Andrea and Margaret were in the great room boxing up family treasures too dear to part with. “What about this?” Andrea asked, hefting a porcelain heron with bronze accents and stand.
Margaret looked at the piece and raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know,” she said. “Do you want it?”
“Mom, you can’t just give everything to me.”
“Why not? Your brothers won’t want the froufrou stuff.”
“Um, I suppose you’re right. But we must be practical. Anything that you can part with—that might fetch a price—should be set aside for auction.”
“Good plan,” Margaret agreed. “Put it on the auction pile.”
“Oh, my goodness,” Andrea gasped, as Madison tottered into the room on heels too big for her feet. She was dressed in a dated, beaded evening gown and swathed in furs, a tiara of rhinestones crowning her head.
“How do I look, Nana?” Madison giggled.
“My God,” Margaret gaped at her granddaughter. “You look like me, sweetheart. Sixty years ago.”
“Madison, you’re supposed to be helping,” Andrea scolded.
“Let it go,” Margaret said, shaking her head in Andrea’s direction. “I think it’s brilliant.”
“What now?” Andrea rolled her eyes. “I swear, you two have some sort of silent form of communication I’m not privy to.”
“We should play dress-up on the day of the sale,” Margaret said. “We could even invite the guests to do the same.”
Andrea considered. “Not a bad idea,” she said. “People do tend to loosen up when they’re in costume.”
“And we want them very loose,” Margaret added. “So much so that they clean out this old manse.” She flung out her arms, beckoning for her granddaughter to fill them, “and have a good time doing so.” She kissed the girl’s forehead. “You’re a genius, Maddy.”
“Wow. This party is shaping up to be the event of the season,” Andrea exclaimed.
Nathan McCourt’s firm occupied the entire third floor of the handsome 3001 Building, a fact made possible by his long list of moneyed clients. The man who was currently beating a path across his fine silk carpet would be counted at the top of that list.
“So, Danny, how was Barbados?” Nathan asked, eyeing the man who was pacing before a plate-glass window. Blind to the spectacular view of the Atlantic the portal afforded. He appeared oblivious to everything but his insular bubble of misery.
“Great as always,” Daniel said. “But, damn it, Nate, I need to finalize this divorce thing and move on.”
Silently, Nathan agreed with Daniel. Unfortunately, his friend’s assets were proving a hindrance to the dissolution of his marriage.
“I’ve conceded on every point, agreed to all of Kara’s ridiculous terms. Hell, it’s not like she gave me an heir. I had a couple of great years with her. And then I married her, and that was the end of that. Now she’s out for blood.”
“That about sums it up.” Nathan ran his fingers through a thick head of hair that was just beginning to gray at the temples. “I’ve seen it before. She’s feeling regretful, wanting to get back to that safe place where she was before… with you and your millions. But you’re not having any part of it, and she’s striking back at you, her motive: to wound.”
Daniel balled up a fist and socked it into his open palm. “It’s working.” Then the fight seemed to go out of him, and he slumped into a leather guest chair.
“Let’s head over to Bobby’s Bar and have a few drinks,” Nate suggested. “Get shit-faced like we used to. See if you can score a sweet young thing to take your mind off your troubles.”
Daniel stopped kneading his temples to gawk at McCourt. “Are you nuts? Isn’t that how I ended up here in the first place?”
Nathan reflected on his friend’s words. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. So, what do we do?”
“That’s what I was asking you, counselor.”
“I’m not your consigliere, Danny.”
“Passed the bar—”
“And chose not to practice,” Nathan said.
“Because…”
“Because, as I’m sure you’ll recall, there were delicate matters that needed to be dealt with when your dad purchased all that land on the lagoon for the River Mews project. Mixing it up with the Philadelphia mafia… Bring back any memories?”
“I know you’ve got my back, Nate. It’s just so damn frustrating—”
“Danny, Danny…” Now it was McCourt’s turn to pace. Suddenly, he was plagued by guilt. He should have anticipated this, done something to prevent the disastrous union that had begun to fall apart the moment it was finalized. Hadn’t Kara come on to him—Daniel’s best man—on her wedding day? Sure, they’d all had way too much to drink, partying into the wee hours. Still, the woman was much too pretty and too cunning for her own good. Nate loved Dan like a brother, would take a bullet for the guy who’d changed his life and fortune. But Danny had really screwed up with Kara. She was smart and wouldn’t go quietly into the night without a messy, knock-down-drag-out. Nathan was afraid Danny was going to pay dearly for thinking with his—
“Argh!” Daniel’s snarl interrupted Nathan’s musings. “Okay, Nate.”
