Читать книгу Hot Summer Nights - Joan Elizabeth Lloyd - Страница 10

Brad settled onto the bench seat opposite Leslie. She looked wonderful, even without makeup, her dark blond hair caught in a clip at the back of her neck. Before he’d seen her picture in the file he had expected a model-type with a perfect face and figure, maybe a bit too much makeup making her look brassy. Well, she had a perfect shape but her face wasn’t quite beautiful. Her mouth was a little too large, her nose a little too long. Her eyes, on the other hand, were perfect, large, wide set and an odd combination of brown, green, and gold. The photos didn’t begin to capture her vitality, her charm, and that drop-dead sexy voice.

When she said, “Do I pass inspection,” he realized that he’d been staring.

“I’m so sorry. You’re really a lovely looking woman and I guess I was just appreciating that.”

“Okay, you saved yourself,” she said, her smile warm and genuine. She really did have a sexy mouth. “What brings you out this morning? I thought I’d be the only one around at this odd hour.”

“I’m on my way to the gym to work out. I tend to be a night person so, since I’m on vacation I allow myself to sleep in, then come here for breakfast before going to exercise. You?”

“Also a night owl. You’ve found a place to work out?”

“There a really nice place on Route 1 called The Fitness Club, an appropriate name if I ever heard one. I stopped into quite a few the day I got here and discovered that at this one you can get a monthly membership at a reasonable price so I joined. You look like a woman who works out.”

“When I’m not on vacation I usually go to the gym several times a week. I don’t know whether I’m going to continue while I’m here. I want to get as far away from my normal routine as possible.”

“I’m with you, but I just can’t let myself go.”

“I guess since you’re a cop you need to stay in shape.”

He thought about the rehab he was continuing on his own. His leg was getting back to its preinjury condition but he didn’t dare let the thing go. Anyway, had he been just a bit faster he might have avoided everything. “I like to stay in shape. If you want, you can get a day pass so you can come along sometime.” He might as well try to get closer. To learn about her business, of course.

“Thanks. I might take you up on that.”

It had been sheer chance that Brad had seen Leslie’s rental car in front of the Wayfarer. He had thought he’d have to wait until the evening’s cookout to get to know her better. “Are you having breakfast or lunch? I don’t cook so I come here a lot and can give you an idea about what’s edible on the menu.” When she made a face, he added, “Most of the cooking is actually pretty good, but there are a few stinkers.”

“Oh? What’s terrible?”

“Their pancakes could be used as flagstones and no self-respecting bagel joint in Manhattan would dare serve what they call bagels. The rest of their menu is pretty decent.”

He found Leslie’s laugh warm and sort of comfortable. He wondered whether her charm was natural or practiced. After all, what was a high-class hooker if not a professionally charming woman? “Okay, there are two things I think I’ll avoid.”

A short, chunky woman in a singularly ugly ruffled pink apron approached. “I know, honey, coffee for you, black, hot, and strong,” she said, grinning at Brad. “How about you, love?” she asked Leslie.

“I’ll have decaf.” Leslie looked at Brad. “I’m ready to order if you are.”

“I’m ready.”

“I’ll split the difference between breakfast and lunch.” She looked up at the waitress. “I’ll have an egg salad on white toast and,” she smiled broadly, “a side of very well done french fries. I’ll need milk for my coffee, too.”

“Sure, honey,” the waitress said, her voice thickly sweet, “and you, Brad?”

“I’ll have a western omelette with hash browns, and give me a large orange juice.”

As the waitress walked away, Leslie said, “Brad? She knows your name?”

“She’s the restaurant’s equivalent of Suze. She’ll know everything about you in two days.”

“I’m not sure I want anyone knowing everything about me,” she said, her eyes tightening.

He decided to push just a little. “Oh? Skeletons?”

“No, just private stuff. Don’t you have some things you just don’t want to talk about?”

Brad thought about The Incident, with a capital I, as he had taken to thinking of it. Sure, there were things he didn’t want to talk about, even think about. “Yeah, you’re right. Some things are private.”

“Cop stuff?”

“Some of that, of course. I usually get to see the worst side of people.” He thought a moment. “Sometimes the best, too, but I’m sure that you see mostly good stuff.”

