Shadows on the Sand (24 page)

If that was the case, why didn’t she just say he scared her? A word to Clooney, and Bill would be history. It took a stronger personality than that of any has-been high school athlete to stand up to that man. And there was always the possibility of a restraining order if needed.

As I waited for a tuna melt and a grilled cheese and tomato, I placed a quick call to Clooney. He needed to know what had happened, and I needed to know if Andi’d gone home. All I got was his answering machine. He was undoubtedly out digging treasures from the sand with his little red spade.

“Clooney,” I told the machine. “She’s gone again. Is she at home? Andi, are you there? Pick up! Let me help. Clooney, do you know what’s going on with her? Call me.”

Both Greg and Fred left with worry clear on their faces. I thought it kind of Fred to be concerned over a girl he didn’t even know. If the people he represented were as nice as he was, Greg would like his new employers more than his last.

Cilla left with Mr. Perkins, and I got the impression he was walking her home. In spite of my worry over Andi, I had to smile at the thought of a golden-years romance.

At two thirty, when we were down to two tables finishing up their lunches, Greg came back.

“How’s it going?” He stood across the pink marble from me.

I was so weary both physically and emotionally that all I wanted to do was lay my head on his shoulder and absorb some of his strength. “We managed. Mary P came in and took Andi’s booths, so we got everyone fed.”

He nodded with sympathy. “I’ve got the perfect antidote for your tension.”

“A hot bath and a coupon for a full body massage?”

He laughed. “Better. Surf fishing.”

What? “You mean the kind where you stand on the beach and dare the fish to swim in and get caught?”

“You fish from the beach, yes, but it’s not quite that hopeless. The stripers are running, and it’s great fun trying to get one.”

I didn’t think it sounded as relaxing as my longed-for massage, but it was with Greg, so it had to be fun even if it turned out to be terrible. “Will the surf be too rough what with the higher-than-normal seas caused by the hurricane passing out at sea?”

“If anything, it’ll be more fun.”

I eyed him, my skepticism clear. “If you say so. What time?”

He thought a moment. “I need to fix a couple of minor problems at the property at Sixteenth and the boardwalk. You need to finish up here. How about four?”

“It’s a date.” I heard myself and colored. What if it wasn’t? What if it was just a desire not to fish alone? What if last night’s kiss was just some freaky sort of accident? Though how it could be an accident was more than I could understand. “It is a date, isn’t it?” I had difficulty forcing out the
d
word, and I hated feeling so insecure.

Lindsay and Ricky, sitting at the counter eating their late lunch, looked at each other and smiled. So glad my dating ineptitude brought joy to their world.

Greg cleared his throat. “I haven’t done this in years, but if I remember right, then yes, it’s a date.”

My smile felt as if it would split my face. “Cool.” No way could Snoopy move his feet fast enough to keep up with my tap-dancing heart.

“Very.” His smile mirrored mine.

Yippee, Lord! It’s finally my time! I think
.

We walked toward the front door. I moved behind the register, where I picked up Andi’s Sudoku book left lying on the counter. I looked at it quizzically.

Mary P glided past with the last of her dirty dishes. She cocked her head toward the book. “She left that on her table when she ran.”

“I hope that means she’s coming back.” I set the book on the shelf under the register, and it fell open to the page that had a pencil stuck in it.

I glanced at the puzzle she had been working and saw a bunch of numbers running along the side of the page like a numerical sentence. Absent-minded doodles? Certainly they had nothing to do with solving the Sudoku.

I set the book on the counter between Greg and me. “This was the last thing she was doing before she left.”

Greg studied the page. “The last thing?” He turned the book so he could read the string of figures. “Then these numbers have got to be important.”

I studied the now upside-down-to-me page. “You think this is a message of some kind?” Surely not. “A secret code to open a treasure chest or a safe where we find a note written in invisible ink telling us what’s going on?”

“Cute.” He was caught in the numbers and the questions they raised. “There has to be something here. Otherwise why did she write them?”

We stared at the numbers on the page. 2912 11912 10. 49424.

“She told me once she used to send coded messages as a kid.” I began to get excited. “She subbed numbers for letters. When she was young, it was
numbers for vowels, but as she got older, it was numbers for all the letters. You know, 1 equals A, 2 is B. Like that.”

“So 2912 is a word? 2 is B, 9 is I, then A and B. B-I-A-B?”

Disappointment bit deep. “There’s no such word. Unless the 1 and 2 are 12. B-I-L. Bill?”

Greg nodded “Then line two is either 1-19-12 or 11-9-12. A-S-L or K-I-L.”

I felt a chill. “B-I-L K-I-L. Bill kill?”

“Bill Kill 10.” He worked his fingers, counting off letters. “Bill Kill J.”

“Greg! Is she telling us that Bill killed Jase?”

“Don’t know. 4-9-4-2-4. D-I-D-B-D.”

I glared at the letters. “They don’t make sense.”

I could feel excitement snap through Greg. “They do if the last 4 stays a 4 and doesn’t become a D. Did B4.”

“Bill killed Jase. Did before.” Before? He’d killed someone before?

Greg, looking incredibly serious, picked up the book. “I’ll take this to the police. They’ve got to find Bill, and fast.” He leaned in and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I’ll be back as close to four as I can make it.” And he was gone.

