Sam groaned under her breath, a trick she had learned within the first week of moving into Casa de Vida.
Much as she liked her home—okay, after her summer stint at Berkeley in a two-window studio apartment above a Vietnamese restaurant, she could admit that she probably loved her home. And, yes, Liv’s cooking was an added perk. But despite her homemade meals, the matriarch of the Casa was…
Well, she was impossible to describe. Something about her bugged the living daylights out of Sam. If they had to speak on a daily basis, Sam doubted she would have lasted for the past four years. She might have smothered to death by all the groaning under her breath.
There Liv was now, dragging in yet another stray off the street, introducing her to everyone at the picnic, handing her a bottle of water, and ignoring the poor woman’s deer-in-headlights expression.
Sam set a box of cupcakes on the serving table and uncovered it. Purchased bakery items were her typical contribution to the Casa’s occasional potlucks. Who had time to cook? Well, not counting the other residents who were either retired, unemployed, or worked part-time, nowhere near the sixty-plus hours she usually put in during a week.
She watched Liv make her way through the courtyard, the stranger in tow. Sam guessed her to be a little older than herself, maybe around thirty-five and, judging from the deer eyes, in dire straits.
Of course she was in dire straits. Liv did not pull in well-adjusted, happy people.
Sam sighed again. In all honesty, she included herself on that one.
Four years ago, desperate for an apartment or condo that was located no more than three freeway exits from her new job, she had wandered the streets of Seaside Village, the last possible choice and nowhere near her first. Its laidback, beachy culture felt shallow. Hemmed in by the freeway and ocean, it felt confining.
She’d sat in a coffee shop, drawing thick lines with a black marker through listings that had sounded hopeful on paper but turned out to be positively putrid, nearly sick to her stomach at the thought of returning to the dingy motel room she had lived in for three months. Why hadn’t she taken that job in Los Angeles rather than the one in San Diego? Was it too late to change her mind?
Someone nearby had kept clearing her throat until finally Sam turned and saw a stranger, tall and large-boned, with glasses and fluffy silvery-brown hair and a smile.
“Excuse me, dear. You need a place to live.”
Right off the bat, Sam sensed comfort and safety. But, Sam being Sam—socially inept—she bristled at the tender vibes.
Liv had rattled off the pertinent details. Two bedrooms, hardwood floors, charming but updated, crazy unheard-of low rent, and one block from Jitters, the coffee shop where they sat. An hour later, Sam had signed a lease.
True, she had not been happy or overly well adjusted at the time, but she had presented herself as if she were sane. This newcomer appeared fragile, a waif in imminent danger of a major meltdown. What was Liv thinking?
Sam continued to watch as Liv introduced the woman to the residents and their families and, good grief, even to Beau, the handyman, who looked like a linebacker but had a Gentle Ben personality.
Sam referred to herself and these neighbors of hers as the Detainees. Why such a mismatched band of people had come together baffled her, but they were now smiling at the newcomer. Typical.
Inez and Louis Templeton, Cottage Eight, were great-grandparents and had that role down pat, dousing everyone under the age of seventy with parental adoration. Naturally, Inez greeted the total stranger with a hug.
There was Piper from Four. Model beautiful, she worked part-time in a department store.
Chad from Two was model handsome. He and Piper made a good-looking couple, but they were not involved, probably because he was an aimless, perpetual college student whose rich parents paid for his lifestyle.
Cottage Six neighbors Riley and her daughter, nine-year-old Tasha, were introduced next. The little girl, who had Down syndrome, surpassed Inez when it came to being lovable. She hugged the woman fiercely and told her about the cupcakes she already knew Sam had delivered.
Noah, aka the Stork from Five, smiled and introduced his teenage daughter, Déja, who did not live full-time with him. He was, as far as Sam could tell, a part-time dad, part-time musician, part-time choir director, and part-time chef.
Coco Vizzini, from Twelve, grinned and waved from her wheelchair next to a patio table. Her lipstick was smeared. Her mascara was thick on her lashes as well as her cheeks. Not a strand of her blond hair, however, escaped the perfect bob, which was a wig. She wore a rhinestone-studded jacket. She was the epitome of old-fashioned glamour. No one knew her age, but she told story after story of her Hollywood career in the 1940s and 1950s.
