Package Deal (3 page)

“Slit my wrists!” she cried aloud then quickly struggled to center herself. She had to stay calm
.

“Okay, stay cool.” She talked to herself. “I’ll call the newspaper office and explain my predicament. Surely they’ll understand. Ted Willis isn’t going to fire me on my first day…is he?”

Her stomach turned upside down, and she buried her face in a pillow.
“Why me?” She considered her options. “I’ll call the airport. Maybe they found my bag.”

Dragging herself from the bed, she searched the cottage until she found a phone book, flipped through the pages, found the number, and dialed. When the agent answered, she frantically explained the problem and was transferred twice before at last being told by a customer service representative that a gentleman with her bag had already phoned and left his number.

After a brief reprimand for failing to identify her baggage claim tag, the customer service agent gave her the man’s telephone number. She scribbled it on the notepad and hung up. Taking a deep breath, she dialed the number. Four, five rings and still no answer. Her hopes flagged. Her calm frayed. “Please, someone answer!” Seven, eight rings before a man answered.

Exhaling, she said, “Hi, my name is Kelly Pearson. The airport gave me your number. I flew in late last night and somehow ended up with the wrong bag, your bag. Therefore, I assume you have mine, a beige upright with wheels.”

A short, seductive laugh winged over the wires, and Kelly unconsciously moved the phone away from her ear.

“Yeah, I’ve acquired some feminine things overnight. They’re probably yours, because they sure aren’t mine.”

 
“May I meet you somewhere, Mr.—”

“Steve McCarthy. How about lunch and a luggage swap?”

“I’m sorry, but I really don’t have time for lunch, so a luggage swap will have to do.” A picture of him rummaging through her underwear filled Kelly’s head.

It had never been difficult for Kelly to draw a man’s attention and she knew it. She was young and pretty enough, but she neither desired their attention, nor encouraged it. Steve McCarthy might be dying of curiosity this morning, but Kelly was in no mood to play show and tell.

“Look, Mr. McCarthy,” she said, before he could reply. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but I’ve got a nine-thirty appointment I can’t miss. I need my bag immediately.”

McCarthy sighed. “All right, Ms. Pearson, but it’s already eight twenty, so if I might suggest, why don’t you try to reschedule your appointment for ten thirty or eleven, because try as I may to please a damsel in distress, there’s no way I can get your suitcase to you in time for that nine thirty appointment. Unless, of course, I simply don’t dress.”

Despite being alone, she blushed.
I deserved that
. She had irritated him with her pushiness, failing to consider his inconvenience. “Of course, you’re right.” After all, she had his luggage, too.

Not usually inconsiderate, she was just so nervous about this new job. She wanted it so much and didn’t want to do anything to screw it up. The idea of calling in late her first day, well, it unraveled what nerves remained intact.

The country was filled with newspapers—bigger, more prestigious papers than the
News Journal
—but that wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted to be happy. Quality of life was more important to her than quantity, and Daytona offered a very inviting lifestyle. The salary wasn’t overwhelming, but it was adequate, and the area offered growing environmental concerns she could sink her teeth and pen into.

“Of course, I’ll try to reschedule. I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m starting a—”

“No need to explain. Accidents happen. By the way, where are you?”

She hesitated. Telling a stranger where she was staying—alone in a seaside cottage in Ormond Beach—wouldn’t be smart. “The north end of Daytona, near the Granada Bridge.” She offered as little information as possible.

“Let me think…”

Kelly’s nerves were shot. There couldn’t have been a more dreadful way to start the day. She groped for her purse on the dresser—the phone still pressed to her ear—and rummaged for the pack of candy cigarettes.
Panic!
She had thrown them away the previous day. Her hand trembled.
Oh great
, she berated herself.
I’ve replaced a nicotine addiction with a sugar addiction.

She pulled a pencil from her purse and chewed on the end while she waited for McCarthy to continue. His rhythmic breathing whispered through the line.

At last, he said, “
There’s a little mom and pop café on A1A about one mile south of Granada.
It’s called Murphy’s
.
It’s across the street from the Fair Weather Inn. If you took the beach road last night, you might have noticed it.”

She vaguely recalled the motel—a multi-story structure with gaudy pink neon seagulls lighting the entry “Yes. I remember the place.”
Who could forget it?
“I’ll find it.”

“How about forty-five minutes from now?” he asked.

“Sure. That’ll be fine.” She hung up and called the newspaper, a conversation that didn’t go as well as she’d hoped. Her new boss wasn’t interested in excuses.

She slipped into yesterday’s clothes, then hurried into the bathroom, stopping in front of the mirror with a gasp. A wild tangle of black hair framed her fair complexion, paling her in the harsh overhead light. Her overnight bag held limited items—no hairbrush, but she found a comb. She leaned closer to the mirror, evaluating the damage. She looked tired. Her eyes lacked their usual shine, appearing more gray than blue. She scrubbed away the smeared mascara beneath her lashes, picked out the tangles from her shoulder-length hair with the comb, and applied some lipstick. She took another look in the mirror.

She shrugged. “I’ve looked worse.” Maybe he wouldn’t notice her wrinkled clothes. Besides, she had no one to impress until her meeting with Ted Willis.

