The sun and the threat of another sweltering day coming through the open window roused Julie from a too-short sleep. She blinked several times. She felt achy and her eyes were gritty.
Morning. She groped for her phone and checked the time. Seven thirty. She’d gotten maybe three hours of sleep. She could go back to bed, or . . . Something was knocking at her foggy brain: the image of a van, no headlights . . . She bolted upright.
Had it been a dream? Just what had she witnessed last night in the alley?
She threw the sheet off and padded over to the window. Below her, the alley looked perfectly normal. But it hadn’t been.
She pulled out a pair of shorts and a tee from her suitcase, put them on without a care for how they looked, slipped into sneakers. A quick stop in the bathroom and she shoved her room key in her pocket and went downstairs.
She hesitated in the lobby, then decided to go all the way back to the beach entrance rather than take the shortcut through the service door. She wanted to see just where that van had come from. And if it was parked in Lucky’s parking lot this morning.
All the stores on Main Street were still closed and there was very little activity. There were several cars already parked at Surf’s Up and a few others nearer the bar, probably left by people who were too drunk to drive or had hooked up during the evening. But no van.
The Jeep that had been parked at the side of the bar yesterday was still there, but the bar was closed.
She turned right into the alley, followed the curve past the back doors of La Mer, the Knitting Knoll, Claire’s Beachables, and the fortune teller’s; past the dumpster where Kayla’s SUV was parked and the hotel’s service door.
She continued until she was standing behind the bar, made a slow turn, and perused the ground.
Julie was almost positive this was where the van had stopped. And though she couldn’t see the break in the bushes where the bartender had dumped the goods, she was pretty sure Marie Simmons’s cottage was where the third person had led the old man.
Maybe her mother had been right all along, because it appeared that Lucky’s current posse was up to no good.
She quickly looked around, just as the door of one of the shops opened and someone hurried out and down the alley in the opposite direction.
Nerves jumping, Julie quickly stepped into Tony’s backyard. She climbed up the two steps to the stoop and peered into the kitchen. The pile of mail was still there. No one had been home to pick it up.
She searched the room for any other signs that her uncle had returned but found no shoes left on the floor by the door, no jacket slung over a chairback, no used glass sitting on the counter by the sink.
Hopefully that meant he wasn’t involved in whatever nefarious activity the others were involved in. But Marie and the bartender certainly were. With Tony’s knowledge or without?
Maybe she should just turn around and pretend like she hadn’t seen anything. She’d really hate having to tell her mother that Uncle Lucky was a crook.
She winced as she realized she had just slipped back into calling him Uncle Lucky.
She returned to the alley and took a good look at the back of the bar and grill, then walked down the alley searching for the place where they’d unloaded the “goods.”
She passed the trash cans and the sheds at the back of the bar, peered into the beach shrubs looking for any signs that something had been dumped there.
And found it several yards along—an opening to a path that led over the dunes.
She didn’t hesitate but turned into it. The running shoes she’d worn for the occasion immediately began to fill up with sand. Which was to be expected at the beach but could get annoying really fast if this was how deliveries were made to the bar. But this was no ordinary delivery path. It wasn’t leading her to the side of the bar but over the dunes toward the beach.
She trudged onward and upward.
Had Scatter come back for his load and carried it over the dunes to a waiting boat? Didn’t smuggling work the other way, from boat to land? At least it did in the historical romances she read, which she sometimes blamed for never finding anyone who quite lived up to the heroes of fiction.
An image of her uncle standing wild and larger than life in their living room doorway tried to steal its way into her mind: she pushed it out. He’d looked the part, but he was no hero.
He’d come to help her mother, but even then, Julie had seen that her mother had been the one to take care of him. Images of abandoned dogs in the garage and scruffy runaways tried to weasel their way into her thoughts, but she pushed them aside, too. Lucky should have taken care of family first, not run off to take care of others, not brought home ragamuffins who demanded all his energy and attention. He hadn’t helped her mom; he’d put an extra burden on her.
She kept walking, the sand heavy and giving way beneath her sneakers. A path not taken often, she surmised. At least not by human feet. It was narrow, flanked on both sides by high-growing seagrass, bush pines, and beach roses.
