The Carson Springs Trilogy: Stranger in Paradise, Taste of Honey, and Wish Come True (30 page)

She was about to turn away when a soft hand lighted on her arm. She looked into a pair of blue eyes filled with kindness. “If there was ever any need of it, and I’m not saying there would, I’d not be above turnin’ a blind eye to certain things. It wouldn’t exactly be a lie now, would it?” The little nun reached into her pocket, and produced a ring of keys. Detaching one, she pressed it into Finch’s palm. “It’s to the honey house. No one, not even the police, would think to look for you there.”

T
HE LAST WEEKEND IN
A
UGUST
when the hysteria surrounding the murder had settled into a quiet paranoia, Alice and Laura met for lunch at the Tree House. In the shade of its ancient live oak, over ice tea and shrimp salads, they discussed the latest development in what had become known, simply, as The Problem with Mother.

“I can’t believe she’s actually going
through
with it,” Alice said.

Who in their right mind would trade Isla Verde for a poky little house in the Flats? She’d assumed her mother would come to her senses, but from what her sister was telling her—that construction had already begun—it didn’t seem too likely.

“Believe it.” Laura spoke grimly. “If everything goes according to schedule, she’ll be moving in next month.”

“Oh God, this is worse than I thought.”

“That’s not even the worst of it.”

Alice groaned. How could it get any worse?

“She found someone to rent Isla Verde,” Laura said. “He’s signing the lease next week.”

“Who?” Alice felt a twinge of guilt. She hadn’t spoken to her mother in days. She was usually out when Sam called, and the messages had been piling up lately.

“Aubrey Roellinger.”

“The conductor?” Alice had heard of him, of course. Who hadn’t? She recalled, too, something in the news a while back about his wife’s death in a car accident. “What about Lupe and Guillermo? What’s going to happen to them?”

“Part of the deal is they get to stay in the guest house.” Laura gave a small wry smile. “After all these years, Mom is finally getting her wish. She’s forcing Lupe to retire.”

Alice shook her head. “None of this makes any sense.”

“Tell me about it.” Laura picked at her salad, looking fretful. “For one thing, how safe will it be, Mom living all alone out there in the middle of nowhere?”

The thought of Ian surfaced. “Assuming she
will
be alone.”

“I’d rather see her shacked up with Ian than…” Laura couldn’t bring herself to say it.

The murder had left her deeply shaken, Alice knew. The victim, a young teacher at Portola High, was rumored to have had a drug problem, and there’d been some talk of a drug deal gone bad, but no one had any doubt that the homeless man’s killer had struck again. Laura confessed that she now slept with a loaded shotgun by her bed.

“Any new developments on that front?” Alice was careful to speak in code. At the height of lunch hour, in the town’s most popular eatery, an overheard remark could be like a match dropped into kerosene.

“The police kept Hector down at the station for hours.” Laura dropped her voice, glancing about to make sure no one was listening. “It was like the Spanish Inquisition.”

The indignant flush that rose in her cheeks said more about her feelings for him than anything. Alice wondered if Hector had caught on, or if he’d even noticed the change in her sister. She’d lost weight, for one thing, at least ten pounds. In the spaghetti-strapped shift she wore, a flattering yellow-and-red print, it really showed. She was wearing her hair differently, too, smoothed back over her ears with a pair of silver combs.

“They must be desperate to pin it on someone,” Alice said.

Her gaze strayed to Melodie Wycoff loading a tray of drinks at the bar. She didn’t seem to be in any particular hurry—too busy flirting with Denny the bartender. Everyone knew she was cheating on her husband. Jim Wycoff’s quick temper was common knowledge as well. Alice had heard enough statistics on cops going berserk to wonder if Melodie might be next to land in the morgue. She shuddered at the thought.

Several people were browsing by the bookshelves in back, where sunlight filtered through the makeshift roof of corrugated plastic sheeting, throwing crisscross patterns over the patio below. It was said the Tree House had more titles than they could keep track of, and Alice knew that to be a fact. A couple of months ago she’d been lucky enough to come across a first edition of
The Pickwick Papers,
priced at a dollar fifty. For a glorious moment she’d thought about buying it, but knowing how much it would mean to the Rybacks, had brought it to their attention instead. Its value on the rare book market, she imagined, would cover a good portion of Davey’s medical bills.

