Happiness Key (9 page)

“And because I need to clean out his house and see about getting another renter.”

“Money, money, money.” Wanda rubbed her thumb over her fingers.

“You work in a restaurant, right? You wouldn’t do it if they didn’t pay you. Or is it that much fun to recite the daily specials and refill the ice water?”

“You know all those things that are wrong with my house?”

“Don’t worry, I carry your list close to my heart.”

“I bet there are just as many wrong at Herb’s place.”

“So?”

“So you try to rent it the way it is and throw in that crazy lease that says you can kick them out the moment you sell the property, shake that up with predictions of a miserable hot summer courtesy of global warming and the story of an old man who just died in their new bedroom, and just see how many people come running to pay you good money.”

“
You
did.”

“No, I didn’t.
I’m
not stupid. My husband signed our lease. And at the time Palmetto Grove didn’t have a whole lot of places to rent. But all those people who want to sell and leave Florida now, only they can’t? They’re all renting out their houses.”

“You’re the good-news kid, aren’t you?”

“I just tell it like it is. Somebody has to.”

“Who appointed
you?
”

“It’s a God-given talent.”

Tracy knew she had to talk to Maribel, and soon, about the possibilities for Herb’s house. But she was feeling glummer by the moment.

“Yep, that’s them,” Wanda said, nodding toward the old men she had pointed out earlier.

Tracy wasn’t sure why this particular arrangement of age spots, crooked spines, badly shaven chins and funny-looking caps could seem so familiar to Wanda, but she went on faith. “Shall I talk to them, or would you like to?”

“Oh, I got you here, now it’s up to you.”

Tracy approached the old men, who didn’t look up. She still sent them her most dazzling smile, hoping it would somehow grab their attention. “Hi, gentlemen. My name is Tracy Deloche. Could you give me a moment of your time?”

She kept the smile firmly in place, because she had expected three sets of eyes to swing in her direction. Instead nobody stirred. The two who were seated on either side of a beat-up card table didn’t even look up. The third man, who cast a pencil-thin shadow over the table, gave her the briefest of glances, then went back to silently hovering.

Tracy wondered if they were all hard of hearing. What would it be like to be this old and used up, to have so little going for you that your whole day revolved around a silly game in the park? Out of respect for the obvious depth of their concentration, she waited a few seconds before she tried again.

“Gentlemen, I need just a moment. Then you can go right back to your game.”

This time even the hoverer didn’t glance her way. She moved a little closer and put on a bigger smile, as if she weren’t annoyed.

“You know, a girl just hates to be ignored. And this is about a friend of yours, Herb Krause. I’m his landlord, or I should say I was. He died day before yesterday.”

She paused, and for a moment she wondered if she was
breaking bad news without preparation and the consequences to their feeble old hearts might be a problem. “Um, you know that, right?” She tried to sound sympathetic.

One of the men at the table finally looked up. He wore thick glasses and what might well be a toupee under his cap. “You have problems with your eyesight? We’re busy right now.”

She knew when to push an advantage. “I appreciate that, I really do. But I’ve got a problem, and you might be able to help.”

The second man at the table, who sported a mustache that was so thin she guessed it was only two hairs wide, looked up, and the two men stared at each other. Finally the second man turned to look at Tracy. “So you have the problem, but
we’re
supposed to drop everything?”

“Just for a second.” She put her thumb and forefinger together with just the smallest space between them. “A millisecond. I’m trying to find Herb’s family, and I know he used to play chess with you gentlemen. I’m just hoping one of you might remember something about them. See, we can’t find anybody he was related to. I have all his stuff, and the funeral home wants to cremate him.”

The man turned back to his friend. “You remember anything?”

“Not me.”

He looked up at the man above him. “How about you?”

“Nothing.”

“Can we go back to our
game
now?” he asked, without turning back around. “Now that we’ve dropped everything like you wanted?”

Tracy had learned from the master and knew better than to quit. “I don’t need a lot to go on. Did he mention
children? Cousins? Nieces or nephews? If you’d just think for a minute?”

