Ocean Beach (17 page)

“Ready, Max?” Avery mouthed.

The old man’s forehead glistened with sweat as his grip tightened on the handle. He nodded, and Avery stepped out of the shot and let go.

They all held their breaths as the hammer head fell—more from gravity than force—and pierced a hole large enough for Max to peer through.

“Beautiful!” Troy shouted from below. “Great job, Max!”

The old man beamed down at the camera lens as Maddie took the sledgehammer out of his hands. Avery and Nicole stepped up to the wall and began hammering away at it.

“I hope you’re still rolling, Kyra!” Troy shouted. “Wouldn’t want to miss a single
sensational
shot!”

“Oh, I’m rolling!” she shouted back, completely satisfied at having beaten the cameraman—and his boss—at their own game.

“Great!” Troy said. “You all can go ahead and bring that sucker down!”

John Hendricks escorted Nicole through the lobby of Hendricks Heat & Air. Lunch had been a little longer and more liquid than planned, but Nicole had a signed agreement in her purse and a promise from Hendricks that a crew would be out by the end of the week to draw up schematics and schedule the job.

“Nice car,” he said as he escorted Nicole out to the parking lot and noticed the classic XKE, the only luxury from her former life that she’d managed to cling to.

“Thanks.” Nicole said good-bye, slid into the driver’s seat, and dropped the convertible top. Once she’d adjusted to the flow of traffic, she pulled out her cell phone to check voice mail and felt a mad rush of relief when she heard Parker Amherst’s voice.
Please, God,
she thought as she listened to his oddly tentative hello.
Please let me have this one client to build on.

The message rambled on but was nowhere near as definitive as she’d hoped. “I’d like to sit down again, maybe over drinks or dinner,” Amherst said carefully. “And I need to see some of the women you think would be appropriate before I commit. I’m simply not going to pay for what my father used to call a ‘pig in a poke.’”

“Damn.” Nicole stared out over the causeway, barely noticing the postcard-blue sky or the stately palm trees that whooshed by. She hadn’t built Heart, Incorporated into the elite matchmaking service it had become by letting potential clients push her around. Nor had she lured them in by offering cut-rate fees or making exceptions to her stringent standards.

But all that was left of Heart, Incorporated was her; her heart, her moxie. If Parker Amherst IV needed a little extra selling or a peek at a few photos, well, then that’s what she’d give him.

Back at The Millicent, Nicole pulled into the open gate and nosed the Jag in behind Maddie’s minivan. The electrician’s truck was gone, but a battered Jeep Cherokee had taken its place. She heard the whir of a lawn mower and realized that part of the grass had been mowed to normal levels. A section of jungle had been tamed, revealing a low, curved plaster wall with brick trim. Mounds of mown grass lay all around.

Someone had found a lawn guy.

Nikki climbed out of the Jag in time to see a lawn mower round the far corner of the house. A tall hard-bodied male was pushing it. His shoulders were broad and tapered down to a trim waist and hips. He wore only a pair of running shorts; a T-shirt had been tucked into the waistband and hung down one tree-trunk leg.

Nicole sucked in her breath as Special Agent Joe Giraldi pushed the lawn mower toward her.

“Hi,” she said, raising her voice to be heard above the mower. “It looks good.” She kept her eyes focused on the yard and away from the broad chest. She was especially careful not to look at the patch of hair that arrowed down the taut abdomen.

While he’d been chasing her brother, Giraldi had posed as a sunbather, a cable installer, a plumber’s helper, and an old family friend with a childhood crush and a way with power tools, but this was the first time she’d seen him mow a yard. “Why are you doing this?”

“Madeline called and asked me,” he said. “And I had a couple of hours free.”

“Somehow I didn’t picture you doing yards on the side. Contract killings maybe, but trimming hedges?” She smiled. “You’re full of surprises.”

“I am,” he agreed. “And some of them don’t even involve inflicting bodily harm or chasing down bad guys.”

“That’s good to hear,” she said, but she wasn’t so sure. Did she really want to consider a relationship with the man who had used her to track down her brother?

She’d stayed away from men in general since the failure of her second marriage; a too-many-times-married matchmaker was not a good advertisement. She’d promised herself
if she ever took the plunge again, she’d treat the enterprise as scientifically and cold-bloodedly as she did the matches she made for her clients. None of that pitter-pattering of the heart or believing in happily ever after.

Giraldi reached down and turned off the lawn mower. Before Nicole could stop herself, she was watching the ripple of muscle across his back and the flex of his biceps. He straightened and reached for a tall glass of what looked like iced tea. Maddie’s work, no doubt. “Would you like a sip?” he asked.

“No thanks.”

“Cheers, then.” He raised the glass in salute then tilted it to his lips.

She watched him drain the glass.

“There’s a box of yard bags in the garage,” he said when he’d finished. “I raked the grass into piles, but I’m going to have to get going. Madeline said you all would bag it up.”

“Sure,” Nicole said. “Thanks for taking care of the yard. I know we all appreciate it.”

“My pleasure.”

