“You think?”
“I never exaggerate someone’s professional skills. So,” she continued briskly, as Karen was looking a shade perkier, “here’s what you’re going to do to justify my confidence: You’re going to do a first-rate job photographing every inch of this coral reef, everything from plankton to sea turtles. Then you’re going to take those spectacular slides and shove them down Pete Ferrucci’s throat. Got it?”
“Excellent advice, Karen. I’d take it if I were you,” Evelyn Roemer said. She had once again materialized at Lily’s side. “Dr. Banyon clearly knows her way around small-town politics—big city, too, I’d imagine.”
“Yes,” Lily acknowledged. “I’ve run into ‘Pete Ferruccis’ before.”
“You were great, Lily. Mayor McDermott, too,” Karen gushed enthusiastically. “Together you left Ferrucci without a leg to stand on. It was awesome, the way Mayor McDermott rattled off all that stuff you’d done. He blew everyone away. I could tell they were super-impressed by him . . . uh, I mean by what you’d done career-wise.”
Lily sighed inwardly. Yet another wonderstruck fan of Sean McDermott. He’d always had that effect on women. Time to let Karen in on what politicians’ staff spent their time doing. “I’m sure we have Ms. Roemer to thank for that polished recitation.”
Evelyn Roemer’s lips curled in a smile worthy of the Mona Lisa. “You mean did I prep him?” she asked, the cryptic smile still playing about her lips. “No, that’s not Sean’s style. He’s too quick on his feet to need his lines spoon-fed. To tell you the truth, I myself am mystified how he managed to pull that one off. You see, Dr. Banyon, until half an hour ago, Sean didn’t even know you were on this advisory panel.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Lily wanted a drink. Actually, anything would do if it succeeded in banishing Sean McDermott from her mind. Evelyn Roemer certainly knew how to drop a bombshell. Before Lily could ask who, what, when, or why, she had hustled Karen off with the promise of a guided tour of Coral Beach and its brand new organic market where Karen could stock up on food. It turned out that both women shared a passion for bean curd. Lily had forgotten Karen was a vegan and Simone had been far too smart to remind her.
John Granger had vanished, something for which he had a true talent. Maybe he’d been scared Evelyn Roemer might boss him into more furniture rearranging. Lily wasn’t about to spend time searching for him. He had a key; he’d find his way back to the condo. She grabbed her bag and headed toward the exit, keeping her eyes down, avoiding eye contact, lest anyone try to start a conversation.
Lily vaguely recalled a restaurant with a bar, located on Palmetto, near Division . . . or was it Main? Who knew what the place was like now, but after a day like today’s, Lily wasn’t feeling particularly choosy.
“Dr. Banyon, just a minute please.”
Lily glanced at the hand detaining her. “Yes, Mr. Ferrucci?” she inquired, resisting the urge to shrug him off. A few years ago, in Jamaica, she’d made friends with a Rastafarian blackbelt named Louis, who’d taught her a truly neat trick that would have Pete Ferrucci on his knees and howling in about three seconds flat.
Ferrucci misinterpreted the reason for her smile. “I’m glad you didn’t take anything I said during the meeting personally, Dr. Banyon. As I’m sure you realize, this is an incredibly delicate issue for our community. As chairman of the Board of Commerce, I feel obliged to represent the . . . how shall I put it? The business side of any debate.”
And in so doing hack my research team’s reputation to
shreds.
“I understand perfectly, Mr. Ferrucci.”
“Fine, fine,” he replied with a joviality that grated. “You know, I hadn’t realized you were a local until Sean mentioned it.” He paused, his brow furrowing. “Banyon, Banyon . . . funny, I moved here years ago, but that’s not a name I recognize.”
Ferrucci probably had the
Who’s Who
of Coral Beach memorized,
a
to
z
. Lily clenched her molars, knowing what was coming. “My grandmother is May Ellen Farrady.”
It would have been pointless to conceal his astonishment. “You don’t say! Why, that means you must be Kaye’s daughter.”
“That’s right, Mr. Ferrucci.”
“A marvelous woman, simply delightful. I met her a few times before she moved to Palm Beach. Your grandmother, too.” Lily felt him scrutinizing her even more closely. “I, uh, should have seen the resemblance before.”
Was he joking? “I take after my father’s side of the family,” Lily informed him curtly. “He left town twenty-eight years ago, so unless you’ve visited Oslo recently, I doubt you’d have met him.” She turned back toward the door. “I’m sorry to cut our conversation short, but it’s been a long day and I’m hungry and tired.”
“Of course. I won’t keep you. If you’re looking for a nice restaurant with a relaxing atmosphere, let me recommend the Blue Dolphin, at the corner of Palmetto and Main. It’s quite popular, but if you tell the maître d’ I sent you, you’ll get a table immediately. The Dolphin’s recently come under new management.” He preened with self-importance.
Well, she could scratch that place from her list. Better to try the opposite side of town.
“Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to invite you as my personal guest to the Dolphin,” he continued. “Unfortunately, however, I have a previous commitment this evening. A rain check, perhaps?” The smile Ferrucci gave her was unctuous.
“You’re too kind,” she returned with an equally false one.
“Before I forget, Dr. Banyon, I wanted to tell you that if there’s anything, anything at all that you need, don’t hesitate to buzz the management office.”
Lily regarded Ferrucci blankly.
“Oh, that’s right!” He laughed. “You haven’t lived here in quite some time. The apartments you and your assistants are staying in? I own the condominium complex.”
“The apartments we’re using belong to you?”
“I feel it’s my civic duty to offer space to the town,” he said modestly.
And make a neat bundle on the side. “Isn’t that convenient?” she murmured.
Now I’ll know who to call for
the exterminator.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to duck into the ladies’ room and wash off the travel dust.” Lily seized the convenient pretext, although in reality, it was contact with Pete Ferrucci that left her feeling decidedly unclean.
Locating the restroom a few doors down the hallway, Lily lingered unnecessarily, until she was positive the other panel members would be long departed. With a certain sheepishness, she opened the door.
And froze as Ferrucci’s loud, carrying voice reached her.
“So, McDermott, you got this study up and running again. We all know the reef’s in fine shape, but it’ll be nice to have these scientists confirm it for us. I couldn’t be happier about it, really.”
Sean answered. But although Lily strained to hear, his words remained frustratingly inaudible.
Ferrucci spoke again. “About this development proposal. The architects have drafted some preliminary plans based on the engineering reports. I think it’d be a good idea to walk around the marina with them, get a feel for what they have in mind. How about we do lunch? I’ll call your office and set a date with Evelyn.”
Lily closed the door softly. She didn’t need to listen any more. Overwhelmed with sudden weariness, she laid her forehead against the door.
“So what’s got you in such a piss-poor mood?” Dave Cullen asked. “I thought the meeting went pretty well.” He had his elbows propped on the Rusted Keel’s scarred and pitted bar, one hand wrapped around an ice-cold beer. He took a long pull, swallowed, and added, “After all, the good guys came out on top today.”
Seated next to him, Sean acknowledged his friend’s comment with a tired shrug. He supposed Dave was right. But that did little to dislodge the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that with Lily Banyon on the scene, things would go to hell in a handbasket awful quick. Too tired to explain the hows and whys, Sean concentrated on his whiskey, savoring its smoky peat-flavored bite.
Unperturbed by Sean’s silence, Dave nursed his beer, the fingers of his free hand drumming an accompaniment to one of the bar’s perennial favorites, Otis Redding’s, “Dock of the Bay,” which someone had selected from the jukebox’s list. The Rusted Keel was Sean and Dave’s preferred after-hours hangout, one of the few remaining places in Coral Beach the tourists hadn’t taken over, most likely because from the outside the bar looked like a run-down bait-and-tackle shop. Stepping inside, one’s second impression wasn’t much better.
Though there were a few tables covered in ancient red-and-white checked plastic, no one in town came to the Keel for its spiffy decor. Most of the regulars avoided the tables, preferring to congregate around the pool table in the back, or to while away the hours throwing darts at the dartboard with unerring, unnerving accuracy. For those more vegetatively inclined, the battered TV above the bar where Sean and Dave were sitting was tuned to ESPN twenty-four–seven. And, of course, there was the jukebox, which hadn’t been updated since Don McLean’s “American Pie.” Five songs for a buck.
But the finest thing about the Rusted Keel was its clientele. Not a single person in the place besides Sean and Dave had a political bone in his body. After a hard day fighting the good fight, there was nothing so relaxing as the sweet scent of beer, salted peanuts, and political indifference. Sean had never once been approached by someone wanting to know how to obtain a building permit for a two-car garage, nor been badgered about why he’d voted for or against such and such a proposal. And while every now and again a disgruntled fisherman or boat captain shot Dave a hostile look, the tacit rule at the Rusted Keel was that while bitching about the Marlins’ or the Dolphins’ miserable season was acceptable behavior, griping to locally elected officials who only wanted to throw back a couple of beers in peace was not.
But Sean’s drink of choice this evening was whiskey rather than Rolling Rock, and he was staring moodily at the dust motes, which told Dave he hadn’t yet shaken off his mayoral responsibilities.
“Come on, Sean, quit worrying,” he said. “You knew after the panel voted to continue the study that Ferrucci would be in attack mode. Ever since you beat him in the mayoral election he’s wanted to kick your butt. He’s not going to let an opportunity pass him by, especially not on this issue.” He pushed a red plastic bowl toward his friend. “Here, have a peanut, it’ll make you feel better.”
Always nice to see words of wisdom penetrate,
Dave thought, as Sean reached and scooped out a handful of the salted nuts. “So, what’d you think of the bodacious Dr. Banyon?” he asked while Sean munched. “Liked her photographer, too. Very sparkly.”
