The Great Escape (25 page)

“It should,” Temple said. “All that blood flow.”

The door slammed behind him, and the porch floor reverberated from the blunt trauma of his footsteps. Temple’s voice became an urgent whisper. “Did you get my muffin?”

“It’s in a sack under the sink in my bathroom.”

“What kind?”

“Chocolate.”

“Perfect.” She eyed Panda through the window, assessing how far he was from the house. “Was he really a bad lover?”

“I guess not.” Lucy pushed his plate of barely eaten food away. “He said it was me. He said I wasn’t that good.”

Temple’s dark brows arched. “He actually told you that?”

Lucy nodded.

“Interesting,” Temple said. “Maybe you should try again?”

“Are you serious?”

Her cat’s eyes grew thoughtful. “Panda is a fascinating man. I’ll admit I put out a few signals when I first met him, but he ignored them. Then I met someone else …” Her expression clouded. “A disaster. I should have tried harder with Panda.”

Lucy wondered if this “disaster” was at the root of Temple’s weight gain.

Temple checked the window view one more time, then rose. “I’m going after that muffin. If he comes back inside, keep him occupied.”

“How exactly am I supposed to do that?”

“Take off your clothes.”

“You take off your clothes,” Lucy retorted.

But nobody was taking off any clothes because Panda had reappeared. “If you’re done with your girlie chat,” he sneered from the doorway, “let’s get back to work. Or maybe you think those pounds are going to melt away by themselves?”

“Prick.” Temple cut a resentful glare toward Lucy’s bedroom, then followed him down to the cove.

A
S
L
UCY WAITED FOR THE
bread to finish baking, she caught glimpses of Temple and Panda kayaking. Unlike Lucy, Temple deliberately steered the boat into the current. Panda paddled nearby, guarding his client against potential attack by a roving band of Great Lake pirates.

Between the doughnut and French fries, Lucy wasn’t hungry, but she couldn’t resist cutting the heel from one freshly baked loaf of oatmeal bread and drizzling it with some of Bree’s honey. She hid both loaves on the porch behind the new plants she rearranged on the baker’s rack. Panda could figure out where to store the leftovers.

She’d baked with the windows open, then camouflaged the lingering aroma by partially melting the lid of an old plastic Cool Whip container over a gas burner. When Temple came back inside, she was so frantic to get to the muffin hidden in Lucy’s bathroom that she didn’t notice the noxious fumes, but Panda noticed. He shot Lucy a look that clearly asked if this was the best she could do. Then his gaze settled on the ceramic pig she’d retrieved from the garage and set on top of the refrigerator. He took in the hangman’s noose she’d hooked around the pig’s neck, a rope-tying skill she’d picked up from Andre but intended to attribute to HGTV if he asked.

He didn’t.

Temple pulled off her ball cap and stretched her arms. “I’m going upstairs to take a nap. Wake me in an hour.”

“Great idea.” Panda was as anxious to get to the bread as Temple was to retrieve her muffin.

Temple pretended to work out a kink in her neck. “Lucy, can I borrow that magazine you were reading? Nothing like celebrity gossip to put you to sleep.”

“Sure.” Lucy didn’t have a gossip magazine. What she had was a hidden chocolate muffin, and she didn’t feel guilty about it. One small muffin wouldn’t kill Temple, and the Evil Queen needed a reward for the torture she was putting herself through.

As Temple set off for Lucy’s bedroom, Panda headed for the porch. Lucy was feeling a little sick from everything she’d eaten, and she rubbed her stomach.

“
Bastard!
” Temple screeched.

Uh-oh.
The sound had come from the bedroom. Lucy stuck her head out the back door. Panda wasn’t on the porch. She craned her neck toward the open deck on the other side of the screen. Sure enough, the slider door into her bedroom was open.

It was time to make herself invisible.

“
Lucy!
”

At the sound of Panda’s ominous roar, she quickly reviewed her options. Escape by car or by water?

She chose escape by car, but before she could reach the front door, Panda was storming toward her through the living room with Temple at his heels. “Do you think this is a joke?” he exclaimed. “You deliberately sabotaged her. Don’t you get it? This woman’s career is at stake.”

