Whiskey Beach (22 page)

“That’s logical. I’m looking at the big picture, and he hasn’t used a lot of logic so far. I don’t want you hurt. And I don’t want you dealing with anything like you dealt with this morning again because you’re involved with me.”

Eyeing him coolly, she took a slow sip of wine. “Are you cooking me a farewell dinner, Eli?”

“I think it’s better all around if we take a break.”

“‘It’s not you, it’s me’—is that the next line?”

“Look. It’s because I . . . because you matter to me. You’ve got some of your things in the house, and cops pawed through them today. Corbett may believe me, but Wolfe doesn’t—and he won’t stop. He’ll do everything he can to discredit you, because it’s your statement that takes me out of the equation in Duncan’s murder.”

“He’ll do that whether or not I’m with you.”

For a moment she considered how she felt about being protected—from harm, from ugly talk. She decided she felt fine about it, even if she didn’t intend to allow it.

“I appreciate your position. You think you need to protect me, to shield me from harm, from gossip, from police scrutiny, and I find I like being with a man who would try to do that. But the fact is, Eli, I’ve already been through all of it, and more, once in my life. I’m not going to give up what I want on the chance I may go through some of it again. You matter to me, too.”

She lifted her wine as she studied him. “I’d say we’re at an impasse on this, except for one thing.”

“What thing?”

“It’s going to depend on how you answer the question. Which is, do you believe women should get equal pay for equal work?”

“What? Yes. Why?”

“Good, because this discussion would veer off into another avenue if you’d said no. Do you also believe women have the right of choice?”

“Jesus.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “Yes.” He saw exactly where she was taking him, and began to work on a rebuttal in his head.

“Excellent. That saves a long, heated debate. Rights come with responsibilities. It’s my choice how I live my life, who I’m with, who I care for. It’s my right to make those choices, and I take the responsibility.”

Her eyes narrowed on his face. “Oh, go right ahead.”

“And what?”

“Raised by a lawyer,” she reminded him. “I can
see
Mr. Harvard Law thinking through how to make a complicated argument to tangle up all my points. So go ahead. You can even throw out a couple of ‘wherefores.’ It won’t make any difference. My mind’s made up.”

He shifted gears. “Do you understand how much I’ll worry?”

Abra tipped her chin down, and those narrowed eyes went steely.

“That always works for my mother,” he pleaded.

“You’re not my mother,” she reminded him. “Plus you don’t have mother-power. You’re stuck with me, Eli. If you cut me loose, it has to be because you don’t want me, or you want someone else, or something else. If I walk away, it has to be for the same reasons.”

Feelings on the table, he thought. “Lindsay didn’t matter anymore, but every day I regret I couldn’t do anything to stop what happened to her.”

“She mattered once, and she didn’t deserve to die that way. You’d have protected her if you could.” She rose, went to him, slid her arms around his waist.

“I’m not Lindsay. You and I are going to look out for each other. We’re both smart. We’ll figure it out.”

He drew her in, stood with his cheek pressed to hers. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her. He didn’t know how he would keep that unspoken promise to her, to himself, but he’d do whatever he needed to do to keep it.

“Smart? I’m following a recipe for morons.”

“It’s your first day on the job.”

“I’m supposed to cube that chicken. What the hell does that mean?”

She drew back, then moved in again for a long, satisfying kiss. “Once again, I’ll demonstrate.”

She was in and out of the house. Early classes, cleaning jobs—his included—marketing, private lessons, tarot readings for a birthday party.

He barely knew she was there when he was working, yet when she wasn’t, he knew it acutely. The energy—he was starting to think like her—of the house seemed to wane without her in it.

They walked on the beach, and though he’d firmly decided cooking would never be a form of relaxation for him, he pitched in to help now and then.

He had a hard time imagining the house without her. Imagining his days, his nights without her.

Still, when she urged him to come the next night she worked at the bar, he made excuses.

He did want to continue researching the dowry, the ship, he reminded himself. He carried books out to the terrace to read there while he still had enough light, and settled down near the big terra-cotta pots Abra had planted with purple and yellow pansies.

As his grandmother did, he remembered, every spring.

They’d take the cool nights, even a frost if they got another. And that was likely, he thought, despite the blessed warm spell they’d enjoyed the last few days.

People had flocked to the beach to take advantage. He’d even spotted Vinnie through his telescope, riding waves with the same flash and verve he’d had as a teenager.

