Hide Yourself Away (9 page)

Mickey worked quickly, nestling layers of lobsters, steamers, mussels, and corn in metal baskets into the rockweed, arranging the racks to guarantee perfect cooking and flavoring. He and his assistant covered the area with canvas, trying to capture as much heat as possible.

Mickey stood back and surveyed his work with satisfaction. Yes, business was real good right now, but Mickey knew he had to stay on top of things. He had busted his hump to get here, and there was no way he was going back to taking orders from other people, working waitstaff at the country club.

“Hiya, Mickey.”

He turned in the direction of the voice. It was that hard body, Joss Vickers. She was wearing a tight-fitting black T-shirt and a pair of white shorts that certainly couldn’t pass the country club dress code. Those tanned legs of hers didn’t quit.
Man, she was a looker.

She was also a flirt, and Mickey had watched her work her spell on teenage boys as well as the older male friends of her parents. She was an equal-opportunity tease. Joss had the power, and she reveled in seeing what it could do.

Whenever Mickey saw Joss, memories of the first time he had viewed her flashed through his mind. It was Madeleine Sloane’s sixth birthday, and the party was held at the country club pool. Even then, shockingly, Joss had oozed sexuality. The six-year-old had worn a leopard-print, one-piece bathing suit, her little legs already shapely and firm, her expression somehow knowing. As he served her lemonade and chocolate cake, he’d been ashamed of himself, an eighteen-year-old guy having thoughts like that about a little girl. Now, he felt his cheeks grow warm at the memory.

“Hi,” he answered, careful not to address her by name. By extension, she was his employer. He didn’t feel comfortable calling her Joss, yet he wasn’t going to call her Miss Vickers either. Mickey wiped his brow, grateful that the heat from the clambake fire provided an excuse for his blushing face.

“Looks like everything is all set,” said Joss, surveying the clambake bed.

“Yep. We’ve got everything under control. It’s going to be a good party.”

Joss flashed a smile, her eyes narrowing. “That’s great, Mickey, because it’s important to me that everyone here has a really good time tonight. In addition to our Newport friends, there will be a lot of people from KEY News here, and I want to make a fabulous impression.”

  CHAPTER  
21

The suitcase lay open on the double bed in the hotel room. Grace hunted through the contents, already sickeningly sure that she hadn’t packed correctly. Or more to the point, she hadn’t had the right things to pack.

She had to start paying more attention to her wardrobe now that she was going into the working world. She’d observed that the attire at the KEY News Broadcast Center in New York City wasn’t necessarily business formal, but most people did dress stylishly. Here in Newport, the producers, writers, and directorial types seemed to be favoring the Ralph Lauren look, lots of khaki pants, white blouses or T-shirts, and sweaters tied around the
waist or neck. Grace had also spotted quite a few jean jackets draped over the back of the chairs in the ballroom workstation.

Grace had packed several pairs of linen slacks that she pulled from her suitcase. They were hopelessly wrinkled. She checked the closet. Great, there was an ironing board inside but no iron.

She wasn’t sure if linen slacks were appropriate for a clambake, and she wished she had time to find a Gap and pick up some khakis, but B.J. had offered her a lift and she was supposed to meet him in the lobby in twenty minutes. Grace walked over to the bedside table and picked up the phone to ask if she could get an iron sent up to the room.

“Izzie, before you leave, can you bring an iron up to two-oh-one?”

What choice did she have? This wasn’t a request, this was an order from the head housekeeper, and Izzie knew that the woman was watching her for any signs of slacking off.

“Of course, Eileen, I’ll do it right away.”

As she waited for the service elevator, Izzie raised her right arm out to her side, using the steam iron as a barbell. She repeated the movement, up and down, up and down. Izzie was still trying to get her strength back. Since the operation, it was so much harder to do her physically demanding job. Making beds,
emptying trash, cleaning toilets, and scrubbing bathtubs was not a lot of fun under the best of circumstances. But after breast cancer surgery and treatment it was next to impossible. Izzie wasn’t sure how much longer she could do it. She went home exhausted every day, collapsing in bed as soon as she got into the house.

As she got off the elevator on the second floor, Izzie began to feel light-headed. She talked to herself as she had so often since Padraic passed away.
You can do it, Izzie girl. You can do it.

She made it to the hotel room door and knocked.

“Just a minute” came the call from inside.

But by the time the door opened, Izzie had slid to the floor.

“Oh my God, are you all right?” Grace crouched toward the chambermaid. “Hang on. I’ll call for help.”

“No. Don’t.” The woman was surprisingly adamant.

“Well, what can I do to help you? A glass of water?”

Holding on to the doorjamb, the frail woman struggled to get to her feet while looking from side to side down the hallway. “I don’t want anyone to see me like this. I don’t suppose I could come inside for a minute?”

