Screwdrivered (Cocktail #3) (2 page)

“Ms. Franklin, I did try calling earlier in the evening. Did you not get my messages?”

“Five seconds, California, or I’m hanging up,” I growled.

“Forgive me for saying so, but you do remind me of your aunt.” He laughed a cultured laugh, and I frowned.

“My aunt?” I didn’t resemble either Aunt Gloria or Aunt Kimberly, and neither of them lived in California. Wait a minute— “Are you breathing heavy?” Ick, he was! “Dude, you picked the wrong chick for an obscene call—”

“Oh, no, Ms. Franklin. I just climbed up a rather long staircase, and I’m afraid the old ticker isn’t quite what it used to be.” After taking a deep breath, he laughed. “Obscene—the idea. Your Aunt Maude would have loved that.”

Aunt Maude. Aunt Maude? Ohhhh, Aunt Maude.

“As in my Great-Aunt Maude? Maude Perkins?”

“Yes, the very one. I’m sure you’ve heard this time and again in the last few days, but let me please extend to you my condolences.”

“Condolences?”

“Yes, of course, on your aunt’s passing. My firm represented her for decades, and I’d gotten to be quite fond of her in the last few years. What a remarkable woman.”

Great Aunt Maude was . . . well . . . in need of condolences?

“Okay, California, start from the beginning, including your name and why in the world you’d be calling me in the middle of the night about a woman I barely know and haven’t seen in fifteen years. And who by the way, I didn’t even know had . . . well . . . passed.”

“Oh my! You didn’t know? Well, this is all a bit strange then, isn’t it? I’m so very sorry, Ms. Franklin. Let me introduce myself. My name is Gerald Montgomery, your aunt’s attorney and executor of her will.”

I switched the light on, climbed out of bed to grab a pad of paper, then got back in bed.

“Okay, Mr. Montgomery, you’ve got my attention. Now tell me everything, including how in the world she died without even one person in my family knowing about it.”

“Well, Ms. Franklin, she was, as you are aware, quite eccentric,” he began with a chuckle.

Thirty minutes later I set the phone down, utterly numb and confused. I looked back down over the notes I’d scribbled on the pages.

• passed away with no one but me named in her will

• house and ranch and all worldly goods . . . to me?

• Mendocino.
As in California!

I looked at the clock, my mind whirling. It was too late to call my parents. I’d have to call them in the morning. I could barely process all of this. Crazy Aunt Maude. I hadn’t seen her since I was twelve, spending the summer out west with her in her old house.

The old house on a cliff above the beach. Oh my God—the
beach house
.

I flew out of my bedroom, down the stairs, and toward the bookcase in the living room. I grabbed an old family photo album, filled with Polaroids from family vacations and holidays from when I was kid. Flipping through the pages quickly, I found the ones I was looking for.

I spent one summer in Mendocino, one magical summer with my family and Aunt Maude. It was so long ago I’d almost forgotten it. I closed my eyes, remembering the feel of sun on my skin, salt in the air, and sand between my toes. I opened my eyes and stared down at the picture of the Victorian home overlooking the raging Pacific. Named “Seaside Cottage,” it was anything but. Turrets. Widow’s walk. Porch for days. Wide plank floors rubbed smooth from years of bare feet running across it. Kitchen garden. Attic, filled to bursting with trunks and old dress mannequins. It was like little girl wonderland.

And I’d inherited it?

And the ranch! Christ, how could I have forgotten the ranch that was adjacent to the picture-perfect house? Acres and acres of fertile California land, dotted with sheep, chickens, and the occasional milk cow. And horses. How could I have forgotten the horses? And the quaint old barn where . . . wait a minute . . . horses need tending to. Usually by a . . . cowboy.

A mysterious phone call in the middle of the night, beckoning me from my sleep. A call that awakened my mind with endless possibilities. An adventure? A new beginning? A journey across the land where a new life awaits? One with a . . . gulp . . . a cowboy? Shit. I could gulp a cowboy. Especially if I was about to be starring in my very own romance novel. But could I actually move across the country? I didn’t know a soul in California.

Wait, strike that.