Quiet, beautiful—and lonely.
What if whoever they were were waiting for her on the other side of the dune? That made her pause, but only for a second, because she saw the top of a roof ahead.
Relief washed over her. It had been a delivery for the people in this house, not a smuggling operation. Her relief turned to wariness. Surely there was an easier way to get to the house, a driveway or a finished walk.
Why drive with the headlights turned off?
She should turn around and mind her own business, but she trudged on, curious now and, she had to admit, a little excited . . . until she came to the sign. no trespassing. No explanation, no “private property,” “turtle crossing,” “protected environment.” Just a threatening no trespassing.
She looked around; there was only one path, no secondary way to avoid trespassing without turning back and going the way she’d come. And she wasn’t going to do that . . . yet. And she couldn’t very well walk across the dunes.
A bunch of little birds ran out almost across her feet and disappeared into the grasses on the other side of the path.
She hesitated, then stepped past the sign. Waited for someone to come running and yelling at her to go back. Considered the chances of that someone carrying a BB gun, a shotgun, possibly an assault weapon—and her determination faltered. For a second. All the more reason to get to the bottom of this and get to a beach where they welcomed vacationers and there were no missing relatives to worry about.
She did attempt to make herself smaller, by bending her knees and hunching her shoulders as she crept up the path.
The house came into view without warning. One moment she was surrounded by sand and seagrass, the next she stepped out to a modern wooden stilt house that took her breath away. A rambling construction of dark weathered wood and a lot of glass, it seemed to perch between the edge of the dunes and an endless blue sea. Warm and cold at the same time. Remote as if she’d stepped over a time divide.
No wonder the owners didn’t want people tromping up to their house on their way to the beach.
Especially if they were up to no good.
A door opened and a woman stepped out, carrying a garbage bag. She was small but sturdy, with thick black hair coiled around her head. Julie was so surprised that she froze for a second. The woman looked up and she froze, too.
They stood staring at each other before Julie managed to step back into the cover of an overgrown beach rose. Too little too late.
The woman dropped the bag and ran back inside.
Getting a gun, calling the police . . . or warning her partners in crime that they had been found out.
Julie didn’t wait to find out, but turned and ran back across the dunes, spewing sand with each step. It wasn’t until she was in the alley, legs throbbing, that she stopped to catch her breath.
Just someone carrying out the trash. Though it seemed to Julie that the woman had been more than startled. In that brief moment when their eyes met, Julie hadn’t missed the terror in the other woman’s eyes.
“She was here, outside!”
Alex heard the words. At first they didn’t register. Even as he dragged himself from exhaustion and Rosie’s worried face came into focus, he wasn’t sure what they meant. “Wha . . . ?”
Rosie grabbed his shoulder. “Just now. She was here. Julietta. She looks like Lucky.”
“Juli—” He sat up. “Lucky’s niece? Mother—”
Rosie crossed herself.
“What was she doing? Did she say anything?”
“She say nothing. Just stand on the dune and look at me.”
“And did she see the—?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He leaned over the mattress, snagged his jeans off the floor. “I need coffee.”
Rosie nodded and hurried away. He slipped on his jeans and searched for a T-shirt while he called Marie. He’d left the two of them last night without learning anything about why things had gone so wrong and not knowing what had really happened.
It took a while for Marie to answer, and when she did he could hear the fatigue in her voice. He warned her about the roving Julie and told her he planned to come down as soon as the coast was clear. She rang off without even a goodbye.
Rosie was waiting for him in the kitchen. Steam rose temptingly from a ceramic mug on the table. But he went straight to Rosie and put his hands on her shoulders. “Mi querida Rosie. All is well. She was probably just exploring. You know how these tourists are.”
Rosie put on a brave smile, nodded, placing her complete trust in him—and Lucky.
“What did she do when she saw you?”
“She ran away. Over the dunes.”
“See? She probably just didn’t see the sign and realized she was off the right path.” He hoped that was the truth, but he was dubious himself. From the minute Julie Barlow walked into the bar, he knew she was going to turn their lives upside down. Now she could destroy it all.
