Ocean Beach (10 page)

“Madeline, sweetheart,” Max said. “Relax. I like the New York Deli and a real bagel as much as the next man, but I’ve never met a pork product I didn’t like. And I learned as a child on the vaudeville circuit and during the Depression to eat whatever I was lucky enough to find in front of me. Don’t give it another thought.” He took a sip of coffee and sighed with pleasure.

“Are you sure?” Madeline asked. Not that she would have known how to keep kosher if it were required. She knew only that it had something to do with a rabbi’s blessing and taking care not to eat or mix certain things. “I don’t want to offend you. And I definitely don’t want you to feel like I’m taking over your kitchen.”

“I’m sure,” he said. “And I want you to make yourself at home.
Mi casa es su casa.
” He drank more of the coffee. “It’ll be nice to have real food in here. I haven’t used anything besides the refrigerator and the microwave since the fire.” He nodded toward the smoke-smeared wall behind the stove and the singed cabinets above it.

“What happened?” Maddie asked.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “One minute I was making a grilled cheese sandwich and the next thing it was in flames.” He looked up at her, his expression hopeful. “Do
you make grilled cheese? I love a good grilled cheese sandwich. I think I have a George Foreman Grill around somewhere and maybe an electric skillet.”

“Absolutely,” Madeline said. “My kids loved them, too. They’re one of my specialties. Would you like one now? I saw the skillet in the cupboard yesterday and I could add an egg in to give it a breakfast feel.”

He hesitated. Then he grabbed his forearm tightly in one hand, doubling over as if in pain. “Ach, my arm,” he groaned. “It hurts.”

“From what?” Maddie moved quickly toward Max, all the gruesome possibilities flitting through her mind. Could it be the numbing before a heart attack? The beginning of a stroke? She slapped her pockets looking for her cell phone to dial 911. “What happened? How—”

“It hurts from all that twisting you’re doing. I can hardly stand the pain.” He grinned at her, his brown eyes twinkling. “Actually, I’d love a grilled-cheese-and-egg sandwich.”

Maddie retrieved the electric skillet from the cabinet. When she plugged it in, the lights went out and the refrigerator rattled to a stop. “Yikes,” she said. “What do I do now?”

“You could probably unplug the coffeemaker now that the pot is full,” he said, holding up his cup of coffee with the arm, now miraculously healed. “Do you think I could have a cup of fresh coffee? The fuse box is in the laundry room. I can change the fuse while you pour.” He got slowly to his feet. “You sure do brew a mean cup.”

The lights were back on and Max was chewing happily on his breakfast sandwich when the others began to trickle into the kitchen. Kyra arrived with Dustin propped on one
shoulder and her camera on the other. The baby broke into a smile when he saw Max. The reaction was mutual.

Kyra pulled the portable high chair up to the table and placed Dustin in it. Maddie slid an omelet onto a plate for Kyra then cut part of it into small pieces, which she put on Dustin’s Thomas the Tank Engine plate.

Avery arrived next, Deirdre trailing behind her. Madeline handed Avery a cup of coffee without being asked. Opening the box of donuts, she held it up for her perusal and was rewarded with a half smile, which, given Avery’s caffeine-less state, was the equivalent of a standing ovation. Deirdre took a banana from a bowl of fruit and poured a cup of coffee, which she carried over to the table. All of them slid into the large, if tattered, leather banquette.

Maddie unplugged the skillet and carefully replugged the coffeemaker, holding her breath while she waited for the lights to flicker, breathing again when they stayed on.

A few minutes later Nicole appeared, her face flushed and her clothes slick with sweat, her morning run apparently behind her. She too went for the fruit bowl before perching on a bar stool. “I’m trying not to think about what full summer’s going to feel like.” She turned to Avery, who had finished her first cup of coffee and was halfway through a chocolate glazed donut. “You did put central air-conditioning at the top of the list, right?”

