The Cottage Next Door (5 page)

“Oh, wow,” she said, leaning forward until she could see the entire coastline over the rooftops of the single-­story homes between the gallery and the beach. Sailboats skimmed the sun-­dappled water, a dozen surfers lazily rode their boards as they waited for a wave. “Wow, wow, wow. I’ll bet you used to spend a lot of time up here. I know I would.”

“It’s even better at night, especially in winter when it’s clear and there’s a full moon and the air is crisp and cold. I used to imagine this was a real lighthouse on an isolated point of land and it was just me and the seagulls.”

“I’m not sure I could do that—­be a lighthouse keeper, I mean. I don’t mind being alone, but not for more than a day or two at a time.”

Michael spotted something to his left. “Look over here,” he said, pointing.

“Give me a hint what I’m looking for.”

“Just keep watching.”

Nothing happened. “I don’t see anything.” And then she did. “Oh my God,” she grabbed his arm. “Is that a whale?”

“It is.”

“Why is she coming up out of the water like that?”

“It’s called breaching, and she could either do it all day or come up one time and disappear.” He’d forgotten how great it felt to share the excitement of someone discovering the magic of the ocean for the first time.

“This is just so friggin’ cool.”

He liked her enthusiasm almost as much as he liked that she hadn’t immediately let go of his arm. She was so close he could feel her warmth and smell a trace of lavender in her hair. A sobering thought threaded its way through his mind. The more confident he made her feel about fitting in, the harder it was going to be to tell her she didn’t. “Once you’ve been here a while, you’ll get used to it.”

“No, I won’t.” And she wouldn’t. This was too special.

“
There
—­” He pointed again, only this time straight out in front of them.

She looked in time to see three whales breeching together and laughed in excitement. “I never, not in a million years, dreamed I would see something this special. Thank you so much for bringing me here.”

It was impossible not to get caught up in her energy. “What else have you seen since you’ve been here?”

She looked at him. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“Otters? Dolphins? Pelicans?”

She shook her head. “I haven’t seen anything, unless surfers count.”

Michael glanced at his watch a second time and frowned.

“Your meeting—­I forgot.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, meaning it more than he would have believed before he’d met her. “It’s something I can’t get out of.”

She took one last look, as if snapping a mental photograph, then maneuvered herself into position to climb downstairs. “Thank you,” she said again when they were back in the main part of the gallery.

“All part of the new employee package.” He cringed. Could he sound more inane? Michael set the alarm and locked the back door. He paused to watch her cross to the car before he stepped off the porch and followed, recognizing the hole in the sand he’d dug with what he’d told her that day, and knowing the deeper it went, the more disastrous it would be when the sides caved in.

Chapter Six

“I
DON’T WANT
to lose Diana,” Peter said. “There has to be a way we can handle this without involving her.”

“I’m listening,” Michael said. He didn’t want to lose her either, and not just for the obvious reasons.

“I don’t want you to
listen,
I want you to figure it out.” Frustration, as alien to his personality as pessimism, permeated Peter’s words.

Michael shifted the phone to his other ear as he crossed the living room. In the lengthy process of becoming more friends than relatives, he and Peter had reached the point that they never minced words with each other. “We’re in over our heads, Peter. We don’t have a clue what we’re doing.”

“Tell me again what happened that made you suspicious.”

“How many times—­”

“Indulge me. This is how I work things out.”

Michael tolerated Peter’s request because he understood where it was coming from. Peter no more wanted to believe Hester had been stealing from the business than Michael did. Maybe there was something they’d failed to see, something that could provide another explanation for all that missing money.

“When the owner of West Bay Images called last week, he said he couldn’t get Hester to return his calls or answer his emails. He told me they hadn’t been paid in three months, and that they wouldn’t ship the new prints we’d ordered until we made a good-­faith payment on the current bill.”

Peter let out a barely audible groan. “He must think we’re on the verge of bankruptcy. Jesus, that kind of rumor could destroy both me and the business.”

“Do you want me to finish, or have you heard enough?” Michael asked.

“What I really want is for you to tell me how the hell I could have missed something so obvious.”

“You didn’t see it because you didn’t want to.” He could have added, and probably should have, that Peter was not only too trusting, he was a lousy businessman. Michael would bet six months salary that Peter hadn’t looked at the books in months, if not years. He signed whatever Hester put in front of him, no questions asked.

“I can’t stop thinking about Hester taking the money. Why would she do something like that? Why didn’t she just come to me if she needed something?”

“Maybe she was afraid you would try to talk her out of paying for all those treatments for David.”

“That doesn’t make sense. She had insurance. Everyone who works at the galleries has top-­notch insurance—­the best my broker could find for them.”

“Doesn’t matter. No insurance company will cover treatment at a non-­accredited facility.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I did some snooping around last week and discovered that neither the doctor nor the hospital where David was treated were legit. You needed a magnifying glass to read the disclaimer, but it was there.”