“Sit, have your coffee.”
He did, though he’d totally lost interest. He just needed to talk to Marie—now. But he sat down and drank while Rosie watched, both of them pretending that it was a normal day.
But the look in her eyes told him everything. She knew that it wasn’t over yet, and she was frightened. His stomach turned over. He knew that gut-wrenching fear. He’d felt it often enough in the past. It would sometimes hit him even now that he’d gotten his life together.
He hated seeing it on Rosie’s face. “It’s going to be fine,” he said in what he hoped was a soothing voice. It sounded like gravel to his own ears, but Rosie nodded. He stood, gave her a quick hug. She smiled, but when he looked back as he left, there were tears forming in her deep brown eyes.
Marie ended the phone call and pulled the kitchen curtain aside just enough to see a sliver of the alley. She felt more like an old snoopy neighbor than a middle-aged conspirator, but whatever.
She saw Julie run out of the bushes and onto the alley pavement. Stop long enough to look frantically around the alley. At first Marie thought she’d been scared away from Scatter’s house; she’d bolted into the alley fast enough.
But it wasn’t fear.
Marie was pretty certain it was speculation that had her head turning back and forth like a submarine periscope. With a target in sight?
“What’s she doing?” Lucky grabbed the edge of the table where he was sitting and tried to push to his feet.
“Stay put,” she told him without taking her eyes off the girl in the alley. “You don’t want her to see you like this.”
He slumped down again. She could hear his painful exhale and she wanted to cry, but not as much as she wanted to knock some sense into him. She’d spent the night pacing in her small bedroom. Watching him sleep. Afraid to sleep herself in case his injuries were more serious than she thought. Alternating between relief and fear, love and anger.
“What does she look like?”
“She looks young with her whole life before her.”
“Why now?”
“Because you didn’t call Louise.”
“I was afraid to give my location away.”
“I know,” Marie said, finally letting the curtain drop. “Nobody’s fault, but it is inconvenient. Are you sure no one recognized you?”
Lucky gingerly adjusted in his seat and pulled the mug of coffee closer with both hands. “Nah, why would they? They don’t know me. Besides, I’m pretty sure these guys were just a bunch of faceless hired thugs. And just a stupid coincidence. I’m not even sure they were after us. Or even knew what I was doing. I think they wanted to steal the van. Like I said, stupid.”
“At least you got away with the, uh, merchandise.” God, she was talking in code. How easy it was to slip back into the past.
“Barely.” He grinned at her through a swollen jaw. “Not as young as I used to be.”
Marie snorted. “Middle age is a bitch. At least you’re in shape.”
“Some sort of shape.” He leaned on his elbows.
Marie slammed her palms down on the wooden table. “You could have been killed, you stubborn son of a bitch!”
“I’m sorry. What was I supposed to do?”
“You could have taken Scatter with you.”
“No, I couldn’t, you know that.” He made another attempt to get up. “Is she still out there?”
Marie growled.
Dougie, who had been keeping guard at Lucky’s feet, growled in return.
“Hush, Doug,” Lucky warned. “We’re already in the doghouse.”
Marie scowled at them both. “Just stay put. I’ll make you some breakfast, and we’ll decide what to do when Scatter gets here. And no, Dougie. Get away from the door, you’ll just have to hold it until we’re sure she’s gone.”
The knock sounded like artillery fire. They all jumped, including Dougie. Marie hurried toward the door, peeked through the sheers, then opened it wide enough for Scatter to squeeze in and Dougie to squeeze out.
Scatter placed a paper bag on the table. “Three burner phones, compliments of Corey’s Electronics. Call your sister. Tell her everything’s just peachy, tell her to send her daughter and company on to Dewey Beach, then get rid of it.”
“I know what to do with a burner phone,” Lucky said at his driest.
Scatter reached in the bag and pulled one of the phones out. “Sorry. But between you and that niece of yours, I’m so spooked I could—”
“Julie always had that affect on you,” Lucky said.
“Bullshit. She was a kid.” He handed Lucky the phone. “Jesus!” he exclaimed, seeing Lucky’s face.