The hoverer pointed to the man facing Tracy. “You going to take all day to make that move?”

“Now I got to start all over again putting it together play by play. Since I got interrupted.”

“Go ahead,” the other player said. “We’ll wait. All we’ve got is time, and our little
game
.”

“Now, boys,” Tracy said in the voice that had usually gotten her anything she wanted from CJ. “If that was you lying over at the Memorial Funeral Home, wouldn’t you want
somebody
to help the people who cared enough to find your family? All I need is some little thing to go on. Doesn’t it bother you to think of Herb all alone, and the people who loved him finding out when it’s too late that they could have been there to see him to a better end?”

“There’s some kind of echo at this park,” the player facing Tracy told the other men. “Maybe we got a mockingbird up in one of those trees. Or a wild parrot. I hear there’s a colony of them down the coast a few miles.”

Tracy’s smile died. She stepped up to the table, pushing the hoverer with her shoulder until she was right between the seated men. “Now you listen! I think you could help if you wanted, and you’re just yanking my chain. That old man died, and it’s my job to pack up his stuff and send it on to his family. And I plan to do that. I’m not leaving until I get what I came for. What’s wrong with you? He was a friend of yours!”

“Apparently not yours, though.” The man with the glasses stood. He was an inch or two taller than she was, but he looked like a good puff of wind would send him sailing out over the gulf. “Herb wouldn’t have tolerated
you
for one minute. Go away and leave us alone.”

Tracy wasn’t sure how she upended the card table.
One moment she was stepping closer so she could see eye-to-eye with the old man. The next she was stumbling right into the table. She grabbed the edge to keep herself from falling over it, and as she did, the table flipped in her direction. The chess board, the entire tableau of royalty and pawns, slid off and into the grass at her feet. Behind her, she could hear Wanda screeching “Lordy, Lordy!”

Tracy’s arms were like the blades of a windmill as she tried to keep from following the table. She hit the man on her right in the face and socked the one on her left under the chin as she struggled to keep her balance. But she was still standing as the table finished pitching forward and landed on its side.

Tracy jumped backward. “You pushed me!” She grabbed the hoverer by his sleazy rayon sleeve. “
You
did that, not me.”

He shook her off with surprising strength. “No such thing, girlie. You nearly pushed me over getting to the table. I was just trying to find my balance.”

Tracy felt a hand grip her shoulder and fingernails, long talonlike nails, digging into her flesh. “Git now,” Wanda said. “Right now. Outta here.”

Tracy hated to take advice from Wanda, but this time she was on the mark. Wanda tugged, and she followed. In a moment the old men were behind her, and in a few more, Wanda had pulled her halfway back to the car at a near run.

“I did not…pull that table…over on purpose!” Tracy said.

“And did you behave like a horse’s ass on purpose?” Wanda demanded. “Did you talk to those men like they were little kids instead of men who supported their families, and raised their children, and did jobs that contributed to society before they got so old and retired?”

Tracy noted the way she had said “contributed.” Con-tree-beauted. It made her feel better somehow, although the rest of the speech rankled.

“I was nice to them!”

“Like hell you were.” Wanda had released Tracy’s shoulder now and was sprinting as fast as she could in sandals with four-inch heels, confident, Tracy supposed, that she was going to follow. “There wasn’t nothing charming about what you did back there, let me tell you. Just because you’re all young and perky doesn’t mean you get to treat your elders any way other than with respect. And it served you right they wouldn’t talk to you. I wouldn’t have, that’s for sure. The way you treat people is a downright sin.”

“Me? Who was it that broke in to Herb’s cottage last night, then wouldn’t help with his mattress?”

“Why do you think I came today? I felt bad about that, but now I wish I hadn’t.”

“I just want to find Herb’s family!”

“Well, those men don’t have to help you unless they want to. Got it? You’re not some fairy princess, and they aren’t your serfs. You’re in the same boat the rest of us are, milady.
Noblesse
does not
oblige
here. Until you stop acting like royalty, nobody’s going to help you do a darned thing.”

