The Secrets of Paradise Bay (7 page)

Clyde grabbed her slender waist, sensing she'd never be able to do it alone. He ignored the nice feel of her body leaning against his, knowing this wasn't the time or place—if there ever would be such.

Outside, Clyde led Ivana to his car. He spotted her ride and planned to come back and get it later.

Clyde helped Ivana get her seatbelt on before driving out of the lot. He was curious as to why she decided to get wasted. Or was this a regular occurrence in her life?

“Are you all right?” he asked her.

“I'm fine. Just had a little too much to drink, that's all.”

“It happens,” Clyde conceded. But not to Mrs. Trey Lancaster. At least he didn't imagine his big brother would approve, knowing how Trey operated in his perfect world that obviously had a few imperfections. He looked at Ivana. Her head was pressed against the headrest. “So what's going on with you?”

“You really want to know?” she asked.

“Yeah, I do.”

“All right. I saw a woman at the store with her baby. Guess it just touched a nerve. I needed something to take the edge off.”

Clyde couldn't well say he understood what she was going through, having never fathered a child or been involved in the loss of one. “And you don't think Trey would've understood?”

Ivana rounded on him. “Trey only understands himself. If I'd called him, he would have had a conniption, insisting I've got a problem. I didn't want to deal with that—not today.”

“Do you have a problem?” Clyde dared to ask, while changing lanes. “It's nothing to be ashamed of.”

“No!” she insisted. “Haven't you ever gotten drunk? Or am I reading you wrong?”

Clyde regarded her sideways. “You're not.” He was in no position to counsel his brother's wife, even if she seemed to need help of some kind in dealing with her loss. “Guess I should be minding my own business.” Never mind that she'd made it his business by calling him instead of her husband.

“I'm sorry for jumping on you,” Ivana's words slurred.

“Hey, no big deal. I know you and Trey are going through some things right now, and I don't want to make matters worse.”

“You're not.” Her words was slow as she spoke.

“Our issues have nothing to do with you.”

Clyde believed that. His own issues with Trey ran much deeper and over a longer period of time. But obviously his brother, for all his success in life, needed to work more on his home life. Or else risk losing a fine woman like Ivana, whose sexual appeal was hard to ignore, apart from anything else.

“I'm sure you'll work it out,” he told her.

“Never be too sure about anything,” Ivana said tersely. “Not in this life.”

Clyde raised a brow. “You thinking about leaving Trey?”

“I didn't say that.”

“So what are you saying?”

Ivana hesitated. “Only that maybe some things happen for a reason. You just have to figure out what that is and do whatever you need to do in dealing with it.”

“Sounds deep.” Or was it the alcohol talking?

“I get that way some times.”

“Cool,” Clyde said.

“Glad we see eye-to-eye there. Honestly, sometimes I think Trey just sees me as this tall, beautiful bimbo trophy wife who doesn't have much in the way of intellect.”

Clyde wrinkled his nose. “I doubt that. For all his faults, my brother would not have married you if he didn't think you were someone smart enough to keep up with him.”

Ivana eyed him. “Now who's being deep?”

Clyde flashed a little smile. “Guess we're more alike than I thought.”

“Should I be worried about that?”

He laughed unevenly. “No, I don't think so. Just gives us a little more in common as in-laws.” And just maybe something to build on, down the line.

That evening, Clyde was hesitant as he approached the Westside Tavern on Thirty-ninth Street. It was once his hangout when not elsewhere causing trouble. It was also where his old homie, Willie Munroe, hung out. Maybe Willie had found new stomping grounds.

Hope so, as I'm not looking to tangle with him again and possibly end up back in prison. Or worse
.

But Clyde did want to see if the bartender still worked there. Albert Lake was probably the closest thing to a father figure that he had, though only ten years older. Clyde regretted not following his advice back in the day. Not too many people could tell him much then. At least not so he listened.

Oh well. Live and learn
.

He stepped inside the tavern, knowing he was going against Trey's wishes that Clyde refrain from visiting old haunts that could lead to old habits. But Clyde was his own man and had to use his own judgment.

