Sunshine Beach (25 page)

“Breathe.”

“I am breathing,” Avery said.

“No, you're hyperventilating. That's not the same thing.”

Avery couldn't quite stop the eye roll or manage to do what Chase suggested. The deep breath she took remained harsh and ragged.

They stood between the pockmarked pool and the entrance to the Sunshine Hotel's main building. The patchwork of tarps that covered the roof snapped in the brisk afternoon breeze. Surf pounded against the sand. “We've been at this for almost six weeks and the property looks even worse than when we began. And Nikki and Ray aren't getting anywhere near the kind of response we were counting on from the list of potential sponsors.” She paced several steps, then paced back to Chase's side, not quite able to stay still.

“We have to look at this from a different angle,” Chase said. “And that's hard to do without enough oxygen to the brain.”

She drew another breath, let it out. Still ragged. “What other angle is there?” she asked, crossing her arms over her
chest. “I mean, I thought we were in budget hell with the network, but at least there
was
a budget.”

“I think we need to rethink the scope of the project,” Chase said. “Let go of the elements that aren't critical and then pick a few key places to wow the shit out of everybody.”

She paced toward the building, came back again. But this time the thought made it past the layer of panic. Deirdre had had a similar approach to design when money was tight, something she'd dealt with on her father's projects before she went to Hollywood, and on their
Do Over
budgets, which had been intentionally miniscule. A few small, really expensive accents or an eye-popping fabric on a couple of throw pillows were like a magician's sleight of hand. A means of making the audience focus where the magician wanted their attention. “That's not entirely stupid,” she conceded.

“Gee, thanks.”

She thought about the property. What mattered most. “So we pour in as much as we can here.” She nodded to the building in front of them. “Spalike locker rooms, fabulous beachy-chic dining room, comfortable yet luxurious lobby/reception area. All high ceilings, glass walls, acres of terrazzo. And the killer roof deck. Where we'll have the most exciting sunset viewing experience on the west coast of Florida.”

“Exactly.” Chase nodded enthusiastically.

“And the cottages?” she asked after a less ragged breath.

“I say we focus on getting them weather tight and deal with them once we have more money in place. My crew will be available soon.”

“If they can cut up the old concrete then repour the decking, the walkways, and maybe the new patios, we can help with the grunt work,” Avery said.

“Have I mentioned that hearing you talk construction turns me on almost as much as when you're covered in sawdust?”

“Blueprint.” She arched an eyebrow. “Header. Foundation.”
She drew out the last word in mock-suggestive breathiness. She laughed but didn't push him away when he nuzzled her neck. The kiss was sweet and meant, she knew, to soothe more than excite. But nothing could completely distract her from their number one problem: their budget or lack of one. “Even scaling down and relying on sleight of hand, we're still going to need more money than we're likely to get.” A lack of funds might be the mother of invention, but a renovation of any size could not be done with creativity alone.

“Well, Hardin Morgan Construction wants in.”

“That's sweet, Chase, but . . .”

“Seriously, Avery. Dad asked me to remind you that the firm's behind you. We'll even work for peanuts.” He smiled. “Some of us might even be willing to settle for kisses. Or other demonstrations of affection.”

Her eyes blurred with tears.

“Plus Enrico's not the only Dante who wants in. And God knows that family has enough skilled artisans to build a city. Roberto even offered to bring his houseboat up and dock nearby to handle the carpentry.”

Her heart actually leapt at the thought of Roberto Dante, the head-bobbing, tie-dye-wearing former hippie carpenter, who had done so much for Mermaid Point.

“You know I have a huge crush on that man.”

“Yeah. Apparently the feeling's mutual,” Chase replied. “I'm twisting arms over at our pool company. And Dad put in a call to our window and door people. We'll find a way to make it happen.”

“It means a lot to me having you so on board. And I want to believe we can pull it off. I really do. But even if we rebuilt this place with our own two hands, we have to have enough money for materials and furnishings. I'm trying, but it feels kind of like trying to believe in the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus despite all evidence to the contrary.”

“It's not a matter of trying, Avery. You believe or you don't.” Chase slung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “You need to get all the way on board, or I'm going to have to give you some serious noogies.” He knuckled his fist in her hair.