The warm, the flowers, the voices carried on the wind, and the cheerful blue of the sea nearly lulled him into thinking everything was normal and settled and right.

It made him wonder what life would be like if all that were true. If he made his home here, did his work here, reclaimed his roots here without the nagging weight still chained around his waist.

Abra flitting in and out of the house, filling it with flowers, candles, smiles. With heat and light and a promise he didn’t know he could ever make, ever keep.

Thoughts and feelings on the table, he remembered. But he didn’t know how to describe what he felt with her or for her. Wasn’t at all sure what to do with those feelings.

But he did know he was happier with her than he’d ever been without her. Happier than he’d ever believed he could be, despite everything.

He thought of her—high heels, short black skirt, snug white shirt, gliding around the noisy bar with her tray.

He wouldn’t mind a beer, some noise, or seeing her quick smile when he walked in.

Then he reminded himself he’d neglected the research over the last couple of days, and buckled down to it.

Not that he saw what possible use it could be, reading stories—for what else were they but stories?—of pirates and treasure, of ill-fated lovers and violent death.

But the hell of it was, it was the only clear channel he had to real death, and maybe, just maybe, some remote chance of clearing his name.

He read for an hour before the light started to go. He rose, wandered to the edge of the terrace to watch the sea and sky blur together, watched a young family—man, woman, two small boys—walk along the surf, with the boys, legs pumping in shorts, dashing into the shallows and out again, quick as crabs.

Maybe he’d have that beer after all, take a short break, then put in another hour on the notes he’d taken, both on the legend and on his twisty reality.

Gathering everything, he stepped back into the house, then dumped everything to answer the phone. He saw his parents’ home number on the readout, and as it always did these days, his heart jumped at the fear his grandmother had fallen again. Or worse.

Still, he put as much cheer into his voice as possible. “Hi.”

“Hi yourself.” He relaxed again at the easy tone of his mother’s voice. “I know it’s a little late.”

“It’s not even nine, Mom. And not a school night.”

He heard the smile in her voice. “Don’t put off your homework till Sunday night. How are you, Eli?”

“Good. I was just reading a book on Esmeralda’s Dowry.”

“Yo ho!”

“How’s Gran? And Dad? Tricia?”

“Everyone’s fine. Your gran’s looking more like herself every day. She still tires quicker than I’d like, and I know she has some discomfort, especially after her therapy, but we should all be so tough at her age.”

“Amen.”

“She’s really looking forward to seeing you for Easter.”

He winced. “Mom, I don’t think I can make it.”

“Oh, Eli.”

“I don’t like leaving the house empty for that long.”

“You haven’t had any more trouble?”

“No. But I’m right here. If the police have any leads on who broke in, they’re not saying. So it’s just not smart to leave it empty for a day or two.”

“Maybe we should lock the place up, hire a guard until they catch whoever’s breaking in.”

“Mom. There’s always a Landon at Bluff House.”

“God, you sound just like your grandmother.”

“I’m sorry. Really.” He knew just how much holiday traditions meant to his mother, and had let her down there too many times already. “I needed a place, and she gave it to me. I need to take care of it.”

She let out a sigh. “All right. You can’t come to Boston. We’ll come to Whiskey Beach.”

“What?”

“There’s no reason we can’t come there. Hester would love it—and we’ll make sure her doctors clear it. Your sister and her family would love it, too. It’s past time we had the whole family together for a holiday at Bluff House.”

His first reaction had been panic. Now it shifted. She was right, past time. “I hope like hell you don’t want me to bake a ham.”

“I’ll take care of that, and whatever else. We’ll let Selina hunt eggs—oh, remember how you and Tricia used to love doing that? We’ll come up Saturday afternoon. This is better. Better than you coming here. I should’ve thought of it in the first place.”

“I’m glad you thought of it. Ah, listen, I’d like Abra to come, too.”

“That would be perfect. Hester especially would want to see her. You know she calls every couple of days to talk to your gran. We’d love to have her.”

“Okay, good, because I’m actually seeing her.”

There was a pause, long and buzzing. “
Seeing
seeing?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, Eli, that’s wonderful! That’s so, so good to hear. We love Abra, and—”

“Mom, it’s not like . . . It’s just seeing. Seeing.”

“I’m allowed to be happy. You haven’t . . . It’s been a long time since you had someone in your life. And we’re especially fond of Abra. I love you, Eli.”