“Good stuff?”

“You know, people redecorating. Starting new.” He’d let her stick with her cover story.

“Oh that. Right. I do professional space. It’s really kind of boring. Tell me a little about police work. Do you carry a gun?”

“Not with me. I’m off duty and in another state. I have one hidden away at the cottage, however.”

“I’ll remember not to sneak up on you at home. So tell me, is being a cop in the city anything like the shows on TV?”

During their breakfast/lunch he told her a few of the less gory and more interesting stories about being a policeman in New York City, then they talked about a myriad of topics, jumping easily from one to another. Brad found he could understand why she commanded the kind of prices she did. She was undoubtedly great in the sack, but she obviously wasn’t half bad over the dinner table either. A great conversationalist, and an intent listener. When he talked she looked at him as though what he had to say was the most important thing in the world. Usually the women he met had an agenda, and when you talked they either thought about what the proper response should be to get what they wanted or how to change the subject to something in which they were more interested.

They explored a few of his interests, the plight of the New York homeless, World War II movies, and Internet dating, at which he’d failed completely. He even told a few self-deprecating stories and she laughed in all the right places. She, in turn, was passionate about universal, quality education, antiques, although she didn’t own many, and good Midtown restaurants. Quite a dame. Attractive in so many ways. Always remember though, he told himself, she’s a hooker.

Although he hadn’t found any way to nudge the conversation toward what he was here to learn, he decided that he’d pressed things as far as he dared on first meeting. And, in the back of his mind he wasn’t quite as fixated on finding out what she knew as he had been. They agreed to split the check and walked out into the hot sunshine. “Well,” he said, “I’m off to the gym. You?”

“I think I’m going to the beach and just veg with a book. I guess I’ll see you tonight at the cookout. Is it really all right for me to just show up?”

“I haven’t been here for one, but everyone’s made it abundantly clear that we’re welcome. We’ll have to sit together and gossip about all the neighbors, which seems to be most of what the women do around here.” He winked at her. “And just because I’m a guy doesn’t mean I’m not interested in all the info.”

With a chuckle she said, “I guess that’s what makes you a good cop. Ear to the ground, always paying attention.”

“Right you are. See you later.”

He got in his car and headed for The Fitness Club. Step one, he said to himself. Not bad at all. If it takes a few days to find out what I need to so what? I’ll just enjoy her company in the meantime.

He hadn’t really considered how he would find out what the investigators wanted to know. What do you say? Oh, by the way, I understand that you’re a hooker. My bosses want a copy of your client list. You wouldn’t mind giving that to me, would you? Not a chance. Now that he’d met her he was quite sure that this whole thing would never work. Another one of the chief’s bright ideas, or was it just Mike’s way to get him to rest and try to recuperate, physically and mentally. Maybe they never thought he could be successful. He should call the whole thing off, but what would it hurt to stick around for another week? After all, he had the house and the time, and, if he were to admit it, he did need to decompress. When he returned to the city he’d merely tell everyone how hard he’d tried and how angry he was that he’d struck out.

What about Leslie? He knew exactly what she was, although she had surprised him with her comfortable manner and good conversation. She was a very highly paid hooker and thus she had to be a good listener and a good entertainer. She had gazed at him as he talked as though he was the only man in the world, and when she unconsciously licked her lips he pictured her tongue on his body.

No! Don’t go there! She’s a case, a source of information, and nothing more. And don’t forget, he told himself again, she’s a whore.

As Leslie climbed back into her car, she thought about the hour she’d spent with Brad. She’d slipped into entertainer mode with little thought, but had quickly found that she didn’t have to make the effort. Like many of her clients, he was easy to talk to and readily held up his end of the conversation. Stop that! she told herself. She had to stop comparing everyone, well every man anyway, to her customers. Brad was just a nice man who happened to be staying across the street. But what was the little tug she felt? Cut it out. He’s a cop. Tug or no tug, he’s the last thing she needed.

She spent the next hour driving around the shore area. The town of Sound’s End was a comfortable little hamlet with old-fashioned New England charm, but much of Route 1, the Boston Post Road, was so commercial that it had lost any of the old Connecticut ambiance it might once have had. Between the fast-food restaurants, T-shirt shops, boat rental establishments, and motels, it looked like any other tacky mass-vacation destination.