My head reeled at the thought that I had served a killer and thought his worst fault was not tipping. For want of an idea about how to fix things for Andi, I went back to work. I was filling a needy saltshaker at one of the back booths when the door opened again. I grimaced. I’d forgotten to lock it in the distraction of Andi’s Sudoku clue. I turned to tell the newcomer that we had stopped serving.

My breath caught, and I felt the blood drain from my face, leaving me lightheaded.

My mother stood in my restaurant.

I
t was all about timing, wasn’t it?

Act at the right time and you succeeded. Think the stock market
.

Be at the right place at the right time and you met the right people. Think business contacts, networking
.

Go to the doctor’s at the right time and you lived. Think early detection
.

Make sure you were seen by the right people at the critical time. Think alibi
.

He excelled at doing things right, at timing everything
.

It was enough to make him shake his head in wonder, not just at his own abilities but at everyone else’s idiocy. People were such fools, so easily manipulated. So gullible
.

Having the right name was also an asset. The right name got you respect. The right name opened doors. The right name even offered protection from the law
.

He had the right name. And the perfect sense of timing
.

Chaos might reign around him, but his life was ordered, timed, and controlled. All you had to do was look at him, and you knew: He was head and shoulders above everyone else
.

M
y mother!

After a moment of shocked immobility, I turned my back and fought for calm.

She looked good, better than I ever remembered seeing her. Her skin was a healthy pink instead of the dead gray it had been when all her nutrition came from a bottle. Her hair was a shining cap of curls, and while her figure was slightly thickened, she looked healthy and vibrant. She wore a red V-neck sweater over a white shirt, jeans, and white sneakers. She was somewhere around fifty, though the abuse she’d heaped upon herself should have made her look eighty. Instead she looked wonderful.

There was no justice in this world.

I saw all this in the moment of shock before I turned away, and as I digested it, I began to shake, feeling as stable as the biblical house built upon the sand.

A handsome man was with her. He wasn’t as tall as Greg, but he held himself with authority. He had sandy brown hair that had turned gray at the temples, and he had his arm around my mother’s shoulders as if he were protecting her, though from what I couldn’t imagine. Right now I was the one who needed protecting.

What was she doing here? Was she looking for me? For Lindsay? No, that was impossible. There was no way she could have found us, not after all these years.

Under the guise of picking up a piece of paper from the floor, I sneaked
another glance. My first impression had been accurate. She looked wonderful. Where had the sloppy drunk gone?

Mary P spoke as she came out from behind the counter. “I’m sorry. We’ve stopped serving for the day.”

“I realize that,” my mother said with a smile. “I saw your hours in the window.” Her voice was soft but clear, not slurred from some substance she’d ingested. “I just had to step in for a moment. The name drew me. You see, I used to have a daughter named Carrie, but I lost her.”

There was a moment of silence at that amazing comment. Then I wanted to turn and scream, “You lost me?
You lost me?
You threw me away, me and Lindsay.”

Oh no! Lindsay! Where was she? I looked toward the kitchen and saw her through the serving window deep in conversation with Ricky, a list in her hand.

Stay there, Linds. Stay there! Oh, Lord, keep her there!

“This is a lovely place,” Mom said. “Warm and seashore-y with the blues and creams, though that pink counter is something else.” I heard the smile in her voice.

“It used to be the registration desk in a hotel that was once on this property.”

“How lovely to have rescued it.”

Right. Lovely.

“If you’re staying in Seaside,” Mary P said in her warm, inviting way, “perhaps you could stop in tomorrow for breakfast or lunch.”

“What do you think, Luke?” Mom said.

I heard the deep rumble of Luke’s voice, but I couldn’t make out his words.

“I’m Mary Prudence Hastings,” I heard Mary P say. “This used to be my place before Carrie took over. Now I work for her.”

“I’m Sue Fletcher. This is my husband, Luke.”

Again came Luke’s rumble. If I turned, I’d doubtless see the three of them shaking hands like new best friends. And what was with the “Fletcher”? When had she acquired a husband? She didn’t deserve one.

“So Carrie’s has a real Carrie,” Mom said. “I’d love to meet her.”

There was a pause during which I felt Mary P’s eyes boring into my back. I held my breath, clutching the saltshaker so hard it’s a wonder it didn’t implode in my hand. I waited for her to give me away.

“Our Carrie isn’t available at the moment,” Mary P finally said. “Maybe tomorrow.”

And I knew Mary P knew she was speaking with my mother.

“That’d be nice,” Mom said.

“Where are you staying?” Mary P asked.

“We’re renting a house at the south end of town. We’re here for a couple of weeks. I used to come to Seaside when I was a kid living in Camden and loved it. I talked so much about it, Luke decided we should come for a visit.”

“Where did you come from?”

Good grief, Mary P, why not just ask for their résumés? Get rid of them!

“We live in Atlanta, in Buckhead,” Mom said.

Buckhead! Was she kidding? Ritzy, rich, toney Buckhead? Don’t make me laugh!

“What do you do, Luke?” Mary P asked.

“I’m a lawyer,” Luke said, his words clear as a bell this time. “Business law.”

“And you?” Mary P asked Mom.

“I’m a writer, a novelist. Maybe I’ll set a book in Seaside.” Again I heard a smile in her voice.

I wanted to scream. When I knew her, she couldn’t even write me notes for school. I learned to forge her signature and wrote all correspondence for
both Lindsay and me. Otherwise we’d never have had an excused absence for illness or gone on a school trip or had our report cards signed. Now she wrote novels? I wanted to puke.