Something in the tone had his stomach jittering. “I know. I love you, too.”

“I want you to have your life back. I want you to be happy again. I miss my boy. I miss seeing you happy.”

He heard the tears, closed his eyes. “I’m getting it back. I feel more myself here than I have in a long time. Hey, I’ve put on ten pounds.”

When she burst into tears, the panic returned. “Mom, don’t cry. Please.”

“It’s happy. It’s just happy. I can’t wait to see you for myself. I’m going to go tell your father, Hester, and call Tricia. We’ll bring a feast. Don’t worry about a thing. Just keep taking care of yourself.”

When he hung up he just stood for a moment getting his bearings. Ready or not, his family was coming to Bluff House. And his mother’s “Don’t worry about a thing” wouldn’t cut it.

He knew damn well his grandmother would expect Bluff House to shine, and he couldn’t dump all that on Abra.

He’d figure it out. He had better than a week to figure it out. He’d make a list.

Later, he decided. Now, he discovered, he really did want that beer. And he wanted it in a noisy bar. With Abra.

So, he’d grab a shower, and maybe he’d walk to the village. That way she could drive them both back after her shift.

He headed for the steps, realized he wore a grin. Yeah, he thought, he felt more like himself than he had in a very long time.

A
BRA WOUND HER WAY THROUGH TABLES, BUSING EMPTIES,
taking orders and checking IDs as the Boston-born band pulled in a hefty share of the college crowd. Following bar policy, she rewarded each party’s designated driver—when they had one—with free non-alcoholic drinks through the night.

Otherwise, tonight’s crowd leaned heavy on beer and wine. She kept her tables happy—casually flirting with guys, complimenting girls on hair or shoes, laughing at jokes, quick conversations with familiar faces. She enjoyed the work, the noise and the hustle. She liked the people-watching, the speculating.

The stone-cold-sober DD from her table of five channeled any desire he might have had for beer into hitting on a nearby table of girls, particularly the milk-skinned redhead. From her reaction, the way the two of them danced, the whispers when the girl group trooped off as a pack for the ladies’, Abra figured the DD might just get lucky later.

She served a round to a pair of couples—she cleaned for one set—and was pleased to see earrings she’d made dangling from both women’s earlobes.

Boosted, she made her way to the back table, and its single occupant. No familiar face here, and not by her gauge a particularly happy one. Anyone who sat alone at the back of a bar nursing tonic and lime didn’t project happiness.

“How’s it going back here?”

She got a long stare and a tap on the now empty glass in answer.

“Tonic with lime. I’ll take care of that. Can I get you anything else? We’re famous for our nachos.”

When all she got was a shake of the head, she took the empty, tried an easy smile. “I’ll get right back to you.”

Thinking the likelihood strong that the tonic-and-lime would be a lousy tipper, she headed back to the bar.

Risky, he thought. Risky coming in here, getting so close to her. But he’d been reasonably sure she hadn’t seen him that night in Bluff House. Now as she looked him right in the eye without a single flicker of recognition, he could be absolutely sure. And rewards, God knew, took risk.

He’d wanted to watch her, to see how she behaved—and he’d hoped Landon would be there, opening up a fresh opportunity to get back into the house.

But then he’d hoped the police would take Landon in for questioning. He’d needed only a small opening to get in, plant the gun, make an anonymous call.

Now, they’d searched the place, so planting the gun in Bluff House wouldn’t work. But there was always another avenue. The woman might be the best route.

She could be his way back into Bluff House. He needed to think about that. He
had
to get back in, finish his search. The dowry was there; he believed it with every fiber of his being. He’d already risked so much, lost so much.

No going back, he reminded himself. He’d killed now, and found it a great deal easier than he’d expected. Just the press of a finger on the trigger, hardly any effort at all. Logically, it would be easier the next time, if a next time proved necessary.

In fact, he might enjoy killing Landon. But it had to look like an accident, or suicide. Nothing that made the police, or the media, or anyone, question Landon’s guilt.

Because he knew, without doubt, Eli Landon had killed Lindsay.

He could use that, and already imagined forcing Landon to write out a confession before he died. Spilling that blue Landon blood as the coward begged for his life. Yes, he found he wanted that more than he’d realized.

An eye for an eye? And more.

Landon deserved to pay; he deserved to die. Making that happen would be nearly as rich a reward as Esmeralda’s Dowry.

