Ocean Beach (43 page)

Her phone dinged and she reached for it. It was Amherst again. He’d taken to texting, which was far harder to ignore than the recorded messages. She refused to respond, but the texts were impossible not to read. This one said,
Sorry for awkward last meeting. Can we talk?
His cell-phone number followed. As if he actually thought there was some small chance in hell that she might call him back.

She dabbed the paintbrush in the tray and began to cut in around the edge of the circular opening. She’d finished the opening and was contemplating whether to move to the next assigned space or simply blow her brains out to escape the heat and boredom, when her phone rang. She perked up appreciably—and decided to continue living—when she recognized Giraldi’s number. He’d been out of town far too much for her to pass up an opportunity to talk to him.

“All Girl Painting,” she answered. “How can I help you?”

“Hi,” Giraldi said. “How’s it going?”

“Good,” she said automatically. Which was mostly true if you didn’t count the fact that they were all waiting for Tonja Kay to drop the other stiletto, that Amherst refused to disappear, and that she had no idea where she would go or live once The Millicent was done.

“You don’t sound so good,” Giraldi said.

“Well, we’re painting the exterior and it’s a wee bit on the warm side out here,” Nicole said. “But we’re really close to done. The paint company comes in behind us tomorrow. After that, all that’s really left is placing the furniture and
artwork, which is really Deirdre’s thing. Apparently a small volunteer army has been raised to do the landscaping.”

“Congratulations,” he said. “That’s quite an accomplishment. Why don’t we take the boat out for dinner somewhere to celebrate?”

“Sure,” she said, already imagining the feel of the breeze in her face and the wind in her hair. Giraldi’s hands on her…“Oh, I almost forgot. You’re invited to a celebration here too. Maddie wants to break in the new kitchen. And we thought we might give Max the age progression of Aaron then if you can bring it.”

“Absolutely,” Giraldi said. “I left a message for the artist yesterday. I’ve been in and out of town so much that it’s taken a lot longer than I anticipated. I didn’t want to rush him since the work wasn’t tied to a case.”

There was the rumble of a truck out on the street. Nicole looked down to see a UPS truck angle onto the drive. Two guys climbed out and walked around to the back.

“Shall I come to your place?” Nicole asked, glancing down at her watch.

“Yes,” Giraldi said. “I’ve got to run over to the Bureau to take care of a few things, then I’ll come back and get the boat in the water.”

They agreed to a time and Nicole hung up as the two UPS guys carried a crate up to the front door. They set it down carefully then rang the doorbell. She read the word stenciled across the top of the crate in big black letters:
FRAGILE
.

Nicole pulled her sweat-soaked tank top away from her body and stuffed her cell phone into her shorts pocket so that she could carry her paint tray to her next porthole. She got one last glimpse at the crate before the door opened
and it disappeared inside. As she lifted her paintbrush and used the thick white paint to blot out The Millicent’s pockmarks and age spots, she reflected on the black stenciled letters on the top of the crate and wondered how just hearing Giraldi’s voice could make her feel so much less fragile than she’d felt before he called.

“Rise and shine!”

“Oh my God!” Avery’s eyes flew open and she stared up into Deirdre’s face. She closed them again. “I’m sleeping,” she mumbled, feeling around for the covers so that she could pull them up over her face. The painters had finished and The Millicent was in the process of drying. The gardeners wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow. For the first time since they’d arrived in May, there was no rush to be up. If it weren’t for the weight of Tonja Kay’s threat hanging over them, she would have been savoring all that they’d accomplished instead of worrying that it was about to be snatched away. “Leave me alone.”

It was quiet for a few moments, no footsteps retreating, no doors opening and closing, leaving her in peace. But she could feel Deirdre looming over her.

The smell of coffee, warm and full-bodied, teased her nostrils. She breathed in the scent and her eyelids fluttered open. Deirdre was fully dressed and completely made up.
Her eyes were that of a child eager for permission to go downstairs on Christmas morning to see what Santa had brought. Afraid she might be told no.

“What?” Avery snapped. She didn’t know where Deirdre had gotten this ability to be so upbeat in the face of possible ruin. Unlike the oversize bust and lack of height, Avery had apparently not inherited Deirdre’s positivity gene.

Deirdre waited for her to sit up then handed her the cup of coffee, already creamed and sugared just the way she liked it.

“Now I’m not only irritated, I’m suspicious. What do you want?” Avery sipped the coffee, barely resisting the urge to sigh over its wonderfulness.

“I’ve got Pamela Madsen’s chandelier uncrated—Andrew helped me—and I just spoke with East Coast Electric,” Deirdre said. “Ted’s on his way over to help hang it.” Her blue eyes glowed with excitement like that of an expectant child. “I’m so glad Max gave me permission to trade Millie’s sterling-silver dresser set and the Limoges boxes for it. I can’t wait to see it up. Kyra and Troy and Anthony are going to come shoot it being put in place.”

Avery groaned. “You don’t really need me for this.”

“Come on,” Deirdre said. “This is the crowning touch. I want you to be a part of it.”