“I did,” Avery said. “It would definitely be a huge plus to have it in before we’re into full summer, but it isn’t a fully budgeted item.” She finished off her donut before continuing. “In fact almost nothing is. We’re going to have to figure out how to get around that.”

Max’s and Dustin’s gazes were glued on each other.
Maddie carried a washcloth over to her grandson and wiped the traces of yolk off his cheeks. She had to stop herself from doing the same for Max.

There was a brief knock on the back door. Troy and Anthony walked in. “Do I smell breakfast?” Troy asked. His hair looked wet from the shower. Anthony gave them a friendly smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. His beard looked newly trimmed. Which meant, Maddie thought, that they must at least have some form of running water.

“Don’t feed them, Mom,” Kyra said. “They’re
not
a part of the team. Their entire reason for being here is to catch us looking angry or stupid.”

“I can do both of those looks on command.” Max demonstrated a dazzling array of exaggerated expressions. Dustin giggled.

“It wasn’t that long ago that
you
were exposing all our worst faults to the world,” Nicole said to Kyra. “I still don’t believe my pores could have possibly been that large. Or that we warranted that many hits on YouTube.”

“And you all read me the riot act. And I got it,” Kyra said. “These guys have a license to make us look bad.”

“And running water from the look of them,” Avery said. “You two help yourself to coffee and donuts,” she said to the Lifetime crew. “There’s milk and juice in the fridge.”

“Thanks,” Troy said.

Maddie looked at the two young men, who were just biting into donuts. “Oh my gosh,” she said. “I just realized we forgot all about cleaning the pool house.” She studied them for a moment. “It’s so swallowed up in that hedge it’s practically invisible. How bad is it in there?” She turned to Avery. “Maybe we should take care of that this morning.”

“No,” Troy said around the bite of donut he was chewing. “Don’t worry about us. We’re okay.” He finished chewing and took a chug of coffee to wash it down. “In fact, we’ll, uh, be glad to clean the pool house as partial payment toward our, um, room and board. It’s going to take a lot of scrubbing before it’s even fit to be assessed.”

Anthony looked up from the donut he was holding in his hand, surprise evident on his broad face. “Um, right,” he said after a glare from Troy.

“Really,” Troy said. “We’ll take care of it.”

“That’s very nice of you,” Madeline said. “The cleaning supplies are in the laundry room. I’ll get you fixed up with what you need when you’re done with your breakfast.”

Avery and Kyra looked at the men suspiciously, but Madeline knew that none of her group were about to turn down the offer.

Max made a last funny face for Dustin, stretching his features like so much Silly Putty, then stood, slowly using the table to steady himself. When he reached for his plate and coffee mug, Madeline moved toward him as quickly as she could without breaking into a run. “Here, let me take those for you,” she said, not waiting for his agreement.

“Thank you very much for breakfast,” he said with a smile. His hands patted his pants pockets as he began to walk. “I’m headed out for my pinochle game and lunch.” He moved carefully, not yet fully upright. The straightening process was slow and ongoing. Nicole glanced out the banquette’s plate-glass window. “Is someone picking you up?”

“No, no. I’m driving.” He patted his pockets again then reached into a breast pocket. “Got ’em,” he said, pulling out a set of keys. “My car’s in the garage.” He paused near
the door that led to it. “I may have to ask you to move a couple of vehicles so that I can back out.”

“You still drive?” Avery asked.

“Of course,” Max said. “Been doing it almost eighty years now. I got my first driver’s license in Michigan when I turned twelve.”

His hand was on the doorknob now and he seemed to be using it to steady himself. Madeline looked around the kitchen, taking in the assorted looks of disbelief and alarm.

“I’m, um, going to go set up my camera,” Troy said, dropping the remains of his donut in the garbage and speed-walking out the other kitchen door. Anthony was right behind him.

The rest of them followed Max down the steps into the garage, ostensibly to see which bay Max was parked in and who would have to go get their keys to let him out. Madeline could tell from their expressions that, like her, they thought he was simply teasing them. That there was no car and that if there were, someone or something would stop him from getting into it.