When he saw Eli walk in, the rise of rage nearly choked him. The red-hot haze of it blurred his vision, urged him to reach for the gun holstered at his back, the same gun he’d used to kill Kirby Duncan. He could see, actually see the bullets punching into the Landon bastard’s body. The blood gushing as he fell.

His hands trembled with the need to end the man he hated above all else.

Accident or suicide. He repeated the words over and over in his head in a struggle to regain control, to calm his killing fury. The effort popped beads of sweat on his forehead as he fought to consider his options.

At the bar Abra waited for her drink orders and chatted with her favorite village character. Short, stocky, with a monk’s ring of wispy white hair, Stoney Tribbet worked on his second beer and a bump of the night. Stoney rarely missed a Friday night at the pub. He claimed he liked the music, and the pretty girls.

He’d be eighty-two that summer, and he’d spent every year of it—except for a stint in the army in Korea—in Whiskey Beach.

“I’ll build you your own yoga studio when you marry me,” he told her.

“With a juice bar?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

“I’m going to have to think about that, Stoney, because it’s pretty tempting. Especially since it comes with you.”

His weathered map of a face went pink under its permanent tan. “Now we’re talking.”

Abra gave him a kiss on his grizzled cheek, then lit up when she saw Eli.

“I didn’t expect you to come in.”

Stoney turned on his stool, gave Eli the hard eye, then it softened. “Now that’s a Landon if I ever saw one. Are you Hester’s grandboy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Stoney Tribbet, Eli Landon.”

Stoney shot out a hand. “I knew your grandpa—you got his eyes. We had some adventures together back a ways. Some long ways.”

“Eli, why don’t you keep Stoney company while I get these drinks served?”

“Sure.” Due to the current lack of a stool, Eli leaned on the bar. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Looks like I’ve got one here. Belly up, boy, and I’ll buy you one. You know your grandpa and I both had our eye on the same girl once upon a time.”

He tried to picture his tall, lanky grandfather and this fireplug of a man on adventures, and competing for the same woman.

A tough picture to mind-sketch.

“Is that so?”

“Rock-solid truth. Then he went off to Boston to school, and I scooped her up. He got Harvard and Hester, and I got Mary. We agreed we both couldn’t have done better. What’re you drinking?”

“I’ll have what you’re having.”

Pleased two of her favorite people were sharing drinks and conversation, Abra snaked her way through to deliver orders. As she moved toward the back, she saw the empty table, and the bills tossed on it.

Odd, she thought, putting the money on her tray. It looked like her solo had changed his mind about another tonic and lime.

At the bar Eli settled in, snagging a stool when an ass lifted off one, listening to stories—some he assumed were exaggerated for effect—about his grandfather as a boy and young man.

“He rode that motorcycle hell for leather. Gave the locals a fit.”

“My grandfather. On a motorcycle.”

“Most usually with a pretty girl in the sidecar.” Eyes twinkling, Stoney slurped through the head of his beer. “I thought he’d win Mary because of that motorcycle. She loved riding. The best I could offer back then were the handlebars of my bike. We’d’ve been about sixteen then. Used to have the best damn bonfires down on the beach. With whiskey Eli nipped from his father’s cabinet.”

Now Eli tried to picture the man he’d been named for driving a motorcycle with a sidecar, and pilfering his own father’s liquor supply.

Either the image came more naturally, or the beer helped it along.

“They threw some big parties at Bluff House,” Stoney told him. “Fancy people would come up from Boston, New York, Phillydelphia and where-not. They’d have the house lit up like a Roman candle, with people gliding along the terraces in their white tuxes and evening gowns.

“Made a hell of a picture,” Stoney said, and downed his bump.

“Yeah. I bet it did.”

Chinese lanterns, silver candelabras, big urns of tropical flowers—and the people in their Gatsby elegance.

“Eli, he’d slip out, get one of the servants to bring down food and French champagne. I’m pretty sure his parents knew about it. We’d have our own party on the beach, and Eli, he’d go back and forth between. He was good at that, if you take my meaning. Good at being between. Rich and fancy, and everyday. First time I saw Hester, he brought her down from a party. She was in a long white dress. Had a laugh in her, always did. One look at her, and I knew Mary was mine. Eli couldn’t take his eyes off Hester Hawkin.”

“Even as a kid I knew they were happy together.”

“So they were.” Nodding sagely, Stoney banged a hand on the bar, his signal for another round.