“Okay, what?”
“Let’s go get shit-faced,” Daniel said.
“Attaboy.”
A mere three days had passed since Floyd had gone on the lam. In that time, he’d experienced a lifetime of change. Now, clad only in a sweat-stained tee and khaki shorts, he was relaxing on his tiny balcony and feeling every bit the master of his universe. He mopped his face with a handkerchief, willing himself to chill, and thought about Florida’s heat as compared to that of Santo Domingo. Whew! Vero could be steamy at times, but this place was like a Turkish bath. He consoled himself with the fact that the sun was now low in the sky. Soon, the night breezes would cool things down, and he’d venture out to wander the narrow streets on the hunt for a tasty meal.
Floyd gazed down upon the warren of alleyways and crumbling buildings abutting his newfound pied-à-terre. It was a far cry from his posh riverfront estate in Vero, and yet he was content. From this vantage point, he could glimpse an upper turret of the Catedral Primada de las América, which was the heart of the colonial city. Floyd drank deeply from his glass of Mamajuana—an improbable concoction of roots and twigs steeped in honey, wine, and spices. His plan had been to lose himself in some obscure village where he would simply vanish. But in the short time he’d been here, he’d fallen under Santo Domingo’s spell. It was only yesterday, his second day in the country, that he’d stumbled upon this walk-up apartment for rent, and after a quick look around, signed a lease.
It was strange, but he felt as though he belonged here. This historic city was alive with culture and music, and he had more than enough cash to live out his days in comfort. His Spanish was passable—good enough to make himself understood. It’d been dicey for a while. But now, he dared to believe he'd gotten away with it! Oh, he suffered twinges of guilt. Not over Marcie. God, no. The kids were another matter. Sometimes he felt despondent for having abandoned them, but he consoled himself with the fact that it was better for him to have disappeared than for them to suffer the humiliation and embarrassment of a deadbeat father languishing behind bars. It had, he decided, all worked out for the best.
Peeking out from behind wooden blinds in a flat across the way, a pair of binoculars was trained on the flabby, balding man who was prematurely celebrating his escape.
Andrea’s cell vibrated, and she tapped the phone icon to accept the call. Smiling at the sound of Daniel’s hello, she said, “Welcome back, stranger. What can I do for you?”
“Plenty.”
“Well, that’s good, I guess.” Andrea glanced at the cell’s display. It was after seven. Why was her client calling after hours?
“No. It’s most unsatisfactory. I’m starving and alone.”
“Go eat,” Andrea commanded.
“Not without a dinner partner. Besides, I have something to confess.”
Andrea grinned. “Not hearing confessions, Danny,” she said in her best brogue.
“Thank goodness. Don’t want to give one. Want you.”
“What?” Had she heard correctly? Andrea cradled the phone to her ear.
“I know you think I’m self-absorbed, that I’m some jerk who doesn’t care about anyone but himself.”
“I don’t think any such thing,” Andrea assured him.
“What a relief. Then come join me for dinner. Won’t you?”
“I already ate.”
“Ate what?”
“A salad.”
“Ah, a cheap date. All the better.”
“I’m in my pajamas.”
“Fabulous. Don’t bother changing. I’m sure you look fetching in your PJs.”
“Daniel. What am I to do with you?”
“Please, won’t you find something? Anything. Better yet, let’s eat.”
“I am hungry,” Andrea admitted. “Honestly, I’m always hungry. I just don’t eat much.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Don’t know.” Andrea considered. “Too busy. My stomach’s in knots most of the time, what with this damned recession.”
“We’re going to have to do something about that, pronto.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Get dressed. Although the thought of you in jammies will keep me awake for untold nights. I’m on my way.”
“Yikes,” Andrea squealed. “Okay. Hanging up now.” She tossed her phone onto the coffee table. What was the man up to? And what could he possibly have to confess? She didn’t care. She wanted to see him, wanted to be meeting him on a personal rather than a professional basis. Andrea snatched her cellphone back up and keyed in her mother’s number.
“Hey there, sweetie?” As always, Margaret’s honeyed drawl calmed her.
“Mom, I know it’s late, but could you please come and stay with Maddy?”
“Sure. Did something come up?”