There were only a few people present; most sitting at wooden tables drinking beer. The mellow sound of blues filtered through the air at a low volume.

Clyde made his way to the bar, which was empty. He took a seat on a stool and waited for someone to come.

A thickly built man with receding gray hair in a short ponytail came from the back and said routinely, “What can I get for you?”

“I hear the malt liquor is pretty good here, old man,” Clyde said with a smile, recognizing him as Albert Lake.

Albert looked up. It took a moment before his face lit with familiarity. “Well, I'll be damned twice over. Clyde?”

“Yup, it's me, man.”

Albert came from around the bar and the two men embraced warmly. “It's so good to see you.”

“You too,” Clyde expressed.

Albert pulled away. “You're looking good.”

“I can't take too much credit for that. Guess it's in the genes.”

“Genes always need a little help,” Albert said with a chuckle. “How long you been out?”

“Couple of weeks.”

Albert's brow furrowed. “And you're just coming to say hello?”

Clyde ran a hand across his head. “You know how it is. Been trying to readjust to society and all that.”

“Sure, I understand.”

Clyde smiled. “So how about that drink?”

“Yeah, coming right up.” Albert went to other side of bar and got out two cold bottles of malt liquor, sliding one to Clyde, who sat down. “Where you stayin'?”

“My brother's place right now.” Clyde almost felt guilty in saying that. He didn't expect it to be forever.

Albert raised his chin. “Trey's a good man and doing good things for this town.”

“So I've heard and seen.” Clyde gulped down the drink and thought about Ivana, whom he'd rescued earlier and helped settle in without Trey being the wiser.

“Be proud of him, even if that's not in your nature. The man has earned everything he's got in life.”

“Yeah, I know.” Same old Albert, free with the advice, Clyde mused. Most of it good.

“Heard about your mother,” Albert said mournfully. “I'm sorry, man.”

“So am I. Mama just ran out of steam.”

“Happens that way.”

Clyde tasted more malt liquor. “I'm surprised to see you still here after all these years.”

“Where else am I gonna go? Steady jobs are hard to come by in this town for forty-somethings with no formal education. Besides, I'm now the manager of this place and only bartending part-time.”

“Guess things have changed around here.” Clyde glanced about.

“Everything changes over time,” Albert said. “It's what makes the world go round.”

“I suppose.”

The two men gazed at each other thoughtfully before Albert asked, “You seen Willie?”

“No,” Clyde said, reacting to the name.

“Probably best that you don't. The man is still up to no good most of the time.”

“Kind of figured that.” Some things clearly never changed.

“But you've paid your dues and moved on with your life. That's a good thing.”

“Yeah.” Clyde put the bottle to his lips. Can one ever truly escape the past, no matter the desire?

“Well, look who the dust blew in?”

Clyde turned around at the sound of the recognizable voice and saw Willie Munroe standing there, glaring at him.

Clyde regarded the man he once would have done almost anything for—short of stab his own brother in the back. Willie Munroe was not quite the physical specimen Clyde remembered, but imposing nevertheless. Six feet four, muscular, with black dreadlocks, and a goatee. His eyes were rust-gray with thick bags beneath them. The one eye was unblinking and a bit red, reminding Clyde of what had happened between them.

“What's up, Willie?” he said for lack of any other words to come from his mouth.

“What's up?” Willie's nostrils flared. “That all you got to say to me?”

Albert peered at him. “Do yourself a favor, Willie, and get the hell outta here.”

Willie's mouth hung open. “All of a sudden I'm not good enough for this place now that the prison bird is out?”

“That's not it. I just don't want any trouble. And you shouldn't, either.”

Willie gave a derisive chuckle. “If I was lookin' for trouble, I'd have come in here with my three-fifty-seven Magnum and put the man out of his misery. You see any weapons on me?”

Clyde appreciated Albert sticking his neck out for him, but didn't want or need his protection. “I can take care of myself, Albert.”

“Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of,” he scoffed. “You did that once before and look where it got you. I don't want to see you go down that road again—not in here.”

“Maybe we can carry on this little conversation outside,” Willie suggested. “Or did being in prison make you yellow inside your black skin?”

Clyde felt his ire rise. The man was baiting him and hoping he would swallow.
I can't let him get to me. Nothing good could come out of it. But something bad sure as hell could.

“I'm not afraid of you, Willie. I should think you would know that by now.”

Willie took an involuntary step backward under the weight of Clyde's fierce gaze. “You took half my sight away from me, man.”

Clyde stood his ground. “No, you took it away yourself by not leaving well enough alone when you had the chance.”

“You could have walked away and everything would've been fine.”

Clyde sighed. “Keep telling yourself that, Willie. We both knew the day was coming when we'd square off. It just happened then. So why don't we just give it a rest and move on with our lives.”

Willie snorted. “You think I can just forget? Would you, if the shoe were on the other foot?”

It was a question that Clyde did not have the answer to. How could he? “Look, we both know what went down and why. I served my time and you didn't, but should have. I'm satisfied that my debt is paid in full. If you really think fighting me will make you feel better, then go for it. Otherwise get out of my face and go back to wherever you've been holed up.”

Willie shot him a hard look. “See you another time.”

Clyde watched Willie leave the tavern and then sucked in a deep breath in relief.

“Sorry he had to spoil things,” Albert said, frowning.

“He didn't, as far as I'm concerned,” Clyde said bravely, putting the malt liquor bottle to his lips.

“The man's holding a grudge. I wouldn't put anything past him. And neither should you.”

“Willie doesn't want to mess with me—not again.” If only Clyde could believe that. On the contrary, he knew how vengeful Willie could be when crossed.

But I can't let him get to me, or have me afraid of my own shadow, let alone his
.

“All the same, I'd watch my back if I were you,” warned Albert. “I don't want to see your return to Paradise Bay turn into a nightmare.”

“Believe me, neither do I.” Clyde finished the rest of his beer. Prison had toughened him against guys like Willie and worse. It had also made him smarter in not jumping the gun, putting himself in a position not in his best interests.

I'm not going back to prison for Willie or anyone else. I did that once for Trey and it did nothing to help my cause. This time around I'll fight my battles another way and hope I don't get burned in the process
.

Willie rang the doorbell of the house on Birch-dale Lane where Roselyn Pesquera was living. He was feeling frustrated and needed some release. Being inside her would have to do 'til someone better came along.

The door opened and Roselyn's roommate, Gail McCord, stood there. She was shorter and thinner than Roselyn with a dark, curly bob.

“Hey,” Willie said in a soft voice. “Roselyn around?”

“No, she isn't,” Gail answered with a hard edge to her voice.

Willie stiffened
. I should have called first
. “Is she at work?”

“No.”

So where the hell is she
? “Well, maybe I'll just wait 'til she comes home.”

Gail's sable eyes grew wide. “Not in here, you won't!”

He gritted his teeth. “What's up with you?”
Obviously the bitch doesn't think I'm good enough for her roomie
.

“Nothing's up. I just don't want men in my house when Roselyn's not here. Especially men I don't know—or trust.”

Willie grinned wickedly. “So what, you think I'm some bad-ass dude out to harm Roselyn? Or is it that you want me for yourself?”
Or is she a lesbian?

Gail slapped a hand on her hip. “First thing, you're not my type—okay? As for Roselyn, I don't know what your agenda is. I just don't want to see my friend get hurt by someone who's maybe looking for a sugar mommy.”

Willie glared. She read him only too well. “I like Roselyn, all right? End of story. Maybe you should let her decide if she wants to be with me.”
I think she already has.

“I'll tell her you came by,” Gail said tersely.

“Yeah, you do that.” Willie held back his tongue, not wanting to make matters worse or measure up to her image of him. He walked away just as he had with Clyde, feeling it was better that way. Next time could be different on both counts.

Willie got out his cell phone and called one of his boys. The night was still young. Might as well try to make the most of it.