Grace was not in the habit of having people she had never met come into her hotel room, but there was something in the expression on the woman’s careworn face that prompted her to
escort the stranger in and steer her to the love seat at the side of the room. As the chambermaid sat down, Grace went into the bathroom, coming out again with a glass of water. “Here, take a sip of this.”

As the woman obeyed, Grace noticed the boyishly short, feathery, gray hair. She recognized the new growth. That was just the way her mother’s hair had looked when it grew in again after chemotherapy.

“I’m Grace Callahan.”

“Izzie O’Malley,” the woman said softly.

“Please, Izzie. Let me call down to the front desk. They can send someone up to check on you.”

“No, thank you, Miss. That isn’t a good idea. I don’t want them thinking I can’t do my job.”

Grace nodded with understanding. “All right, but maybe I could call a friend or relative to come pick you up.”

Izzie shook her head. “No, I’ll be fine, if I can just sit here a minute longer.” She glanced at the linen slacks lying on top of the bed. “Go ahead and do what you were going to do, please. I’ll leave in just a little bit.”

Grace glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. B.J. was probably already downstairs waiting for her. She plugged in the iron.

“You’re here with the KEY people from New York?” Izzie asked, spotting the logo on the canvas tote bag parked on the chair by the desk.

“Yes.”

“That must be exciting.”

“We’ll see. This is my first assignment out on the road and I’m trying to prove myself to them. So I’m a little nervous.” Grace didn’t feel it necessary to explain the whole internship situation, but she did think that Izzie could identify with needing to please one’s employer. “I have a lot riding on this. I want to impress my bosses.”

As Grace slid the iron back and forth across the linen, Izzie rose from the love seat.

“I’m all right now.”

“You’re sure? Maybe my friend and I can drop you at home?”

“No, Miss. You’ve been too kind already. Thank you very much.”

Walking slowly back down the hallway to the elevator, Izzie felt better. There were nice people out there, and Grace Callahan was one of them. She hoped the young woman did well with that job of hers.

By the time Izzie let herself into her small, shingled bungalow, she had come up with a tentative plan. If she decided to go public with what she knew, Grace Callahan was going to be the one she told.

One good turn deserved another.

  CHAPTER  
22

It was still light, the summer sun a good two hours from setting. Long trestle tables covered with red-and-white checkered cloths and festooned with clusters of red and blue balloons signaled that the Vickerses were prepared to serve over one hundred guests. The tables were clustered in the center of the spacious yard. A billowing white tent sheltered the portable dance floor laid down in front of the five-piece band tuning up beyond the clambake pit. At the corners of the property, stations were set up for entertainment. A face painter, a juggler, a palm reader, and even a booth offering henna tattoos.

“Whoa,” exclaimed B.J. as he and Grace took in the scene. “This is something, all right.”

“Well, you haven’t seen anything till you come to a party at my house,” Grace responded. “I’ll have to invite you next time. My father grills one mean hot dog on his little hibachi.”

B.J. grinned, his brown eyes twinkling with amusement. “Come on. Let’s get a drink.”

Grace didn’t recognize most of the faces they passed on their
way to the bar. “All these people aren’t from KEY, are they?” she asked.

B.J. shook his head. “Nope. I’ve never seen most of these people before. Joss told me that her parents were having the party for their friends anyway and suggested that she just go ahead and invite the
KTA
staff.”

Must be nice,
thought Grace, as she took a sip of ice-cold beer and surveyed the scene. It
was
nice to have the kind of money that allowed you to breezily add another forty or fifty people to your guest list with no regard for the cost.

“Grace, I don’t want you to think that I’m all work and no play, but I was thinking that we could schmooze around here tonight and see if we can find anyone who could help us with our Charlotte Sloane story. You know, what Dominick said we needed. People who were in Newport at the time, people who knew her?”

“Did you bring your camera?”

“Yeah, it’s in the trunk. But I wasn’t thinking so much about getting video. I was only thinking about getting background stuff and maybe getting them to talk for the camera later if we need them.”

Grace nodded, wanting to seem game for B.J.’s benefit. The fact was, she would have been just as glad to relax tonight. It had been a long day, starting very early to catch the morning train, followed by the emotion of letting Lucy go off to her father and new stepmother. Grace hadn’t had a moment to breathe since she had arrived in Newport and the prospect of
kicking back tonight had been an attractive one. But she wasn’t about to say that to B.J.

“Sure. Great.”

“Want to split up?” B.J. suggested. “We can talk to more people that way.”

Grace took another drink of beer. What was she going to say to that?
No? I want to stick with you? I don’t really feel confident going out on my own? I was hoping that you and I could hang out together tonight?

“Fine,” she said, without enthusiasm.

Grace moved around the perimeter of the yard, stopping to view the juggler work his balancing act with his multicolored spheres. As she watched, a balding, aristocratic-looking man walked up and stopped beside her. Though attired casually, he had dressed with care. White slacks, finely creased, an open-necked blue oxford shirt with the sleeves precisely rolled up over his tan forearms, and brown leather boat shoes, no socks.