“It really wasn’t well done of you, Lucy,” the Evil Queen said haughtily. “I thought you understood how much I need a supportive environment. Obviously, I can’t count on you to be there for me.” Lifting her head, she bounded up the steps.

Lucy stared at her, then opened her mouth to unload, but Panda’s hand shot up. “Not now. I’m way too pissed off at you.” He headed for the porch.

No way was she putting up with this. She stormed after him.

He’d already found the bread.

She stomped across the porch. “If you think for one minute—”

“Damn …” He said the word like a prayer. “It’s still warm.”

She stared at him as he lifted the first loaf from behind the plants. He took in the missing heel but didn’t seem upset about it … Or about anything, for that matter, including the smuggled muffin. “I don’t suppose you have a knife,” he said. “Oh, hell …” He ripped off a chunk and sank his teeth in. “Honest to God, Lucy …” He swallowed. “This is the best thing I’ve had to eat all week.”

“Never mind about that. I’m not going to let you—”

“We need to find a better hiding place.”

She splayed her hands on her hips. “Obviously not under my bathroom sink!”

“Maybe that desk in the den? Watch the door. Make sure she doesn’t change her mind and come back downstairs.” He took another bite. “And try not to let her get to you again.”

She threw up her hands. “You two deserve each other.” And then … “What did you do with the muffin?”

“Ate it in front of her like I told her I would. I had to stuff it in so fast I couldn’t even enjoy it.”

That would account for the smear of chocolate at the corner of his mouth.

“You do know this diet she’s on is insane,” she said.

“I’m hoping she’ll figure that out, but until then I have a job to do.” He tore off a second chunk. “I’ll have to search you from now on.”

“Search me?”

“Nothing personal.”

Nothing personal, indeed!

Chapter Fourteen

I
DON
’
T SEE WHY WE HAVE
to go to church,” Toby said.

“Take it up with your best friend Big Mike.” Bree knew she sounded petty, but she couldn’t help herself. She slipped into her only remaining pair of heels, strappy bronze stilettos that would make her as tall as Mike. As a bonus, she could always use the heels to stab any serpents that might escape during the worship service.

For the past five days, she’d tried to come up with a way to get out of this, but Mike had backed her into a corner. As long as she was responsible for Toby, she couldn’t afford to have Mike blackball her in the community, something he was perfectly capable of doing. He was a big man outside, but inside, he was small and petty, and he had years of practice manipulating people to do what he wanted.

“We have to go to church because of the way you act so mean to Big Mike,” Toby said. “I’ll bet he thinks you’re going to hell.”

Already there.

Just then Mike’s red Cadillac pulled into the drive. She still couldn’t figure out the best way to warn Toby to keep his guard up. “Mike’s been nice to you,” she said tentatively, “but … sometimes people aren’t always exactly the way they seem.”

He shot her a look that branded her the dumbest person on earth and dashed out the door, the tail of his plaid shirt flapping. So much for good intentions.

She’d tucked her hair into a fashionably untidy bun to accompany one of the few dresses she hadn’t put up for consignment, a sleeveless caramel sheath she’d accessorized with costume hoop earrings. Her arms still felt bare without her bangles. She’d sold all her good jewelry months ago, along with her two-carat engagement ring. As for her wedding ring … The night Scott had left her, she’d driven to the club and thrown it in the pond by the eighteenth green.

Mike hopped out of the car to open the door for her. She handed him the computer laptop he’d given her. “Thank you,” she said stiffly, “but I’m sure you can find a better use for this.”

Toby clambered into the backseat. The interior smelled of good leather with only the faintest trace of Mike’s cologne. She cracked open a window anyway to get some air.

Mike set the computer in the backseat without commenting. Even before they pulled out onto the highway, Toby started chattering about his bike. When he finally paused for breath, Mike said, “Why don’t you ride it in the Fourth of July parade tomorrow?”

“Could I?” Toby asked Mike, not her.

“Sure.” Mike glanced over at Bree. “We finished work on my float yesterday. This year’s theme is ‘Island in the Sun.’”