“You know, Eli and I married our girls within a couple months of each other. Stayed friendly, too. He lent me the money to start my carpentry business. Wouldn’t take no when he heard I was going to go to the bank for a loan to get it going.”

“You’ve lived here all your life.”

“Ayah. I was born here, figuring on dying here in another twenty, thirty years.” He grinned over the dregs of his beer. “I did a lot of work in Bluff House over the years. Been retired awhile, but when Hester got it in her head to refit that room up on the second floor for a gym, she brought the plans to me to look over. I’m glad she’s doing better. Whiskey Beach isn’t the same without her in Bluff House.”

“It’s not. You know the house pretty well.”

“I’d say as well as those who’ve lived there. Did some plumbing for them on the side. No plumbing license, but I’ve got handy hands. Always did.”

“What do you think about Esmeralda’s Dowry?”

He snorted. “I think if there ever was such a thing, it’s long gone. Don’t tell me you’re looking for it. If you are, you’ve got your grandfather’s eyes but not his good sense.”

“I’m not. But somebody is.”

“Do tell.”

Sometimes, Eli thought, the way to get information was to give it. He did tell.

Stoney pulled on his bottom lip and considered. “What the hell could you bury in that basement? The floor’s as much stone as dirt. There are better places to hide a treasure, if you’re hiding it. Not too bright to think it’s in the house in the first place. Generations of people living there—servants, workmen like me and my crew. Plenty of us have been over every inch of that place at one time or another, including the servants’ passages.”

“Servants’ passages?”

“Long before your time. Used to be staircases behind the walls, and ways for the servants to get up and down without running into family or guests. One of the first things Hester did once they took over the house was have them closed up. Eli made the mistake of telling her how kids had gotten lost and locked in behind the walls. He made half of it up, I expect, that was his way to a good story. But she put her foot down. I closed them up myself, me and three I hired on for the job. What she didn’t close off she opened up—the breakfast room, another bed and bath on the second floor.”

“I had no idea.”

“She was carrying your father when we did the work. Everybody who’s lived in Bluff House put their stamp on it one way or the other. What are you planning?”

“I haven’t thought about it. It’s my grandmother’s house.”

Stoney smiled, nodded. “Bring her back home.”

“That I am planning on. Maybe you could give me a better idea where those passages were.”

“Can do better.” Stoney picked up a bar napkin, rooted a pencil out of his pocket. “My hands aren’t as handy as they once were, but nothing’s wrong with my brain cells or memory.”

They closed the place down. Though Stoney outdrank him two for one, Eli was damn glad he wouldn’t drive home. And just as glad when Stoney told him he was on foot.

“We’ll give you a lift,” Eli told him.

“No need for that. I barely live a Stoney’s throw from here.” He cackled at his own joke. “And it looks to me like I’ve got another Landon eyeing my girl.”

“I don’t know if this one can fix my screen door.” Abra tucked her arm through Stoney’s. “I’ll take Eli’s keys and drive all three of us home.”

“I didn’t bring my car. I figured I’d ride home with you.”

“I walked.”

Eli frowned down at her high black heels. “In those?”

“No. In these.” She pulled a pair of green Crocs out of her bag. “And it looks like I’m putting them back on because we’re all walking home.”

She changed her shoes, zipped into a jacket. When they stepped outside she took each man by the hand. “Looks like I won tonight’s jackpot. Two handsome men.”

Both of whom, she thought as they walked, were just a little bit drunk.

Over his objections, they detoured to walk Stoney to the door of his trim little house. The sound of high-pitched barking sounded before they were within two yards.

“All right, Prissy! All right!”

The barks turned to excited whines. “The old girl’s half blind,” Stoney said, “but she’s got her hearing. Nobody gets past old Prissy. You two go on now. Go do what healthy young people ought to be doing on a Friday night.”

“I’ll see you Tuesday.” Abra kissed his cheek.

They strolled away, but waited until the lights switched on before veering back toward the shore road. “Tuesday?” Eli asked.

“I clean for him every other Tuesday.” She hitched her bag more securely on her shoulder. “He and his Mary, I never got to meet her. She died five years ago. They had three kids. A son and two daughters. The son’s in Portland—Maine—one of the daughters lives in Seattle. The closest one is in D.C., but they manage to visit him pretty regularly. And there’s grandchildren, too. There are eight, and five great-grandchildren so far. He can take care of himself, but it doesn’t hurt to have somebody right here looking in from time to time.”