“They picked up a migrant worker the other day.” Laura interrupted her reverie. “But he had an alibi. He was in jail at the time, on a drunk-driving charge.”

Alice brought her gaze back to her sister. “Great, just great. So our mother will be at the mercy of any psycho who happens along? Just exactly where
is
this house, anyway?”

“Just off San Pedro, out by the old schoolhouse. It’s not as bad as you think. In fact, it’s kind of cute.”

Alice felt another guilty twinge, stronger this time. She shouldn’t be hearing about this from Laura; she should have driven out to see for herself. Even so, she found herself saying, “I’m sure this isn’t what Dad had in mind when he bought it.”

“I don’t think Mom even knew about it until now.”

“Why wouldn’t he have told her?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t make much sense, does it?”

“A lot got lost in the shuffle when he was sick.”

Alice didn’t like dwelling on that particular time; the memory was still too painful. The long days and nights standing vigil at his bedside, watching him waste away until there was almost nothing left. The awful agony of knowing there wasn’t a damn thing she, or anyone, could do to prevent his suffering.

“I’m sure it was something like that.” Laura nibbled halfheartedly at her salad.

“Whatever, it sounds as if she’s got it all worked out.” Alice felt suddenly lost. Sam was supposed to be the one off her rocker, but right now she seemed more certain of herself and what she wanted out of life than either of her daughters.

“There’s just one wrinkle,” Laura said. “We still don’t know about Ian.”

Alice choked a little, the thought of him like a bone in her throat. She reached for her glass, and over its tinkling rim flashed her sister an ironic smile. “I guess no news is good news.”

Laura leaned close to confide, “All I know is that lately Mom’s been seeing a lot of Tom Kemp.”

Alice perked up. “Seriously?”

“Don’t get too excited. It’s not what you think. He’s helping out with the house—permits, contractor, that kind of stuff.”

“Maybe he’ll grow on her.”

“Maybe.” Laura looked doubtful.

They shared an ironic smile. Time was their mother had been as predictable as the seasons. But all that had changed. Now she was like the Santa Ana winds that could sweep down out of nowhere, bringing sudden extremes in temperature and whipping small blazes into forest fires. It was anyone’s guess what she’d do next.

“Wes tells me Ian’s in Big Sur,” Alice said.

“Really? If Mom told me I must have forgotten. These past few weeks, I’ve been running around like a chicken with its head cut off.”

“How’s it going?”

Alice glanced at David Ryback, greeting someone at the door. Like Laura, he’d taken over the family business when his dad retired. That had been—what? Eight, nine years ago. Since then, the Tree House, already popular among locals, had become a tourist destination as well. David had seen to it by assiduously courting the press, ensuring that mentions of the cafe appeared regularly in travel articles and best-in-the-region roundups. He’d also had the bright idea of bottling the olallie berry jam for which they were known. It was available in the gift shop along with T-shirts, mugs, and a Tree House cookbook. Would her sister have as much success with Delarosa’s? Or be unable to keep up with its demands?

“I’m managing,” Laura said. “Thanks to Finch. She’s been a godsend.”

The forced cheer in her voice made Alice ask, “Business still off?”

“Not so you’d notice, but we’re down from last year.”

“Pardon me for stating the obvious,” Alice said, “but why aren’t you online like everyone else?”

Laura rolled her eyes. “Believe me, it wasn’t for lack of trying. Mom wouldn’t hear of it. She’d always say it wasn’t the kind of image she wanted for Delarosa’s.”

Once more, they shared an ironic smile.

“Mom’s not running things anymore,” Alice reminded her.

“Yeah, but I’m up to here.” Laura held a hand to her chin. “This is the first Saturday in weeks I’ve been able to duck out for more than a sandwich. I can barely squeeze in bathroom breaks. Where would I find the time to put together a Web site?”

“I could help. I know a few people.”

Laura eyed her the way a drowning woman might view a life preserver. “Oh, Alice, that’d be—” She broke off. “Would it cost much? I’m not sure I can afford it.”

“I’ll take care of everything, don’t worry.” Alice spoke lightly knowing how sensitive her sister could be when it came to money. “You can pay me back in shares.”

Laura reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “Thanks, Al. You have no idea how much I appreciate this.”

“No problem.”