“Mm-hmm.” Andrea dragged a palm across her face. It was impossible to keep anything from her mom. “Nothing to worry about, though.”
“Okay?”
“If you must know, Miss Nosey, Daniel asked me to dinner.”
“I’ll be there in a flash. Get dolled up, doll.”
“Love you, Mom.”
“Back at you, baby girl.”
When the doorbell rang, Andrea was ready. Margaret was in the wings, watching with bated breath, and Maddy was sound asleep and oblivious.
“Go.” Margaret gave her a shove.
“Shh, Mom! I’m going.” Andrea motioned her mother away. “Get back.” She didn’t open the door until Margaret was obscured in darkness, and when she did, Daniel’s good looks nearly bowled her over. It was as though she were seeing him for the first time. He was so tall and well-built, with those crystalline blue eyes and that jutting jaw that kept him from being downright pretty.
“Hi,” Daniel said, thrusting a bouquet of sweetheart roses toward her.
“How did you know? I adore roses.” Andrea accepted the flowers, at the same time fixing Daniel with a radiant smile. “Here,” she said, back-stepping and handing the flowers off to her mother. “Now, go away,” she hissed, angling her head toward the woman concealed in shadows.
“What’s going on?” Daniel asked, looking confused. Only then did he discern the figure lurking in the hallway. “Hello?”
Margaret stepped toward him and into the light. “Good evening,” she said, holding out her free hand. “I’m Margaret, Andrea’s mother.” The two shook hands. “I’m meant to be invisible,” Margaret explained, a droll smile tugging at her lips.
“Didn’t do a very good job of it, Mom,” Andrea muttered. Then, in a brighter tone, “Allow me to introduce Daniel Armstrong. Daniel, Margaret Sheridan, aka Mom.”
“My goodness.” Daniel appeared momentarily flummoxed. “Mrs. Sheridan, it’s… it’s… What I mean is I am very pleased to meet you, ma’am. I see where your daughter gets her good looks.”
“Oh, you’re good, Daniel.” Margaret made a shooing motion. “Now, get out of here, you two. Have fun. I’ll keep the home fires burning.”
Andrea didn’t need any more encouragement. She grabbed Daniel’s arm and pushed ahead of him. “Let’s go eat. Suddenly, I’m ravenous!”
“Where to, madam?” Daniel asked once they were seated in his automobile. “What’s your pleasure?”
“Would you feel emasculated if I said tonight’s on me?” Before Daniel had time to reply, she’d placed a palm lightly over his mouth. “Let me explain.”
“Bmm woff!” Daniel mumbled.
“Just nod your head.” Daniel followed her orders. “It’s like this: You’re my client. I owe you a great big, honking super night out on my stomping grounds. And tonight’s the night.” Andrea stared hard at him. “You okay with that?”
“Mmff!” Daniel nodded his head.
“Okay.” Andrea removed her hand from Daniel’s mouth. “Sorry for that. Just wanted to lay the ground rules.”
They wended past the Indian River Lagoon—now streaked in fiery shades of red and gold—abutting an emerald-green golf course punctuated by towering palms. “Pretty, isn’t it?” Andrea asked.
“I’ll say,” Daniel said. “Shall I turn in here?” he asked as an imposing clubhouse, set upon a rise, came into view.
“No, keep going,” Andrea instructed, and Daniel navigated around the massive columned structure. “There, to the left. Pull up there,” Andrea commanded. “Yes, right under the lights.”
“Your wish is my command.”
“Careful, big guy,” Andrea admonished. “I could get used to that.”
“Where are we?” Daniel eyed the mercury vapor lights overhead, the white fencing that told him they were on the outside looking in.
“We’re at the backside of the Moorings Country Club. It’s where the regulars park. I know it’s not grand and pretentious. But we can walk, and we certainly don’t need to pay a valet to park your car. This way, the Moorings can creep up on you, all unsuspecting.”
“You’re in charge.”
Andrea led Daniel up the path, through the gate, and onto the enormous pool deck. To the right of the pool, a three-piece combo was doing a decent job of evoking the islands with Jack Johnson tunes. Children frolicked in the water or played ping-pong at tables set up on the west end of the deck.
“This is great,” Daniel said. “I wanna play ping-pong with the kids.”
“Maybe later.” Andrea gripped his arm and steered him toward the Dockside Grille. “Let’s go upstairs.” She sailed past the inviting bar where patrons were lined up, chatting with one another and enjoying pre-dinner drinks. “I made reservations for the River Room.”