“Did she recognize you?” Lucky asked.
“Of course not, I don’t think so. Are you sure you don’t need a doctor?”
“It’s not that bad.”
Marie and Scatter exchanged looks.
It was bad enough, Marie thought. And it could only get worse.
Julie walked slowly back to the hotel. She had no idea what to make of her morning or the night before. Maybe there was nothing to be made. But if there was she sure as hell didn’t want her mother to get involved in it.
Lucky had always surrounded himself with a bunch of unsavory characters, and if last night was any evidence, he still did. That they’d waited until Lucky was out of town to do whatever they were doing just proved what a mess he was in. Especially if his employees and his childhood friend, who was also his next-door neighbor, were conspiring against him. Julie wasn’t sure where the old man fit into this. He might be married to Marie. Maybe he lived in the house on the dunes and that’s why the housekeeper was afraid.
Her mother had always warned him that befriending the down-and-out would bring him trouble. He’d always laugh and say, “Lou, they’re my posse.”
Lucky hadn’t heeded her then or obviously now. Julie just hoped he wasn’t in any serious danger from them.
Maybe it was true what they said about twins, that they could sense when the other was in trouble. She’d actually seen it herself when she was a kid. Her mother had known when Lucky broke his leg and collarbone in Hawaii. And when her mother was hospitalized with a ruptured appendix, Lucky had traveled all day and night from the coast, missing his big tournament to be by her side when she awoke from the anesthesia.
Julie had forgotten that. There had been times when Lucky had been there for them. Plenty of times. She’d just refused to remember them. Maybe there was something wrong with her that she had been remembering only the times he wasn’t there.
But there had been those other times, when her feelings had been hurt, humiliated by one of the popular girls or a boy she liked who’d ignored her. She would slink down to the basement, stick her head around the doorjamb, and wait until Lucky noticed her and flicked his head, telling her to come in.
He’d reach into the fridge her mom had bought for him and pull the tab off a cold Coke for her, take a beer for himself. He’d sit in the lumpy reading chair brought in from someone’s curb while she sat on the couch and poured out her woes. And later when she climbed back upstairs on a sugar high, with her self-esteem restored, she felt like everything would be all right.
There had been those times and she’d forgotten them. Of course he’d never really given her much advice. He was single, in his thirties, never been married. Always on the go, looking for a bigger wave, a larger challenge, and picking up hard-luck stories on his way: down-on-their-luck fellow surfers, stray dogs, and runaways.
“There you are!”
Julie jumped. Kayla and Aggie were coming out of the hotel, loaded down with beach chairs, bags, and a cooler.
“We were worried,” Kayla said.
“Yeah,” added Aggie. “We called your room several times, knocked on the door, and were about to call the cops until Henry said he saw you leave the hotel earlier this morning.”
Julie looked at her watch. “This is a first. It’s not even nine o’clock. I thought you’d still be asleep.”
“We can sleep for the next two months.” Aggie winced. “Well, I can.”
“The kids woke me up already complaining that they’re bored,” Kayla said. “I don’t know why he insists on making them ride around in the golf cart all morning while he plays golf.”
“Anyway, we have our surfing lesson this morning,” Aggie reminded them.
“I forgot,” Julie said.
“Don’t even try to get out of it. Go put on your suit. We’ve got a cooler full of muffins, fruit, and cheese. We can stop on the way to the beach for coffee. Ten minutes.”
Julie left them on the sidewalk and hurried upstairs.
She was back in eight minutes. Suited up, covered up with a knee-length beach shift in case they decided to have lunch somewhere that required something besides a bikini. Aggie handed Julie her beach chair and they started down the sidewalk.
When they turned into Lucky’s parking lot, Julie couldn’t help but look down the alley, but seeing nothing out of the ordinary, she decided not to give it another thought until absolutely necessary. If ever. Maybe Lucky would return and everything would be fine. She tripped on nothing as her mother’s voice bubbled up from the past. When Lucky gets back, he’ll fix it. Things will be fine . . . When Lucky gets back.
Well, Uncle Lucky, let’s hope that still works for you now.