Authors: Maggie McConnell
“I’m not here t’ make friends,” three-carat man slurred. “I jus’ wanna know—”
“Look,” Max said, experienced with dodging. “There is absolutely nothing between us.”
Daisy drew back. “Why’re you telling him that?”
“Please, Daisy, this doesn’t concern you.”
Copper brows jumped. “It doesn’t?”
“I don’t give a damn ’bout you and
her
,” three-carat man said.
Max nodded in Daisy’s direction. “I’m not talking about
her.
”
Daisy frowned at what didn’t sound like a compliment. “Thanks a lot.”
Max turned to Daisy. “Do you think you could just sit there
without
talking?”
“Hey!” three-carat man interrupted. “I just wan’ back wha’s mine.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Max said. “Tina
is
yours—”
“Tina?” Daisy and three-carat man said in chorus.
“—We haven’t seen each other in a year.”
“A
year
?” The man’s face flushed crimson.
Daisy laughed. “Oh, Jason, this is so rich! The cheater becomes the cheated!”
“Shu’ up!”
Daisy gasped. Then her face angrily knotted. “I don’t have to take this from
you.
”
“There’s no reason to be rude to Daisy,” Max said.
“No . . .” Daisy slid from her stool. “That’s
your
job.”
“You’re not going an’where—” Jason blocked her escape. “Not until—”
“Jason, please, you’re causing a scene,” Tina said, coming from behind. “Let’s just go.”
“Ol’ pilot buddy, huh? You screwed him! While you were screwin’ me!”
“And you were screwing
her.
” Tina huffed. “Let’s go. We can talk about this later.”
“That’s all right, Tina,” Max said. “We’re leaving.”
“I’m sorry, Max. He’s had one martini too many.”
“Get used to it,” Daisy said.
“He only started drinking when he saw you!” Tina shot back.
The women exchanged daggers.
“Do you two know each other?” Max asked.
Daisy turned her daggers on Max. “Apparently not as well as you two.”
He frowned.
“
She’s
the golf clubs.”
Under the weight of his predicament, Max sagged, then he shot his eyes to the heavens. His plans for the night vanished. Like he wanted to.
“You three can work it out,” Daisy huffed, trying to skirt the group.
“You’re no’ going an’where.” Jason grabbed her arm. “Until I get the clubs.”
“Bite me!”
Max stood. “Let the lady go.”
His height advantage didn’t sway Jason or loosen the grip he had on Daisy. “Butt out, flyboy.”
If only I could
, Max thought, surrounded on all sides. “Why don’t we all just take a step back.”
“Jason,
please
.” Tina glanced at the waiters starting to circle. “You can settle this later.” She latched on to his free arm and pulled.
Sirens wailed in the distance.
Trying to free herself, Daisy smacked Jason with her clutch.
Tina lunged for Daisy. “Leave him alone!”
“And by the way, I sold your TV for $200!”
“You mis’r’ble little b—”
A wave of beer drowned his last word as Daisy used Max’s remaining beer to aid her escape. Alaskan Amber splashed off Jason’s face and splattered the tile.
Within seconds, the four of them were tangled like last season’s Christmas tree lights.
A sudden, searing pain shot through Max’s knee. Then the lights went out for Max Kendall.
Chapter Five
“D
aisy!” Charity Wagstaff rushed to her disheveled friend among the battered and bloodied Saturday night casualties in the emergency room. “Are you all right?”
“Thanks for coming.”
“Of course I’d come.” She sized up the two uniformed cops she had passed on the way in, recognizing one. “I called Bob. He’ll be here soon.”
Daisy tensed at the mention of Charity’s husband. “Do I really need an attorney?” One green eye, heavy with exhaustion, looked at Charity. Daisy held an ice pack over the other.
“It never hurts to have the district attorney in your corner.”
“I guess he was pretty pissed about missing the game.”
“They’re playing again tomorrow. Let’s see the boo-boo.”
Daisy lifted the pack.
Charity gasped. “Did Max do that?”
“Oh God, no!” Daisy returned the ice to the swollen, purple mess. “At least I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so?”
She groaned. “Everything happened at once. It could’ve been Max. It could’ve been Jason. But it was probably Tina—”
“Jason and Tina? But on the phone you said that you and Max had gotten into a fight.”
“We did. With Jason and Tina. It’s a long story.”
“In a nutshell.”