“It looks fun down here.”
“It is. And if you’re good, we can come back down after dinner, and you can help yourself to a frozen treat from the cooler.” Andrea pointed to a glass-fronted freezer tucked back into a corner where a variety of frozen confections were displayed.
“Yay! I like this place.”
“I thought you would. Your client should probably join, become a member.” Andrea led the way up the back staircase to the upper dining rooms. “This is a wonderful club. Great people, fabulous amenities, no pretentiousness.” She stopped in front of a podium, which was, at the moment, unmanned.
“Beautiful room.” Daniel’s eyes darted about the sumptuously appointed space with its oversized chandeliers, magnificent millwork, and floor-to-ceiling windows affording sweeping views of the glimmering river basin beyond.
“Oh, ho! Look who we have here!” A sophisticated-looking, dark-haired man approached, his arms outstretched.
“Craig,” Andrea cried. “How delightful to see you.”
“That’s my line, Andy.” The handsome fellow embraced her lightly.
The moment she was released, Andrea gestured toward her companion. “Craig, I’d like you to meet my client, Daniel Armstrong. Daniel, Craig Lopes, the man who manages this club to such perfection.” The two men shook hands.
“You flatter me.” Craig winked at Andrea, and then he turned to Daniel. “So, what brings you to our fair city, Daniel?”
“I’m looking at property.”
“You found the best realtor to help you in that regard. And I’m hoping you’ll decide a club membership is in your future.”
“I have to say, I am very impressed with what I’ve seen thus far.”
“You’re in luck.” Craig crooked a finger, summoning a hostess. “I believe we have a table by the window for you two.” He turned to the young woman who now stood before him. “Ami, show our guests to table seven.” The young woman nodded and led the way.
“Thanks, Craig,” Andrea called, as she followed the waitress to their table.
“Bon appetite, folks.”
“I can’t believe we’ve been here four days already,” Laney said. “Before you know it, we’ll be flying back to reality.”
Clad in brightly patterned, cotton sundresses, the girls sat around the kitchen table. They were drinking mojitos and noshing on all the detritus the fridge had to offer—fruit, cheese, doggie bag contents. “Did I ever tell you how grateful I am to count you,” she looked first at Kara and then in Becca’s direction, “as my greatest gal pals in the universe?”
“Don’t think that you did,” Kara said, “but duly noted.”
“Back at you, Laney,” Becca quipped.
“Kara, I want to thank you for making this…” Laney gestured vaguely about, “this wonderful getaway possible.”
“Me, too,” Becca said. “It’s been like a dream…”
“Ha!” Kara chuckled. “A dream at Sweet Dreamer.”
“Well, it has,” Becca said. “I not only got my groove back, but I also found Rob.”
“You got lucky, alright,” Laney agreed. “We all did.”
“How can I ever thank you?” Becca asked. “You booked the flight and paid for it. You provided the spectacular digs—”
“Ah!” with a curt flick of her wrist, Kara spoke over her friend. “You’d do the same for me.”
“Yes, but…”
“Buy me a dinner or two.”
Laney and Becca nodded to one another. “You got it,” Laney said. Just then, the doorbell rang, and the women erupted in shrieks. “Who could it be?” Laney asked.
“At this hour? I haven’t the foggiest,” Kara said.
“Well, hell, let’s go find out.” Becca beat a path to the door.
“Wait a minute,” Kara commanded, in a vain attempt to forestall the irrepressible Becca. “We’d better think about this.”
“For heaven’s sake, come on.” Becca pushed past her girlfriend and levered the front door open. “See, it’s just…”
And there, standing before them, were three very attractive, very well-dressed chaps. “It’s just little old us,” the tallest and bulkiest of the three announced in a lilting British accent.
The girls screamed by way of answer. “Oh, my God,” Laney cried. “Who are you guys?”
“We’re not ax murderers, I can assure you,” the slender man with the elegant mustache said, backing off a bit.
“Actually,” the fair-haired one added, “we’re your neighbors.” He hitched his head up, indicating the hill beyond, and the three women looked at one another, wide-eyed as the lightbulbs in their brains came on.
“Oh,” Kara said, “you’re the fellows—”
“That’s right.” The gorgeous Black gent fixed her with a brilliant Hollywood smile. “We’re neighbors.” And then he did a girly pantomime of Becca shimmying.
“Oh, jeez,” Becca cried. “It is you.”