“Catchy.” How she’d once loved the way this parade marked the beginning of another magical island summer.

“I always have the biggest float,” he bragged. “Hey, why don’t you ride on it?”

“I’ll pass.”

Mike shook his head and grinned, no better at picking up on social cues than he’d ever been. “Remember the year you and Star talked your way onto the Rotary float? Star fell off the back, and Nate Lorris nearly ran her over with his tractor?”

She and Star had laughed until they’d both wet their pants. “No. I don’t remember.”

“Sure you do. Star was always angling for a way to get the two of you on a float.”

She’d always managed it, too. They’d ridden on floats for Dogs ’N’ Malts, Maggie’s Fudge Shop, the Knights of Columbus, and the old barbecue joint that had burned down. Once Star had even gotten them onto the Boy Scouts’ float.

Toby piped up from the rear. “Gram said my mom was worthless.” He delivered this statement so matter-of-factly that Bree was taken aback, but Mr. Salesman had an answer for everything.

“Your gram said that out of sadness. Your mom was restless, and sometimes she could be a little immature, but she wasn’t worthless.”

Toby kicked the back of the seat with no particular venom. “I hate her.”

Toby’s antipathy for his mother was disturbing, even though Bree felt the same. Although lately her resentment toward Star had begun to seem more like the dregs of an old head cold than a full-blown attack of the flu.

Once again, Mike stepped into the breach. “You didn’t know your mother, Toby. Sure she had her faults—we all do—but there were a lot more good things about her.”

“Like running out on me and Gram and my dad?”

“She had this thing called postpartum depression. Sometime women get it after they have babies. I’m sure she didn’t mean to stay away for long.”

Myra had never said anything to Bree about postpartum depression. She’d said Star couldn’t stand being stuck with a baby and had run away so she could “cat around.”

As they reached town, Bree hoped the subject of Star was closed, but bigmouthed Mike couldn’t leave it alone. “Your mom and Bree were best friends. I bet Bree can tell you lots of good things about your mom.”

Bree stiffened.

“I bet she can’t,” Toby said.

She had to say something. Anything. She forced her jaw to move. “Your mother was … very beautiful. We … all wanted to look like her.”

“That’s true.” The glance Mike darted at her held unmistakable reproof. Mike Moody, the master of misdeeds, was judging her for not coming up with something more meaningful, but Toby didn’t seem to notice.

They’d reached the church. The
Episcopal
church. The largest and most respectable congregation on Charity Island.

Bree looked at Mike. “Serpents and speaking in tongues?”

He grinned. “It could happen.”

A joke at her expense. Still, some of her tension began to fade.

B
REE HAD ATTENDED THE
M
ETHODIST
church as a child, but organized religion with all its unanswered questions had eventually felt too burdensome, and she’d stopped not long after she got married. Mike found seats for them off to the side beneath a stained-glass window of Jesus blessing the multitudes.

As she relaxed into the rhythm of the service, her mood began to lift. For now anyway there were no beehives, no tomato plants to water or weeds to pull. No customers to entice or young boy to disappoint. The possibility that she might not be alone on this planet, that something larger might be watching out for her, gave her a fragile comfort.

Occasionally Mike’s arm, big and solid in a navy suit coat, brushed against hers. As long as she didn’t look at his gold-link bracelet or big college ring, she could pretend he was someone else—one of those steadfast, dependable men with solid values and a faithful heart. He closed his eyes for the prayers, listened attentively to the sermon, and sang the first verses of every hymn without consulting the hymnal.

After the service, he worked the crowd, slapping the men on the back, flattering the women, telling one of the deacons about a house going on the market, turning church into another sales opportunity. Everybody sucked up to him, except it didn’t exactly seem that way. They acted as if they genuinely liked him. The adult Mike Moody was beginning to confuse her, although he still didn’t seem to have any clue about how patronizing he could be, since he called an elderly woman “young lady.” On the other hand, he noticed the distress of a kid on crutches and rushed to help her before anyone else realized there was a problem. It was disconcerting.