I picked up the phone to call the only person I knew on the West Coast. One who shared the same sense of adventure that I
once
did.

It was only eleven o’clock in California. Of course, who the hell knew where he might be, knowing his job? I scrolled through my phone, looking at his name, weighing the decision about waiting to call in the morning.

Fuck it.

I called my old friend from high school, Simon Parker.

chapter two

“Viv Franklin. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Hi, Simon. Did I catch you at a bad time? I figured it wasn’t too late to call, since you’ve never been an in-bed-before-midnight kind of guy, right?”

“No, not usually. Although lately—”

“Spare me the details of your love life, except to tell me that you’re still with Caroline, right? You didn’t mess that up, did you?” At our high school reunion last fall, I’d met the woman who’d finally tamed the man that is Simon Parker.

“I am indeed. She’s back at home in San Francisco. Well, actually, home is now Sausalito.”

“Back at home? Where are
you
now?”

“On a shoot in Cambodia. You’d love it, Viv. I just did a study on the forest taking back the lost temples and cities over and around Angkor Wat. Fucking unreal.”

I sighed, thinking back on my more adventurous days. I’d picked my prospective colleges with my parents, comparing the programs they offered in computer engineering, advanced mathematics, etc. But I also spent some time researching the art programs at those schools. And when I chose a small liberal arts college over the prestigious technical colleges my brothers had attended, I told my parents that a more well-rounded education would make me a more appealing young woman. Read: Your “sixth son” is turning into a young woman, and she needs something beyond field hockey.

So off I went, acing my advanced applied mathematics courses and taking some art classes every semester. By the time I was a junior and declared my official major, computer engineering, I stunned my family with my minor: studio art. I further stunned them when I turned down a summer internship at a rival software firm for a summer program in Italy, studying in Florence. What was even more stunning? I spent a semester of my senior year in Paris, studying at the Sorbonne. I took just enough core classes to satisfy my parents and a figure drawing class just for myself.

Graduation loomed, job offers came in, but it was understood that I’d be following my brothers into my father’s company. So I did what every girl from a wealthy family does: I rebelled. In perfect, by-the-book fashion. I dyed my hair, got several tattoos, pierced some things that were noticeable—and some that were not—and when I walked across the stage to get my diploma I did so in combat boots and a sign on the top of my cap. In masking tape, I’d spelled out:

MOVING TO FRANCE

This was my totally pussy in-your-face way of telling my parents I wasn’t taking their job, or any job for that matter. I’d secured an internship at a gallery on the Left Bank in Paris, had some money from a trust that kicked in when I turned twenty-one, a travel visa, and a spanking-new backpack.

My. Parents. Were. Livid.

I. Was. On. An. Adventure.

I apologized to my parents, who initially responded with the threat of disowning me and insisting I was throwing my life away. They eventually ended in tears, fearing I’d lose my head and virtue to a Frenchman. They had no idea that my virtue had been lost years ago in the backseat of my car, The Blue Bomber, but that was neither here nor there. The
here
was leaving my family behind, to do something no one was expecting. The
there
was a fourth-floor walk-up in the 11th Arrondissement with two roommates I’d met online and arranged a sublet with.

I had the best time of my life. I lived, worked, and loved in the City of Light. I spoke marginal French but learned quickly, ate delicious food, danced in delicious nightclubs, and had my first delicious sexual encounter with an uncircumcised man.
Ooh la la
. I took art classes, I rented a studio space, I had passionate love affairs with passionate artists as passionate about their craft and their determination to live a bohemian idealistic lifestyle as I was. I traveled throughout Europe and points farther east, resulting in an unexpected meeting with Simon in Istanbul toward the end of my European adventure.

By now I was well into my romance novel addiction, taking any gloomy day or disappointing date as an opportunity to indulge in steamy and dreamy. But while the heroines in my books all ended up with their happily-ever-after, my love life was falling short.
Sex
life was off the rails, but love eluded me. I’m a reasonably attractive young gal, great rack, nice legs, and never had any complaints in the sack. But I’d never been—cue sad music—in love before. And no one had ever been—cue sadder music—in love with me. No one had ever taken me in his arms, kissed my sweet lips, and whispered the words
I love you
.