“That would be an affirmative, ma’am.” He gave her the once-over, his gaze lingering on her generous bosom.
“Well, come on in.” Kara gestured for the men to enter.
They sat in the living room, drinks in hand, grinning at one another. “This is so bizarre,” Becca said.
“Stranger than fiction.” The large man raised his glass.
“So, what’s your name, big fellow?” They touched glasses.
“I’m afraid that’s an international secret.”
“We’ll get it out of you.” Becca narrowed her eyes. “One way or another.”
“That’s right,” Kara said. “We have our methods.”
He raised his palms. “Chichester. Michael Chichester,” he said, his eyes twinkling.
“Chichester as in… books?” Laney asked.
“One and the same. My family happens to be in the publishing business.”
“I’ll say.” Kara gazed at him with renewed interest.
“And you?” Becca demanded of the buff Black man. “Your name and your relationship to old Chichester here?”
“Ahem… The name’s Kent. Jamal Kent. Michael and I graduated the same class at Eton and then we roomed together at Oxford. He’s like a brother to me.”
“I can see the family resemblance,” Laney smirked. “Not.”
“And you, Mr. Mustaches?” Kara demanded.
“Me?” The slender gent feigned a look of chagrin. “I’m a nobody, a poor relation.”
“I’ll bet.” Becca snickered. “Tell me another.”
“This homely bloke is Neville Lansdown,” Chichester interjected. “We drag him along with us because—”
“Because I’m a chick magnet!” Neville waggled his bushy eyebrows.
“Aha. I see it works,” Becca said.
“And what of you three winsome lasses? Your names and stories, please?” Chichester demanded.
“I’m Kara Armstrong.” The blonde tossed a bejeweled hand in the air. “This is my place, and these are my BFFs.”
“Becca, here, hailing from Philly.” The chubby young woman feigned a sheepish look. “Alas, just a working gal.”
“As am I,” Laney said. “We three started out together as pharmaceutical reps in Philadelphia. That’s how we got to know one another.”
“But Kara bailed,” Becca said, “to live the high life.”
“Leaving the two of us at loose ends,” Laney added.
“Which is why I fly them out here from time to time,” Kara explained, “for girl time.”
“Not bad,” Jamal said. “Can’t beat the location.”
“I have a question,” Laney said. “To whom do the kids belong?”
“My boys, my house,” Michael admitted.
“And their mother?” Becca pried.
“We’re divorced.”
“As am I,” Jamal said.
The girls stared hard at Neville, and he put his hands in the air. “Never married.”
“Why the heck not?” Becca blurted.
“None of our business, Becca,” Laney said.
“I, myself, am in the middle of a nasty divorce,” Kara jumped in to smooth over this rough spot. “And I’ll tell you, it’s enough to make a girl go off men altogether.”
“I hear you, but please don’t.” Michael’s eyes fastened on the blonde, and his meaning was clear.
“I’m in Neville’s boat,” Laney said. “Never married.”
“Divorced,” Becca admitted. “But ready to get back in the saddle again.”
The men guffawed at Becca’s boldness while Laney and Kara exchanged pained expressions.
“So, when can we see your place?” Becca asked.
“Becca!” Kara remonstrated.
“No, that’s quite all right,” Michael soothed. “How about tomorrow? Six o’clock? Cocktails?”
Laney and Becca turned to Kara. “That would be great,” she said. “But I have to warn you. Tomorrow, we have reservations at The Cliff for eight o’clock.”
“Ah, I love that place,” Jamal said.
“Yes, fabulous.” Neville agreed. “We know the chef. The food is out of this world.”
“To say nothing of the view. Would it be presumptuous if I asked if we could join you?” Michael asked.
Kara glanced at her girlfriends for confirmation, but rather than venture an opinion, they merely shrugged. “Not at all,” she finally said, pivoting back to Michael. “But I believe Becca has invited a guest.”
“Yeah, my new squeeze,” Becca said, her face reddening.
“Becca, you’re blushing!” Kara exclaimed.
“Will wonders never cease?” Laney asked.
“You guys!” Becca bounded out of her chair. “Who needs a refill?”
“It’s settled, then.” Michael held up his glass, and Becca topped it off. “I’ll ring up and change your reservation to a table for seven. How does that suit you?”
Laney grinned at Jamal. “What fun,” she said. But when his dark eyes latched onto hers, her smile faltered, and she felt a sudden fluttering in her chest.