Peter groaned. “And that’s where the money went? To some scam artist?”

“I don’t know that for a fact, but I think it’s a damn good guess.”

“So how do I clean up this mess? Where do we stand with West Bay Images?”

Michael sat on the edge of the sofa and leaned forward to prop his elbows on his knees. “I apologized about the bill, paid it with the business credit card, and spent the next twenty minutes reassuring him that it was a fluke that would never happen again. Even after all of that, he still switched us to a pay-­as-­you-­go account for the rest of the year.”

“That son of a bitch—­half his business has come from ­people I sent to him, and he has the balls to do something like this.” Realizing he was shouting, he lowered his voice. “And then as soon as you hung up, you tried to reach Hester.”

“Several times. I called and texted and sent emails. Nothing. The only time I hear from her is when she leaves a message on the phone at the gallery saying she isn’t feeling well and won’t be in.”

“You’ve gone to her house?”

“Three times,” Michael said patiently. “She’s not there.”

“Could she be hiding?”

“Are you listening to how bizarre this sounds? Why would she be hiding in her own house?”

“Why won’t she answer her goddamned phone?” Peter shouted.

Michael didn’t bother answering the rhetorical question. “What made you decide to go through the files rather than wait to ask her what was going on?”

“The guy at West Bay was such a jerk, I wanted to find something that would prove he’d been paid and that the error was on his end. All I needed was a bank statement showing—­”

Peter let out a heavy sigh. “You don’t have to go on. When was the last time you tried calling Hester?”

Michael glanced at his watch. “Twenty-­five minutes ago.” Consumed with frustration over not being able to do anything to help, Michael said, “I’m going to make an appointment with your attorney tomorrow.”

“You’re wasting your time, Michael. She’s going to tell you she’s not a criminal attorney, and that you’re going to have to find someone else to represent the galleries in this.”

“We don’t need her to represent us,” Michael said, struggling for patience. “We need advice. If she doesn’t have the answers, she has to know someone who would.”

“All right, say she does. And let’s say you make an appointment with him or her and they tell you that you have to turn everything over to the police. What then? If you don’t, you become complicit. If you do, Hester winds up in jail.”

“We’re right back where we started. Without talking to Hester or getting someone to go over the books, we’re only guessing at what’s going on.”

“It can’t be Diana,” Peter insisted. “I will not let her become involved in this.”

“Then who?”

“I don’t know. I’ll figure it out when I get there.”

“And in the meantime? What do I tell Diana? What possible excuse can I give her to keep her from showing up for work on Monday?”

“Once this is settled and she knows that asking her to wait a ­couple of weeks had nothing to do with her, that we were only trying to protect her, she’ll understand.”

“By the time that happens, she’s going to be long gone,” Michael said.

“Do you have a better suggestion?”

An idea hit with surprising clarity. “Up her stake in staying. Offer her the apartment.”

Several seconds passed before Peter replied. “What makes you think that will work?”

“She’s seen it and she loves it. And she’ll know you would never make that kind of offer if you wanted to get rid of her.”

“I hope you’re right. Do you want me to handle it when I get there?” Peter said.

“I think it would be better coming from you.”

“So what about the attorney?”

Michael yielded. “As long as we’ve got Diana taken care of, I’m willing to wait for that, too. In the meantime I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure she knows you’re glad she’s here, and that you’re looking forward to working with her.”

Peter chuckled. “From what I’ve heard, that shouldn’t be an onerous burden.”

Michael ignored him. “Back to the attorney. You need to be putting some thought into what you’re going to do if she says you have to turn this over to the police.”

“That’s not going to happen. She’ll be working for me, what I tell her will be covered under attorney-­client privilege and won’t go any further—­not even if I tell her there was a crime committed.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes.” A second later he added, “No. How the hell would I know something like that for sure?”

“Where did you hear it?” The only time Peter ever got short-­tempered with him was when he was unsure of his position. To have it happen now wasn’t a good sign.

Several seconds passed. “On some television show. It made sense, so I figured they must know what they were talking about. After all, they have a staff of advisors working for them.”

Michael laughed out loud. This was the Peter he knew, someone who could poke fun at himself and get a kick out of doing so. “Please tell me it wasn’t daytime television.”

“It was one of those lawyer shows your mom likes.”

“Does she know you’re planning to base Hester’s legal defense on
The Good Wife?
”

“No. And don’t you dare tell her.”

“What’s it worth to you?”

Now it was Peter’s turn to laugh. “Name your price.”

“A confirmed meeting with your attorney when you get home.”

“All right. I’ll call her first thing in the morning to set it up.”

“When are you getting in?”

“The first flight we could manage without a long layover leaves four hours after the reception in Brussels. We get in around noon, and should be home by three.”

