fred practically drooled in anticipation. “I’ll take one and coffee.”

“Give me one too,” Greg said.

To fill the holes left by not eating his eggs? I’d have thought the sugar cookie would have done that. “Coming right up.”

The door opened again, and Bill Lindemuth strolled in, cocky as ever.

Mr. Perkins pointed his index finger at Bill before anyone had a chance to say hello. “You know they found Jase? The guy you punched out?”

“Mr. Perkins,” I said. “Easy there.”

Bill frowned and looked uncomfortable.

“They found him floating in the bay. Dead.” Mr. Perkins glared.

Bill paled and looked around. “Where’s Andi?”

I waved toward the back of the café as I moved to the cash register to take the money of the man and woman who had been talking in Andi’s service area.

“Come again.” I smiled and handed them their receipt. They nodded and left.

“Grilled sticky buns up,” Ricky called.

On my way to pick up Greg’s and Fred’s orders, I passed Bill, sitting at the counter as far from Mr. Perkins as he could.

“Where’s Andi?” he demanded again, as if his inability to see her was my fault.

Trying not to let my irritation show, I nodded toward the booth at the rear of the cafe. “She’s eating back there.”

“No, she’s not.”

“Yes, she is. I served her food myself.”

I grabbed the warm sticky buns, all buttery and cinnamony, and took them to Greg and his friend. When I set the fragrant food in front of the men, they both took a deep breath and gave soft groans.

“Lindsay’s the best baker in South Jersey,” I said, proud of my little sister. I left them to their enjoyment and their business and returned to the counter to find Bill still slumped on his stool.

“She’s not there,” he said. “Her pancakes are, but she’s not.”

“Then she’s probably in the ladies’ room.”

“Well, how am I supposed to know that?”

What would have been a legitimate question asked in another tone of voice made me wonder if the guy went out of his way to be aggravating or if it came naturally. I started for the kitchen to get away from him.

“Hey, don’t walk away. I want to order.”

I turned and forced a pleasant expression. “Yes?”

“I’ll have a couple of fried eggs, bacon, hash browns, and whatever it is those guys have that smells so great,” he told me without bothering to look at me. “And a cup of coffee.”

“That’ll be about ten dollars.” He might as well know that I was not feeding him gratis every day. “Plus tip.”

He had the nerve to look offended. “Fine. Whatever.”

As I turned to give his order to the kitchen, I decided I definitely had to talk to Andi about what made a man worth her time. It wasn’t petulance and entitlement, which Bill had in abundance, and cockiness and conceit were not the same as self-confidence.

It had taken me quite some time, years in fact, before I was willing to admit any man was worth a woman’s time. All my pre-escape experience was with men of the lowest character and standards. I thought that was all men.

Sure, I’d seen movies and television shows with decent male characters, but those guys were fictional. They were what writers wished men could be, not what I knew they were.

Mary P’s Warren was the first decent man Lindsay and I had close contact with. Linds took to him right away, sitting in the kitchen at the Surfside and talking with him whenever he had a minute. It took cynical me more than a year before I was willing to consider that he might be the sweet man he appeared. It took several more years before I was willing to admit there were many fine men out there, men of character, men of integrity. Men like Greg, Jem, and Pastor Paul, even Clooney in his own cockeyed way.

Bill accepted his breakfast with a grunt and dove in. Literally. He leaned so far into his plate he was practically lying in his food. Hadn’t anyone ever told him you brought your food to your mouth, not your mouth to your food?

I looked around for Andi, since the booth the man and woman had
been sitting in needed to be cleared, but she was still in the ladies’ room. I wandered back that way to make certain she was all right. If she wanted to stay in there until Bill left, I wouldn’t out her, but I wanted to make sure she hadn’t gotten sick or something.

The ladies’ room was empty.

Andi still hadn’t reappeared when Bill slapped down his money with a put-upon air and sneered his way out of the café. Did he honestly think people responded to that kind of attitude? Well, they did respond, come to think of it, or at least I did. With dislike. As I cleared his dishes, I noticed without surprise that he hadn’t left a tip.

With a brief wave, Greg left, followed by his friend. Mr. Perkins finally detached himself from his stool and wandered away, and I made certain the menus had the information about the day’s specials.

When Andi didn’t surface for lunch, I was more than a little miffed. Avoiding Bill was one thing. Leaving me short-handed was another.

When Greg came back to the café just before closing, I was too irritated at Andi to have the energy for my usual pleasure at the sight of him. Besides, what was the use? “Didn’t expect to see you again today.”

Greg raised an eyebrow at my abrupt tone. “Hello to you too.”

I flushed. “Sorry. I’m worried about Andi. She hasn’t been here since before lunch.”