For the record? No one knows that. But back to Paris.

I remained in adventure mode, indulging in very satisfying but safe naked times with beautiful boys, traveled all over, painted whenever the muse struck, and just
lived
. Lived in that way you can only live in your early twenties, when nothing truly epic has happened yet, and it’s time to just dance.

But then my father had a heart attack, which sobered me up fast and brought my traveling ass home. Seeing my strong, invincible father falter like that brought everything into focus. Family trumps everything, and soon after his recovery, I was back in the fold as if I’d never left. I’d had my adventure, I was now twenty-three, and math was calling. I’d actually missed the certainty that came from working with numbers. Safe, solid, wonderfully complex simple numbers.

I retained some of my independence, though. Early on, I got lucky with a computer program I’d written, and used the money from selling that license to fund my own start-up. So I was within the realm of the family business, but on my own two feet. Which were still clad in combat boots. And though I liked my comfortable life, sometimes I caught myself holding my pen like a brush, mimicking brush strokes when I was puzzling out a particularly tricky problem. Sometimes I missed that romantic, wild, carefree lifestyle.

So hearing Simon talk about where he was and what he was doing made me a bit wistful. “Sounds amazing,” I said with a sigh. I was dying for an adventure!

“What’s up, Viv?” he asked. “What’s going on?”

“Tell me everything you know about Mendocino,” I said.

“Mendocino? As in California? As in, three hours north of where I live?”

“That’s the one.”

“Um, it’s on the beach.”

“That’s descriptive.”

“You want to tell me what’s going on here?”

“I just found out that my Great-Aunt Maude, who I barely knew, passed away and left me her beach house, her ranch, and everything that comes with it.”

“Holy shit! So when are you coming out?”

“Not sure yet,” I replied, chewing on my fingernail, then sat on my hand. Nasty habit.

“What’s your family say?”

“I literally found out thirty minutes ago. My family knows nothing about it,” I answered, chewing on my fingernail. Again! I grabbed a sock from the dresser and put it over my hand.

“Wait, wait, so this is, like, all yours?”

“Apparently. The attorney said I can go out there to sign everything and take possession, or he can handle selling everything for me.”

“Don’t sell it,” he said instantly.

“Oh, I’m totally not. At least not until I’ve seen it again.” Huh. Looks like I was going.

“Cool,” Simon said.

I agreed. Very cool.

Now I just had to tell my family. Me going off on an adventure? These conversations traditionally never went well.

I took the sock off my hand.

T
wo weeks, three fights, and four packed bags later, I was ready to fly across the country. Telling my family had been interesting, especially my mother. It was her aunt who had passed away, albeit one she had no contact with. Aunt Maude had pulled away from the entire family toward the end of her life. My mom called a family meeting with her sisters, Gloria and Kimberly, spoke with our family attorney, spoke with Aunt Maude’s attorney, and realized it was all very clear. Maude had died without wanting anyone to know except me, her sole heir.

My brothers—Michael, Jared, Greg, Kevin, and Chris—were divided on how it all went down. Michael and Kevin were pissed that they didn’t get anything, while Greg, Jared, and Chris just chalked it up to crazy Great-Aunt Maude. What they all agreed on, including my father, was that I shouldn’t be heading out there.

“Peanut, do you have any idea what land like that, especially right on the beach, is worth? Why in the world are you not selling it?” my father asked, after all the details of the will had been explained and analyzed.

I rolled my eyes. He’d been calling me Peanut since I’d been the size of an actual peanut. But if by twenty-nine the nickname hadn’t gone away, I would be a peanut now and for always.

“Maybe I will sell it eventually. But for now? I just want to get out there, see what’s what. Then I’ll decide.” I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. “Who knows, maybe I’ll just stay out there.”

I went from
Peanut
to
young
lady
in 2.2 seconds.

“Young lady, would you care to explain to me exactly how you intend to run your business from California?”