Tracy wasn’t sure which to be most surprised about. That Wanda knew what
noblesse oblige
meant, or that she herself had a most uncomfortable feeling that there might be a smidgen of truth in the things Wanda was saying.

They got into the car without another word, and Tracy backed out of the parking spot. She didn’t want to look in the direction of the old men, but she couldn’t help herself. One was working to right the table. Two were on all fours, picking up the fallen chessmen. Laboriously, if
a quick peek could determine such a thing. Dismay filled her.

Wanda didn’t say anything as they drove. The only reminder that she was in the car was the cloying scent of orange blossoms. When they got to Happiness Key, Tracy pulled to a stop in front of Wanda’s cottage, and the other woman slammed the door behind her. Tracy watched as she swished her hips on the way up her walk. But she found nothing humorous about it now. Wanda seemed a step classier than she had at the beginning of their drive.

Inside her own cottage, Tracy dropped to the sofa and closed her eyes. Was Wanda right about her? Or had she simply encountered the worst pod of grumpy old men on the planet? She had lost her temper, and in all fairness, maybe she had acted just the teeniest bit overbearing. She could have waited for the next move to finish, could have asked them if they had time to talk to her and made an appointment for another time if not. But they hadn’t been mapping a new continent, hadn’t been finding a cure for cancer. Chess was a game. Nothing happened if a move got interrupted. No one died. Nobody missed the entrance to the Northwest Passage.

Frustration was an annoying buzz inside her. She sat quietly for a few minutes, going over what she could do next to find Herb’s family. Of course this really wasn’t her problem, or didn’t need to be. She could pack away anything in his house that looked valuable and dump everything else—or at least she assumed she could legally do that. She would have to find out. But she wasn’t ready to quit yet. She wasn’t sure why, but she wasn’t. So what could she do that didn’t include the men at the park?

She got up to get herself a glass of papaya juice when she noticed the file folder she had retrieved from Maribel. She had removed it from her purse before heading off
with Wanda, but she hadn’t looked beyond the first page, which sported a blank beside “next of kin.” Now she stopped and paged through it, looking for something, anything, that might help. The last sheet was a list of previous landlords. Two of them.

“Sweet.” The references might be outdated and probably wouldn’t be much help, but at least she had something to try. She tucked the list under her arm, and went into the kitchen for juice and the telephone. In a few minutes she was settled back in the living room, dialing the first number.

A woman answered, and Tracy started right in once she was sure she had the right person. She explained who she was and why she was calling, then, “I need your help. We’re trying to find Mr. Krause’s family, and so far we haven’t had any luck. So if you wouldn’t mind checking your records for me, I can wait. I don’t mind hanging on, but this is important.”

She thought she’d sounded concerned and businesslike, but the woman on the other end gave a nasty laugh. “Well, you’re going to have to hang on for a very long time, honey. I’m up to my elbows in bread dough right now, and I’m not inclined to wash my hands until I’m finished.”

Tracy took a deep breath and cranked up the warmth. “I’m probably calling at a bad time, but you see, I really need to find his family as fast as possible—”

The phone went dead.

Tracy sat there and stared at it.

Minutes later she tried the second number. When a man answered, she asked if he had a moment, and when he asked if she was a telemarketer, she assured him she wasn’t, explaining quickly why she was calling.

“If this isn’t a good time, I can call back,” she said
humbly. “I don’t want to trouble you, but the funeral home wants to cremate the body, and I just hate to let that happen without finding his family first. So, is there a good time to talk?”

The man, who sounded like he might be a few breaths from cremation himself, assured her that now was an excellent time. If she didn’t mind hanging on a moment, he would see if he could locate the rental agreement that Herb had signed for him. He didn’t remember anything about Herb’s family, but maybe he had something in his records.

Tracy sat quietly, despite every instinct to hurry the man along, and simply waited.

