Tangled Lies (2 page)

Chapter 1

When a gorgeous 1946 mahogany racing boat like he was towing appeared in a town the size of Safe Harbor, Florida, people noticed. Jesse Claybourne eased his pickup to a stop at one of the only traffic lights in town and smiled at a little boy who skidded to a halt, openmouthed on the sidewalk. The little boy’s mother looked over her shoulder and her jaw dropped, as well. Jesse had toyed briefly with waiting until dark to make his appearance, but decided to wade in with both feet. He acknowledged mother and son with a nod as he drove through the intersection. He figured in the five minutes it took to reach the marina on the outskirts of town, everyone would be talking about
The Painted Lady
. And speculating about her owner.

That might, or might not, make things easier.

When he turned off the two-lane road onto the dirt track that led to the marina, he realized he should have waited until nightfall. Pickups of every vintage and description, along with a smattering of sensible sedans, lined both sides of the road. He’d stumbled into the middle of some big event.

In for a penny, in for a pound,
his great-aunt Clarabelle had always said. He kept his pace slow and steady so he wouldn’t bog down in the sand, and nodded to the people who turned to stare. At the marina, he pulled off to one side since all the trailer parking spots were filled. One look over his shoulder at the Martinelli house, where the marina’s owner and family lived, and he knew the reason for the crowd. Through the haze of barbecue smoke, he glimpsed a hand-painted banner that read “Happy Birthday, Mama Rosa!”

He wandered over to the slips, looking for number sixteen, but none of them were marked. Most already held boats, so his shouldn’t be tough to find.

“Can I help you, son?” a deep voice said.

Jesse turned to see Salvatore Martinelli and a couple of his captain buddies standing behind him. He held out his hand.

“Nice to see you again, Sal. It’s been a long time.”

Sal’s eyes widened, and he glanced at
The Painted Lady
, then at the two captains frowning beside him.

“Is that you, Jesse Claybourne?”

Jesse sent him a half smile. “It is, sir.”

Sal tugged him closer for a hug and a slap on the back. “Don’t you
sir
me, now, son.” He pulled back, met Jesse’s gaze. “I was sorry to hear of your aunt’s passing. Clarabelle was a fine lady.”

“Who could also throw a mean left hook if you crossed her,” Jesse added, and they both laughed. Then he sobered. “Thank you. She’ll be missed.”

Sal gestured to the men beside him, who were listening with unbridled interest.

“You remember Captains Demetri and Roy?” Demetri’s dark hair and beard were going gray, but Jesse remembered his ever-present cigar from childhood summers in Safe Harbor. Short and squat, Captain Roy had gone almost bald, but he still had the look of a man who didn’t suffer fools lightly.

Jesse held out a hand, but Demetri ignored it. Roy turned sideways and spit tobacco juice near his feet.

Jesse dropped his hand but kept his smile in place. “Good to see you both.”

Two other men, obviously captains, appeared and scanned
The Painted Lady
with practiced eyes. The tall, skinny one gave Jesse an equally intense once-over, while his stocky friend merely scowled.

“Captains Bill and Jimmy,” Sal said.

Jesse didn’t offer his hand again, merely nodding to each in turn. He hitched a thumb over his shoulder. “Looks like quite a party. Didn’t mean to pull you away.”

“My Rosa is sixty today, praise be to God, and she is surrounded by people. She can spare me for a few minutes.” Sal nodded to
The Painted Lady
. “She’s a beaut. What brings you here?”

“Boat like that don’t come cheap,” Captain Demetri muttered.

Jesse ignored him and answered Sal. Aunt Clarabelle’s unexpected legacy wasn’t something he’d planned to explain. “I’m entering
The Lady
in the Tropicana in Clearwater in a couple weeks and need a place to work on her.”

Sal started shaking his head before Jesse finished speaking. The other captains stepped closer, closing ranks, and Jesse had to admire the way they stood with their friend.

“Sorry you’ve come all this way, Jesse. But I don’t have any transient slips for rent.”