“We were at Mama Mia’s. And I saw Jason. Then everything kind of snowballed.”
“A larger nutshell.”
She recounted the evening’s events without interruption until—
“Did I hear you right? Max knows
Tina
?”
“In the biblical sense. They had a thing a year ago.”
“What are the odds?”
“Apparently very good.” Daisy moaned. “Hearing that was like lighting the fuse. It seems all men prefer Tina. I just lost it. And, by the way, I told you so.”
A sympathetic murmur.
“I threw a beer in Jason’s face.”
“Good for you.”
“Not good. It was like some demonic force had control of my hand.”
“Hell hath no fury . . .”
Daisy lowered the ice pack, giving her arm a rest.
Charity reached for Daisy’s free hand to offer a supportive squeeze.
“Ow-ow-ow,” she squawked. “My wrist. I think it’s sprained.”
Gently pulling back the cashmere, Charity asked about the brown smudges along the sleeve. “Is that blood?”
Daisy looked at the cashmere. “Huh. I didn’t even notice.”
“Is it yours?”
“I don’t think so.”
Charity didn’t dare ask whose it might be and instead focused on Daisy’s swollen wrist, looking out of place against her slender, artistic hand. “Can you move your fingers?”
A slow wiggle later, Charity said, “Well, at least it’s your left hand and it’s not broken. Put the ice pack on it.” She looked around the large room. “Where’s the rest of the party? Don’t tell me you’re the only one who got clobbered.”
“I think Tina broke a nail. She was holding up a finger and bitching. Or maybe that finger was aimed at me.” She paused, trying to remember, then let it go. “Jason might have a couple of cracked ribs—that’s what I heard the nurse say. Tina’s with him in one of the exam rooms.”
“And Max?”
Daisy groaned yet again and smothered her face in the ice pack.
“Sweetie, I can’t understand you. What happened to Max?”
She lifted her face from the ice, looking both remorseful and mortified. “He tore the meniscus in his knee and he might have a concussion. That’s what the paramedics said.”
“A torn meniscus
and
a concussion? How in the world . . . ?”
“No idea. The waiters jumped in and then the cops arrived—I remember the sirens. There were arms and legs everywhere. I got an elbow in my face and I must’ve fallen on my wrist. Not sure what happened to Max.” Daisy tried to shake off the memory. But she couldn’t forget the dazed grimace on Max’s face—
was blood trickling over his eye?
—as the paramedics loaded him into the ambulance. All of that anguish directed at her. Not that she blamed him, really, although it wasn’t
completely
her fault. If they had left the restaurant when she’d wanted, none of this would’ve happened. If Max hadn’t been so cheap about her $7.50 drinks, they would’ve been out the door. If he hadn’t confessed about Tina—
what the hell was he thinking
? But Jason was most at fault. This disastrous night happened because Jason was an ass!
Charity consoled her best friend with an embrace. “Daisy, Daisy, Daisy.”
The ice pack went back on her eye. “I’m cursed.”
They sat silently for a minute then Charity looked thoughtful. “Just out of curiosity, before the fight, you didn’t get lucky, did you?”
Pulling away, Daisy dropped both her jaw and the ice pack. “Are you kidding?”
“Were you at least having fun?”
Daisy stared.
“Well, were you?”
She pondered the question, remembering Max’s kiss. “It wasn’t the worst night . . .”
“That’s the important thing.”
“I don’t think that’s the important thing.”
They sat in silent commiseration, for the first time aware of the conversation hum around them. Then Charity heard a familiar laugh and looked over her shoulder. Her handsome husband—a silver-haired poster boy for Eddie Bauer—chatted congenially with the two police officers. Catching his wife’s gaze, Bob Wagstaff excused himself and joined her.
“ Evening, ladies.”
“What took you so long?” Charity asked.
“I had a Louixs and a snifter of Rémy Martin to finish. And I made a few phone calls.”
“Phone calls?” Charity griped.
Bob held up his hand to halt the protest. “So, Daisy, the crime spree continues, eh?”
Daisy moaned from both her humiliation and her throbbing wrist. But mostly from humiliation.
“Here’s the good news,” he said. “The police aren’t pressing charges. I talked with Pietro at the restaurant and persuaded him to handle this privately, but he expects someone to pay for the damages.”
“Well
I’m
certainly not! Jason started it!”