Kelly hoisted the suitcase into the backseat of the Mitsubishi and slid behind the wheel. Maneuvering the car through the tight, palm-lined parking lot, she liked the way the car handled, like riding a Tennessee Walker after plodding along on the back of a pack mule. Her old Toyota had seen better days. Promising herself a fast ride along the beach road later in the week, she nudged into the traffic flow and headed for Murphy’s.

Chapter Four

K
elly pulled up to the curb in front of Murphy’s, hoping Steve McCarthy might show up early. She wanted to get this luggage exchange over so they both could be on their way again. Like The Glades, Murphy’s reeked of the sixties—a lot of Daytona Beach did. Nothing much seemed to change in the beach towns along Florida’s coast, and that’s what had attracted her to the area in the first place.

Business was slow at Murphy’s, only a few customers. Not much moved, although it was obvious by the tantalizing aromas of sizzling bacon and fresh, brewed coffee, that the cook was busy. At this hour, most people were already at work—a thought that did little to improve Kelly’s mood.

A young couple occupied a corner booth. A cell phone glued to his head, the boy was oblivious to the perturbed expression on his girlfriend’s face. At the counter, two older men perched on metal stools, their gray heads decorated with identical, crumpled hats covered in colorful fishing lures. They were each stubbornly gripping a cup of coffee, while trying to outdo the other’s fishing tale.

The kitchen door burst open, and a middle-aged waitress with short brown hair and a warm smile crossed the cafe, dodging tables and chairs. She approached Kelly.

“Good morning. Breakfast for one?” She picked up a menu from the stack on the counter.

“Actually, two. I’m meeting someone.”

“Two it is.” She grabbed a second menu. “I’m Connie, and I’ll be your waitress. Looks like you’ve got your pick of the place. How ’bout a booth?”

Kelly pointed to a booth facing the front door, then followed the waitress and slid in. The call to the newspaper still bothered her. She should have flown in a few days earlier, but she hated leaving Lacy for any longer than necessary, even though Lacy adored Jill Wagner.

“Can I get you some coffee while you wait?”

“Yes, thanks.”

When she called Ted Willis, he hadn’t been very understanding, but his secretary
had
forewarned her that his bark was worse than his bite. He’d cursed the airlines, expounding on the trials of travel—not a direct reprimand, but enough to whittle away at Kelly’s confidence. He told her to get her business in order pronto because he wanted her to cover a story before she returned to San Francisco. He had pushed the proverbial knife in a little deeper and told her the news wouldn’t wait because she couldn’t write it today. As luck would have it, her peaceful new lifestyle was starting out about as smoothly as the grating of rusty gears.

While the waitress hustled off to get coffee, Kelly studied the menu. Her stomach rumbled, so she decided to eat. She scanned both sides of the menu, her gaze lingering over the dessert section. Strawberry Rhubarb pie—her favorite—popped out on the list, calling her name, and when Connie, the waitress, returned, Kelly ordered a piece á-la-mode.

The woman laughed. “Are you sure you want to start your day with pie? The hash browns are super, and the French toast is to die for.”

“Why? Isn’t the rhubarb good?”

“Oh, it’s great. All our pies are good. I just thought eggs or French toast were more nutritious choices.” She shrugged. “However, it’s a free world.”

“In that case I’ll take the pie.” Kelly said with a warm smile. “I’m in kind of a rush.”

Connie headed for the kitchen just as the restaurant’s door opened. A well-dressed man sidled up to the counter, his regard snagging on Kelly. Seeming to recognize her, he waved and crossed to her booth.

“Well, we meet again.”

The moment their eyes met, Kelly’s tongue slapped against the roof of her mouth, as if it were stuck there with rubber cement. It was Mr. Daytona Beach, Prince Charming from the flight from San Francisco. Surely somebody was out to get her, and for a moment, she had the crazy notion Jill might be behind this.
No way. Impossible
. She settled for the word
coincidence
, because
destiny
scared her to death.

“Now I understand why you looked like an accordion last night dragging that suitcase through the airport. I thought you had bricks in your bag.” He gave a soft chuckle. “There
were
half a dozen manuals in there.”

Kelly almost choked on her coffee, picturing her sluggish retreat toward the car rental desk. The damn bag was so heavy she thought her arm might snap off at the shoulder.

“Hi. Steve McCarthy,” he introduced himself, extending his hand. “Small world.”

Acutely aware of the warmth of his hand, she withdrew hers quickly. “Hi…uh, Kelly Pearson. Want some coffee?” What else could she do except be polite and get this bag exchange over with as quickly as possible?

Steve squeezed into the seat across the booth from her and signaled the waitress to bring him coffee.

Connie hurried over. “Good morning, Steve.” She eyed him with a twinkle, obviously curious about Kelly.

“Hey, Connie.”

She set a coffee in front of him and a slice of rhubarb pie in front of Kelly, to whom she flashed an approving smile. Kelly ignored her.

Connie left to refill the old fishermen’s coffee cups, and Steve
turned his attention back to Kelly.

“So, do you have any identification? You know, birth certificate, school vaccination records, passport…?”

Kelly stiffened. “Identification? What on earth for?” she said in an offended tone.

“Whoa!” He sat back, raising his hands in surrender. “Take it easy. I’m just kidding. A little edgy aren’t you?”