She snorted. “What are you, like ten?”

He grinned, unrepentant, but he dropped his hand. “And I wouldn't let Maddie hear you doubting. That's a very half-empty attitude you've got going.”

“Are you kidding? I'd be happy if the glass were only half empty. I'm afraid there might be a huge hole in the bottom.”

“It's going to be okay, Avery,” he said with a certainty she wished she could feel. “And I wouldn't count Nikki out, either. Even under the weather like she's been lately, she's a hard woman to say no to.”

“No, I'm sorry. But the answer is no.” Bitsy Baynard's voice on the phone was clear and firm. Allowing for absolutely no wiggle room. “Things are a little tight at the moment. In fact, I'm going to have to withdraw some of what I originally promised.”

Nikki slumped in the passenger seat of Ray's Cadillac. It was the first day of July. The thermometer showed ninety-one humidity-filled degrees. She'd aimed all of the vents at herself and turned the fan to high when he'd run into the 7-Eleven. Despite the ferocity with which the air-conditioning was blowing on her, she could feel sweat dampening her hair and dripping between her breasts. She felt distinctly light-headed as she wondered just how tight things could be for someone with Bitsy's resources.

A text dinged in. She swiped the screen to take a look.
Malcolm
. Perspiration dotted her upper lip. Her pulse
thrummed in her veins. He'd begun texting her at all hours of the day and night. Small bursts of words carefully crafted to look innocuous but meant to bully and intimidate.
How's Joe?
Have you been traveling lately?

She blotted at her face with a crumpled tissue trying to keep her thoughts on the phone call. Bitsy had stood by her when others had not; she'd been unfailingly generous. “No problem, I completely understand. Please let me know if anything changes.” They said their good-byes and hung up. Nikki deleted Malcolm's text as she had all the others and stuck her face right up against the nearest AC vent as the car door opened.

“Are you all right?” Ray slid into the driver's seat, dropped a plastic bag on the floor of the backseat, and gave her an appraising look. “You don't look so good.”

“Good God. Why does everyone think they have the right to weigh in on my appearance?” Even Dustin had put a small hand out to cup her cheek and said, “Nik-key have owie?” “What happened to manners and common courtesy?”

“Sorry,” Ray said. “It's just that your face is so white that . . . hold on.” He pulled a bottled water out of the plastic bag, unscrewed the cap, and put it to her lips.

“What are you doing?”

“Shh. Drink.” He tilted the bottle up so that she had no other option. “I think you might be dehydrated.”

“No. Wait.” The water dribbled down her chin, then sloshed down her throat when she stopped talking. She gagged slightly. Swallowed. Drank some more. The water was cold in her dry, parched throat. When she'd drunk all she could, she pushed his hand away. Swallowed one last time. “Don't ever do that again.”

He raised both hands palm out. “Sorry. Just trying to help.”

“I am not dehydrated.” She looked down at the cream blouse now dotted with water stains. “I'm soaked now. But
not dehydrated.” She glanced down at her watch, drew a steadying breath. “We need to get going. I don't want to be late for our appointment.”

“Yes, ma'am. Rearden Lighting coming right up.” He put the car in gear and backed out of the parking space. She closed her eyes against the sun's glare but she could feel his eyes on her. “You know, we could postpone this meeting. Or you could wait in the car while I go in.”

“No.”

“We could postpone and I could take you to a walk-in clinic. Just to make sure there's nothing wrong.”

“No.” This time she opened her eyes. But was careful not to let them show fear. She'd never felt this awful for this long. Not since she'd had mono in high school.

Another text dinged in. She didn't look at it. She tried to turn her thoughts to the upcoming meeting and pitch, but her mind once again filled with memories of her mother's horrible decline, the way she'd wasted away until her body finally shut down.

“I'm worried about you, Nikki.”

“Hmmm?” She tried to focus on what Ray was saying. But her thoughts and worries were spinning in a rush of color and noise, like a merry-go-round whirling out of control.

“Nothing,” he said. He turned into the lighting company's parking lot and put the car in park. “Seriously, Nikki. Why don't you just wait here and let me . . .”