Back on Atlantic Beach Road, she felt like she’d come home. Thank heavens for that real estate lady, she thought. She might have ended up in a neon tourist trap but this was delightfully low key, exactly what she’d been looking for. And she was actually looking forward to the cookout that evening.

Leslie spent the remainder of the day sitting quietly on the beach slathered with number 45 sunblock, reading one of the many novels she’d brought with her. She hadn’t read for pleasure in more time than she cared to remember and she’d actually forgotten how nice it was to really get into a book, just for fun, not so she could impress someone or make clever conversation.

During the afternoon, she idly noticed the comings and goings on Atlantic Beach Road. A woman she assumed was the infamous Vicki arrived back at her house somewhere around two in the little silver sports car she thought was the same one she’d noticed earlier in town. Abby and her children left just after lunch and returned around five, while Suze came and went several times, waving to her from a distance each time.

Brad also waved at her when he came back from his workout, then, around four-thirty, came out in a pair of cut-to-the-knees jeans and began to swim, long graceful strokes carrying him back and forth, parallel to the beach. At just after five, she watched a young man wheel a large tub-type grill out to a spot in the parking area behind the seawall, then pad back into Marie’s house. She quickly glanced at her watch and realized that, if she was going to clean up and change for the evening’s festivities, she ought to get moving. The afternoon had disappeared without her notice. How fabulous.

After a quick shower to remove the layers of sweat and sunscreen, she wondered what to wear. What did one put on for a cookout? She glanced out her side window and saw Joe and Marie setting up a large metal table between the two grills that now graced the lot. They were both wearing jeans so she selected a lightweight pair and added a yellow polo shirt, socks, and sneakers. She pulled her hair back in a plastic butterfly clip, put a ten-dollar bill into her pocket for the kitty and wandered out. As she closed the door behind herself she was delighted that she didn’t feel the need to double lock it. This sure wasn’t Manhattan.

In the few minutes since she’d glanced out the window, the crowd had grown and the area along this little stretch of parking lot and seawall was bustling. People were setting up folding chairs and tables while Joe poured charcoal briquettes into one of the grills from a large bag, poured lighter fluid on, and lit the fire, then loped back across the street and into the house. “What can I do to help?” Leslie asked as she approached Marie.

The woman’s smile was wide and welcoming. “Glad you’re joining us,” she said, “and there’s really nothing much to do. It’s gotten pretty routine, especially since I’ve done it so many times. We wait until the charcoal is ready then plop stuff on and grill. Joe and Kevin, Suze’s husband, do most of the actual barbecuing.” She paused, then said, “If you want to fetch and carry, you can go around to our back door. Joe’s gathering up stuff and you can help him bring plates and bowls out.”

“Sure thing.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out the bill. “For the kitty.”

“Thanks,” Marie said, closing Leslie’s hand over the money and pushing it away, “but you needn’t do that. The hotel takes care of you. We ask the residents to chip in a little so they don’t feel like freeloaders. Making donations seems to make folks more willing to come since they think they’re paying their way. This meal is practically free anyway. It’s salads left over from the market and we often try out new things to get people’s reactions. The hotel chips in for whichever of their guests, like you and Brad, eat here,” she said, winking, “and then Joe deducts it all on his taxes. The hotel also supplies the beverages. There will be soft drinks, beer, and wine arriving in just a few minutes.”

“It sounds like you’ve got this down to a science,” Leslie said, putting the bill back into the pocket of her slacks. “If you don’t need me here I’ll just go and see whether I can give Joe a hand.”

As she walked up the Martinellis’ driveway, several young people bustled past, carrying chairs, paper plates, plastic glasses and utensils, and bowls of salads and chips. “Hi,” a boy in his late teens said, his eyes roaming her body. “You must be Leslie.”

“That’s me,” she said, a bit suspicious of the high school aged boy’s obvious interest in her body. “How come you know who I am?”

“You’re new around here and Suze, my mom, said you were a knockout. I’m KJ Murdock.”

So this was KJ. She quickly connected him with the racket the previous afternoon. “Right. You must be the one with the motorcycle.”

