Sunshine Beach (14 page)

“I could have hugged Joe when he told Annelise that the case was going to be reopened.” Avery took a long sip of lemonade as her thoughts turned to the family cottage, which still sat locked and shuttered.

Nikki nodded and smiled at the mention of Joe. But her smile didn't come anywhere close to reaching her eyes. “And we have Will to thank for helping to bring Bitsy on board,” Nikki said. “I'm pretty sure it was his call inviting her to the concert that sealed the deal.”

“You're going to have a blast at that concert,” Avery said to Maddie. “Being there with Will and a part of everything.”

“Absolutely,” Maddie said, but something flickered in her eyes. She'd sounded more excited about the lemonade.

“You did know about the concert, right?” Nikki said.

“Sure.” Maddie looked down at the pitcher in her hand. “Well, I knew there'd probably be one. I just didn't think it would happen quite so soon.”

An uncomfortable silence fell. Avery wasn't exactly a relationship expert but it was clear something was up with both Maddie and Nikki. Was she going to bring it up? Hold their feet to the fire to get to the bottom of it? Avery thought not. She'd stood and deposited her empty cup in the garbage, when she noticed a stranger walking toward her. He was tall and slim and wore a billowy pale blue shirt with white summer pants that confirmed he was not a tradesman. As he neared she noted the spiky blond hair and oversized tortoiseshell glasses. He removed the glasses, came to a stop in front of her, and put out his hand. “Avery Lawford?”

She nodded.

“Ray Flamingo.” His grip was firm, but his hand was soft. His features were more beautiful than handsome. The blue eyes were slightly mischievous, his smile disarming. “I heard you might be looking for design help.”

“Oh?” Avery asked.

“The design community is all agog,” he continued. “And I missed out back when Ms. Morgan turned Bella Flora into a designer show house.”

There was something in the way he said Deirdre's name that had her studying him more closely. “Have we met?” she asked.

“No, but I feel as if I know all three of you. I'm a very big fan of
Do Over
.” The designer shook each of their hands enthusiastically, then retrieved a business card from the breast pocket of the linen shirt with the kind of flourish a magician might pull a rabbit from a hat and presented it to her.

Nikki excused herself. Maddie's eyes moved from Ray's face to Avery's, then back again. “I, um, I think I hear Kyra
calling me,” she said, though Avery hadn't heard any such thing. With one last look at the two of them she hurried down the path toward the cottages.

“We have budget issues,” Avery said, looking at the thick white card with the bright pink outline of a flamingo and then at the designer's designer boat shoes and woven belt that encircled his trim waist. “Whoever we hire, assuming we do, is going to have to be creative. There won't be money to throw around.”

“Not a problem. I enjoy a challenge. And I absolutely adore midcentury modern. This place is right in my sweet spot.” He slipped his sunglasses into the V of his shirt. “Why don't you show me around and I'll give you my thoughts. If you like my ideas, I'll send you photographs of a few of my installations along with references. If you decide you don't want to work together, no harm no foul. But I really don't think that's going to happen.”

“You're going to get dirty,” she said, eyeing the pale blue linen shirt and white pants. “The property has been closed up and rotting for decades.”

“All the more reason to get on with things, then,” he replied, taking her elbow and walking to the main building. Inside he neither gagged nor pinched his nose. He walked through the space with a contemplative expression, stopping now and then to sigh with what seemed to be happiness or to examine a piece of furniture or blow dust off of a frame or knickknack. He went into paroxysms of ecstasy over the front desk and the soda fountain. In the dining room, he turned slowly with his hands clasped to his chest as he drank it all in.

He climbed onto the roof without difficulty or complaint. At his first sight of the view he said, “Good God, I hope you're planning to build a penthouse up here and charge people a fortune to stay in it.”

“Hmmmm,” Avery said. “Tempting. But we were just
discussing the idea of altering the roof line so that we could create a more expansive deck with 360-degree views.”

“I love it,” Ray said, doing a slow turn to take it all in. “I think we go for understated elegance—all clean lines and top-end outdoor finishes with nooks and seating areas. And of course we'd have to have a serious bar.”

“Absolutely.” Avery moved back to the western edge. “I was thinking that the bar could cantilever out over the pool and Gulf sides.”

He smiled exuberantly.