“Forget it,” Sean replied. The peanuts had apparently revived him. “Banyon’s trouble with a capital
T
. Her assistants probably are, too,” Sean added between mouthfuls. “Should’ve told me you were planning on contacting the Marine Center. I’d have warned you to avoid Lily at all costs.”
“Sorry, bud.” Dave shrugged his shoulders. “I only learned yesterday that there had been a change of plans, that we’d be getting Banyon in place of Hunt. I couldn’t exactly call back and say, ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’ Not that I would have anyway.” He paused for a swallow of beer. “From that nifty recitation you gave earlier, you obviously don’t need me to tell you she’s one of the best. You read her latest book?”
“I’ve glanced at it,” Sean muttered into his glass.
Dave looked at him out of the corner of his eyes. “Pretty thorough glancing,” he said mildly. “Banyon’s got a great track record. Not afraid to tackle tough issues or tough opponents. With someone like her on the panel, we’ll be sitting in clover.”
“Don’t be fooled by Lily. As you’ll discover, the experience is much closer to lying in a field of poison ivy.”
Dave grinned. Dr. Lily Banyon did indeed look like the kind of woman who’d leave a mark on a man. He glanced at Sean, wondering. McDermott was behaving a bit peculiarly. Moody, tense, and edgy. Not Sean’s usual MO, that was for sure. “Come on, Sean,” he said. “Banyon can’t be as bad as you imagine. After all, she jumped in and saved her photographer when Ferrucci was going for the jugular. Pretty damned courageous, if you ask me.”
Sean scowled but remained silent.
“Did you see how big Karen Masur’s eyes grew when Ferrucci was tearing into her, all for the greater good of Coral Beach? I thought she was going to faint. Ferrucci did too. Swear to God, his teeth must’ve grown four inches. Noticed it when he flashed his signature smile.” Dave gave a mock shudder. “His smile disappeared damned fast, once Banyon leaped into the fray; so you see, that proves Banyon’s got the right instincts.”
“What that really proves is that Ferrucci’s got a big mouth.” Sean gave a small grin, suddenly looking more like his usual self. “Maybe I should write Pete a thank-you note for being such an ass.”
Dave laughed. “Be bighearted, send him a fruit basket while you’re at it. So, how far back do you and the doctor go?” he asked casually.
Sean swirled the amber liquid at the bottom of his glass. “Pre-diaper. Lily’s hated me from the womb. And probably will—right up to the grave.”
Dave whistled softly. “Is this possible?” he asked in an awed tone of voice. “You mean to say there’s a woman alive who won’t canvass the entire district for you on election eve?”
“Stuff it, Dave,” Sean replied without heat. “When we were kids, Lily had a notebook where she listed all the reasons why I was the scum of the universe. Didn’t take her long to run out of pages and move on to volume two. One of her favorite pastimes was to quote passages to me. I still remember a few of them.” He drained his whiskey and signaled to Charlie for another round.
Dave shifted in his stool and studied Sean’s closed expression. “That’s it.” His grin spread slowly. “You got a thing for the beautiful scientist.”
“Yeah.” Sean’s shrug downplayed Dave’s discovery. “But like I said, Lily’s detested me forever. I doubt her attitude has changed much.” And after the way he’d behaved toward her earlier, at the reef meeting, it was practically guaranteed Lily wouldn’t be entertaining any warm, fuzzy feelings about him. Probably thought he was a bigger jerk than ever.
“So how long have you been suffering the effects of unrequited, uh, you know . . .”
Sean tilted his head, his look measuring. “Would you believe eighth grade?” He smiled and waited.
“You’re kidding!”
Sean solemnly shook his head. “I kid you not.”
“Eighth grade,” Dave mused aloud. “What’d she do?”
“Took off her sweater in Ms. Geller’s English class,” Sean replied with a sorry laugh.
“She took off her sweater?” Dave echoed, his expression mystified. Understanding dawned as he recalled what he’d been like at age thirteen, a hormone-crazed adolescent. “Oh, yeah, right.” He nodded sagely as he brought his beer to his lips.
“I was a goner from that day on,” Sean said. “Didn’t matter where I was. One look at Lily, and my mind and body went haywire. The worst of it was, I never quite figured out how to shake the Lily Effect. The next four years in high school were absolute torture.”
“Oh, man,” Dave said with an appalled laugh as he clapped a hand to Sean’s shoulder in a show of fraternal commiseration. “I’m sorry. That’s a hell of a tough break.”
They leaned back in their stools while Charlie set new drinks before them.
“Thanks, Charlie,” Sean said, going for his wallet.
Dave stopped him with a wave of his hand. “No, let me. When I have a story this sad, you buy the rounds.”
“Thanks.” Sean managed a rueful smile. His hand reached back to knead the kinks in his neck. “Yeah, it’s a mess,” he conceded. “On top of being Lily’s public enemy number one, I’ve got Ferrucci trying to shove these development people down my throat—when he isn’t attacking me on community TV.”