Keagan from Cottage One was missing. He mingled even less than Sam did. She had yet to figure out Mr. Kung Fu Dude. According to Liv, he ran a gym and held some sort of martial arts honor. According to his constant facial expression, he ate a lot of lemons.
Liv owned the property, all twelve cottages. She had inherited the place from her father. When her husband died about ten years ago, she had moved into Cottage Ten to manage as the resident busybody.
Busybody probably went too far. Liv did not interfere with Sam in the least. She gave her warm greetings and food. At times Sam still bristled. In fair moments, she admired the woman’s independence and hard work. In unfair moments, she groaned.
Liv approached her now. “Samantha, this is Jasmyn Albright from Valley Oaks, Illinois.”
“Hi.” Sam shook her small, cold hand. “I’m Sam from Seven. Have you memorized all our names and numbers yet? Liv’s going to test you.”
Jasmyn’s smile slipped. She tried another with the same result.
“Oh, Samantha.” Liv’s smile never slipped. “Don’t make her feel worse. Her car was stolen right out in front of the Casa.”
“No way.”
“Yes way, with all her belongings. Isn’t that odd? These things don’t happen here.”
Indeed, they did not happen around there. Seaside Village had its share of malcontents and crime. The Casa property, though, along with its street and the alley out back, was never involved. Even litter was a rare thing. Sam had always felt physically safe.
Liv touched her arm and grinned. “No worries, dear. I’m sure it was a one-time incident. And now we’ve met Jasmyn.”
Sam knew from experience that she should simply accept the leap between two unrelated events. If she tried to decipher what car theft had to do with happily meeting someone new, she would be there all night.
Liv’s expression turned somber. “She’s lost her clothes, phone, and purse. Isn’t that awful? We notified the police, but that’s not going to take care of tonight or the foreseeable future, is it?”
“N-no, it’s not.” Sam hesitated. Jumping onboard with Liv carried with it the possibility of being pushed out of her comfort zone.
Sam had numerous examples. One time when a mouse had been spotted inside Riley’s cottage, Liv talked Sam into letting Riley and Tasha spend the night with her. It turned into three nights before the creature and its friends were dealt with. Because her spare bedroom served as an office without a bed, she let them stay in her bedroom while she slept on the couch.
Liv said, “Eleven is vacant, you know, so Jasmyn can stay there.”
Sam felt relief and then guilt. “But it’s empty.”
“Which is why I’m lining up a few necessities. Jasmyn insists a television is not a necessity, but I was wondering about that little one you have in your kitchen that you said you don’t use all that much.”
Only for news programs. Mornings and evenings. Every day. “I’ll get it for you. What about a chair? I have a fold-up rocker.”
“Perfect.”
“Towels?”
“Yes, we’ll need those. And pillows, sheets, and blankets. Inez has a rollaway but is short on linens because two of her grandkids are coming this week. Do you have a TV tray or two? Chad has a card table, but you know Chad. It’s buried treasure and he doesn’t have a map.”
Sam nodded, noticing Jasmyn shift her weight from one foot to the other and crumple the water bottle. Her face reddened and her eyebrows were all but lost up into her hairline.
Sam sensed the meltdown was approaching while Liv went on and on about linens and TV trays. “Okay, so you’ve talked to the police. What about credit card companies and your phone service provider?”
Jasmyn shook her head.
Liv said, “We’ll get to that. I thought some friendly faces and food might be comforting before all that other business.”
At last the woman spoke. “Really, I’m not very hungry.” The voice fulfilled Sam’s expectation. It was tenuous and soft, like a little girl’s.
Fully aware that it was not the woman’s fault that she spoke in syrupy sweet tones, Sam found it off-putting anyway. But it called for help, and Liv was dropping the ball.
Sam tilted her chin and crossed her arms. “Liv.”
“Oh.” Liv caught on to her disapproval. “You think business first?”
“Yes. She’ll be hungry later.”
“You’re right. Right as rain, like always. Why don’t you take her into my office and show her around?” Liv looked at Jasmyn. “I told you Sam was the bright one.”
Sam nearly laughed out loud. Bright one. Yeah, right. Liv had just finagled her into donating several items to the cause and helping Jasmyn wade through headache-producing details.
At least she would not be sleeping on her couch tonight.