Sandra Hill - [Jinx] (24 page)

Veronica snorted to show what an understatement that was.

“He loves you, but he’s a proud man. And yes, pride can get in the way of love.”

Flossie’s words raised a whole bunch of questions, but when Veronica opened her mouth to ask them, Flossie raised a hand and said, “I’ve said enough for tonight. Tomorrow you can get some answers.”

When Veronica went up the stairs to the guest bedroom, she noticed that the walls and rooms weren’t quite as “pillaged” as they were downstairs in the library and halls. In fact, the “Red Room,” as she’d always called this room because of its burgundy velvet draperies and faded red oriental carpet, still held all its old antique furniture, including the big, raised walnut bed.

She heard the shower turn off in the adjoining bathroom and Jake yelled out, “Can you get me that paper in the back pocket of my jeans?”

She went into the steamy bathroom, redolent of Irish Spring soap, and noted that, despite the modern shower stall, the claw-footed tub still held prominence, along with a pedestal sink reminiscent of the early twentieth century. His jeans were lying on the tiled floor. Jake was just opening the shower door when she pulled out the paper and began to unfold it. It was a list.
Oooooh, boy!
And the first few things she read were so, well, not kinky, but definitely outrageous, even for Jake. She wasn’t sure she could even do number three.

She glanced up to see a dripping-wet Jake leaning against the open sliding door of the shower, wearing only that drop-dead dimpled grin that always made her melt. Slowly, he beckoned her with a forefinger.

Chapter
25

The terrible trouble swooped down on them in a gray silk cloud. . . .

It was barely dawn when Jake awakened the next morning, despite not getting much sleep last night . . . not that he was complaining.

Ronnie had been insatiable. Okay, maybe he’d been the insatiable one, but she’d been more than willing to try everything he asked of her.
Everything.
What a girl! And she’d demanded a few things of her own. What a girl!

For a few moments, Jake relished the sounds of the awakening beach, which could be heard through the open windows. The waves hitting the sand. The seabirds squawking for their first food of the day. A dog barking somewhere in the distance. If only he could freeze time; if only he and Ronnie could go on with their lives as peacefully as this; if only . . .

Ronnie was spooned against his back, both of them naked. Her left arm lay on the pillow above his head. Her right hand lay lightly pressed against his belly. He peered down, liking the possessiveness of her hand on him. His cock liked it, too, because it immediately stood up with interest.

Should he awaken her for a little early morning delight? No. Not yet. Maybe he would go downstairs and make some coffee for them. He could use this quiet time to think . . . and to plan. Ronnie wasn’t won over yet, by any means.

He used the bathroom, which pretty much took care of his morning erection, then slipped on his jeans commando. It wasn’t a sexual or fashion statement. Frankly, he hadn’t brought a change of underwear, because he and Ronnie had decided to stay here at the last minute. Barefoot and barechested, he padded into the kitchen and changed the timer on the coffeemaker. It immediately started perking.

A few hours later, he’d drunk three cups of coffee; walked the beach; fed the seagulls and terns some scraps of bread; and read the
Asbury Park Press,
which, thankfully, had nothing about their treasure hunt . . . yet. Ronnie, Frank, and Flossie were sleeping late, but he chalked that up to the long and exhilarating day they’d had yesterday.

He poured a cup of coffee for Ronnie and was about to take it up, having decided that today was the day for some truths, especially about Frank. But just then, he heard a knock on the front door.

He frowned and looked at the stove clock.
Eight o’clock? Who would be here so early? Oh, shit! I hope it’s not the police.
Jake set the cup down and headed down the hallway.

Then he got the shock of his life. It was Lillian Satler, Ronnie’s grandmother and Frank’s ex-wife. As far as he knew, she’d never been to this house—at least not in the ten years he’d been married off and on to Ronnie.

She wore a gray silk suit that ended midcalf over a pristine white silk blouse, black medium-high-heeled shoes, and pearl earrings. Her perfectly waved brown hair looked as if it wouldn’t move in a tornado, and not because of hair spray, like Flossie. It just wouldn’t dare. Lillian had looked the same way forever.