“No.” Another text. Another worried look from Ray. She graspsed the door handle and pushed the door open. One foot hit the pavement.

“Wait, let me help you!” Ray was out of his door and racing around the car even as she levered herself out of hers. “Lord, you are stubborn.”

“You're not the first person to say that,” she said, holding on to the door as the world and Ray went in and out of focus. She blinked rapidly, attempted to catch her breath. “And you
probably won't be the last.” A blast of hot humid air hit her. The merry-go-round sped up. The music became a screech. She took a step. Forced herself to take another. “You see. I'm perfectly all . . .” She did not finish her thought, her sentence, or her step. Her knees buckled and she fell face-first. The last thing she saw was the concrete rising up to meet her.

“Hello?” Joe Giraldi's image on the iPhone screen was large enough to reveal a polite smile. His voice came through loud and clear.

“Hello!” Annelise shouted.

“You don't have to yell,” Renée said to Annelise, who sat next to her. Both of them were staring at the iPhone propped upright against a small stack of books on Renée's kitchen table. Joe Giraldi's face filled the screen. Their heads, which might have been gray-and-white Q-tips over faces too small to decipher, filled a small box in the corner.

“Thank you for talking to us!” Annelise shouted again as she strained toward the phone, her hands tightly clenched on the table.

“My pleasure,” the special agent said. “I got your message and I wanted to let you know that we have a name for the officer in the photos.”

Renée felt her sister's start of surprise.

“Who is he?” Renée asked.

“His name is Heinrich Stottermeir.”

They waited for Agent Giraldi to continue. “He was pretty
high up in the SS. Not a particularly nice fellow from what I've heard so far. But he was born and raised in Frankfurt.”

The photos had made it clear that he'd had some sort of connection to Annelise and her family. “He and Ilse's brother Erik were childhood friends, started their careers together in the Hitler Youth movement. Erik joined a panzer unit. Heinrich moved up the ranks of the secret police.”

Renée thought of the photo of him with his arm around Ilse, Ilse's brother on her other side. “I have someone doing a record search in Germany, but a lot of civil records didn't survive the bombing. The Nazis, on the other hand, were quite compulsive about record keeping. Heinrich Stottermeir was reported missing and presumed dead on the Russian front in December of 1944.”

“Oh.” Annelise drooped in disappointment. There was a tinge of the breathiness that had been absent in her voice thus far. “If he was already dead, then he couldn't have been here.”

Renée leaned forward, her eyes on Joe's face. “But we saw him,” Renée said. “We have the sketch, and I know I saw him somewhere near the hotel.” After all the years of refusing to consider Annelise's insistence on an intruder, all she wanted now was for someone to prove it to be true.

“We're going to follow this lead as far as it will take us,” Joe said.

“But what is there to follow if he was dead eight years before our father was killed?” Annelise wrung her hands in distress.

Renée slipped an arm around Annelise's shoulders, but she wasn't sure whether she was trying to give or receive comfort.

“It wasn't unusual for MIAs and other reports from a battlefield to be wrong. And I am curious what someone that high up the chain of command would have been doing on the Russian front,” Joe said. “That late in the war there were certainly Germans who had reason to ‘disappear.'”

Annelise's eyes were wide. “But how will we ever know for sure?”

“We may not,” he said gently. “It's still an avenue we have to look into.”

“But how?” Annelise asked again.

“I've been checking in with friends in different areas of intelligence. One of them referred me to a guy who was originally with the OSS, the predecessor of the CIA. He's retired in Sarasota. I have an appointment to see him. I'm taking the photo and note you sent me, in case he's fluent in German. I thought I'd come up to share what I find out and check in with Officer Jackson.”

“We'd appreciate it,” Renée said truthfully. Annelise nodded but remained silent.

“I'll be there Wednesday afternoon. Why don't we meet at the realty office at three?”

“That would be great. Thanks.” Renée prepared to hang up, but Joe didn't move.

“So, um, how's the renovation going?” he asked.

“There's a bit of a holdup,” Renée said. “Some problem with the roofs and support beams I think.”

