Making Waves (39 page)

“Looks to me like she’s the one trying to woo him. Besides, she isn’t nearly as pretty as you.”

“Thanks, Mark.” She gave him a brief side hug.

He shrugged her arm off. “Don’t go getting all sappy on me. Go find out already.”

“I can’t very well march right up and ask him if he’s courting her!”

Laura covered her mouth and appeared to twitter at something Trip said. Marguerite’s stomach churned. What if Trip had changed his mind and moved on? She could easily understand if he’d finally had enough of her. Yesterday his goodbye had been permanent, as witnessed by his absence since then. She’d hurt him too many times by lying to him and, most of all, to herself.

She didn’t blame him, but she needed to know if there was an inkling of a chance. Marguerite took her writing tablet from her pocket, tore a strip of paper from it, and penciled a message. “Mark, I have an idea, and I need your help.”

A few minutes later, with her plan in place, she stepped into the ice cream parlor, took a seat in one of the darkened booths with her back to the door, and prayed that it wasn’t too late.

The ring in his fist dug into Roger’s palm. Jaw clenched, he jammed the ring in his suit coat pocket. He found an empty park bench and sank to its hard surface. He should have anticipated this setback. Marguerite’s unpredictability was the one thing he could count on.

Foolish woman thought this was over. But she couldn’t be more wrong. He’d do whatever he needed to make sure she was his. He knew how to up the stakes. Every person had their price, and Marguerite’s was her undying love for her family and friends. If destroying her family’s financial safety wasn’t enough to make her agree to marry him, threatening their physical safety would have her begging to become his wife.

A fresh idea brought a grin to his face. He hurried down the boardwalk. Once he found his partner, he could arrange everything.

Extricating himself from the present situation seemed impossible. Trip sighed, mentally kicking himself. How had he allowed Laura Thompson, of all people, to latch on to him this evening?

“Do you like sweets, Mr. Andrews?” The curly-haired redhead batted pale eyelashes at him over a generous sprinkling of freckles. “Of course you do. Who ever heard of a man who didn’t like his sweets? Our cook makes the most delicious gingerbread cookies, and I’ll have extras packed in my picnic basket tomorrow after the display.”

“Is that a fact?” He sighed. What else could he say? He had no intention of sharing a picnic with the young woman, tomorrow or ever. He’d only come to the Grand Plaza in hopes of catching a glimpse of Marguerite as she made the final preparations for tomorrow’s big event. Is this how trapped she felt when she was with that Gordon fellow?

A familiar face appeared in the crowd, and Trip’s pulse quickened. He jumped to his feet when Mark neared.

“Mark, what are you doing here? Is everything all right?”

The boy glanced at Laura and frowned. “I brought you a note from my sister, but if I’m interrupting something . . .”

“No!” He glanced at Laura, whose lower lip jutted out in a well-rehearsed pout. “I mean, Miss Thompson and I were talking, but I can still read the note. Where is it?”

Mark tugged it from his pocket, and Trip snatched it from his hand. He read it quickly, the words sending a jolt through him.

I said goodbye to a vanilla life. I’ll be in the ice cream parlor if . . .

If what? If he still wanted her? Of course he did. He loved her. Did she think he’d change his mind overnight?

“Mr. Andrews,” Laura whined, “we hadn’t made plans yet. Who is this boy?”

He’d almost forgotten about the high-pitched woman on the bench. Had Marguerite seen them together? The disapproving scowl etched on Mark’s face answered that question.

Trip stuffed the slip of paper into his jacket pocket. He turned to Laura. “If you’ll excuse me, I have something to attend to.”

“Don’t you mean some
one
?” she said cattily.

Trip grinned. “You’re right, and I believe you know her – a Miss Marguerite Westing.”

“Her?” Laura gaped at him.

“Be careful, Miss Thompson. I wouldn’t leave my mouth open like that. The mosquitoes are thick tonight.”

Mark’s chuckles gave way to a full-bellied laugh by the time the two of them reached the ice cream parlor. Trip paused at the door. “Listen, buddy. I sort of need to speak to your sister alone.”

“I thought maybe you did.” Mark gave him a lopsided grin. “But it’ll cost you.”

“It will, huh?”

“I can make myself scarce for, say, a cherry soda.”

Trip’s mouth bowed. “Well, isn’t that convenient. I was just about to purchase some ice cream myself.” He placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder and directed him inside. “And Mark, has anyone ever told you you’re a lot like your sister?”

Five minutes later, Mark left the parlor with a couple of friends, and Trip scanned the room, holding a creamy confection in his hands. He found Marguerite sitting in a corner booth with her back to him, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. He stepped to the end of the table with the treat hidden behind his back and cleared his throat.

Marguerite’s cornflower blue eyes locked with his. “Did you get my message?”

“I did.”

“Oh.” She dropped her gaze to her hands. “I understand.”

He removed the fruit-topped ice cream sundae from behind his back and set it in front of her. “This is for my strawberry girl.”

Tears laced Marguerite’s lashes as Trip slid into the booth across from her. He scooped up a spoonful of strawberry-topped ice cream and held it to her lips. “It’s melting.”

