Stargazey Nights (2 page)

Chapter 2

I
T WAS CL
OSE TO FOUR
o'clock when Cab rolled his suitcase out of the apartment and set the security code. Bailey was asleep. He didn't bother to wake her before he left.

She was pretty mad. Maybe he should have told her as soon as he got the call, but then she would have been pissed all night. Frank and Tony, the two colleagues who had a real reason to be upset—­there was a major financial assessment meeting tomorrow for the Myrtle Beach project—­were surprised but accepting.

Already, the plans were over budget, and they hadn't even hired a bulldozer. That's the way it was when the money ­people thought their ideas were better than the architects'.

Frank and Tony were perfectly capable of representing Bloomquist and Ryan at the meeting without him. Bailey could handle the fund-­raiser without him though she wasn't happy about it. She let him know, volatilely. He hated leaving during an argument, but she refused to understand. Or maybe she couldn't understand.

The elevator stopped, and he stepped out onto the garage level, walked past Bailey's silver Mercedes, and beeped open the hatch of his Range Rover. He lifted his suitcase into the hold and spread his suit bag over the suitcase. Closed the hatch and leaned against it, his hand resting on the closed door, his head resting on his hand.

His eyes felt gritty, and his chest hurt, lack of sleep and sadness. He'd stop someplace for coffee to remedy the first; he didn't even want to assuage the second. He laughed. The kind of laughter that came with disbelief.

“I don't think—­I won't be able to get back for tomorrow night. Give your mother my apologies.”

First explosion. “But everyone will be expecting you.”

“Bailey, he was my uncle. I have to go to the funeral.”

That caressing hand up his sleeve, the slim body pressing close to his, the soft, persuasive voice. “It's not like you know anyone there. I sent a really impressive arrangement. I'm sure they'll all understand.”

Cab pushed away from the car, went around to the driver's side, and climbed in. Maybe he didn't know anyone there. Maybe the ones he had known had all moved away or died. Maybe they wouldn't remember him. But this wasn't for them or for Cab. It was for Ned. His uncle had deserved so much more.

“I have a responsibility.” Something he thought she would relate to. “And I want to go.”

“Oh please. The man's dead. If you cared so much about him, you should have visited him when he was alive.”

“I know.”

“So basically you're doing it out of guilt. Do you think any of those ­people care?”

“I care. And it's not just guilt though there is plenty of that. But it's about honoring his life.”

Bailey's eyes rolled upward. “The man ran a merry-­go-­round in a backwater town. Get over it.”

That's what had finally sealed it. She didn't get it at all. He'd been about to ask her to go with him. It would have meant a lot to him and to Ned and even the town that he would show that degree of respect, but he didn't bother.

“I have to go.”

The change in the room temperature was decisive. “Suit yourself. I'll just tell Momma you couldn't make it.” She went into the bathroom and closed the door.

Cab pulled out his suitcase and began to pack.

When she came out and went straight to bed without a word, he didn't bother to continue the conversation, just changed into slacks and sweater and left.

The wheels screeched as he drove out of the darkness of the garage and into the darkness of the street, which Cab guessed was indicative of his suppressed emotions. Not that he was sure what all of them were. But, suddenly, he was feeling a whole lot of stuff.

He drove toward the highway and pulled into a fast-­food joint, ordered a large coffee and a hamburger, and headed east. Neither did much to help the acid in his stomach, but that would change when he got to Stargazey Point.

Maybe Silas was still getting up early to stoke the fires at his barbecue place. Cab's mouth watered just thinking about that hickory smell, the sweet, pungent sauce, the tender moist pork. How long had it been since he'd eaten real barbecue? He and Ned used to climb into Ned's old truck at least twice a week after the carousel closed for the night. During the season, when the carousel was open late, Beau Crispin would stop by on his way home to drop off big foil packets of food from Silas.

Cab wondered if Beau and his sister Millie still lived in their old plantation-­style house on the Point. They were the biggest property owners in the area. Cab was stabbed with a sudden anxiety. He sure hoped he didn't drive into Stargazey and see the closed gates of a resort community where the old mansion had been.

And he realized that with all the reminiscing about Stargazey Point, he had no real idea of what it was like today.

He pressed down on the accelerator, as if getting there sooner would stop progress from happening. Progress that kept Cab in business and in his posh condo with an expensive girlfriend. Progress that Cab was about to initiate on an eight-­block parcel of downtown Myrtle Beach. It's what he did.

But Cab wasn't a developer; he didn't build golf communities for retirees. He was an architect. A damn good one. A respected one. He built big, and unique and beautiful. Whole building complexes. Self-­contained neighborhoods. Stadiums. Malls. He'd even designed a museum. He was in demand.

Still, he wouldn't want that to happen to the Point.

As he drove away from Atlanta through the sprawling suburbs, he began to feel an easing in his shoulders. As the night grew light around him, so did his spirits. And for a moment, he forgot that he was going to a funeral and just felt the pleasure of escape.

But he didn't need to escape. And Stargazey Point was no longer home. Had never really been home, except during the summers of his boyhood, after his father remarried and Cab became an afterthought except to his uncle Ned.

The Range Rover swerved, and Cab jerked the wheel, bringing it back into the lane. Maybe he had dozed off momentarily or maybe it was the realization that his stepmother might be a Boston Brahmin, but there wasn't so much difference between her and Bailey Delaney, Southern belle.