The day after she wreaked havoc in the lives of three old men, Tracy spent the morning getting estimates from tile installers. The tile arrived in the afternoon, and because she didn’t completely trust her neighbors, she asked the two high school boys who delivered it to pile it out of sight behind her back door. Not that far from spending their summers with a pile of Lego, the boys carefully made six stacks with just enough space between them for the door to open. When she walked between the towers Tracy felt menaced. She really had to get the tile on her floor soon.

The first installer’s estimate, produced right on the spot, was so high she tore it up. The salesman at the flooring warehouse had said he was the best, but not cheap. Tracy was planning to be okay with second best, or even third, as soon as the other two drew up formal estimates.

In the midst of the interruptions she still managed to get the first coat of paint on her living-room walls. She
wanted to finish before the tile went in, so she didn’t have to worry about dribbling paint on her new floor. She was pleased with her choice of color, and the improvement gave her a new shot of energy.

By late afternoon she was tired but proud. She cleaned up her mess, then took a well-deserved shower to get ready for dinner with Lee. While she toweled herself dry in her tiny bedroom, she considered her wardrobe.

Clothes were communication, but she was out of the habit of thinking about the message she was sending. With CJ, there had only been one. He had wanted other men to envy him, and Tracy’s role was to be provocative and unattainable, a woman men would fantasize about having, while knowing that the possibility was eternally out of their reach.

As far as Tracy knew, CJ had been pleased with his choice of a third wife—the first two, acquired while he was building his empire, having failed to meet his exacting standards. He had rewarded her with jewelry, with vacation homes and surprise trips to world-class destinations. These had been payment of a sort for fulfilling the unspoken promises she had made to him. She had been a wife he could point to with pride.

Since the divorce and the humiliation and the exile, she had stopped dressing like a kept woman. She’d stored some of her wardrobe, placed some in consignment shops, given some to charities—with the proper deductions. What remained were not things she had bought to satisfy her ex-husband, but things she simply liked to wear. Now, searching through the closet, she wondered what message Lee was looking for?

Did she care?

Lately, those kinds of thoughts plagued her. Her up-bringing had seemed normal. At her mother’s knee she’d
learned that pleasing a man was the road to a secure future, and “secure future” meant a net worth of eight figures, minimum. She’d been perfectly comfortable basing her life on this. Digging deeper hadn’t appealed to her. What was the point, when her own plans for the future seemed to be working out just fine?

Now, and not for the first time, she silently cursed CJ Craimer, who had believed that laws were only written to keep the little guy under control. If CJ had been even marginally more upright, Tracy would not have to consider all these difficult questions.

By the time she was ready, she felt wrung out, not from the hard work of the day, but from figuring out who she was and who she wanted to be. And this was only one date. The possibility that the rest of her life might be this complicated terrified her.

When she heard Lee’s footsteps coming up the walk, she didn’t wait for a knock. She grabbed her purse and a beaded shawl, and opened the door. She saw instant admiration in his eyes, and she forgot she had almost decided admiration didn’t matter.

“What a great dress,” he said.

She liked the dress, too. Royal blue, with drifts of green, it seemed to float when she moved, light, airy and cool. She’d bought it off a sidewalk rack in some Caribbean island town where an artist had dyed, then painted, the fabric, but she had rarely worn it. At the Riviera Country Club or at Bel Air, where she would have been hobnobbing with Hollywood stars and other notables, the dress would have been out of place. Here, she wasn’t sure she cared.

“Thanks.” She smiled at him. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”

“And I’ve been looking forward to having a beautiful woman on my arm again.”

“That’s very kind.”

“No, just very true.” He held out his arm. “May I?”

He helped her into his Saab, which was, despite the presence of a child in his life, absolutely spotless. No gum wrappers or forgotten flip-flops. That made Tracy smile again. Clearly Lee had made an effort tonight.

He got in and turned the key. The engine kicked once, then died.

“That’s odd.” Lee tried again with the same results. The third time it didn’t start at all.

“Have you been having problems?” Tracy asked.

“No, but my mechanic was out of town, so I had it tuned up at a new garage this morning. They swore they’ve worked on plenty of Saabs.”

