“Isn’t she beautiful?” Char asked him.
“Beautiful, now give her back.”
Char chuckled. “Isn’t he silly?” she asked the baby. “Go away, Al.”
“It’s that look in your eyes,” he said uneasily. “Like you want another.”
“Because I do.”
Al went pale. “Okay, seriously. Give the baby back, Char.”
She just kept cuddling the baby, a secret smile on her face.
“Honey? We’re past all this baby stuff, remember,” Al said, sounding a little desperate. “No diapers. No midnight interruptions. Life’s good, Char, really good. We’re in the home stretch, in the clear, you know?”
“I’m just holding her, Al.”
“Okay,” he said, then nodded. “Okay, then. That’s good.” He nodded again, hesitated, then went back into the kitchen.
Char smiled at Mel. “Yeah, I’m just holding her.” She leaned in. “And wanting another one.”
Mel glanced at Al in the kitchen.
“Oh, don’t worry about him. I’ll promise him sex every night, he’ll be fine. He’s a great daddy…”
Mel’s brain had caught and snagged on sex every night. She imagined herself with someone, making love every night, and before she could stop the thought, her brain plugged Bo into that equation.
Whoa.
Momentarily struck by that image, she had to shake it off, but it took her an embarrassingly long time to do so.
“Mel? What’s the matter?” Char asked.
“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.” Mel fanned air in front of her face. Sheesh. “Gotta go.” And she took herself and her letter to the post office. Unfortunately, it was lunchtime, and the rest of the free world was there, too. She had to park around the block, and by the time she got inside she was panting from the heat, sweating unattractively, and felt like her heart no longer fit inside her chest.
The same guy was behind the counter and he looked as unhappy at his job today as he had yesterday. He glanced at her and sighed. “He’s got the flu, lady. You’ll have to come back.”
“Are you kidding me? No one else can run the machine? How hard can it be?”
“Hard.”
“Look, can I see the manager?”
“I am the manager.”
Great. Perfect. She drove in the heat back to North Beach and faced yet another unpleasant surprise as she walked in the door.
“Line one,” Dimi called out. “Attorney.”
Their eyes met. Mel’s heart stopped. “I’ll take it in the office,” she said as if her world hadn’t just stopped spinning. She ran down the hall, skidded to a stop in front of her desk, then stared at the phone as if it were a spitting cobra. “Grow up,” she told herself, and picked up the phone.
“Got news,” Greg said.
Mel couldn’t breathe and her legs felt like rubber. “Okay.”
“You should probably sit.”
Right. She fell into her chair. “Sitting. Go.”
“The deed Bo Black has in his possession is legit.”
Dimi burst into the office, took one look at Mel’s face, and sank to a chair.
“Sally deeded North Beach,” Greg continued. “And all its possessions, except for what’s in the individually rented hangars, to Eddie Black. When Eddie Black died, everything he owned went to his sole beneficiary-Bo Black.”
“How long ago?” Mel asked.
“Ten years.”
She’d been working for Bo for ten years. Worse, Sally had known all this time…Every time she’d called, she’d known. Every time she’d drained the accounts, she’d known. Every time she’d asked Mel how things were, she’d known…“How did you find out?” she asked hoarsely.
“City records. Not that hard to find, actually. In fact, anyone could look this sort of thing up and get answers.”
Mel thought of the e-mail note and the letter she’d received. “Can anyone figure out that I went looking?”
“These days, with computer trails and such, yes.”
Mel nodded, then realized he couldn’t see her. “Thanks,” she managed, hung up, and thunked her head to the desk. “My God.”
“There has to be a reason,” Dimi said. “He threatened her. Something.”
“Maybe.”
“Definitely.”
Bo was still away on his flight, but Mel knew she’d have to face him eventually. Knowing it felt like torture. For the next few hours, her pulse beat unevenly, and she kept breaking out into a sweat.
The deed was legit.
Life as she knew it had changed forever, but she was nothing if not a survivor. She had plenty of smiles in her arsenal, and she pulled them out now, pasting on the “I’m Fine” smile for everyone who looked her way. And she’d leave it there until she knew for sure what the hell had happened, and why.
The next e-mail came in just before closing. Mel stared at it: BackOffOrElse. As before, the body of the e-mail was blank, but this time there was a subject line.
I mean it.
Mel felt the tingle go down her spine and knew she was getting close. To what, she had no clue.
Chapter 13
Mel waited for Bo until 5:30, then couldn’t handle it anymore. She grabbed her things and left her office. Dimi was gone, she’d left much earlier, without a word, making Mel’s chest tighten with worry. Mel had loved Sally, but Dimi had positively worshipped the woman, and so for her, this would be harder.
Mel’s brain had been racing since Greg’s call, pounding with what if’s-if Bo hadn’t gone into the military, if he’d gone through his father’s things sooner, if, if, if…
In any of those scenarios, she and everyone here would have been gone years ago.
The implications of that staggered her. All this time she’d never been in charge, not of her life, not of this place…
Ernest was in the parking lot, and as she came out he looked at his watch. “You’re punching out early.”
“It’s five thirty.”
“Early for you.”
“I wasn’t the one who wasted two hours this afternoon napping in the storage closet.”
“Maybe you’ve been napping with your eyes open.”
A more real truth had never been spoken. “You ever trace that e-mail?”
He took off his cap, scratched his greasy head, then narrowed his beady eyes on her. “I told you I was working on it. Why?”
“I got another one.”
“Hmmm.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m glad I’m not you,” he said.
“Can you trace it or not?”
“I’ll look,” he said, and hitching up his pants, moved toward the building. “But it’d be helpful if you stopped doing whatever you’re doing to get them mad in the first place.”
Yeah, she’d just stop what she was doing-except she didn’t know what that was.
Then it hit her-she did know. It was that she was tracing the deed-looking for Sally.
Feeling more fragile than fine china, she got into her car. She picked up a pizza, then drove to Dimi’s.
Dimi opened her door, took one look at the box, and blew out a breath. “You know how I feel about carbs.”
“It’s thin crust.”
“Well, all right, then.” She made a show of looking around Mel. “At least you didn’t bring him.”
“Who?”
“Him. You know, bastard Bo.”
“Dimi-”
“Sorry.” But she didn’t sound like it.
Dimi wore a pale, pale yellow sundress that revealed her willowy lean form. They sat on the beach, bare toes in the sand, watching the waves pound the surf while they consumed the pizza and a beer each.
Light for Dimi.
Not light for Mel.
Dimi daintily sipped her beer as if this was high tea, the bracelets on her wrists jangling, a frown on her mouth. She brushed the nonexistent crumbs from her fingers. “Well. The evening is still young. I’ve got to go live it.”
“We should talk about it, Dimi.”
“Why?”
“It’d be the mature thing to do.”