He stopped at the South Carolina border for another cup of coffee, then again for a quick breakfast on the outskirts of Myrtle Beach before turning south for the last leg of his journey. The sun was up and it promised to be a decent day. There was just the hint of fall in the air, so he wouldn't be sweltering in his suit in the unair-­conditioned church. He wondered who had arranged the funeral? He should have asked Beau. Would it be in the church? Or graveside. Who would officiate? Would they expect him to say a few words?

The road cut through marshland and scrub forest, parcels of farmland dissected by gated condos. Not all were new. And many seemed to be empty. It was a different landscape than he remembered, and the closer he got to Stargazey Point, the more anxious he was to get there. It was similar to the same feeling when he was a kid though now there would be no Ned waiting with a cold Coke and a package of cheese crackers.

Cab smiled though it hurt. Simple pleasures. How he had looked forward to sitting on the front porch of Hadley's store, drinking out of the bottle and sitting with the “men.” He'd felt so grown-­up.

He almost passed Silas Cook's smokehouse. He slammed on the brakes and, looking over his shoulder, backed up in the road until he came to what was—­had been—­the best barbecue place on the whole coast.

Silas's place had never been upscale; actually, if the health department had cared, they would probably have closed him down. But those officials always came to Silas's for their barbecue, so they left him alone.

But this. The old shack was practically falling down, the roof had caved in, and the sign that had always hung over the door had half fallen to the ground. The earth in front was hard packed, but one look at the side of the building and Cab knew what had happened. The best barbecue place on the coast was going under the bulldozer.

For a moment, Cab just sat there.

Things changed. That was good. But things in Stargazey Point had changed without him, and he felt like a stranger.

He revved the engine and pulled away, throwing up gravel and dust, and when he drove into town ten minutes later, he breathed a huge sigh of relief. The buildings had a new coat of paint. There was a new art gallery, well good for them, a ­couple of antique stores, a real-­estate office, a tea shop, Flora's. He remembered it though he and Ned didn't go there much except on special occasions. It had been given a gingham face-­lift. The whole town had spruced up.

Next to the tea shop, the Stargazey Inn looked pretty much the same, a square, cream-­colored building with doors and windows picked out in blue, a nod to the Gullah tradition. It had a new coat of paint, at least on the outside, but Cab suddenly wished he'd booked a real hotel back in Myrtle Beach.

But what was the point of that? He wanted to be here. Wanted to see any ­people he might remember. Look in at the carousel and Ned's house. So the hotel was a little old. How bad could it be?

He took his suitcase and garment bag out of the back, pushed open the white, wrought-­iron gate, and walked up to the front porch. He stopped at the closed door. There was a row of rocking chairs along the porch but not a person in sight.

He opened the door—­and stepped into a foyer that gave new meaning to quaint. Floral and checks and pastels covered the walls, the wicker furniture, the windows. The beds were probably soft and buried under a mound of homemade quilts.

Cab resisted a shudder and walked over to the cherrywood registration desk.

“Hello?” He dinged the bell that sat on the counter. Heard a rustling of paper, and a mousy-­looking young woman hurried out of the office, wiping her hands on her skirt.

She stopped when she saw him. And her eyes widened before her mouth slowly lifted in a smile.

“Mr. Reynolds?”

“Yes. I believe Beau Crispin made a reservation for me.”

“Yes, he did.”

Cab opened his wallet and pulled out his Amex card.

“Oh that won't be necessary,” she said is a soft drawl. “There's no charge.”

“I don't . . .”

“Well, I could hardly charge you when you're Ned's nephew, now can I?”

Of course she could. She couldn't have more than six rooms if that; most landlords would have doubled the rates. Captive audience. But he would argue about it later.

“You know. I bet Ned looked just like you when he was younger. I mean, he'd gone gray. But he was still tall, and I bet his hair was dark like yours. And you definitely have his eyes. You know, most ­people with dark eyes look intense, and sometimes formidable. But Ned's always had a sparkle to them.”

Cab suppressed a yawn. He was really tired, and this chatter was pushing him over the brink.

“Oh, listen to me prattling on. We're just so glad you could make it after all. Did you bring your fiancée?”

“No.”

“Well, we'll all be sorry not to meet her. I've given you room four. It's our biggest, and it has an
en suite
bath.”

Cab just bet it did, with an ancient tub and zero water pressure. “I'll only be staying tonight.”

She been coming around the edge of the desk, but she stopped again. “Oh. Everybody was hoping you'd be able to stay a while.”

She walked past him and picked up his suitcase.

He was so astounded he forgot to protest until she started up the stairs. What she lacked in finish, she made up in energy.

“I'll take that,” he said, running to catch up to her.

“Oh, it's no trouble. We—­I don't keep a bellboy during the off-­season.”

He cast a sideways look at her.

“Well, I never have a bellboy. But the rooms are real nice, and real clean.”

She let him wrest the suitcase and bag from her.

She led the way to the second floor, to a room in back. She opened the door with a flourish, then looked anxiously at him.

The room was painted a light blue, and in the middle was a huge, four-­poster bed, with some kind of white bedspread covering the mattress, which was at least three feet high. A highboy and wooden wardrobe completed the furnishings, not a closet in sight.

Just as well he and Bailey had argued. She would have demanded instant departure to the nearest four-­ or five-­star hotel. Normally, he would, too, but the landlady was so eager to please and so obviously proud of her handiwork, he didn't have the heart to leave. Plus, he was about to fall on his face from fatigue and anxiety.

“Very nice, Ms.—­”

“Mrs.”

To Cab's dismay, her eyes filled with tears.

She shook them way. “Bridges, just call me Bethanne. Everybody does. There are towels in the bathroom. Anything else you need?”

“No thank you. I've been driving all night. I'd like to get a ­couple of hours' sleep before the funeral.”