Joe nodded. “And, how's everyone at Bella Flora?” he asked tentatively.

Renée bit back a smile. “As far as I know, everyone's fine.”

“Good. That's, um, good,” Joe said. “I'll see you both on Wednesday, then. At three o'clock.” There was one last hesitation before he disappeared from Renée's iPhone screen.

“What was that about?” Annelise asked as Renée levered herself out of her seat and then stood, waiting for the kinks in her body to straighten out.

Slowly Renée moved to the refrigerator to retrieve the pitcher of iced tea. “Let's just say I don't think it's
everyone
at Bella Flora that Agent Giraldi is concerned about.”

“Nikki?”

Nikki's eyes blinked open only to close as they encountered
the glare of some kind of overhead light. Footsteps quick and sure moved closer. She tried to concentrate on the voice, tried to figure out why it felt familiar, but reaching a conclusion required too much effort. She didn't have the energy to slog through the cotton wool that seemed to have been stuffed inside her head. The footsteps drew nearer—multiple sets.

“Nik?” The voice was warm and comforting. The hand that clasped one of hers was callused but gentle. This time when she opened her eyes a face had replaced the glare.
Maddie
.

Avery stood behind her. Nikki blinked again. Ray Flamingo sat in a leatherette recliner.

“Wow. You look like you landed on your face,” Avery observed. “It's a bloody mess.”

Nikki's hand moved of its own volition to her cheek. She winced as her fingers made contact.

“You're gonna have a real shiner,” Avery said. “Maybe two.”

Maddie shot Avery a look.

“Sorry. Just sayin' . . .”

Nikki closed her eyes and groaned. Even that hurt.

“What happened?” Maddie poured a glass of water from a plastic pitcher and brought it to Nikki's lips.

Nikki's eyes narrowed. “You!” she said to Ray.

“What?” He stood and moved behind Avery and Maddie.

“You poured water down my throat. I thought I was going to drown.”

“I was trying to hydrate you,” he sniffed.

“I don't think ‘hydrate' is supposed to be a verb,” Nikki said as memory slammed into her. “And hydrating against someone's will?”

Avery and Maddie turned to look up at Ray.

“She did not pass out because I gave her a drink of water.”

No, she'd passed out because she had a brain tumor. Or cancer. An incurable kind. Like her mother.

“The paramedics thought you were dehydrated, too,” Ray
said. “And that you might have had a concussion from hitting your forehead on the pavement.”

“There were paramedics?”

“Yes,” Ray said. “They brought you to the hospital in an ambulance. “

“I was in an ambulance?” Oh, God. How could she not remember this?

“Oh, yeah. I raced right behind it all the way down to the hospital. You were starting to rouse when they were wheeling you into the emergency room.”

“Wheeling me?”

“Yeah. You know, on the gurney.” He leaned in to get a closer look at her. “You really don't remember?”

She shook her head. Which was when she discovered that her face hurt.

“So what happened?” Avery asked.

Nikki couldn't remember anything after the forced hydration.
Definitely a brain tumor
. She looked up at the clock on the wall but had no idea how many hours might have been lost.

“We were in the Rearden Lighting parking lot. We had an appointment to pitch them on sponsorship,” Ray said.

“Right.” Nikki nodded carefully, trying not to use any of her facial features, all of which were throbbing.

“One minute Nikki was getting out of the car. The next she was planting her face in the concrete.”

“That would explain the gravel marks on your chin and cheekbones,” Maddie said.

Nikki ran her tongue over her cracked lips and came away with dirt and grit. It encountered something jagged in her mouth and she groaned. “I must have bitten my tongue. And”—she stuck two fingers in her mouth—“I think I thipped a tooth.”

“That's a nasty bump on your forehead, too,” Avery observed. “It kind of looks like a baseball.”

Nikki's fingers moved to her forehead. She winced. “Oh, God. Does somebody have a mirror?”

“No,” Maddie said before anyone else could answer. “There are no mirrors here.” She moved as she spoke so that Nikki couldn't see whatever was behind her. “The nurse said the doctor will be in shortly.” She gave Avery and Ray a look. “I'm sure the swelling will go down. In a few days no one will be able to tell anything happened.”