Jesse hid his disappointment at Sal’s response, though he wasn’t surprised. Safe Harbor had never been big on welcoming outsiders. He smiled.

“I don’t need transient space. I’m going to keep her in Aunt Clarabelle’s slip.”

Captain Roy visibly started. He spit again. “But she’s . . . gone.”

Jesse nodded and noticed Sal looking off into the distance, clearly uncomfortable. He looked Captain Roy straight in the eye.

“Right, but my uncle purchased the slip from Sal years ago, and Aunt Clarabelle left it to me in her will. Along with her cottage.” He met Sal’s eyes. “And everything else she owned.”

“You mean you’re plannin’ to stay in town?” Captain Roy looked him up and down. “Took you more for a city boy. Or a no-good ex—”

Jesse caught his eye, dared him to keep talking. Roy stopped, but his look said he knew all about Jesse’s jail time. Jesse didn’t blink.

Sal straightened as though he’d come to some decision. “Roy? You mind checking on the grill? I know Rosa loves your barbecued chicken.”

Some kind of signal passed among the four men before they headed back to the party.

Sal took off his fisherman’s cap, and Jesse was surprised to see a bald pate and nothing but fringe where his thick curly hair had been. Ten years had taken their toll.

“I can’t deny you the slip, Jesse, but you know they won’t make it easy.” He sighed. “Clarabelle left you her share in the marina, too?”

When Jesse nodded, Sal shook his head. “Safe Harbor folks don’t like strangers in their midst. Especially not rich ones. Or ones who, well . . .”

“Have been in jail?” Jesse finished.

Sal nodded. “Your arrest was big news here. I’ve always thought you were a good boy, Jesse. Least you were when you spent summers here. Clarabelle never did believe a word of what went on.” He shrugged. “I figure everyone makes mistakes and is entitled to a second chance. But I wish you’d picked somewhere else for yours.”

“I’ve always loved this town.” Jesse decided to keep his plans to himself for now. Sal already looked rattled. He wasn’t sure how he’d handle the news that Jesse planned to start his own vintage racing team right here at the marina.

“Sasha’s coming home,” Sal said.

The words hit Jesse like a fist to his heart. He kept his expression bland. “Really. When?”

Sal smiled ruefully. “She should have been here already. Don’t rightly know how long she’ll stay. Rosa is . . .” He scrubbed a hand over a face more lined than Jesse had ever seen it. “She’s got the cancer.”

“I’m sorry, Sal. Is there—” He stopped, unsure what to say next.

“They have her on some experimental treatment now.” Sal shrugged. “We hope. And we pray it will work. My Rosa, she’s a fighter.”

Sasha now had a better understanding of how the prodigal son felt walking that last mile toward home. After a five-day cross-country trip in her un-air-conditioned Jeep Wrangler, it had taken two hours of roadside pacing and internal debate before she managed the last twenty miles.

Which made her two hours late to the party. Not that that would surprise her family. What caught her off guard, though, was the number of cars crammed into the marina parking lot and lining the gravel drive. She’d no sooner made the final turn leading to Pop and Mama Rosa’s place—home—and parked the Jeep when she heard barking, a female shout of “She’s here!” and then hurried feet on the porch stairs. After all these years, she hadn’t known what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t this, and it made her stomach clench and her hands shake.

Way before she felt ready, Pop yanked open her car door and pulled her into his strong arms before her feet even hit the ground.

“Ah, Sasha, it is so good to see my beautiful baby,” he whispered, rubbing a callused hand up and down her back. He pulled back, cupped her face in his hands, and kissed one cheek.
“Tesora mia,”
he murmured. My treasure. He kissed the other cheek, then tucked her against his chest.

For a moment, Sasha couldn’t respond past the wave of emotion that threatened to swamp her; she just absorbed the familiar, steady feel of Pop’s work-hardened arms around her, the salty, Old Spice smell of his leathery skin. When she pulled back, tears shimmered in his dark eyes, and she had to look away for a moment, get her own emotions under control. They studied each other, and she saw the additional lines time had etched beside his eyes. He’d lost weight, too, something she’d have to tease Mama Rosa about. Mama’s motto was simple: food was for family and family was about food.

