Ladies' Night (54 page)

“Picking up some of my belongings,” Grace said. She held up the black T-shirt. “But I think you mixed up some of your stuff with mine.”

J’Aimee pushed a strand of black hair behind one ear. She was dressed in chic lime-green cropped Lululemon yoga pants and a midriff-baring sports bra, and she was barefoot. She flicked the fabric of the T-shirt. “That’s not mine.” She gestured around the room. “All this crap is yours. You might as well take the rest of it when you go, because I’m getting ready to redecorate in here.”

A shadow passed briefly over Grace’s face. J’Aimee knew she’d been planning on using this room as a nursery. She’d even volunteered to help paint it, not even six months ago, shortly after she’d become Grace’s assistant.

She swallowed her grief over what might have been and channeled it into anger over what had actually occurred.

“These clothes are yours and you know it,” Grace said. She dropped the T-shirt and picked up the paint-spotted sneakers. “These shoes are a size six. And I wear an eight. Notice the paint? It’s the exact same color as the orange you tossed all over the house on Mandevilla.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” J’Aimee said, turning to leave. “Ben? I’m gonna hit the shower. Could you make sure she doesn’t take anything of mine?”

Grace reached out and snagged the stretchy shoulder strap of J’Aimee’s top. The younger woman tried to tug loose of Grace’s grip, but she held tight.

“Oh, don’t go just yet, J’Aimee. Don’t you want to tell Ben about the rest of the sweet stunts you pulled at that house? I mean, besides the paint? Don’t you want to brag about how you actually pooped in the bathtub, and then wrote obscenities on the wall with your own excrement?”

“Classy,” Camryn muttered.

Ben’s face registered revulsion. “Come on, Grace.”

“I’m betting you didn’t share that happy little story,” Grace said. “Fortunately, I’ve got pictures to prove it,” She reached for her cell phone. She didn’t, actually, but she knew Ben wouldn’t look at them, even if she did have pictures.

“Gross,” J’Aimee said, trying to inch away. But Grace pulled her back, keeping a firm hold on J’Aimee’s top.

“You should know,” Grace retorted. “How about the fire? Did you tell Ben you also set a fire in the living room? If it hadn’t been for the neighbor, who saw the flames shortly after you tried to torch the place, it probably would have burned to the ground.”

“I didn’t!” J’Aimee said stubbornly. She grabbed Grace’s hands and wrenched herself loose.

Camryn had been standing quietly on the sidelines, but now she stepped forward. She took one of the sneakers and sniffed it delicately.

“Yup,” she said succinctly. “Lighter fluid.” She carefully placed both shoes in her oversized pocketbook. “The fire marshall is going to want to take a look at these.” She glanced over at Grace. “Let’s take the shirt and pants, too. I’ll bet they’ve got traces of lighter fluid, too. It doesn’t even take a crime lab.”

“Who the hell are you?” J’Aimee demanded.

“Just a friend,” Camryn said lightly. “Who happens to be an investigative reporter.”

“She’s from channel four,” Ben said, sounding uneasy. “The same reporter who snuck in after Grace left.”

“How did they get in here today?” J’Aimee demanded. “I thought you left instructions at the gate.”

Camryn struck a pose and held up the sneaker like an imaginary microphone, saying sotto voce, “News Four You has learned that a local lifestyles blogger, J’Aimee…”

She turned to Grace. “What’s her last name?”

“Scoggins,” Grace said.

“Lifestyle blogger J’Aimee Scoggins is under investigation for breaking and entering, destruction of private property, and arson after she allegedly broke into a residence on Anna Maria Island being redecorated by rival blogger Grace Davenport. Davenport, thirty-four…”

“I’m actually thirty-eight,” Grace corrected.

“Davenport, thirty-eight, is the estranged wife of local businessman Ben Stanton. Sources tell me that J’Aimee Scoggins and Stanton are romantically involved,” Camryn said.

“Very funny,” Ben said. He pointed toward the door. “Now, leave. Or I will call the cops.”

Grace gathered up the rest of the paint-spattered clothing and slid it into the plastic sack, which she gripped tightly.

“You still haven’t asked her if she did it,” she said. “But maybe you already know the answer.”

Ben turned suddenly and stared at J’Aimee. “Tell me you didn’t do any of this. Please.”

J’Aimee took a step backward. “She’s bluffing. She can’t prove those clothes are mine. She probably put them here herself.”