He nodded. “No wonder you’re mad.”

“I am not mad. I do not do mad.”

He grinned, his face crinkling, his eyes twinkling. “Right. You are always mellow.”

I raised my chin. “I am.”

“Uh-huh. May I have a Coke? Please?”

I turned and drew one for him and another for myself. I pulled the last piece of Lindsay’s red velvet cake from the display case and set it on a plate.
I put it on the counter between us and got out two forks. We took turns eating, silent and, to my mind, amazingly comfortable with each other. I guessed that when I understood I didn’t have a chance with him, the tension disappeared. I felt a shaft of pain over how pleasant it would have been to share cake with this man forever.

Lest he discern my thoughts, I reverted to our previous topic. “I’m worried, Greg. Where did the girl go?”

W
ell, they found Jason’s body, that clever little weasel. It had been only a matter of time, he knew that, but he wished it had taken the cops longer. He’d been hoping that when the remains were found, ID’ing him would take a few days, what with the fish and sea creatures feasting on the body. He supposed it was dental records that did the trick. The sea snackers couldn’t eat teeth
.

To think it had all gone south over a girl. How trite. How common. How ridiculous
.

Not that he didn’t like girls as well as the next man. He grinned. His favorites were the young ones with bouncy ponytails and cute figures. It was one of the wonders of the world that there seemed an endless supply to choose from
.

But when he chose, the girl was marked. She might not have his name tattooed on her forehead, but anyone with any intelligence would recognize she was now his woman
.

With as much anger as regret, he hated the fact that Jason wasn’t perceptive. It was sad, really. All the guy’d had to do was step back and leave her alone
.

G
reg reveled in the wash of peace that stole over him here at the café. His time with Fred hadn’t gone badly in spite of a last-minute glitch over paperwork, and he hadn’t even realized he was feeling tense—until he came in here.

“So your settlement went well?” Carrie asked, Lindsay’s cake making her as mellow as he’d teased her about.

“Sort of.” He paused to savor the buttery taste of the icing. “One of the papers needed was missing, an oversight on the part of the Realtor, and we have to reconvene tomorrow, but it’s no big deal. Josh, my boss for at least another day, managed to keep his temper, and Fred didn’t seem upset. He’s staying for a few days anyway. I think he’s going deep sea fishing with some friends.”

“How’d he like your hole in the wall at the Sand and Sea?” Carrie gave him a wicked grin.

Greg laughed. “He was better with it than I expected. He just shook his head and muttered about strange people. He made noises about applying for a loan to underwrite the repairs and some other upgrading he wants done on several of the properties. I’m to oversee the projects, hire the contractors, etcetera.”

“That’s good news. It’d be terrible to lose your job.”

Greg shrugged. “I wouldn’t miss it. It’s not like property managing is my life’s goal. God just didn’t wire me that way.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

Talk about to the point. “Good question.” He studied the tines of his
fork. “All I know is that after Ginny and the kids died, I knew I couldn’t handle the pressure of being a cop, so I left the force before I made some mistake that either injured or killed someone or got me fired. I was offered this job and took it more to make Pastor Paul happy than anything. Every time he looked at me back then, he was so worried.”

“He wasn’t the only one,” Carrie said. “The whole church was concerned. I barely knew you and Ginny, but what happened was so terrible, we all hurt for you. We prayed for you for weeks, months.”

“And I felt the prayers. You all saved my sanity.”

Carrie licked the last of the icing off her fork and laid it across the plate, tines down. She studied the counter with a slight scowl. “You still miss them.”

He nodded, hearing the wistfulness in her voice. Over
Ginny
? Or because no one had ever loved her as he’d loved his family? Runaways ran away for a reason, and a warm loving family wasn’t it. His heart ached for her, and he found he wanted to know all the particulars of her life, both then and now, all her struggles. How had she gotten from waif to café owner? Was she raised with money or with none? Rich kids ran from bad situations just as poor ones did. Where were her parents today?

It was a funny thing, now that he thought about it. He’d been coming into this café almost every day for three years and occasionally before that, but Carrie had just been part of the surroundings. Then, in less than a day, she had become the heart and soul of the place, the light that penetrated and dispelled his darkness.

Or was it that sudden? Had she been creeping up on him all along and he’d been too dumb to notice?

“I’ll always miss Ginny and the kids.” He took care with his words. He didn’t want a repeat of her misunderstanding yesterday. “They shouldn’t have died. In a better world the kids would be three years older, learning to
get along with new teachers, studying new subjects, maybe playing soccer or doing gymnastics. Ginny’d be teaching her women’s Bible study for another year and trying out recipes that didn’t work more often than did.” He gave a rueful smile. “She was a terrible cook, but that never stopped her from trying.”