Avery gave an exaggerated yawn.

“Then he can install the kitchen light fixtures and we can start to position some of the furniture. There might even be time to hang some artwork in the dining room before tonight’s dinner.”

Avery took another sip of coffee while Deirdre whipped around the room, throwing open the blinds and pulling clothes out of the closet.

“And why don’t you wear these?” Deirdre laid a pair of
capri jeans and a Miami Design Preservation League T-shirt on the edge of the bed. “There’s absolutely nothing risqué or revealing about them, they just happen to be your size instead of two sizes too big.”

Avery opened her mouth to object, but really, what was the point? She was tired of all the baggy beige; wearing it had begun to feel less like making a point and more like abject cowardice. The same was true of her reactions to Deirdre. Even a week ago she would have automatically refused to get out of bed; now she looked at the excited eyes, which were the exact same shade of blue as her own, and knew that refusing this too would be cowardly.

Deirdre must have read the decision in Avery’s face, because she smiled and said, “Thanks. I’ll give you a few minutes to get dressed, but I want you to come meet us in the foyer as soon as you can.”

Maddie was alone in the foyer when Max came in to inspect the chandelier. It had been uncrated and rested on a furniture pad on the floor. The glass panels had been arranged on a card table beside it. Max studied the panels solemnly for several minutes then picked one up and, holding on to the wall with his free hand, carefully lowered himself to a seat on the stair. Maddie sat down next to him.

The panel was the one of two mermaids sunning on a rock—one tall and thin, one short and curvy—the figures sculpted in remembrance of a friendship that had been over for more than half a century.

Max rubbed a finger over the sculpted rock beneath the mermaids. Although he looked right at the panel, Maddie sensed that his thoughts were far away.

“Pamela came on to me once,” he said without preamble, his gaze still on the luminescent rectangle of glass. “I’d realized for a while that she was noticing me in that way. Strange as it sounds, I don’t think I meant all that much to her. I’m not even sure how much she liked me. But Pamela always seemed to want whatever Millie wanted. Sometimes I had the feeling she actually wanted to
be
Millie. Not that anyone ever could be.”

He looked up to the hole in the center of the domed ceiling where the chandelier would soon hang, then at Maddie. “I turned her down and she didn’t like it. She was a determined woman and she was used to getting what she wanted.”

Maddie listened intently in the way she imagined a priest might listen to the confession of a long-held, and possibly damning, secret. Was there a Jewish equivalent to “say five Hail Marys and call me in the morning”?

“She persisted for a while,” Max continued. “Just when I thought I was going to have to say something to Millie, she fired Pamela and that was that.” He looked down at his gnarled hands, their misshapenness magnified behind the gold-flecked glass. “I told myself that Millie didn’t know, that her getting rid of Pamela had nothing to do with me. And I was relieved that we never had to talk about it.”

Maddie thought about Max’s regret at not having allowed Millie to talk about their missing son. And his relief at not having to talk about Millie’s best friend coming on to her husband. It seemed even the best-intentioned men shied away from the difficult conversations.

He turned to face Maddie. “I was so glad when I heard that Pamela had left town and so grateful that she went
quietly. Pamela Gentry wasn’t a leave-quietly-with-her-tail-tucked-between-her-legs kind of person.”

Maddie reached out and squeezed Max’s arm. “The more I hear about Millie, the more I wish I’d known her.”

“She was something,” he said wistfully. “Me, I don’t care about Moroccan tile or bas-relief, or Sabino glass, but Millie did. I know she’d be glad to see this chandelier that she inspired sparkling and whole in its rightful place. Just like she’d be thrilled to see everything else you’ve done for the house she loved.

“Here.” He handed her the panel and watched as she set it gently back on the table. Then he smiled and she knew the subject was closed. “I’m planning to stay right here for the chandelier raising if you want to sit with me. I think it’s definitely the best seat in the house.”

By the time Avery arrived, a small crowd had gathered in the foyer. Troy and Anthony stood on the dining room side of the foyer opening. Kyra was positioned midway up the stairs, while Max and Maddie sat companionably on the bottom step. Andrew stood nearby waiting for instruction.

There were two ladders in position, one directly beneath the electrical juncture and another next to the first. A pulley had been rigged to hoist the new chandelier.

Deirdre nodded and motioned Avery closer as Kyra and Troy moved in for close-ups of the panels and their sculpted figures. There was no jockeying for position, no blocking the other.

Avery looked closely at the fixture. “The detail is exquisite. And Pamela had already replated hers,” she said. “It’s
in far better shape than the original that hung here. But it is hard to picture this in a Prairie-style home in the suburbs of Chicago.”

“We were lucky to find it,” Deirdre said. “I can’t wait to see it hanging and lit.”

For the first time Deirdre’s modesty didn’t strike Avery as false. Deirdre had not allowed anything to stand in the way of finding and acquiring the chandelier and she seemed genuinely glad to have the piece for The Millicent, not to make herself look good, but because the project—and The Millicent—deserved it.