“Well, well, well,” he said, leaning against the doorjamb. “Hi, Grandma!”

Her upper lip curled with distaste as she surveyed him, disheveled hair to bare toes. “Don’t be impertinent with me. Where’s Veronica?”

“Sleeping. In my bed.”

Lillian actually gasped with distress at that news, and her lip curled even more. “Go get her.”

“Why?” he asked, unmoving.

“I have some news she should hear.”

Uh-oh!
Alarm bells went off in Jake’s head. This could not be good. “Why don’t you just give me the message, and I’ll pass it on to her?”

“Why don’t you move, you worthless bum.”

Well, at least I managed to rattle the old biddy’s composure.
“Ronnie’s happy. Can’t you be happy for her?”

“Happy? With you?” She made a most unladylike snort. “I won’t allow that.”

“
You
won’t allow that? Man, you are one cold . . .” He wanted to say
bitch,
but he restrained himself, and said, “. . . witch.”

“Do you think I care what
you
think of me?”

“Jake? Is someone there?”

Jake groaned as he heard Ronnie coming down the hall behind him. Lillian practically gloated. When Ronnie reached him, she ducked under the arm he had extended across the open doorway. He could smell the Irish Spring soap she must have just showered with.

“Lillian! What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to give you some news, and to bring you home.”

The bells in Jake’s head were clanging like wind chimes.
Bad news, bad news, bad news . . .

Lillian surveyed, with equal distaste, Ronnie’s wet hair, her Daisy Duke denim shorts, braless tank top, and bare feet. “Here,” she said, shoving a folder into Ronnie’s hands. “You’ll find that your grandfather is not in financial straits. In fact, he has a million dollars in his stock portfolio, which his . . . his floozie . . .”

“Her name is Flossie.”

Man, she has the curled lip thing down pat.

“Floozie, Flossie, no difference.
That
woman manages his stocks for him. In addition, Frank owns outright this house, two vehicles, the warehouse, and the diving boat; well, he did until he turned them over to you. Oh, and a small yacht, which he did not turn over to you.”

Ronnie’s jaw dropped lower and lower with each of Lillian’s bits of information. “That can’t be true.”

“Of course it is. Would I step foot on that . . . that . . . man’s property if it wasn’t? You’ve been duped, young lady. So, pack your suitcase and let’s get out of here. In fact, leave everything. I can send someone for your belongings later.”

Ronnie’s brow furrowed. “How do you know all this?”

“I hired a private detective.”

Ronnie flinched as if she’d been slapped. The frown on her face deepened while she quickly flicked through the folder. “How could this be?” She turned to Jake. Then she dropped the folder and clapped both hands to her chest. A whimper escaped her parted lips. “You knew?”

He hesitated, but then nodded. “Not all along, but I guessed.”
I knew it, I knew it, I knew this would happen.

“When? How long have you known?”

“A week or so, I guess. It doesn’t matter, Ronnie. Listen to me—”

“It. Doesn’t. Matter?” She stared at him as if he were some kind of slimy creature.

Which was precisely how he felt. He tried to reach for her, but she shoved his hand away. Tears welled in her eyes and began to leak.

He couldn’t stand to see Ronnie cry. Usually, his practice in the past had been to leave before the tears flowed. No escape now.

“Do not even think of crying over this louse.” Lillian pointed a finger at him. “Or your grandfather, an even worse louse.” Lillian reached to draw Ronnie outside with her, but Ronnie shoved her hand away as well and stormed down the hall.

Before he went after her, he said to Lillian, “Are you happy now?”

“Yes,” she said with absolutely no regrets.

Frank and Flossie showed up then to complete the “party.” Frank wore baggy plaid shorts with a black T-shirt and X-and-O neon orange suspenders. He was barefoot, too, and was sporting his Don King white hair this early in the morning. Flossie, on the other hand, was fully made up and wore a tight white shirt tucked into red shorts and red wedge-type shoes. Her big hair was a testament to the declining ozone layer.

Lillian took a step back and almost fell off the small porch. Her distaste for his and Ronnie’s attire was nothing compared to her distaste for Frank and Flossie.