Even the cottages didn't diminish his enthusiasm. “I love the idea of raising the ceilings,” he said as they walked through a one-bedroom. “It'll really open things up.” Outside a two-bedroom he tilted his head at an oddly familiar angle, then snapped a number of pictures. We should create new façades out of ten-inch-wide HardiePlank.” He named a pressed concrete product impervious to bugs, water, humidity, and hurricane-force winds. “It'll have a clean sleek look but we can get it with a slight wood grain.” He tilted his head the other way. “I'm seeing a burnished steel trim around the doors and windows and maybe squared hardware and light fixtures.”

She found herself nodding in agreement with each and every suggestion that he made.

“It will be like designing a movie set intended to suck guests right back into the fifties, but with the best and sturdiest modern materials. With so few units the cottages are going to have to justify a high room rate.”

When they finished, he looked as crisp and clean as he had when they'd begun. The only other person she'd ever known to whom dirt and grime refused to adhere was her mother.

“So,” she said when they'd completed the tour. “Any questions?”

“You mean other than when can I start?”

She laughed. It was hard to resist someone who seemed to be as in love with the property as she was.

“I'll send you the references and photos,” he said. “And I'm going to go ahead and pull samples of some of the finishes and materials I mentioned.” He put the sunglasses back on. “As far as I'm concerned, we have a deal. Because I'm not one to take no for an answer. Never have. Never will.”

By three that afternoon temperatures had climbed into the mid eighties and all but one of the subcontractors had departed. Maddie had folded up her lemonade stand, and everyone but Avery and Chase had gone back to Bella Flora. “We might as well start closing up the cottages,” Chase said, rubbing the back of his neck and stifling a yawn. “Robby should be done inspecting the plumbing in the main building soon.”

“I kind of hate to see them closed up now that they've finally had a chance to breathe,” Avery said, pulling her sweat-soaked T-shirt away from her body. “I can't wait to make them habitable again.”

“Yeah, it's a great property.” He nuzzled the top of her head. “I'm glad it's going to get a second chance.” He took off his baseball cap and ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. “Do you have the key?”

“Yep, it's . . .” Avery was patting her pockets when they heard a shout. They eyed each other at the sound of Robby's voice and started moving. The plumber waved excitedly as they approached the main building.

“What's up?” Chase asked when they'd joined him on the porch.

“I gotta show you something.” He led them inside and through several doors to the women's locker room. “I had to take apart one of the lockers to get at a plumbing stack and I found something kind of odd.”

Avery's heart sped up as they drew closer and she saw the
newly exposed section of wall. The thing Robby was pointing to wasn't something that needed to be repaired. It was, however, something that didn't really seem to belong hidden away in a women's locker room. It was a safe, one that would have looked far more at home in the bowels of a bank vault.

They spent the following week airing out the buildings and attempting to scrub away as much of the dirt and grime as possible. Ray scraped paint samples off the walls and cut swatches of wallpaper and fabric, shredded though they were, to send to the companies that had existed when the hotel was built for potential matching and comparables.

Determined not to lead the remaining paparazzi to the hotel, they staggered their departures each morning and took turns returning to Bella Flora at different times during the day. It was dirty and exhausting work that left them limp; some might say catatonic. Hiding their exhaustion when they straggled back in the late afternoons required almost as much energy as the manual labor they were performing.

With Renée and John still out of town following the Memorial Day weekend, they'd decided to keep the discovery of the safe to themselves until the Franklins returned. Despite the drawing of straws and a vigorous round of rock/paper/scissors, no one was willing to inform Annelise of its existence for fear she'd insist everything come to a halt until it had been removed and/or opened.

Kyra returned to Bella Flora from a supposed “beach run” with Dustin late that Friday afternoon to find what remained of their pack of paparazzi waiting on the beach path. She bit back a smile of satisfaction that the pack had now shrunk to a duo consisting of Nigel Bracken and his potato-faced cohort Bill.

“You're going to have to stir things up a bit, luv,” Nigel said as she slowed to a walk. “Or I'm going to have to move on. I've put my trust in you and you've let me down. I've got alimony and child support to pay.”

She blinked at the thought of Nigel Bracken as a father. “I'm pretty sure that's not our responsibility,” she replied.

“Bloody hell it's not!” the photographer retorted, his companion nodding in agreement. “Ours is a symbiotic relationship. You give us photo ops of something worth photographing and we bring you an audience.” He yawned theatrically. “Plus I'm nearly dying from the boredom.”

“Symbiotic is a serious stretch,” Kyra replied grimly. “More like parasitic. We don't
want
an audience that's looking for titillation.”

“All audiences are looking for titillation,” Bill said, taking a swipe at his very large, very sunburnt nose. “You and your mother are both dating celebrities and we haven't had so much as a glimpse of either of them.”

