Barefoot in the Rain (13 page)

“Does she still have family living here?”

Another look at the officer and then a sideways look at Will. If he didn’t know Charity better, he’d have sworn he read something like a warning. To him?

Because if these pricks went anywhere near Guy, he’d—

“Her mother passed ’bout a decade ago,” she said. “And her father took an early retirement from the sheriff’s office. Right, Slade?”

“That’s right,” Slade agreed. Will waited for him to mention that the retired sheriff lived a few miles south, but he stayed silent.

“No other family?” the man asked, looking from Charity to the sheriff.

“No.” Charity locked her hands on her hips. “No one.”

Will couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. Charity missing out on the chance to gossip to a reporter? Why? Money, of course. She must want to have her palms greased thoroughly before she parted with any information.

“But if someone knew her or saw her here, how would—”

“I’d know about it, young man,” she said, bouncing on her sneakers and crossing her arms with a remarkable amount of moxie considering that she was well north of sixty, at least. “I know every damn thing that happens on this island, and every person who lives here. She’s not here, hasn’t been for years, and won’t be probably ever again. I suggest you head back to Hollywood for your story.”

“Well, I—”

“You heard the lady,” Slade said.

Charity flicked her fingers toward the door. “Good-bye now, gentlemen.”

They backed out and Charity went with them, as if she didn’t trust them to hang out in the Super Min parking lot.

No money, no airtime, no nothing.

What was
wrong
with this picture?

Holding his coffee, Will went back to the counter to grab the bills she’d left there for him, noticing the two quarters that had fallen to the floor. He set the coffee on the counter to crouch down and scoop up his change.

As he did, he happened to look at Charity’s four-legged stool, and the pile of newspapers and magazines behind it.

Not just any newspapers and magazines. Tabloids.

He leaned closer, getting a better look. On top of the
stack, Jocelyn’s face was as clear as it had been in his fitful sleep last night.

A stack of tabloids nearly six inches high. They weren’t sold out; she’d taken them off the racks.

Why?

He’d known Charity Grambling since he was a kid, bought gas for his first car at the Super Min, and snacks on his way home from baseball practice. As long as he’d known her, she’d never veered off track from what she was: a know-it-all, greedy, meddling, opinionated troublemaker who considered herself the law and last word on Mimosa Key.

So something wasn’t right. And that couldn’t be good. Not if Charity Grambling was involved.

She came back in, a sour puss deepening the lines on her face.

“Not like you to hide from the spotlight,” he said, pocketing his change.

“That’s not the spotlight,” she said gruffly, heading back to her counter. “Those idiots are just… liars.” She slipped behind the counter and closed the top, securing herself—and her stash of tabloids—again. “What are you looking at?” she demanded.

“I’m just wondering about those magazines, Charity.”

He could have sworn she swallowed. “What magazines?”

He indicated the empty rack. “The ones that are, you know, sold out.”

“Why are you so doggone interested?”

“I’d like to buy one. When will you have some to sell?”

“ ’Bout the same time I get your precious original-flavored Gatorade,” she growled, waving to the door.
“You better get to work, Will. The Eyesore on the Beach isn’t going to build itself.”

“Charity, I—”

“I’m not in a talking mood, Will, or didn’t you notice?”

“I noticed. I noticed plenty. Like what you said to those men.”

“Don’t you be talking to them,” she warned, pointing one of her crimson talons at him. “We don’t need those busybodies sniffin’ all over Mimosa Key.”

“No, we don’t,” he agreed. “We have our own busybodies, thank you very much.”

She had the good humor to laugh. “Hell, yeah. This town ain’t big enough for more than one busybody, don’t you forget it.”

“Not about to, ma’am. And, uh, thank you.”

She just nodded, her mouth uncharacteristically closed.

Outside, the men had driven away but Slade stood next to his sheriff’s car talking to a young woman Will recognized as Gloria Vail, Charity’s niece.

For a minute, Will considered enlisting the deputy’s help to protect Jocelyn, but after what he’d just witnessed, he wasn’t sure whom he should trust or why.

Either way, Jocelyn needed to know the enemy was on the island.

The mosquito netting around the bed wasn’t really necessary on a cool November morning, but Jocelyn drew it closed anyway, cloistering herself in the white gauze while she tapped her laptop and researched her options for assisted-living facilities.

She focused her search on the neighboring mainland
towns of Naples and Fort Myers, resulting in a number of options. Just as she clicked through to the second Web site, she heard a man clear his throat.

“You decent in there?”

Will. Just the sound of his voice made a quick electrical current shoot through her.

“Define decent. I’m dressed.”

She could have sworn she heard him
tsk
in disappointment. “You taking visitors?”

Outside the netting, she could see him leaning on the jamb of one of the french doors, his familiar, masculine scent suddenly so out of place among the lingering aroma of herbal incense Tessa had sworn would make her sleep better.

Tessa had been wrong.

“You can come in,” she said, leaning across the bed to push the sheer curtain open. “I’m working.”

He smiled and, damn, if all the sunshine outside didn’t pour right into the room. His eyes looked as blue as the sky behind him, his sizeable body suddenly taking up all the space in the room. “Nice office.”

“Isn’t it?”

He drew the curtain back a little farther, that soapy, sunny Will scent crazy-close now. He wore a white T-shirt that wouldn’t be as clean by the end of the day and ancient khaki cargo shorts, and held a work belt in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other.

“You better have two of those,” she said, eyeing the coffee. “I can’t get an answer at room service to save my life.”

He laughed at the joke and held the cup out to her. “Lacey’s in a roofing meeting, I’m afraid.”