“What about you? What’s next?”

Alice’s thoughts turned to her own plight. Her show was being canceled. A royal bender that had landed Marty in court-ordered rehab had proved the final straw. There’d been no talk yet of replacing him, but in the halls of CTN it was as if the air conditioner had suddenly been cranked up to near freezing. People who’d been nice to Alice were suddenly avoiding her. People who’d avoided her were suddenly being nice. They all knew the score: Wes wouldn’t fire her, but one way or another she was dead meat.

“We’re kicking around a few ideas.” Alice affected a breezy tone. “Nothing definite yet.”

“Well, at least you won’t starve.”

She was only teasing, but it struck a nerve. Alice didn’t need any more reminders that she was living off the fat of the land—Wes’s, to be exact. Eager to change the subject, she asked, “How’s everything on the home front?”

“Maude’s decided to stay.”

“What about Finch?”

Laura brightened. “Oh Al, she’s such a great kid. All she needed was a little time to come out of her shell. In fact, I’ve been thinking—” She broke off suddenly, the color draining from her face.

Alice followed her gaze. Standing by the door was Laura’s ex-husband, Peter. He stood chatting with David, an arm about his very pregnant wife. Alice hadn’t seen him since the divorce, but he looked the same. Still handsome in a watered-down, weak-chinned sort of way. His blond wife, bursting like a ripe peach, was far prettier than he deserved.

“Let’s get out of here,” Alice muttered, signaling for the check.

“No.” Laura clutched her fork like a lifeline. “He got rid of me once before, he’s not going to do it again. We’re staying if it kills me.” When Melodie arrived at their table, she announced brightly, “I’ll have the olallie berry pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.”

“Make that two.” Alice couldn’t remember the last time she’d splurged on anything so fattening, but it wouldn’t kill her. Besides, it was for a worthy cause.

They were digging into their desserts when Peter and his wife wandered by on the way to their table. He caught sight of them and started, then flashed his best salesman’s grin.

“Laura. Alice. What a surprise.”

What a schmuck,
Alice thought.

Her sister smiled. “You’re looking well, Peter.”
Score one for Laura.
You’d never know by looking at her that she was dying inside. “I don’t believe I’ve met your wife.” She stood up to offer her hand. “Hi, I’m Laura. You must be Georgia.”

Peter’s wife, clearly desperate to avoid a scene, shook her hand with an enthusiasm that was almost embarrassing. “Laura, hi. Wow. This is amazing. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Laura’s eyes dropped to her stomach. “When’s the baby due?” She managed to sound warm, even interested.

“Just one more week to go.” Georgia patted her belly.

“Well, the best of luck.” Laura’s easy smile widened to include Peter as well. “And congratulations.”

It wasn’t until Peter and his wife were seated at the other end of the patio that she let out a ragged breath. She looked shaken and a bit pale, though as determined as ever to put up a good front. She even took her time with the check, insisting it was her turn to pick up the tab.

It wasn’t until they were out on the sidewalk that she moaned, slumping onto the bench next to a rack of tattered paperbacks with a slotted box for paying on the honor system. “Oh God, why did I have to order the berry pie? Tell me my teeth aren’t blue.” She bared them, managing to look both comical and miserable.

Alice struggled not to smile. “Only a little.” When Laura flashed her an evil look, she said, “Just kidding. They’re fine.”

“You’re probably just saying that.”

“Okay, then how about this? In a few years, he’ll be bald and she’ll have stretch marks from here to L.A.”

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?”

Alice grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. “To hell with your ex-husband,” she said, steering her sister down the sidewalk. “We have better things to do than listing all the reasons to hate him.”

“Like what?”

“Like seeing this house of Mom’s.” Peter’s wife had brought home the fact that their mother was two and a half months pregnant, a fact that Alice could no longer ignore.

But Laura was shaking her head. “Thanks, I’ve already seen it. I have to get back to the shop.”

“I thought you said Finch could manage.”

Laura glanced at her watch. “It’s after two.”

“We’ll be back by three-thirty.”

“I don’t know…”

Alice tucked her arm through her sister’s. “You can call from the car.” As they made their way down the street, she was struck by the irony of where she’d parked her Porsche: in front of A Pea in the Pod maternity shop. It seemed an omen somehow…or maybe just a cruel cosmic joke.