“I am not
dating
Daniel,” Kyra said. “And I definitely don't control his travel schedule.” Her grip tightened on the jogging stroller's handlebar as she prepared to push around them.

The photographers snorted their disbelief. “Well, then maybe you'd like to flash a little something,” Nigel suggested. “You know, give us a bit of
Girls Gone Wild
?” He raised his camera into position as if that might actually happen.

“That would do it,” the other pap agreed amenably. “Just a little skin to keep the editor happy.”

“Gosh, why didn't I think of that?” she asked, putting the
heel of one palm to her forehead as if she'd just realized she could have had a V8. “I'll tell you what,” she said. “Why don't you wait right here while I take Dustin inside, you know, so he won't have to see his mother stripping in public. Then I'll take off all my clothes and come back out here so that you can take nude pictures of me. Will that work for you?”

Nigel's mouth opened then closed.

“That would be great!” Bill exclaimed.

“Wait right here,” she said sweetly as she angled the stroller so that Dustin's sleeping face was not photographable. “I'll be back!” she called as she pushed past them. She kept the “just as soon as hell freezes over” to herself.

“There are worse things than having paparazzi wanting to take your photo,” Nikki observed when Kyra carried the still-drowsy Dustin inside and tucked him into the corner of the sofa.

“Oh, what's that?”

“Having them leave because there's nothing worth shooting.”

Kyra stared at her, nonplussed.

“I'm not saying you have to flash your boobs or anything. But as much as they are pond scum, Nigel has a point. I know Avery wants this to be a straight renovation show, but I'm not sure we'll be able to raise all the money we'll need or find a way to get it aired if no one even remembers who we are.”

“Well, I'm pretty sure Nigel and his friend Bill are still waiting. If you think it will help, you can go on out and show them a little skin. Be sure and tell them I sent you.” She knew she needed to calm down, but the fact that she was the one who had to control herself just made her angrier. “I'm so sick of them. They are barnacles on the dock of life as far as I'm concerned. Someone needs to scrape them off. I am not going to be turned into a Kardashian.”

Kyra settled on the sofa with her laptop. As she checked the
Do Over
Facebook and Twitter pages, it was impossible to ignore the fact that the number of followers on both had leapt each time they'd had brushes with celebrity or disaster. Even her “designer wanted” post had picked up another five hundred Facebook fans. The shots of the “Deirdres” waiting in line for interviews had attracted even more.

Beside her, Dustin had curled into a tight ball, his breathing even, his thumb firmly planted in his mouth. She brushed a hand over his dark curls, studied his almost delicate features. He was so small and defenseless. So in need of her protection. And how would he fare when he got older and had to navigate on his own without her running interference, blocking unwanted camera lenses? Would he be comfortable with who he was and the circumstances of his birth? Or would he hold it against her?

Movement outside caught her eye. Still lost in thought, she watched the pool being cleaned. The pool guy wore a large straw hat that tied under his chin and a pair of dark glasses. His nose was covered in a thick stripe of zinc oxide. His T-shirt and swim trunks hung loose on his body as he vacuumed the bottom of the pool in long unhurried strokes, checked the filter, and added chemicals. He moved out of sight, presumably to inspect the pump.

A knock sounded on the kitchen door. She heard it open. Heard Nikki speaking to someone.

“The pool guy is here.” Nikki stood in the entrance to the salon.

“Um-hmmm,” she said, not bothering to look up.

“He needs to talk with you,” Nikki said. “Now.”

Kyra looked up in irritation, which fled when she saw the pool guy standing beside Nikki. He had removed the straw hat and dark glasses to reveal the dark curly hair, even darker heavily lashed eyes, and golden skin he'd bequeathed to her son. “Daniel.” Her heartbeat sped up at the sight of him, a
response she told herself was simply the result of being taken by surprise.

His eyes rested on her face before moving to Dustin's tightly curled body. “I thought I'd just pop in and see how you both were doing.” He moved toward them with animal grace, his smile devastatingly eager and boyish.

He bent over and pressed a kiss to Dustin's tousled curls, then kissed her just as gently, the brush of his lips across hers reminding her of the first time he'd made love to her in his trailer on the set of her first—and last— major motion picture. When he'd kissed her as if she were something precious, as if all he'd cared about was making her happy. As if he couldn't believe his good fortune. She had been so unbelievably naïve.

“Nice getup,” she said, nodding to the T-shirt with
Perfect Pools
lettered across it, the baggy board shorts. The stripe of zinc oxide still coated his nose and, she suspected, now dotted her cheek.