The Brussels reception brought in dealers from all over northern Europe, and provided a sizable percentage of Peter’s foreign income. It couldn’t be missed. Which meant they wouldn’t be home for five days.

A lot could happen in five days.

“I’ll see you then,” Michael said.

“Before you hang up, I want to tell you again how sorry I am that you’re caught up in this.”

“Get over it, Peter. We’re going to figure it out.” Michael stopped pacing, hiked himself up to sit on the island counter, and grabbed an orange out of the mesh basket beside him. He’d spent hours on the Internet looking for an answer that would keep all of them out of court. What he’d found were articles written with conviction, immediately followed by equivocation, advice as helpful as a rubber life raft with a hole in it.

“If it turns out Hester did take the money, she had a damn good reason.” Pain edged the words like frost forming on ice. “I want to hear her side before I do something I’m going to regret later.”

“I understand.” There was nothing more to say. Michael dug a thumb-­sized opening into the orange peel. He had to wait for what came next.

“And I’m sorry that it’s falling on you to try to keep Diana from leaving.”

Michael smiled as he added another quarter-­size piece of peel to the growing stack. “Don’t worry about it.”

Chapter Seven

M
ICHAEL HUN
G UP
from his conversation with Peter and hit contacts on his phone, looking for Diana’s number. She answered on the second ring. “Are you free tonight?”

“Michael?”

“Yeah—­sorry. I should have identified myself.”

Assuming he wanted to show her the Carmel gallery to finish the tour, she answered with a breezy, “Sure. What did you have in mind?”

“Dinner. There’s a wonderful hole-­in-­the-­wall Mexican restaurant near the wharf that’s great for watching surfers and sunsets. I’m not sure where it’s written, but everyone out here knows that there’s no way you can be a true Californian and not love authentic Mexican food.”

To anyone listening it would sound as if he were asking her on a date. But Diana knew better. She recognized the subtle pressure that had been exerted on Michael by Cheryl. As the baby of her generation in their far-­reaching family, it was the duty of her elders to make sure she was taken care of.

“It’s not as if we don’t have Mexican food in Topeka.” Before he could say anything, she added, “And, yes, I do realize Taco Bell doesn’t count as real Mexican food.”

“The thought never crossed my mind.”

“You don’t lie very well.”

“Some ­people think that’s a good thing.”

She laughed. “I see your point.”

“Are we on?” he asked.

“Yes. What time?”

“Pick you up at five-­thirty?”

It wasn’t as if she had anything else to do. “I’ll be ready.”

M
ICHAEL’S WH
ITE
P
RIUS
pulled into the driveway at five twenty-­nine. Diana grabbed a quick look at her reflection in the living room window, smoothing the skirt of the blue and fuchsia sundress she’d brought with her from Kansas, hoping the skinny straps and above-­the-­knee hemline would make her look like she belonged.

Michael got out of the car to greet her. “Great dress.”

“Thanks.”

They took the back roads to the restaurant, avoiding the traffic on Highway 1. Everywhere she looked there were ­people walking or running or strolling hand in hand. Dogs accompanied half of them, some riding in their own strollers.

Dinner was everything Michael had promised, including the sunset. He’d ordered a sampler appetizer that had a variety of ten different foods served at the restaurant. She readily admitted she’d never heard of half of the offerings. Afterward, Michael asked her to list her favorites. It turned out to be the hardest thing she’d done that day. She settled on her top three—­beef birria, arroz con camarones, and halibut ceviche.

Instead of heading to the car when they left the restaurant, Michael took her to the marina, where they sat on a rock wall and watched the boats come in. Seagulls swooped in to check for remnants of fish and any other discarded bits of food left behind. A pelican stood guard atop a schooner mast.

“Do you have a boat?” she asked.

“I have friends who’ve taught me to sail, but I’ve never had the desire to go out on my own.”

“It must be mind-­blowing to be out on the ocean with whales and dolphins all around you. Just sitting here looking at the boats is special.” She had almost added—­
with you
—­but caught herself in time.

“It looks peaceful now,” he said. “But you should have seen it four years ago when the tsunami that hit Japan made it over here. The waves weren’t impressive as they were coming in, but they caused millions of dollars in damages when they swept into the harbor. Boats and docks and pillars were stacked on top of each other like they’d been tossed in a toy chest by a kid throwing a tantrum.”

She tried to imagine what it had been like, but couldn’t picture what Michael had seen. Now it was like going into a town hit by a tornado after the debris had been hauled away.

“Thank you,” Diana said, deciding not to wait until the evening was over. “Today was everything I hoped it would be when Cheryl told me about the job at the gallery.”

“You’re welcome. I’m glad you had a good time.” From the beginning she’d been easy to be with, their words unguarded and conversations free-­flowing. She’d laughed at his jokes because she thought they were funny, not out of politeness. And she was game for anything, including, despite his warning, a serrano pepper that she unceremoniously spit into her napkin.