They piled into one another behind him as he pushed the button on the wall and the old garage door rumbled upward, allowing enough sunlight in so that they could see the outline of a car, draped in a cover, in the far bay. When Max reached it, he grasped a corner of the fabric and pulled it slowly, almost tauntingly, off the vehicle. A gleaming turquoise Cadillac convertible.

“Sweet!” Troy stood in the driveway, both feet planted, his camera on his shoulder. “Look at those fins! That is completely and totally cherry!”

Max stopped the careful stepping around the front of the car, whose vanity plate read
LAFFABLE
, pulled open the
driver’s door, and turned to face the camera. “This,” he said directly into Troy’s camera without the least bit of prompting, “is a 1959 Cadillac convertible. My wife used to tell me it was a babe magnet. And that no woman in her right mind could resist it. Or me.”

Nicole sat at a table for two on the patio of the News Café overlooking Ocean Drive. The table was round and marble-topped, the chairs wood-slatted. Tree trunks stretched upward between the tables, their leafy canopy providing shade and atmosphere. Gianni Versace had breakfasted here most mornings including the morning that he’d been shot. Nicole glanced around, but she didn’t recognize any famous faces.

It was warm and humid outside, but not unpleasantly so. Around her people sat talking over late-afternoon drinks and coffees, others fiddled with their phones, but the main occupation was people-watching and there was no lack of people to watch. They passed in a steady stream, from the costumed and bizarre to the black-socked and sandaled. Beautiful young women, long-legged and professionally thin, also strutted by. Nicole had read somewhere that the number of models per square foot here on South Beach was
higher than anywhere else in the world and that commercial and film shoots were common.

The waiter was dark and attractive, his accent vaguely foreign. Nicole treated herself to a second glass of wine and ordered herself to relax. She was not an Art Deco fanatic like Avery, but she had to admit that the run of restored hotels was impressive. The outdoor cafés and restaurants along Ocean Drive had a decidedly European vibe.

She’d partied here on South Beach after her second divorce and had made a point of being seen at the right clubs and private parties while she was building Heart, Incorporated. If she were still in business, this would be a perfect place to troll for wealthy clients, but she hadn’t exactly determined whether there was anyone out there who might still want to retain her. Of all the clients she’d found marriageable mates for, only Bitsy Baynard remained willing to invite her to parties or refer her to wealthy friends.

Nicole was careful not to frown at the thought, since she could no longer afford either Botox or the smallest of corrective surgeries. For a time she banished her troubling reality by watching the parade that passed by her and enjoying the waiter’s polished flirtation. She’d stashed the Jag at a parking garage off Collins Avenue and had noticed a promising number of boutiques she might walk through. Or she could head up to Lincoln Road. Maybe drive up to the shops at Bal Harbour. She headed off another frown as her grim financial reality struck her once again; window-shopping was only enjoyable if you were only window-shopping by choice.

When her cell phone rang, she was so relieved to have something to divert her from the depressing path her
thoughts had taken that she answered without checking the caller ID.

The voice on the line was unfamiliar. And so was the name.

“I’m sorry,” Nicole said. “Who’s calling?”

“Parker Amherst.” The caller paused when Nicole didn’t immediately respond. “The Fourth.”

“Oh,” Nicole said. Once, receiving a call from a Roman-numeraled individual wouldn’t have been at all surprising. Today it was the equivalent of a meteor sighting. She sat up straighter and found her voice. “Hello,” she said, pleased that the word came out well modulated and professional. “How can I help you?”

His inflections spoke of prep school and privilege. Wasting no time on pleasantries or explanations, Parker Amherst IV got right to the point. “I’m looking for a suitable bride,” he said. “And I understand you provide this service. I also understood that you were currently in town.”

“Um, yes.” Her heart pounded and she was practically stuttering. She felt the tiniest flush of hope. Maybe she wasn’t finished after all. Maybe there were wealthy single people out there who had not heard that Malcolm Dyer was her brother and who didn’t know that Heart, Incorporated had bitten the dust.