“J’Aimee?” Ben’s deep voice was chilly. “Yes or no?”

“Yes! Okay?” J’Aimee said defiantly. “It was just a little joke. God! You people need to lighten up. I didn’t mean to break the glass. I was opening the window, which was unlocked, and it just cracked. You can’t break into a place that isn’t even really locked up.”

“What about the paint?” Ben asked.

“Big deal. A little orange paint. The place is a dump. Anyway, she had it coming, writing to my advertisers, telling them I was stealing from her … We lost our Kohler ads because of her.”

Ben swore softly, under his breath. “And what she said? About the bathroom? Dear God, tell me you didn’t actually…”

“It was just a joke!” J’Aimee exclaimed. “Okay, maybe it did get a little out of hand. I took a bunch of empty beer cans over there, to make it look like it was kids, and I had a couple of wine coolers of my own, so maybe that wasn’t really a cool thing to do.” She glanced at Grace. “I’m sorry, okay? Is that what you want to hear?”

“No,” Grace snapped. “Sorry doesn’t cut it anymore. You could have burned that house to the ground. It belongs to a sweet old man who was getting ready to rent it to me. But after you vandalized the place, he just wants to sell it and be done with it. You and I both know you weren’t joking around when you went over there the other night. You wanted to send me a message. Well, you did that, all right. I got the message loud and clear.”

Ben was shaking his head. “I can’t believe you pulled a stupid stunt like this. Arson! Really? They put people in jail for that, J’Aimee.”

“I’m sorry! I told you I was sorry,” J’Aimee said, her voice pleading. “Ben…”

“Go take your shower,” Ben said wearily. “I can’t deal with you right now.”

J’Aimee turned and slunk out of the room. A moment later, they heard the bedroom door slam.

Camryn edged toward the door, too. “I’ll just, uh, be waiting outside. Whenever you’re ready.”

Ben watched her go. He sighed loudly. “Look, Grace, you have to believe me. I did not put J’Aimee up to this. I would never … I mean, we’ve had our differences.” He swallowed and looked away. “The stuff with Gracenotes, that’s business. It’s not personal.”

“It’s very personal to me,” Grace said. “You and J’Aimee have done your best to put me out of business. You say it wasn’t your idea to have her vandalize that house, but you and I both know J’Aimee’s never had an original idea in her life. She took her cues from you. Maybe you didn’t light that fire, but you sure as hell showed her where the matches were.”

He rubbed his jaw. “You’re not serious about going to the police with this, are you? J’Aimee’s just a kid. Yeah, she did it to get back at you. Because you intimidate her. No matter what, in a weird way, you’re still her idol. You heard her. As far as she knew, this was just a prank that got out of hand.”

“I’m her idol? That’s a laugh.”

“It’s true,” Ben insisted. “She reads every word you write, goes back over your old posts, trying to copy your style. I keep trying to tell her, she’s got her own style, which she should develop, but for some reason she’s fixated on you, on being bigger, better than you. I guess maybe I should have seen the potential for what happened, should have reined her in before it came to this.”

“Ya think?” Grace shot back.

“I’m asking you, please. Don’t make a federal case out of this. I’ll have a serious talk with J’Aimee. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right. I’ll pay for all the damages, reimburse you for your lost time. I’ll fix it. I promise.”

“You’ll fix it,” Grace said, laughing bitterly. “There’s that expression of yours again. You just love the idea of covering things up, of pretending they never happened, don’t you, Ben?”

“I’m a pragmatist. A businessman,” he said calmly. “So, do we have a deal?”

She crossed her arms and gave him a long, hard look. “It’s not up to me. It’s Arthur’s house. I’ll tell him about your offer.”

“And you’ll suggest we settle this without the police getting involved?” he persisted.

Grace saw an opening, and she went for it. “I’ll suggest he accept your offer. On one condition.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Here it comes. The blackmail.”

“You can call it whatever you like,” Grace said. “Here’s the deal. You tell your lawyer that you want to settle things fairly with me. I’m not looking to gouge you, Ben. But it’s totally unfair that I should have to walk away from this marriage with not a dime to my name. We built a business together, and by rights half of the proceeds from it should be mine. That’s what I want. No more, no less.”

“And if I don’t give you what you want?”

Grace held the garbage bag aloft. “There’s always this. And remember, Camryn was standing right here when J’Aimee confessed. I wouldn’t put it past her to have recorded the whole thing. You know how sneaky these journalism types are.”