“That Honda’s mine all right. Isn’t she a beauty?” He gave her body another long, assessing look, his intent all too obvious. “I’d love to take you for a ride sometime.”

He was quite a piece of work, Leslie thought, at least a dozen years younger than she was and hitting on her. Ye Gods. She schooled her face to be cool, yet charming. She didn’t want to make waves. “Thanks for the offer but I think I prefer a little more metal around me when I move at more than ten miles an hour.”

“Your loss,” he said, then took off with a large bowl of tortilla chips in his hands.

Leslie stared after him, then shook her head in disbelief. Several young people pushed past her as she approached the back door, some going in, others heading for the beach. She climbed the rear stairs and saw Joe through the screen door in the midst of a group of teens bustling around the kitchen. He was standing in front of an almost industrial-sized refrigerator pulling out bowls and plastic bags. “Hi there,” she said through the door. “This seems like quite an operation. You’ve got everyone regimented.”

“Hi, Leslie. I’m glad to see you decided to join us, and yes, everything is very well organized. I spent several years in the army. Learned the fine art of getting things done, and delegating.”

He handed a large platter of hot dog and hamburger rolls to a middle-sized, not unattractive teen wearing form-fitting cotton jeans and a tight T-shirt that said If I were humble I’d be perfect on the front. “Take this out to Marie,” he said, then pushed her toward the door. “Leslie, have you met Eliza, Suze’s daughter?”

With a sour expression and a muttered “Hi,” the girl pounded out the door and let it slam behind her. Leslie gazed after her, watching her strut like a stripper.

Turning back to Joe, she asked, “Were you an officer in the service?” He certainly gave orders like one, she thought as he handed people things to bring outside.

“Nope, but I saw how they got me to do stuff I didn’t want to do so I just copied their approach.” As she laughed, he ushered her into the large kitchen, efficient, clean, and shiny despite all the activity. At that instant it was also silent.

“What can I do to help?”

“Carl made deviled eggs today and we only sold about half, so they’re up for grabs.” He pointed to a tray on the counter. “Taste one, and if they pass muster, you can take the platter outside.”

Leslie picked up the hard-boiled egg and remembered that, as a kid, she’d always hated eggs in any form, along with lamb, Mexican food, and all vegetables. Then she flashed back to one of her first clients. He had taken her to a sushi restaurant, and when he found out she’d never had raw fish—nor did she want to—he spent an hour introducing her to different kinds of raw fish and fish eggs and showing her how to eat them. She remembered being really squeamish at first, but she’d quickly decided that she’d have to change her picky-eater ways if she was going to dine with clients. Now she loved almost every kind of food, from Korean to Peruvian.

She looked at Joe, then took a bite of the yellow and white treat and was delighted. “This is wonderful. There’s something just a little hot in the filling. It’s surprising.”

“Cayenne. Just a touch adds a little kick.”

“It certainly does. Do you have the recipe?” She’d probably never cook them, but she might, and anyway it was a compliment to him to ask.

“Sure. I’ll get Carl to write it out for you. There are quite a few ingredients but they’re pretty easy to make.”

As she chewed, she asked, “How many people usually show up at this shindig?”

“Quite a few of the hotel guests come, like you and Brad, and all the neighbors on this stretch of Atlantic Beach Road. It usually adds up to a couple of dozen adults.” He contemplated. “We’ve had as many as thirty. Someone usually brings a CD player so there’s music and dancing and occasionally someone brings fireworks. It’s become quite the thing.”

“Does Marie do all the cooking?” My God, thirty people. She was already feeling sorry for Joe’s wife.

“Carl, my assistant at the market, does quite a bit. He’s studying to be a chef. Kevin Murdock, Suze’s husband, does most of the actual barbecuing and Suze and Abby bring casseroles and stuff. Then there’s Vicki. Have you met her?”

“Not yet,” Leslie answered, “but I’ve heard a lot about her.”

“Yeah, she’s quite a character. Anyway, she doesn’t cook a lick so she usually goes to a wonderful little bakery in Saybrook and brings cake. Oh, and Steve Carpone, the local ice cream man, stops by and does quite a business while he snarfs down hot dogs and barbecued sausages.” He gazed at her and must have seen a slight frown.