Tracy saw a lovely evening evaporating. “Even if it starts, we don’t want to break down. Let’s take mine. You can call the garage in the morning.”

“I hate to make you drive.”

“Not a problem.” Tracy opened her door and got out. Luckily he had parked on the road and hadn’t blocked the driveway. She unlocked the driver’s door of the Z3, watching Lee smooth his hand over the hood as she did. He was looking at the convertible with longing, the way a little boy eyes a neighbor kid’s brand-new bike. She reached across the roof and held out her keys.

“You drive.”

“I’m perfectly comfortable being your gigolo.”

She liked this man. He had shown up at her door looking far better than presentable, his slacks pressed to perfection, his gray sports coat an expensive, tropical-weight linen over a charcoal-colored shirt. She liked the
way he could poke fun at himself. She stretched her arm farther so the keys were practically tickling his chest.

“Drive.”

“You clearly understand men.”

After she showed him how to put the top down and they were cruising along the road, they chatted about nothing, as if they had been friends for years. She felt no pressure to entertain him. He told funny stories about selling real estate; he asked good questions. They arrived before she knew it. She hadn’t realized how close the yacht club really was, or possibly it was just as far away as she’d thought, and she’d just been too charmed to notice.

Now she took stock of their destination. The Sun County Yacht Club was Tara in miniature, pretentiously and classically Deep South in flavor, with nothing of Florida in the architecture. A circular driveway bordered by softly glowing lanterns led to the front steps, and as they approached, a young man in a white jacket stepped up to park the car. Lee gave him the keys and sternly admonished him to take care of it. Tracy saw him slip the valet a bill, and she was glad that
she
hadn’t been the one behind the wheel.

Lee helped her out, then led her up the steps, which extended between four massive Doric pillars that looked strong enough to hold the entire state of Florida.

Lee put his hand on her back to guide her to the door. “The yacht club’s been around for almost a hundred years, but only in this building for ten. As clubs like this one go, it’s pretty exclusive.”

Tracy saw the humor. “This isn’t exactly Palm Beach.”

He winked. “Tell them if you want, but I don’t plan to mention it. They may not have star power, but they’re still sure they’re better than everybody else.”

“I guess that’s a start.”

“They turn down five applications for every one they accept. Maribel had to twist a few arms when I came up for review. But it’s a wonderful place to make contacts. I’ve had a few of my best sales strictly because I’m a member.”

She liked Lee’s casual, self-deprecating style. She suspected it played well here, where the old guard would expect to be catered to by upstarts.

Inside, he was warmly greeted by name by several club personnel. Tracy found herself standing taller. For the first time since leaving everything that was familiar, she felt at home. She
knew
this place. The fresher-than-fresh flowers, air cooled to the perfect temperature, gleaming white Carrara marble floors and crystal chandeliers. Okay, maybe the designers, both inside and out, had lacked imagination, but the effect still cried money and status. She could settle for that.

The dining room looked over a marina with a variety of boats ranging from modest cabin cruisers to the honest-to-goodness yachts that had given the club its name. They were ushered to a seat near the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the view was breathtaking.

“I can imagine working here,” she said, as Lee politely pulled out her chair and settled her in the spot with the best view. “I could never get tired of looking at this.”

“Happiness Key will have a marina as pretty as this, once the red tape’s been cut.”

“We’ll drink to that when we have something besides water.”

Lee asked their server, who had just arrived, to bring the wine steward to their table, and at his urging they chose a California Pinot Grigio that was new to the club’s wine list.

Once he’d gone, they ordered mushrooms stuffed with crabmeat to start. By now Tracy felt relaxed enough to feel every sore muscle from her active day.

“You’re easy to be with,” Lee said. “We seem to have similar tastes.”

“Let’s not forget being stuck in a couple of neighboring cottages that have seen better days.”

“Did they? See better days?”

She giggled. “Probably not. Even brand-new, they must have been awful.”

“I’m guessing they were built right after the war. Maybe for returning G.I.s.”