60

By the time Grace emerged from the house, Marissa and Camryn were waiting for her in the golf cart. Camryn held the pillowcase with the wedding silver in her lap. Grace placed the duffel bag with her books and camera equipment on the floor of the backseat and climbed onto the seat, tightly clutching the black garbage bag.

“Let’s go,” Grace said, glancing back toward the house, half expecting J’Aimee to follow in hot pursuit.

Marissa steered the cart down the driveway and around the corner toward her own house.

Camryn turned around in her seat, one eyebrow raised in question. “So?”

“Mission accomplished,” Grace said. “I got what I came for. And more.” Marissa turned around, too, and the three women high-fived each other.

“I’m afraid I blew it, though,” Marissa said apologetically. “I just went in the house for a minute. They must have slipped right past me. But I hear you got the goods on that little bitch.”

“We’ll see,” Grace said. “The big thing is, we managed to rattle Ben. He’s really worried I might go to the cops.”

“How worried?” Camryn asked.

“Worried enough that he agreed to talk financial settlement.”

“That’s great,” Camryn said. “You must have done some major cage rattling after I hightailed it out of there.”

“I might have mentioned that you were probably secretly taping J’Aimee’s confession,” Grace admitted.

Camryn smirked, then pulled her iPhone from her pocket, held it up, and tapped an icon. J’Aimee’s high-pitched voice floated in the air. “It was a joke,” she screeched. Camryn tapped the button and the phone went silent.

“Never underestimate a woman,” she advised. “Especially one who’s been jerked around the way you and I have.”

The two high-fived each other one more time.

*   *   *

“Where’s my father?”

Wyatt stood staring down at Callie, still half asleep on the sofa.

She stretched and yawned. “What?”

“Dad. He’s not here. Where’d he go?”

Callie sat up slowly. “How should I know?”

“Did he see you here this morning?” Wyatt demanded. “Come on, Callie. This is important. Did he say anything?”

“No. Well, yeah. I mean, he came out of his room, and I heard him banging pots and pans around in the kitchen, making coffee. I went out and asked him if I could have a cup, and he just stared at me. He put the coffeepot down and walked out the door. God! I’m telling you, there is something wrong with that old man. And I’m not talking about diabetes, Wyatt. He’s seriously senile.”

“Shit,” Wyatt said softly. “He’s not senile! He can’t stand the sight of you, if you want to know the truth. He probably saw you here, dressed in my robe, and got the wrong idea. Which way did he go, did you see?”

“You know how I am before I get my coffee in the morning. He left. That’s all I know.”

“Hey, Mom.”

Callie and Wyatt turned to see their young son, standing in the doorway to the living room, dressed in his Lightning McQueen pajama bottoms.

“Good morning, Bo-Bo,” Callie said, her pout turning instantly to a sunny smile. “Come give your mama some sugar.”

Bo allowed himself to be cuddled, but only for a moment. Pulling away, he looked at his father’s troubled countenance.

“Is Granddad missing again?”

“Not really missing,” Wyatt said hastily. “He went out for a walk early this morning, and I’m a little worried, because I don’t know whether he remembered to eat some breakfast or take his medicine. I’m going to hop on the cart and take a spin around the park to pick him up. You want to help me track him?”

“Sure!” Bo looked hesitantly at his mother. “I’ll be right back, Mom, okay?”

“Take all the time you need,” Callie said, yawning again. “I’ll be around when you get back.”

*   *   *

Grace tried calling Wyatt from the Publix parking lot, but her call went directly to voice mail. It was just as well, she thought, because she really wanted to tell him firsthand how her visit to Gulf Vista played out.

She drove around to the back entrance to Jungle Jerry’s and found the nearly hidden driveway that led to Wyatt’s trailer. His truck was parked under the carport, in front of a vehicle she’d never seen before, a battered and rust-spotted Jeep.

She tapped lightly at the aluminum storm door. “Wyatt?” she called, and was rewarded with the sound of Sweetie’s answering bark, followed by a frantic scratching at the door. She waited another minute. Maybe he was in the shower? Or out in the park, on the golf cart? Grace tapped again, and Sweetie gave another answering bark.

She tried the door. It was unlocked. She pushed the door open and stepped inside. Sweetie threw herself joyously at Grace’s ankle, yipping excitedly.