“Don’t get that look, Leslie,” Joe added. “Marie loves to do this and if I took it away from her she’d bitch loud and long. Talk to her, and if you get any hint of negative feelings, let me know and I’ll put an end to it in a heartbeat. You’ll tell me?”

Her heart lighter, Leslie said, “Sure, Joe. No problem. And these eggs are terrific. Maybe you should give out the recipe when folks buy them. That way, they’ll like the eggs, decide they’re too complicated to make themselves, and buy more.”

Joe looked thoughtful. “I love a woman with a creative mind. That’s actually an interesting idea. Let me give it some thought. Give out recipes that are too complicated. Hmm. I could do that with some of Carl’s sausages, too. He’s my store’s secret weapon and you have to taste some of his creations tonight.”

“Have you ever thought of going into the catering business? If you can pull off a dinner like this, catering a wedding would be a piece of cake.”

“I’ve thought about it but I wouldn’t want to get Marie involved in something like that. It’s a tremendous amount of work and she’s happy taking care of the kids.”

“They’re getting older.” She snapped her mouth shut and tamped down her inherent buttinskyness. In her business she often gave advice to men about their sex lives and other personal issues. Sometimes she was the only one they could talk to.

Leslie popped the remainder of the egg into her mouth. After she swallowed, she said, “Well I, for one, am impressed with the food and the organization.” Leslie could see that Joe’s mind had wandered so she grabbed the egg platter. “Is this ready to go out?”

Joe nodded so she headed back out toward the food area that had become a beehive of activity. A large table had been set up to serve as a bar and now was covered with bottles of wine and alcohol, with a few sizes of plastic glasses. Several large coolers filled with ice sat beneath it, and she watched people reach inside to get cans of soda or bottles of beer, supplied, she assumed, by the hotel. Leslie put her bowl with others, then wandered over and grabbed a can of Diet Coke. She popped the top, then stood watching the interplay of small groups of people.

She’d become an expert at reading the subtle clues in people’s body language. Several couples leaned close, talking and laughing lightly together, lovers on vacation, she thought with a smile. Several teens were sitting on the seawall talking companionably, arms draped over shoulders. Other people chatted comfortably in small groups while a number of singles strolled through the crowd looking to make connections. She was surprised at how many unattached people there were. Maybe this had become the once a month equivalent of a Manhattan singles bar.

“Hi, Leslie,” a quiet voice behind her said and she turned to see Abby. “Nice to see you again.”

Abby looked as though she’d made an effort with her wardrobe, wearing a becoming teal summer sweater and white slacks. She wore a touch of lipstick, something Leslie hadn’t seen before, and had curled her short brown hair. Leslie was quick to notice the two-carat diamond studs she wore in her ears and the rock the size of a small cube of sugar she wore with her wedding ring. Right, Leslie remembered, Abby’s husband was due to arrive from the city. Although no one seemed to get made up, she couldn’t help but wonder what a touch of mascara and shadow would do for this slightly mousey-looking woman’s toast-colored eyes. “Hi. Nice to see you again, too. Where are those wonderful children of yours?”

Abby pointed. “Over there with a bunch of their friends.” It was amazing how women brightened when they talked about their children. It did wonders for Abby’s looks. “It’s so nice to know that all the neighbors will have their eyes on everyone’s kids so I can be a little more relaxed.”

The two women stood on the edge of the growing gathering and watched the crowd. “I’m surprised at the number of people who seem to be single,” Leslie said. “I would think this would be sort of a couples thing.”

“I hadn’t focused on it but I guess it’s happened gradually. Vicki attracts guys like a magnet and several of the employees of the hotel come over to try to get—well let’s just say to get connected. She’s got a very active social life. Once the guys arrived a few unattached women from the hotel started to come over and it sort of just developed. Sometimes people who were singles in June are part of a couple by August. You know, summer romances and all.”

“An interesting dynamic,” Leslie thought out loud. Then, turning her attention to Abby, she said, “I remember that you said your husband arrives on Friday evening. Is he here yet?”