“Thanks. I have an hour before I have to return the truck.”

“I hope you checked the filter while you were out there. I think there's something wrong with it.”

His brown eyes lit with amusement. They were eyes designed to get a woman into a bedroom and keep her there.

“And there are two paps waiting outside in hopes that you'll make an appearance. Or for me to come out and flash them an interesting body part or two.”

“I'd rather you keep those body parts here,” he murmured.

“That's my plan,” she said, reminding herself that she should not be showing those body parts to Daniel, either. “We've managed to bore the rest of them away. I think the last two are pretty close to giving up.”

“Yes, well, unfortunately paparazzi have to make a living, too,” Daniel said matter-of-factly.

“So Nigel told me. Apparently our dullness is wreaking havoc with his child support payments.”

“It is a dicey thing,” he replied. “We need each other to exist.”

“Please,” she said. “I beg you. Do not use the word ‘symbiotic.'”

He smiled. “Done. I'm ejecting it from my vocabulary.” Gently he lifted the still-sleeping Dustin into his lap, moved closer to Kyra, then settled him gently within the crook of one arm. A reminder that he was an experienced parent. That he had other children. And a wife. With whom he lived.

“The trick is not to make them go away, but to control the kind of coverage you get. And especially to get it
when
you want it,” he continued as he slipped his other arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him, not giving her a chance to protest. As if she could have when she could feel that thing that bound them tingling and tightening. It was easy to be strong when Daniel Deranian was just a name in the headlines or a snippet in a movie trailer. In person he was more like catnip. Her own personal brand of kryptonite.

No.
She might not be Superman but that didn't mean she was going to roll over, either. She was not going to be his “bit” on the side. She'd told him this and she'd meant it. More importantly, she'd promised herself. She scooted away from him.

“Kyra, you can't deny that we have pretty powerful chemistry together.”

“I didn't do all that well in chemistry. But I remember that sometimes when the wrong things get mixed together they explode.”

He smiled at this and inched closer, careful not to wake Dustin. “You know I care about you. And our son. It doesn't have to be complicated.”

“We're not a package deal,” she insisted. “I know you love Dustin and I appreciate everything you've done for both of us. Having Bella Flora is, well, it's huge. But it is complicated. You have a family and you're married to Tonja.” If anything should have woken her up and ripped her out from under his spell, it was the mention of his vindictive movie star wife. Whom he'd repeatedly chosen over her.

She straightened and looked him in the eye. “I refuse to be someone you sleep with now and then.”

“I'd like to sleep with you a lot more often than that.” His tone was teasing, his eyes admiring. “I care about you, Kyra. I love being with you in every possible way. That's the best I can do.”

Somehow, while she was all tangled up in the word “love” and the look in his eyes, he'd gotten close enough to nibble on her earlobe. His warm breath on her neck made her skin prickle with pleasure. Of its own volition her body began to strain toward his. Her eyes fluttered shut as she searched for the strength to resist him even as her head turned so that her lips could reach his. It was possible that the word “irresistible” had been created to define him.

“I am not going to sleep with you,” she said hoarsely. “I'm not.”

“I know.” The kiss was devastatingly sweet and deceptively earnest.

Once again she felt herself surrendering. “No!” She pulled back, squared her shoulders. But the truth was if her protest hadn't woken Dustin, Daniel could very well have kissed his way to “yes.”

“Dundell!” Dustin said happily, not questioning his father's arrival any more than he would question his departure.

“Dustbin!” Daniel replied equally happily, using the name Dustin had applied to himself when he'd first begun to talk. With a mischievous wink he slid his arm around Kyra's shoulders and pulled her tight against him.

And so she sat with Daniel's arm around her, their son sprawled across both their laps, smiling at their shenanigans. To all appearances they might have been a happy family roughhousing on the family couch. But though they were in fact bound together they were none of those things. And if she were going to protect her son, she'd better not let herself forget it.

Nikki came out of the kitchen to the sound of Dustin's giggles. Pausing to peek into the salon, her eyes were drawn to the sofa where Daniel, Dustin, and Kyra were knotted together in what appeared to be some sort of tickle fest. They were so tightly intertwined that it was impossible to tell where one body began and another ended. Despite the occasional mock growl or protest, their laughter was joyous. Though she knew the truth, to all appearances they might have been any happy young family delighting in each other's company.

The image sliced through her. This was exactly what Joe Giraldi wanted, what he deserved.