Her expression might work wonders in a courtroom, but Frank appeared undaunted. “Go back, Floss,” he said, giving Flossie a soft shove behind him. “I’ll take care of this.”

Jake left with Flossie, who was alternately weeping and murmuring, “I told him. I told him not to do it.”

Flossie went into the kitchen, probably to make a big breakfast; that had been her way of handling stress in the past.

Jake went out on the beach where he saw Ronnie sitting. As he walked out onto the cool, early morning sand, he wondered if this was the end, once again, for him and Ronnie, even before they’d really begun.

No, I won’t let that happen.

A little voice in his head said,
Atta boy!

Her inner bitch was a wonder to behold. . . .

Frank stared at Lillian, the woman he’d once loved.

He hadn’t seen Lillian in almost fifty years, since their last court battle over visitation rights for his son, Joey, a boy she’d never allowed him to get to know. She’d almost done the same with his granddaughter. Maybe she’d succeeded now—a final alienation.

Lillian had aged well—on the outside—better than Flossie, who was a good twenty years younger. Probably plastic surgery. There was a coldness about her, though. He couldn’t imagine ever having loved her, and he
had
loved her passionately when they had both been students at Princeton. Hard to believe that this stiff farce of a woman had returned that passion in triplicate. Hard to believe that that prissy pursed mouth had ever gone down on him. Or that those bony legs had ever been wrapped around his waist.

He shook his head to whisk away the unwelcome memories. “What have you done, Lil?”

“I’ve told Ronnie the truth about you.”

“The truth?”

“You tricked her into coming here. You’re a liar, like always.”

“Don’t you care how you hurt your granddaughter?”

“It’s for the best. She’s strong. She’ll get over it.”

“When did you turn so mean?”

“I’m just being honest with her.”

“What did I do to make you this bitter for so many years?”

At first, she wasn’t going to answer, but then her face softened just a little as she admitted, “You crushed my dreams.” Immediately, she regretted her words as her expression went cold as ice again. “But dreams are for children. I learned that the hard way.”

“I’m sorry,” was all he could say.

“I don’t want your pity.”

It was useless trying to reason with Lillian. He turned away, closing the door behind him. He needed to find Ronnie and try to repair the damage Lillian—no,
he
—had done.

It can’t be too late. It just can’t.

It’s not,
a little voice in his head said.

That’s just great. Now I’m taking advice from a voice in my head.

Be careful there, old man. I have friends in high places.

Love makes the world go ’round . . . or not . . .

“I love you, Ronnie. Please. Please don’t shut me out.”

Veronica could not look at Jake right now. She was too angry, too hurt. “I could understand my grandfather making a fool of me, but you? You, I thought I could trust.”

“You can.”

“No. No, I can’t.” She turned to look at him beside her on the sand, both of their knees drawn up. There was something odd about his face.
He’s scared,
she realized. For just one second, she wanted to comfort him, but she couldn’t. Not now. “How long have you known? What exactly do you know? And why didn’t he, or you, tell me?”

“I was suspicious from the beginning. I mean, Flossie’s a stock market genius, you know. It was highly unlikely that she would have let Frank squander a fortune.”

“No, Jake, I did not know that Flossie played the stock market. Another thing to add to my ‘Making a Fool of Veronica’ list. Not that I want to think about lists right now.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Was last night a game to you, too?”

“Don’t you dare demean what happened with us last night. You know I love you, dammit. Whether we screwed with a list, with a bar of soap, with our toes, or by playing strip polka to the beat of one of Frankie Yankovic’s greatest-hit polkas on that old eight-track of your grandfather’s, that doesn’t make any difference. If our lovemaking was a game, it was a game we both played . . . with love. Furthermore, you are the one, babe, who always said the best lover was a man who could make a woman smile in bed.” Jake’s face flushed with anger as he clenched and unclenched his fists. He was flashing emotional tells like a blinking neon sign. Next he’d be pulling out his worry beads. Yep, there he went, putting his right hand in his pocket.

Well, I’m angry, too, big boy. And I have more reason than you do.
“Okay, last night was . . . what it was. How about my other questions?”