Abby hesitated, then said, “Oh, he’s often late. He works really hard.” She unconsciously patted the small square bulge in the pocket of her slacks. “I’ve got my phone and he’ll call when he’s on the road.” As if summoned, the phone rang. Abby clicked it on, then listened. “Great. I’ll see you in about an hour.” She turned away from Leslie and spoke softly into the phone, but Leslie couldn’t help but hear her quiet, “I love you and miss you.” She watched as Abby listened and then snapped the phone shut. “He’s on his way,” she said, with a slightly forced lightness. “He had to work late again.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting him when he gets here.”

Her voice filled with a kind of pride. “You’ll like him. Everyone does. He’s so handsome and charming.”

“What does he do for a living?”

“He’s a very well-known entertainment lawyer and agent.”

“Really? Does he work with anyone I’d know?”

Abby named a few TV personalities Leslie had heard of, two of whom she’d entertained herself. “That must be exciting,” she said. “Do you get to meet them?”

“Occasionally, but with the kids and all it’s tough for me to get out. Damian’s not big on babysitters.”

Smoke from the grill began to drift upward. “Is one of the men doing the cooking Suze’s husband?” Leslie asked, changing the subject.

Abby looked toward the grill. “The short, Hispanic guy is Carl Hernandez, Joe’s assistant at the market, and the taller one with the spatula is Kevin. I wonder where Suze is.” She looked around, spotted the mayor, and pointed. “There she is. She wouldn’t miss this.” She huffed out a breath. “She has to work the room. Some of these folks are voters.”

Suze was wearing beige slacks with a short-sleeved shirt with wide bright red, navy, and tan stripes. Anything to stand out in a crowd, Leslie thought. “Right, I see her.” Leslie decided to pump Abby for some local color. “Has she been mayor long?”

“Four or five years, I think. At least since I’ve been coming here.” She huffed out a breath. “She’s a bit difficult to take sometimes, but I think she’s got a good heart. I’m not sure what a mayor of a small town like Sound’s End does but she seems to be bustling around all the time. Meetings. Luncheons. Lord only knows.”

“I’ve no idea,” Leslie said with a shrug. She saw a small crowd gathered around a woman who seemed to be in her midthirties with a mane of blond hair that she seemed to flip with each turn of her head. “Is that the famous Vicki who makes Suze turn colors?”

Abby chuckled. “That’s her. And over there,” she pointed to a slender young woman sitting with the group of teens, “is Trish, her daughter. Vicki tells anyone who’ll listen that she had her when she was only sixteen.”

Leslie took several moments to study the two women. Vicki was a bit overblown, statuesque, with large breasts that she displayed beneath a Kelly green shirt with tails tied across her diaphragm. Tight white slacks emphasized her firm behind and, as opposed to the usual sneakers, she wore strappy white sandals. She was talking animatedly with several men, one of whom Leslie recognized as the guy who had checked her in at the hotel.

In contrast, her daughter wore jeans shorts and a polo shirt and sat talking to the young man who’d introduced himself as KJ, Suze’s son. She glanced back at the man doing the cooking and saw that the two men looked quite a bit alike, tall, lean yet muscular, both with curly, brown hair. The man from the hotel turned away from Vicki, caught Leslie’s eye then said something to another man that made him look her way, laugh, and give a thumbs-up sign. With a wide grin, he broke away from the group.

“Hello,” he said as he walked over. “It’s Leslie, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I’m surprised you remember.”

“We don’t get many women as attractive as you are,” he said, giving her a quick once-over.

Leslie kept her long sigh to herself. She was used to the effect she seemed to have on men, and it helped her no end in her job. In social situations, however, it became tiresome to constantly have to deflect come-ons. She turned. “You must know Abby.”

“Of course,” he said, his focus still on Leslie. “Nice to see you again.”

“Hi, Gerry,” she said, moving away. “I’m going to check on my kids.” She all but ran, leaving Leslie with Gerry.

“This is quite a crowd,” Leslie said, trying not to be too rude.

“It usually is.” He lowered his voice. “I was hoping you’d be here.”

She sipped her soda, then saw Brad leave his house and head for the grill. There it was, that little tingle of awareness. Shoving it to the back of her mind, she said, “I think I’ll say hello to Suze. If you’ll excuse me, Gerry.”

“Sure,” he said, looking deflated.

Leslie made a beeline for the mayor. “Hi, there. This is quite a party.”