Pop stroked her cheek with the back of his hand.

“We’ve missed you, Sasha. It’s good you’ve come home.”

“I don’t know how long I’ll be—”

He ignored her to pet Bella, who had hopped out behind Sasha and was prancing at his feet, fluffy tail wagging.

“Who is this beautiful girl? She looks like our Bella from years ago.”

Sasha smiled and shrugged. “I thought so, too, so I named her Bella. I found her as a pup.” No need for ugly details now.

“Sasha, is that you?” Before she could turn all the way around, she was swept up into Captain Demetri’s arms, wrapped in the familiar smell of his Cuban cigars.

He set her at arm’s length.

“Let me look at you.” He kissed both of her cheeks. “Beautiful.”

“Hey, Sasha,” Captain Roy broke in, elbowing his friend aside to collect his own hug. And then Captains Bill and Jimmy arrived, and more hugs were exchanged.

She stood in the circle of these men who’d been such an important part of her life, and grinned like an idiot. Past and present collided and made her feel she’d finally come home.

“Sasha!” Her foster sister Eve appeared, nudged Pop out of the way, and pulled her into a bone-crushing hug. “It’s about time you showed up, you crazy tomboy.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Sasha saw Pop and the other captains ease away, giving the sisters some room.

She pushed back another unwelcome tide of emotion and hugged her sister close, acutely aware that her sweaty T-shirt and cargo shorts would muss and wrinkle her elegant sister’s silk tank top and white linen pants. She should feel bad about that, but didn’t. Funny how family could make you revert to your twelve-year-old self in two seconds flat. She eased back and took in the carefully tamed black curls framing Eve’s perfect cheekbones and her beautiful, chocolate skin. Eve could have been a model. She was that gorgeous and always made Sasha feel like the ugly stepsister by comparison.

She held Eve’s shoulders and grinned.

“How’re things in DC with the environmental wackos?”

Eve rolled her eyes before she turned and grabbed one of Sasha’s bags from the backseat.

“They’re fine, thanks. You shouldn’t judge, oh fearless captain, since without environmental wackos like me fighting the good fight against industrial fisheries, you’d be out of a job.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Sasha shot back, her earlier nerves easing at how quickly she and her sister fell into familiar banter. She grabbed her duffel in one hand and Bella’s bed in the other and stopped short. “Where’s Mama?”

Eve looked away, and alarm skittered up Sasha’s spine.

“Eve? What’s wrong? What don’t I know?”

Eve huffed out a breath, seemed to come to a decision, then turned back to face her. “You’ve been gone a long time, Sash.”

“Right. So have you. What does that have to do with anything?”

“I don’t live here, but I stay in touch, visit.” When Sasha opened her mouth to protest, Eve’s hand shot up. “I know. You live in Washington State. Not exactly next door. But . . .” She stopped, chewed the inside of her lip, then nodded. “OK, here’s the deal. Mama’s sick. Cancer. Has been fighting it for a while. They thought they had it licked, but it’s come back.”

Sasha stumbled backward as though her boat had been slammed by a rogue wave. She struggled to stay upright. Mama couldn’t be sick. She was invincible. A short round bundle of tough love and fresh cookies. She couldn’t be sick.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” Sasha turned on her sister, her fear seeking an outlet. “Why?”

Eve planted her hands on her hips. “If you bothered to turn your cell phone or computer on every once in a while, you would have known sooner.”

Sasha opened her mouth to lash back, but the anger seeped out of her, replaced by a hard knot of guilt. Yeah, that was on her. She got tired of solicitors and spam and unwanted calls and regularly left the phone at home, turned off. She also forgot to check her messages and email for a month or six at a time. When she’d turned the phone back on last week, she’d found the voice mail from Pop to come home for Mama’s party. And her laptop netted another two emails from Eve to go with the previous six.

“What kind is it?” she asked.

“Breast cancer. She’s had a double mastectomy, so be prepared.”

“Wait. What? How long has all this been going on?”