Avery came into the salon and plopped down on the chair. “It feels really weird not to be working. Do you think I should go out and find something to do in the pool house?”
“No!” Maddie said.
“We’re trying to figure out a way to feel more on vacation, not less.” This came from Nicole.
“Well, we do have the whole Gulf of Mexico at our doorstep,” Maddie said. “We should have taken Chase and Jeff up on their invitation to go out in the boat to watch the fireworks. Deirdre’s going to meet up with them, isn’t she?”
“You all are free to go,” Avery said.
“Isn’t it about time you and Chase waved white flags at each other?” Nikki asked.
Avery shrugged. “It’s enough we have to work together. I don’t need to be around him twenty-four/seven. And I don’t want to be in that small a space with Deirdre without the ability to leave. Sharing a bathroom has been tight enough.”
Maddie got up and moved to the floor-to-ceiling windows. Out in the pass, family-laden boats wallowed low in the water while Jet Skis whizzed by. Photographers loitered on the path to the beach, but the jetty was packed with fishermen and out on the Gulf the bold colors of a parasail danced through the sky. “Are we really in here relaxing?” she asked. “Or are we hiding?”
“Good question.” Nicole looked down at her watch then stood. “This is Independence Day. And we do have the whole day off.”
“Why
are
we inside?” Avery asked. “When we don’t have to be?”
“Another good question,” Nikki said. “Why
should
we be stuck in here? It’s the Fourth of fuckin’ July!” She moved toward the kitchen. “I’m going to whip up some strawberry daiquiris to take down to the beach. We could go for a swim, toast the sunset, and watch some fireworks.”
“That’s it,” Maddie said leaving the window. “I’m making a batch of fried chicken. And we can bring the potato salad and coleslaw I picked up from the deli.”
“I’ll bring the Cheez Doodles,” Avery offered. “And I’ll put ice and soft drinks in the cooler.”
Kyra snapped her book closed and sat up, reaching for her video camera. “I’m in. I’ll find the picnic basket Mom picked up at that garage sale. The paps can take their pictures—I’ll even pose for them,” she said. “Maybe they’ll get what they’re looking for and go away.”
This didn’t happen. In fact, as they toted their beach chairs and their picnic down the path and onto the beach, a few of the photographers ran ahead while others trailed behind. When they’d set up down near the water they turned their backs on the intruders and did their best to enjoy themselves.
Kyra shot the photographers watching them. Then she shot the sunset and the toasts that followed. Maddie raised her to-go cup in the light of the pinkening sky and proposed the first toast. “To life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness,” she said, trying not to stumble over the words or dwell on how long it had been since she’d felt truly happy.
“To Bella Flora and the grunts who’ve come to love her,” Nikki said.
“To Malcolm Dyer!” Avery said.
“Because?” Maddie asked, lowering her glass.
“Because if it weren’t for him, we would never have met?” Avery said.
They raised their glasses and clinked and Nicole said, “I guess that makes us the silver lining.”
They fell silent after that, waiting for the sky to fade to black. And then they oohed and ahhed like everyone else as the fireworks boomed and exploded, staring upward in delight until the last of the color bursts shot through the sky like oils painting on black velvet.
Nicole came out of a deep sleep to a large male hand clamped over her mouth. She tried to scream but the sound was trapped against skin. With panic skittering up her spine and her pulse thrumming in her ear, she shook her head and tried to catch her breath, but she couldn’t loosen the hand’s hold.
“Shhh,” a familiar male voice said. “Don’t scream. It’s me. Malcolm.”
Nikki’s eyes flew open. She stopped struggling.
“Will you keep quiet?”
She nodded slowly, still trying to make out his face. When he removed his hand she turned and sat up on the mattress, reaching for the lamp.
“No, don’t. It’s after two A.M. The photographers are gone, but they’ve been great cover.” He raised the camera around his neck with a pleased smile. “Maybe I’ll submit some anonymous shots of Daniel Deranian’s little girlfriend.”
Nicole held back the grimace of distaste. She had no idea what to say nor did she know if he was aware of Agent Giraldi. Or that the FBI had been watching.