“Calm down, Daisy,” Charity said. “I’m sure Jason can be persuaded to share half—”
“Half? But it was
all
Jason’s fault!”
“Why don’t we discuss this after you’ve had a good night’s sleep and are thinking more clearly?” Bob suggested.
“I’m not paying a penny.”
“Uh-oh,” Bob mumbled.
“What?” Charity looked around.
“
Clod
Standish.” Bob smiled at a fifty-ish man with bronzed skin and teeth white enough to bring a ship into port at night. “It looks like Jason has brought in the big guns. I’d better go see what we’re up against.”
“He looks familiar,” Daisy said, still irritated. “I think I’ve seen him in the restaurant. Of course, slaving over hot burners doesn’t let me hobnob much. Jason always did the social stuff. So who’s Claude Standish? Why is Bob so worried?”
“Actually it’s
Clyde.
Bob doesn’t like him.” She gave Daisy a moment. “Clyde is
the
attorney when it comes to personal injury. Remember the guy who got scalded by coffee when the lid came off his cup? Clyde got him three hundred grand. And that pregnant airline passenger who was manhandled by airport security? Two million.”
“Maybe I should hire
Clod
.”
“By the look on Bob’s face, I’d say Jason beat you to it.”
Bob returned. “Well, ladies, the plot thickens.”
“What’s Clyde suing for?” Charity asked.
“Oh, who cares?” Daisy snapped. “Nothing will stick. There are witnesses—”
“Shush.”
“Well, for starters,” Bob began with his courtroom face, “assault. Battery. Fraud. Misrepresentation. Loss of business. Loss of wages. Loss of good name. Pain and suffering—”
“What?” Daisy shrilled. “This is so lame!”
“—And Clyde is threatening a restraining order, so stay away—”
“A restraining order! Against
me
? Jason is the one who needs to be restrained!”
“Let’s remember, Daisy, you do have a history,” Bob reminded her. “Which Clyde will happily use against you.”
“One time! And it was completely justified! Charity said so.”
“She did, did she?”
Charity ignored her husband’s disapproval. “Calm down, Daisy. I’m sure this is all swagger.” She addressed Bob. “You don’t think Jason can win any of this, do you?”
“Doubtful,” Bob said.
“See, Daisy, you’re getting all worked up over nothing.”
“Unfortunately,” Bob added, a twinkle in his eye, “Clyde’s client isn’t Jason.”
Chapter Six
T
he Alaskan ferry M/V
Columbia
eased out of Bellingham under gunmetal-gray skies. The cold salt wind stung Daisy’s cheeks and flung her hair as she pressed the rail and waved bravely from the deck at Charity, who returned her farewell from the dock.
Daisy no longer babied her left wrist, healed from the incident at Mama Mia’s three weeks earlier. All that remained as a reminder of that dreadful night was a mottled yellow-and-lilac shadow cradling her right eye. That—and Max Kendall’s lawsuit. But she’d given
that
problem to her lawyer, along with a $3,000 retainer after being warned by Clyde Standish to stay away from his client or be arrested. Nonetheless, she had shown up at the hospital with a vase of carnations. But after the nurse had refused admittance to Max’s room—apparently there was an unwanted-visitor list—she left the bouquet at the nurses’ station, then stomped off, passing Tina on the way out. She’d never have to see Max Kendall again, her lawyer had assured her, promising to handle everything on her behalf, which suited Daisy just fine. After all, she had enough to be miserable about, losing her home,
her
restaurant—no matter what the judge had ruled—and now, her best friend.
“You’re not
losing
me. I’m only a phone call and a three-hour plane ride away,” Charity had insisted before Daisy drove her Lexus onto the ferry.
Actually, it was a fifteen-minute flight in a tiny plane from Otter Bite into Homer, then a thirty-minute flight in a small plane from Homer into Anchorage, and
then
a three-hour flight to Seattle on a 737. But there wasn’t any percentage in dwelling on that.
Tears welled in Daisy’s eyes as the waters of Puget Sound swirled below her and Charity shrank from view. She could scarcely believe this was happening, but the drone of the massive engines, the smell of diesel exhaust, the ebb and flow of the
Columbia
as it forged its way to sea, proved too real to deny.
On deck for the departure, her fellow passengers soon abandoned Daisy for warmer, brighter quarters inside, safe from the worsening late-afternoon weather. Daisy watched the mainland slowly disappear under a gray, depressing shroud.