“Actually, from everything I’ve seen, they’ve always been vacation rentals. In the early fifties a local family owned the land and planned a big resort. They started with ten cottages and a rental office. They were going to add a modest-size motel, miniature golf, even a drive-in theater, the whole nine yards. They were going to call it…” She paused for effect. “Happiness Haven.”

Lee shuddered, and she laughed. “My ex discovered that on some document, and that’s when he got the bright idea of calling his development Happiness Key.”

“What happened to all those plans?”

“The family fell on hard times, but they refused to sell the land until recently, when the last member moved out of the area. Maybe they were still hopeful they could follow through on development, I don’t know. When the cottages began to need serious repairs, they bulldozed them one by one. You can still see the foundations of the others if you look.”

“So your ex dove in and grabbed the property.”

“When it came to finding a deal, CJ was an Olympic champ.”

“Maribel says he was something else.”

“Right. A felon.”

“I don’t think that’s what she meant. She seems to admire him.”

“If she’s interested, he’s probably ripe for a pen pal.”

“I didn’t mean to take the conversation in that direction.” He put his hand over hers briefly and squeezed. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m so over CJ there’s nothing to apologize for. He left me a mess, but he also—inadvertently—left me Happiness Key. I figure that makes us even.”

“So your marriage was a business arrangement?”

“When a marriage ends, that’s when you finally get a clear view of what you had.”

She paused and realized what she’d said. “Now I’m the one who’s sorry. Lee, I was talking about
my
marriage, not yours. It must be totally different when somebody dies.”

“I’ve never been sure which is worse. When you divorce, there’s so much anger, you can’t look back on the good times without getting angry all over again.”

“You sound like somebody who knows.”

“I was divorced before I met Karen. College sweethearts who discovered they had different ambitions. Different everythings.”

“That sounds like a recipe for disaster.”

He leaned closer. His expression was more than friendly, an inch less than affectionate. “You’re easy to talk to.”

For a moment she wondered if that was true, and if it was, why? Was this something else she’d learned from her mother? That being a good listener was as important for finding the right man as exposing carefully calculated cleavage and a tightly toned midriff?

“When you married the second time, you knew what to look for?”

“Karen was amazing. We were at a party, and it was like an old movie when everything dims and the spotlight shines on one perfect woman.”

“Wicked.”

“She’d been married, too, to a guy who drifted from one job to another. He never finished anything, never made up his mind. She wanted a marriage with goals, a family. We were a great fit, and we realized it immediately.”

She waited for him to go on, although she was worried that now the whole evening was going to be about his perfect marriage.

“I’m guessing you and CJ weren’t the right fit?” Lee asked.

“Not so much. Or maybe we were, and that’s the problem.”

“What do you mean?”

She shrugged. This was too new a revelation to talk about, and frankly, too embarrassing. If she was right, and she and CJ had more or less deserved each other, that couldn’t be a good thing.

“How long were you married?” she asked instead.

“Nine years. Good ones.”

“I really am sorry. Was she ill for a long time?”

“Nothing like that. We were fishing in our boat. Fishing was Karen’s greatest passion.” He smiled a little, as if he were remembering something good. “After Olivia and me, of course. A storm blew up while we were on our way back. I thought about trying to put in to a closer marina, but Karen was sure we’d be fine. If I’d had any idea how bad it would get, and how quickly, I would
have sought the closest shelter. But like Karen, I thought we could make it.”

He fell silent.

Tracy wished she hadn’t asked. “I’m sorry.”

“The waves got huge. Once we turned over, I managed to hold on to the side of the boat. Karen didn’t. As the storm was ending, a larger boat found me. Karen’s body wasn’t found for two days.”

“That’s awful.”

“Afterward I tried to figure out what Karen would want me to do. Before she died, I’d just quit my job to take a position in Atlanta, a big step up. We were all looking forward to it. But when the accident happened, I told the company I couldn’t come. I couldn’t possibly move Olivia after everything, or abandon Alice, so I looked for something here in the area with a schedule I could work around the needs of my ladies. That’s how I ended up selling houses for Maribel.”