“Great house, huh?” Malcolm said. “You’ve done a lot with it. I never did have a chance to renovate like I planned.” He smiled slightly. “I have a villa in Tuscany. And a beach house on Grand Cayman, though. This was the only fixer-upper.”
Nikki thought she might gag on her anger. Despite all the mental conversations she’d had with Malcolm and all the times she’d imagined screaming her anger and disappointment and hurt at him, she could hardly form thoughts, let alone words.
Her gaze narrowed as she strained to see his features in the moonlight. His face had a grayish tint and his eyes spoke of exhaustion. He didn’t look like a man with three hundred million dollars.
“I need your help,” he said. “I need your help to get to the money.”
The maternal instincts that had been revving up sputtered out. “You stole, Malcolm. From your clients and from me.”
She stared into his eyes; even in the dark she could see his surprise. “And you’re surprised that I’m angry.” She studied him—her little brother, the person she’d loved most for most of her life. But she also saw Madeline and Avery and Grace’s foster children. “Because you obviously never stopped and thought about the consequences of your actions.” Her fury mounted. She wanted to take hold of him and shake him until he understood. As she probably should have when he was a child.
“Did you ever stop and think about any of your victims?” she asked. “You put me out of business and practically out on the street. You remember what that feels like, don’t you? The vow we took to never let that happen again?”
It was his turn to nod.
“You weren’t raised to steal. To survive, yes, but not at the expense of everyone else.”
“I didn’t mean to. I never meant to. And I’m going to give you everything back.” He smiled the old cocky smile that had always helped him get whatever he wanted. “Plus interest and a lump sum for pain and suffering.” That smile again.
“It’s not funny, Malcolm. I’ve seen some of the lives you’ve ruined up close and personal. How did this happen?”
He took the camera off and set it on the mattress, then hugged his knees to his chest like he used to when he was a child. “I don’t know,” he said. “It was all legitimate at first. The investments went well and the marketing went even better. I had people who wouldn’t have let me in the front door of their mansions when we were growing up fighting to invest with me. You know, the harder you make it, the more they want in?
“It was everything I ever dreamed of. I had . . . so much.”
She sensed him wanting to stand and pace, but his eyes skimmed over the window and the closed bedroom door. They were both aware of the others sleeping in the house and the fact that he was wanted by the law.
Was Giraldi out there watching or listening? Did he know that Malcolm had been one of the photographers, waiting patiently in front of their noses to contact her? Was the agent really trying to gain her cooperation? Or had he simply been playing her, waiting for Malcolm to make this kind of brazen move?
“But why did you have to steal? Why not just make everybody a ton of money the good old-fashioned way?”
He sighed. “Because it’s not that easy.” Giving in to his restlessness, he stood, but he didn’t pace. “The market sucked and then it sucked even more. And if you’re not delivering better returns than everybody else, then you’re nowhere. I couldn’t afford to lose those clients, so I started paying off the old investors out of the new investors’ capital. And then all the juggling began.”
“Oh, Malcolm.”
“If the economy hadn’t tanked so spectacularly and sent everybody running for their money, I would never have been found out.”
Nicole sighed. “But it was still a Ponzi scheme. You were stealing money that didn’t belong to you.” She looked into his eyes and the only remorse she saw seemed feigned for her benefit, though she suspected he was genuinely remorseful about being found out. “There’s always someone else to blame, isn’t there?”
Her criticism didn’t seem to faze him in the least. “I can make things right for you, Nik, if you’ll help me access the money. I need someone the feds don’t know to get the money out of my offshore accounts.” He reached a hand down to her and pulled her to her feet. “Hardly anyone knows we’re related; we have different last names. You could waltz in and out without anyone looking twice.”
Except, of course, Agent Joe Giraldi and his merry band. And anyone else who chose to dig deep enough.
“Malcolm, I think you should turn yourself and the money in. So many people have been hurt, wiped out. You need to do the right thing.”
His look of shock was almost comical. His laughter, though quiet, was derisive. “Do the right thing? That’s a great movie title, Nik. As a course of action, not so much.”