“So am I.” She licked the treat from the tip of the spoon and swiped the tears from her eyes.

He watched the strange mixture of emotions play across her face. “You did the right thing.”

“I know, but it’s still hard.”

He took her hand in his. Spotting an angry red welt on her wrist, his jaw clenched. “Did he do this to you?”

Marguerite pulled her hand away and buried it in her lap. “It looks worse than it is.”

“I doubt it.” He took a deep breath. “Eat your sundae, then tell me what happened – and Marguerite, I mean everything.”

She held up a spoonful to him. “I’ll share.”

“The ice cream or the truth?”

She licked her lips. “Yes – to both.”

26

Crowds numbering into the thousands gathered early along Manhattan Beach facing Coney Island. Marguerite, dressed in a striped silk promenade dress with a solid blue sash, stood on the edge of the dock with her tablet in hand, checking off completed tasks.

The refreshment committee’s tables groaned beneath the delicacies of the season. A performer called Du Shea, “the upside-down wonder,” mesmerized the crowd while standing on his head in midair on a half-inch iron bar and performing feats of gymnastic daring. And the Ladies’ Military Band again proved to be a tremendous success, as was the rowing competition earlier in the afternoon. But with the sun now setting, anticipation sparked like the hundreds of colorful Chinese lanterns that decorated the trees and boats. More people arrived to watch the armada prepare for the Water Carnival.

Marguerite checked her watch. Less than forty-five minutes until the show began.

Cheers went up as Miss Fishbaugh dove from the thirty-foot tower into the shallow water. Marguerite smiled. The spectators never tired of the woman’s act. If something ever happened to the entertainer, maybe Marguerite could take her place and bail her family out by setting herself on fire each evening. Wouldn’t that make Trip happy?

Marguerite glanced at her list and saw that each item had been checked off. Wanting to wish Trip Godspeed before the show, she wiggled her way through the crowd and paused at the rope cordoning off the area. The former rowboats and sailboats, now bedecked as battleships, lined the pier as crews readied them for the big show.

“They’re something, aren’t they?”

Marguerite turned toward the man beside her and tried not to stare at his bulbous nose. “Yes, they certainly are.”

“Do you have a favorite?”

“I do.” She pointed to the
Endeavor
, temporarily named
USS Maggie
in her honor. “That one.” Floral swags draped the boat’s stern, but no lanterns sparkled on the empty deck. Trip was nowhere in sight. She sighed. He and the rest of his crew were probably readying for the fireworks displays.

“She’s a beauty. Is that man her captain?”

Craning her neck, she shifted so she could see the round-shouldered figure the man referred to standing on the dock beside the
Endeavor
. Her breath caught. What was Roger doing in that area? It was roped off for the participants only. She should march right over there and tell him to leave.

With my luck, he’d toss me in the lake and hold me under
just for the fun of it. Then again, I could always catch him
off guard. Maybe a nice dip in the lake is exactly what Roger
needs
.

Before she could decide if she should act on her thoughts, Roger made his way to the rope and slipped back under it without noticing her.

“Excuse me.” She turned to man beside her. “I need to go tell my friend to be careful before the show begins.”

She hurried away from Roger down the north end to where the floating battery was moored.

Trip hopped off it when he spotted her approaching. He kissed her cheek and held out his hand. She accepted his offer and he grinned. “I was afraid I wouldn’t get to see you before the show.”

She glanced at the large raft, otherwise known as Manhattan Fort, which the men had constructed and loaded with mortars. “Is everything set?”

“These fireworks here are, and so are the ones on the island. I checked them myself.”

“Grand Plaza Fort.” She smiled. His name for it had stuck, but he seldom used it, as if doing so gave him too much honor. “And the
Endeavor
?”

“You mean the
Maggie
.” A roguish grin deepened his dimples. “She’s set.”

Marguerite’s cheeks warmed. “Trip, Roger is here. I saw him.”

His face darkened. “Did he bother you?”

“No. I avoided him.”

“Good. Stay away from him. I don’t trust him.”

“That makes two of us.” She sighed, glancing at the bluffs with the last vestiges of sun dipping beneath their rounded tops. “But this is a day of celebration, and since it’s almost time to start, I’d better get back to the pavilion.”

Instead of releasing her hand, Trip drew her closer. “I believe you promised me a kiss for good luck.”

She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.

He chuckled. “Not much luck in that little kiss.”

“I don’t believe in luck. I believe in God.”

Placing a finger under her chin, he tipped her head up.

“And you know what the Bible says. ‘Greet one another with a holy kiss.’” He dipped his head and brushed the sweetest kiss across her lips – warm, soft, reverent.

“I like your interpretation of the Scriptures, Trip Andrews.”

“And that was just a taste.”

Her cheeks suddenly burned hot as a new thought popped in her head. What could he do with the Song of Solomon?

She stepped back and cleared her throat. “We have a show to put on.”

“I’ll meet you at Louie’s after the display.”

“Be careful.”

He tapped her nose. “And you stay out of trouble and away from Roger.”