“So, um…” She wasn’t sure what she intended to say. She was more concerned with not stuttering.

“So, how about dinner one night?” he asked before she could form a sentence. “I don’t live all that far from here,” he said. “I’m just up off the causeway. There’s a nice little place near Lincoln Road that I think you’d enjoy.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “This feels…complicated.”

“It doesn’t have to be. It’s just dinner. You know, we go to the restaurant. We order wine and have a nice meal. We talk.” Giraldi shrugged. “We take some time to get to know each other in a different way.”

“In my experience, nothing’s that simple,” Nicole replied.

“That doesn’t mean it can’t be.” He handed the empty glass to her; it was cold and slick in her hand.

Nicole shivered.

“I’m going to be out of town on an assignment for a few days. I’ll make a reservation for Saturday night.”

“You’re awfully sure of yourself.” She watched more closely than she should have as he lowered the T-shirt over his head. It clung to his sweat-soaked chest.

He shrugged again and smiled. “I prefer to think of it as knowing how to set a goal and go after it. It’s just a matter of focus.

“Please thank Maddie for the tea,” he said when she didn’t respond. “And tell Max it was a pleasure meeting him.” He grasped the handle of the mower and tilted it onto its back wheels. “I’ll text you when I’ve made the reservation.”

She stood there, empty glass in hand, as he loaded the lawn mower into the Jeep and backed onto the street. She was still standing there, wondering why she hadn’t just said no and reassuring herself that she could still cancel long after he’d gone.

“So let me explain it to you, bubbaleh,” Max said, taking a seat at the kitchen table across from Dustin the next day. “There are comics and then there are comedians. And they’re not the same thing.”

Madeline stood in front of the open refrigerator. It was the coolest spot in the house and she was in no hurry to move. The air-conditioning people were due to start cutting open walls and ceilings for vents and ductwork any day now, but in the meantime the kitchen was hot—too
hot—and even with all the windows thrown open, the air barely moved. Upstairs, Avery was supervising the removal of the second-floor kitchenettes—a job that was all about pounding and yanking and the screeching protests of wood and metal, and that left holes in the walls and wires hanging out. Ted, the electrician, was still on the premises working on the wiring, which meant no electricity at all for varying periods of time, often without warning.

“What would you like, Max?” she asked. “We have roast beef and turkey.”

“Surprise me,” he said. “Do we have any of that good rye bread?”

“We do.” Maddie pulled out the spicy brown mustard that Max preferred and a jar of dill pickles.

“Ma-ma-ma-meks,” Dustin mouthed happily, waving his hands and feet. And then, “Gax!” He followed Max’s unlit cigar with his large dark eyes, his expression intent, as if he were trying to soak up every bit of what the old man was saying.

Maddie set the sandwich makings on the counter and watched the old man and the baby. She wondered if her grandson’s first word would be
mama
or
Max
.

“A comic is a guy who depends solely on the joke and how he delivers it,” Max explained, looking Dustin in the eye. “A comedian can get a laugh opening a door—if he does it the right way. But a funnyman…” He made a face at Dustin. “A funnyman can get a laugh before he even opens his mouth to speak.”

Dustin reached for Max’s nose and laughed.

“You’re a smart boy,” Max said. “I knew you’d understand.”

Dustin gurgled happily and nodded. Reaching for the
rubber-coated baby spoon on his high-chair tray, he put it in his mouth and gnawed on it. Maddie had seen the first tooth poking through the baby’s gums just that morning.

After lunch, Max wiped his mouth carefully with the napkin. “It’s time for my volunteer shift at the Jewish home,” he said. “I read the newspaper to them. Sometimes I do a little shtick. Or part of a routine. Even though I’m not as funny without Millie.”

“Dustin thinks you’re pretty entertaining,” Maddie pointed out.

“Yes,” Max said. “He’s very advanced for his age.” His smile started as one of his megawatters but faltered midway. “It’s good you keep such a close eye on him, Madeline,” he said. “Things can happen when you’re not paying attention. One minute the people you love are right there and everything’s fine. The next minute…” He motioned with his cigar. “Poof. They’re…gone.”

Nikki carried her laptop to the dining room table. It was the heaviest thing she intended to look at for the rest of the day.

Her hands were raw from attempting to pry out countertops and cabinets and the bulky old wall air conditioners. Her arms and back ached from trying to cart them down the frickin’ stairs, through the house, and out to the Dumpster. She’d almost wept with relief when Avery had finally accepted the fact that they’d never get the heavier items off the ground and into the Dumpster and spent some of their meager budget on people who could.

With file folders of pictures spread around her, Nikki scrolled through her Heart, Inc. database looking for women who might appeal to Parker Amherst. From where she sat, she had a clear view of the foyer and through to the living room. The electricity had been off for most of the morning and she cursed herself for not charging the laptop overnight.

Stray bits of conversation wafted down from upstairs, as did thumps and curses and the occasional slam of a cabinet door. She heard Deirdre gasp and looked up to see Troy and Anthony walking backward down the stairs, their camera and microphone aimed at the muscled duo with the refrigerator suspended between them.