She took the coffee and sipped, raising her eyebrows. “Whoa.” She swallowed and made a face. “Super Min?”

“Some things never change.”

“Come on.” She patted the bed in invitation. “You’re going to find out what I’m doing on this computer sooner or later.”

Setting his tool belt on the floor, he sat on the edge of the bed to check out the computer screen. “I hope to God you’re not at the TMZ Web site.”

She almost choked. “I’m not a masochist, Will. Why, have you been there today? Is there new dirt online?”

He took a slow breath as if he wanted to tell her something, then shook his head, indicating the computer. “What’s that?”

She turned the screen. “The Cottages at Naples Bay.” She clicked to the next site. “Summer’s Landing.” And the next. “Palm Court Manor.” And the last. “Esther’s Comfort.”

He held up his hand to stop the next click.

“I like the sound of that one,” she said. “But I can get into one called Autumn House later today.”

“Into one today? You’re moving him today?” He couldn’t keep the dismay out of his voice.

“No, I meant into one for an interview. Placement is much harder and most of these homes have a waiting list.” Which she’d bet some cash could shorten.

He pushed down the laptop screen and gave her a direct look. “Why are you in such a hurry?”

“Because I long ago found that if you do the most distasteful tasks the very first thing in the day, they’re done. I’ve extended that strategy to my everyday life. The longer I sit on this—”

“The more chance you might change your mind.”

She just shook her head. “I’m not going to argue with you, Will. I’m going to Autumn House today.”

“Then I’m going with you.”

Not a chance. “No, thank you.”

“You can’t go alone.”

She frowned at him. “I most certainly can, but if I need company, I’ll get one of my friends.”

“I am one of your friends,” he said. “I’ll go with you.”

“You have to work.”

“I’ll… call in sick.”

And he would, too, she just knew it. Then she’d be with him all day, too close for comfort as he launched his campaign against her plan. No, that would never work. “Will, you can’t go with me and that’s that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll distract me.”

He lifted his eyebrows as if that amused and didn’t surprise him.

“And you’ll try to talk me out of my plan.”

“You need me there and I’m not backing down.”

Damn the little thrill that went through her. Did he want to be with her that much? Did the idea of that have to feel so good? “I do not need you there.”

“Anyway, you need a bodyguard.” His serious, even ominous expression erased any little thrills.

“Oh, Lord. The media found me.”

He put a hand over hers. “Not yet, but they’re looking.”

“They’ve been to Guy’s house?” For some reason, that terrified her more than if they’d found her.

“No, I don’t think so, but we should get down there and warn him not to open the door to anyone.”

“Then how do you know?”

“They came into the Super Min.”

She gasped softly. “Was Charity there?”

“Yeah, and she not only didn’t talk to them, she kicked them out on their asses and made sure Slade Garrison knew not to give them any information. So Charity’s either overdosed on her nice meds or something is up.”

Neither one. But she wasn’t about to tell Will the real reason behind Charity’s behavior. Some secrets would last forever.

“Not only that,” he continued, “she hid the tabloids.” He shook his head, baffled. “I’ve never known her to not exploit every possible opportunity to gossip, and this was on a national scale.”

Of course he’d think that. Most people would. But most people didn’t know Charity Grambling like she did. “Who was it, TMZ?”

He nodded.

“Bottom-feeders,” she said, lifting the computer screen. “Let me call these places and make appointments with every one of them.”

“Let’s just start with one, Joss,” he said. “Let’s go see one. Together. Let’s find out if it’s the right thing to do. And I can tell Lacey I won’t be gone all day, which will make her happy.”

“And I can work on Guy’s mess this afternoon,” she agreed.

“And we can have dinner together tonight.”

She drew back. “Why?”

“We still need to talk.”

“We’ll have all afternoon to talk.”

He put his hand over hers, so warm and big and
familiar. She couldn’t help looking at it, at how his fingers eclipsed hers, at how strong and capable that hand was.

“We have fifteen years to catch up on,” he said. “That’s going to take longer than a trip to Naples and back.”

She opened her mouth to argue, to turn him down, to put up the wall she had first erected on that horrible night in his loft and promised herself she’d never, ever tear down.

But nothing came out.

And then she nodded.

“Is that a yes?” he asked, his eyes dark blue with hope.

Another nod, still not completely sure what she’d say if she opened her mouth.

“I just want you to forgive me,” he said.

For a second, she wasn’t sure she understood. “Forgive you?”

“For never calling, for never finding you, for never making sure fifteen years didn’t pass without… us…”

His voice trailed off but it didn’t matter; her pulse was thumping so loud she could hardly hear him.

“Will,” she whispered, “I’m the one who made sure all that time passed. I wouldn’t have returned your call and I figured… this was better.”

“Better?” He gripped her hand, picking it up, bringing it to his lips and holding her gaze. “Better for who?”

“For you.”

He closed his eyes and kissed her fingertips. “It wasn’t better for me.”

Her heart folded in half, smashed by regret and, damn, hope. Maybe an afternoon with him would squash that for good.

Or maybe it would make her hope for more. There was only one way to find out.

W
hy did that dang thread always get stuck on the up-loop? Guy pushed his glasses up his nose and angled the hooped plastic mesh toward the window to get a good look. Not that the artwork could look
good
. No, this was one messy piece of needlepoint.

Maybe William would show him that little movie on the computer again with the lady who explained this needling to children. That had really helped.

With a sigh he studied the whole project again, letting his eyes unfocus so he could appreciate the shape and colors of the flowers and not the bumps and lumps of his mistakes. He’d gotten half a petal done since yesterday and then he’d lost interest. Why couldn’t he stay with one thing long enough to finish it?