“Are you dating anyone?” Diana asked impulsively.

He looked down and nudged an empty shell with his foot, trying to hide the grin of pleasure that came with her question. She’d tried to make it sound casual, but no one asked something like that unless they were interested in the answer.

“Nope. I’ve given up on anything permanent. For now, at least.” He focused on a wooden skiff making the turn into the harbor. “At least that was how I felt when I got up this morning.”

“Me, too.” She shot him a glance to make sure he meant what he’d said. “The last thing I want is to get involved in another relationship. At least not right away. Not after the last one.” She was babbling.

“That’s how I felt when Leslie and I broke up. It’s been almost a year. Actually more like nine months, two weeks, and fourteen hours. But I’m over it now.”

“Sorry.” She loved his quirky sense of humor. “I didn’t mean to bring it all back.”

He picked up the shell and tossed it in the water, drawing the attention of several nearby gulls. “I’m kidding about the time. And don’t be sorry, there’s not a whole lot you could have done to change what happened, unless you’re really good at talking ­people out of making asses of themselves.”

Because she’d never been able to let go of anything, she did exactly what the reasonable side of her brain told her not to and asked, “So, what happened?”

He cast her a sideways glance and a halfhearted attempt at a grin. “I’ll tell you about it in the car.”

On the way to the parking lot Michael pointed out landmarks and cormorants and talked about the locations Peter had painted. Although he’d never thought of himself as a tour guide, he discovered, to his surprise, that he liked showing her his California.

When they were in the car, he picked up where he’d left off earlier. “I proposed to her.”

Diana ran through a dozen reasons she and her girlfriends had used to dump a guy, and being proposed to had never made any of their lists. “That’s it?”

“If only.” He buckled his seat belt, put in an odd looking key, and hit an ignition button.

“I don’t know whether you want me to shut up or drag it out of you.”

“Instead of a quiet romantic dinner at a five-­star restaurant, I asked her to marry me at AT&T Park during a Giants baseball game.”

“That’s it?”

“—­on the Jumbotron.”

“Oh . . .”

“Exactly.” A car slowed and waved him in. Michael nodded his thanks and eased between a green BMW and a white pickup truck.

“She wasn’t ready, I take it.”

“Not even close. I’d misread every signal she’d given me about romantic proposals.”

Diana frowned. “Somehow I don’t see you as the kind of guy who would do something like the proposal you described.”

“Thanks. I’m glad that comes across.”

“Then why?”

“When we first started going together, Leslie told me she loved that kind of wildly romantic gesture. She even took me to a theater where a guy had made one of those ads you see before the movie starts, only instead of pushing dental implants, he was pushing himself and all the reasons his girlfriend should marry him.”

“Oh, how painful. So what did Leslie do when you proposed?”

“Well, after I went down on bended knee and told her she was the love of my life and that I wanted to grow old with her, she took one look at the ring, clasped her hands behind her back, and said she wanted to kill me. She was in the middle of telling me how furious she was that I would embarrass her in front of our friends, all of whom I’d made sure were there, when she realized it wasn’t just our friends who were watching.”

Diana groaned in sympathy.

“If only it had been that simple,” Michael said, “she might have forgiven me. But once she heard the collection of gasps and hoots from what was an estimated crowd of twenty thousand ­people and figured out what I’d done, all hope I had that eventually she would come around disappeared. Thankfully whoever was running the camera cut away before she burst into tears and took off.”

There wasn’t one guy in Diana’s circle of friends who would dream of doing something as wildly romantic, let alone own it after it fell apart. What was even harder to imagine was any of them having empathy for the girl who’d turned them down.

Feeling like a hypocrite, Diana repeated her mother’s favorite platitude. “Give it some time. It’ll get easier.”

“Really? That’s the best you can do?” The playfully mocking tone took the edge off the question.

Diana laughed. “Pretty lame, huh?”

“Worse—­it’s actually true,” he admitted. “It took six months, but I finally reached the point that I could watch a Giants game for more than five minutes and be able to tell you what happened on the field.”

“And now?”

“I can get through an entire inning, no problem. A friend of mine recently gave me a ­couple of tickets for their next home game that I’m going to use. Not in the same section, but close enough.”

“Good for you.” Gathering the weight of the idiotic thing she’d done on one side of a scale, and Michael’s screwy miscalculation on the other, her side came in several pounds heavier. She needed more time to get where he was now. Still, he gave her hope.

“Want to go with me?”

It was obvious by the way he asked that the invitation wasn’t planned. “Who are they playing?”

“Does it matter?”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Of course it does. I might have to cheer for the Giants if they were playing a team I don’t like.”

Michael laughed. “Good answer. I’ll check the tickets and get back to you.”