“I don't know,” Avery said. “That's one of the biggest honking . . .”

Maddie cut her off with her “I'm the mother here, don't mess with me” look. Ray grabbed Avery's elbow. “Come on, girlfriend,” he said. “Let's go make sure there's enough money in the meters.” He yanked Avery out the door.

After they left Maddie puttered, refilling Avery's water, repositioning the straw, straightening the paper pillow behind Nikki's head. In the quiet Nikki attempted to assess the damage. Her head, which had felt oddly light and puffy, now pounded. Her face felt like one big scrape. The tooth was definitely chipped. Her nose seemed to still be in one piece; was she imagining that it tilted to one side?

“Ms. Grant?” The doctor stood inside the doorway. She was an attractive woman with chin-length dark hair, a firm jaw, and clear gray eyes framed in dark rectangular glasses. Her white coat covered what looked like a runner's body. “I'm Dr. Gracen. You took quite a fall.” She came to the examining table. “Can you follow my finger?” She held up one no-nonsense finger and moved it back and forth, up and down.

“Good.” She jotted something on her clipboard. “So, we ran blood work when you first came in.” The doctor hesitated. Looked at Maddie. “I have something to share with you that is of a . . . personal nature.”

“Oh. Excuse me.” Maddie turned to go. “I'll just step out.”

“No.” Nikki reached for Maddie. She did not want to find out that she was dying without someone else present. Someone who would care that Nikki's life would be over. Her
thoughts turned to Joe, whom she'd shoved out of her life. Her hand clenched tighter to Maddie's wrist. “Maddie's like family to me.” Better than family because she didn't judge her or want her to go do something illegal on her behalf. “She can hear whatever you have to say.”

“Okay.” The doctor moved closer. She had a strangely expectant look on her face. “So in addition to dehydration, we found hCG levels that indicate you're . . .”

Maddie started in surprise. Nikki had no idea what the doctor was talking about. “HCG?” Had she heard those letters together during her mother's illness?

Nikki swallowed. “Is—is that hereditary?” she asked, trying to brace for the bad news.

“I'm sorry?” the doctor said.

Maddie's brown eyes plumbed Nikki's. Her mouth had gone slack with shock.

“What do I have?” Nikki whispered even as she tried to swallow back her fear. “How long do I have to live?”

Dr. Gracen's brow furrowed. “Under most circumstances, motherhood is not considered a life-threatening condition.”

“Unless you have a teenage girl.” Maddie's lips twitched. “Then there are times you long for death.”

“What are you talking about?” Nikki couldn't seem to process what was being said. Between her galloping heart and the pounding in her head, her hearing had gone muzzy.

“You're pregnant,” the doctor said. “HCG is called the pregnancy hormone. Based on your levels, I'm guessing you're about six weeks along.”

“How could this have happened?”

Maddie and Dr. Gracen simply stared at her, brows raised.

“I'm too old. My eggs are . . . I thought my eggs had expired!” Blood whooshed in her veins, pounded in her ears.

Dr. Gracen laughed. “We're talking the miracle of birth here, not the dairy aisle at the grocery store.”

“Joe will be so thrilled,” Maddie said, her face glowing with excitement. “Now you can stop worrying that you can't give him the family you think he deserves.”

“No.” Nikki shook her head in a vain attempt to clear it. This could not be happening. It should not be happening. She was too old. She'd been told she couldn't have children. She wasn't meant to be a mother. “You can't tell him. I don't . . . I can't . . . I have to think about this before I . . .”

“Of course you'll be the one to give him the news.” Maddie was still positively glowing with happiness. “Renée said he's coming in on Wednesday. Something about the intruder they think was in the family apartment that night. He'll be over the moon when you tell him.”

“No. I'm not. I can't.” Nikki shook her head, trying to clear it, hardly able to hear her own words over the roaring in her head. She heard Malcolm's voice, though. His snide comments and threats about Joe.
Joe
. “I'll tell him later. When I'm ready. When I'm sure that . . .” She didn't finish the thought or the sentence. For the second time that day her world went black. But at least this time she was already in a hospital with a doctor at her side. And no concrete was involved.