“Dad, I’m hardly pulling up stakes and moving to California. Although technically I can do my job from anywhere, that’s beside the point.” I tamped down the internal thrill I got from just saying those words out loud. I
could
work from anywhere in the world, one of the perks of owning an online business. But I needed to focus on the Right Now. This was a fact-finding mission, not an adventure.

It’s totally an adventure!
Internal Carefree Happypants Viv was dancing a jig of excitement. But External Serious Viv had to keep it together, especially in front of her father. So even though I couldn’t keep my mouth from turning up at the corners, I tried to convince my father that this was not like when I ran off to Europe.

“So you’re coming back soon, then?” he asked pointedly.

“I didn’t say that.”

“But—”

“But nothing,” I interrupted as he continued to sputter. No one ever interrupted my dad, except me. My father owned a computer software company that had been around since the seventies. He got in on the ground floor of the emerging industry and had been smart enough to stay ahead of the pack. He’d built his business from scratch, and now two of my brothers ran different divisions, two were software engineers working on new programs, and one was being groomed to take over for my father when he retired. Which he swore would be never, but my mother had other ideas.

One of the ideas my father had been entertaining for years, and had been asking me about frequently recently, was selling my company to him and joining him and my brothers. I’d gotten a lot of press within the computer world recently for creating a new app that was snatched up by Google. Not as much money as some apps were being purchased for, but a nice chunk of change. Coupled with the fact that I was still renting the small apartment I’d been in for the last few years, owned my car outright, and spent most of my time with my nose either in a laptop or in a book, I had zero debt and a sizable savings account. Saving for what, I didn’t know, but saving I was.

For a rainy day? For something exactly like what had just dropped into my lap by a
mysterious phone call from across the land, telling me that my life had changed and if I was adventurous enough to take a chance, everything could change?

Back to the present. A present where, if my father couldn’t convince me to sell my business to him, he was still going to tell me how to run it. Or how I was not running it correctly, as so many fathers do.

“Dad, I love you. I love you all. But I’m heading out to Mendocino. I might be back in a few weeks, ready to sell off the land and the house and everything else, but for now? I’m going. And not making any decisions beyond that.”

That conversation had ended in grumbles and gruff agreements on both sides.

My mother’s argument was of a different tactic, but no less strategic. My mother lived perpetually in the land of Hopeless Romantic.

“You know, I just have a good feeling about this, Vivvie. I can’t say exactly why, just that I have a good feeling.” She was perched on my bed, helping me pack. Which meant making suggestions about certain clothing items that she thought would be more flattering and appropriate for the trip.

“I have a good feeling too, Mom. Is it weird that I’m excited about something that’s the result of someone dying? Is that terrible?”

“It’s not terrible, sweetie. It’s life. You didn’t really know Maude; even your aunts and I didn’t. We tried to reach out, to get her to move east to be closer to family, but— Not that red one, sweetie. It washes you out.” The red sweater went back into the closet. “And, besides, she loved that house. She always said they’d carry her out feet first. Not the yellow one, sweetie. Makes you look jaundiced.” The T-shirt was replaced by a pink one.

“Feet first! Ew, that’s fucking morbid.” I shivered slightly. I’d be in her house soon.

“Vivvie! Language. Besides, that’s how old people talk. They don’t think of it as morbid; they’re just being obstinate. ‘Feet first,’ she’d say whenever someone would suggest maybe she should think about moving into a retirement community. That’s a pretty one. Green has always been a good color for you, especially with your eyes.”

“Mom, I’m not going to a garden party.”

“Well, it doesn’t hurt to be colorful, no matter the occasion. Now, where are those cute sandals I brought you last week? You have such cute, tiny feet, Vivvie, I wish you’d stop burying them in those combat boots. Who knows who you’re going to meet out there! Why you could meet The One! A nice man with a good job and . . .”

I tuned out all her nice-man talk. I knew what I was hoping for out there. And it had nothing to do with nice . . .

So now I stood at the curb at the airport, surrounded by suitcases and duffel bags, ready to head west. I had a new romance novel downloaded to my Kindle for the five-hour flight, and a bubbling excitement at embarking on my very own adventure, just like the ones in my favorite books.

Bring it.