“Seriously, Malcolm. You have to . . .”
“No, I really don’t. And if you won’t help me, I’ll find someone else who’ll want a cut bad enough to take the chance. But there’s nobody I trust as much as you.”
She’d once felt that way about him, too. Clearly that trust had been misplaced. “You’ll never get away with this. Really, you need to . . .”
“You need to stop trying to mother me, Nikki, and help me get that damned money,” Malcolm said. “I’m going to be moving around for a while, waiting for the heat to die down a little more. But here’s where you’ll be able to find me after that.” He handed her a folded piece of paper. “You’ve got a two-day window to meet me there so that I can explain what needs to be done.”
She opened the piece of paper and saw two lines of type with the name of the campground near Tallahassee where they’d spent that long-ago Thanksgiving and the date August 25, the day their mother had died. She had no idea whether he’d left this information unspoken because he knew about Giraldi or was simply being cautious.
When she looked up to tell him she could try to get him a deal if he’d just turn himself in, he was gone.
Twenty-nine
The month of July brought longer days and ever-increasing heat and humidity. The first of the no-name storms formed and dissipated in the Caribbean and walking barefoot on sand, brick, or asphalt became close to impossible. Whenever possible middays were spent working inside the thick walls of Bella Flora or the soon-to-be pool house, from which they’d emerge following the daily late afternoon rain shower.
Madeline watched Kyra’s pregnancy develop in tandem with Bella Flora’s renovation, her stomach and breasts growing larger as each room of the house was considered and addressed. Rotted baseboards were replaced, missing plaster cornices re-created, and the salon’s coffered cypress ceiling was painstakingly cleaned and retouched so that the original coats of arms of the original workmen could once again be seen.
Enrico’s younger brother Reggio came to lay the new kitchen floor, re-grout all of the bathrooms’ original tile and re-point the brick drive. Deirdre had the leather banquettes in the Casbah Lounge replaced, and Avery and Nicole spent almost a week cleaning and resealing the grout in the elaborately tiled room where they moved their sunset toasts when the weather turned bad or the heat and mosquitoes became unbearable.
The bathroom mirrors were re-silvered and re-hung and King Alfred promised the last of the bathroom fixtures no later than August 1, an announcement that had been toasted unanimously as a “good thing.”
In addition to the photos they took, the paparazzi generated some nasty headlines and more than one article questioning what this particular group of women were really doing camped out at Ten Beach Road. Without a quote from Daniel Deranian’s wronged wife or an appearance from the actor himself, there was little monetary value in continued stalking of a woman who might or might not be carrying his child. One day late in July, Madeline walked out back and noticed that the paparazzi had vanished.
For Maddie, there was little time to contemplate the joy of becoming a grandmother when each person and element of her life seemed determined to compete for the title of “most stressful.” Despite countless attempts, she still hadn’t spoken directly to Steve since she’d issued her ultimatum, but Andrew claimed his father was doing “better.” She felt her first stirring of real hope when Edna sniffed that Steve was “out” rather than sleeping, but she kept herself busy to the point of exhaustion because she was too afraid to bank on it.
Now she and Kyra sat in the dining room with the crystals from the master bathroom chandelier spread across the worktable before them. This was their third chandelier, and although it was significantly smaller than the dining room fixture that sparkled above them in the late afternoon sun, the process remained painstakingly tedious. Maddie had learned the hard way to take photos before disassembling and knew just how hard it could be to tell one drop crystal from another. “I can’t clean another piece.” Madeline sat back in her chair and stretched, her hands stiff and cracked from the harsh ammonia, wanting to be done with this job. Just like she’d probably want to be done with whatever came next. She turned to Kyra. “Do you want to go for a walk? Now that the photographers are gone, getting to the beach isn’t such a hassle.”
“It’s still too hot,” Kyra said. “I’m going to go upstairs and take a nice long nap.” She yawned and stood. As she reached for her cell phone it rang, startling them both. She picked it up to look at the caller ID on the screen and gasped.