Читать книгу Evil by the Sea - Kathleen Bridge - Страница 14

Chapter 3

A few minutes later, Liz, Ryan, and Kate entered the Indialantic’s lobby through the revolving door to find a short man with his back facing them. He had light-brown hair and a ponytail almost as long as Kate’s. He wore a white gauzy tunic top, tan drawstring pants, and brown sandals. He was addressing a wisp of a pale, waiflike, blonde haired woman dressed in a faded cotton print dress with white short socks and sandals. She looked like she was out of time and just got done milking a cow on her family’s Amish farm. Liz knew she wasn’t Dorian’s daughter.

Phoebe and her brother Branson were sitting on one of the cushioned bamboo loveseats, looking like they were viewing a movie. Dorian stood next to them. They were focused on the couple in the center of the lobby. All they needed was a tub of popcorn and some Twizzlers.

Dorian’s son Branson was tall, clean-shaven, and dressed in casual business attire. He had dark short hair. It was clear with his lean body and muscular torso that he visited a gym on a regular basis. The only thing that stopped him from being male model perfect was his protruding chin sporting a dimple so large you could lose a dime in it.

Phoebe was thirty, her brother thirty-three. She looked nothing like her mother. Her face was full, but unlined. Her dull brown hair was cut in a chin length bob. A white cotton shirt hung loosely over baggy khaki capris. Liz guessed she’d recently lost weight. Phoebe’s eye color mirrored her older brother’s dark gray, but that was where their similarity ended.

Aunt Amelia was behind the hotel’s registration counter with Barnacle Bob perched on her right shoulder. Her gaze was also focused on the couple in the center of the room. Even BB seemed to be watching them.

Liz almost didn’t notice a medium-sized man with tons of red hair tufting out from everywhere, except the top of his head, slouched in a bamboo chair behind a potted palm. His silky patterned shirt was unbuttoned. Hanging from a chain around his neck was an oversized gold nugget that nestled on top of red chest hair. He wore a sly smile, like he knew a secret the rest of people in the room didn’t. Either that or he was really enjoying what was going on in front of him. She deduced the red haired man must be Garrett, Dorian’s financial advisor. He was too old to be her fiancé, which left the ponytail man to be Julian Rhodes. But who was the young woman?

“Surprised I’m here, cousin Julian?”

“Yes, I am surprised you’re here,” Julian said to the unidentified woman. There was a definite edge to his voice. “How did you find my location, Wren?”

The woman’s huge hazel eyes reminded Liz of those popular Keane paintings from the sixties of big eyed children. Aunt Amelia had been given one by the artist herself. She’d kept it on her sitting room wall until a young Liz made her take it down because she thought the child in the portrait’s eyes were following her.

There was one difference between the paintings and the woman in front of them; there was no sense of innocence in her eyes when she said, “What does it matter, cousin Julian, I’m here and I want to share in your big day. Do you have a problem with that?” She wasn’t angry, more like smug. “I missed you, cuz.” She put both hands on her tiny hips. Her blonde almost white long hair was in pigtails, resembling the actress who played Laura Ingalls Wilder on TV’s 1970s Little House on the Prairie.

Julian must have felt their stares from behind. He did an about face and raked his eyes over Liz, Kate, and Ryan. “Who are you? I told Dorian this was a bad idea. I was informed the hotel wasn’t open to the public. Are you with the press?”

Aunt Amelia looked like a deer caught in the headlights as she stammered, “Mr. Rhodes, I’d like you meet my great-niece Liz, her best friend Kate, and her boyfriend Ryan.”

As if a switch had been flipped, Julian smiled. His Caribbean-blue eyes seemed otherworldly in his tanned, angular face. He came over to them and took both of Liz’s hands in his, then gazed into her eyes. After a few awkward seconds, she forced herself to blink, jerking her hands away like she’d been zapped with a Taser. Then she quickly slipped her arm through Ryan’s. Julian pulled the same hypnotic routine on Kate. For once Kate was left speechless. Liz would ask Kate later if she’d felt the same reaction to Julian’s touch.

Ryan gave Liz a questioning gaze, then said to Julian, “Congrats on your upcoming marriage.” He extended his hand and they shook.

Julian didn’t have time to respond, because Dorian asked, “Julian, love, don’t you think we should move up to our suite? Your cousin should probably look for a nearby hotel to stay at.”

The way Dorian said, cousin, was very clear. Chalk it up to her being a psychic, or woman’s intuition, but Liz could tell Dorian didn’t believe the woman was her fiancé’s cousin. And neither did Liz.

Wren gave Dorian a piercing look before turning to Julian and saying, “Yes, cuz, it’s been a long day of travel. My bag is outside on the pavement. I’ve already checked in town. Everything is booked because of some mermaid festival.”

Dorian stepped to the center of the lobby and stood under the Lalique chandelier. “I’m sure there’s something in Vero Beach.”

Aunt Amelia came from behind the counter and stood next to Dorian. Barnacle Bob rode her shoulder like a pro. Addressing Julian, she said, “If you’ll give me a little time to get another suite cleaned out, there shouldn’t be a problem having your cousin stay here.” Then she turned to Wren. “I’ll have some finagling to do but rest assured things will be straightened out shortly.”

It was obvious Aunt Amelia had missed Dorian’s message of not wanting Wren to stay at the Indialantic. The hotel suites had been cleaned and aired out for the guests; which included Dorian, her fiancé Julian, Dorian’s financial adviser Garrett, and Dorian’s children. Julian wanted a small wedding and he was going to get one. The guest list hadn’t included anyone from Julian’s side of the family. She was just happy Aunt Amelia was starting small in her quest to turn the Indialantic into a destination venue. The last event at the hotel, the Literary New Year’s Eve Masquerade Ball had been a success, with a slight glitch, as in a murder. Now, with the wedding, and the extra money brought in from the Mystical Merfest, along with the rent from the emporium shops, the Indialantic would continue to keep its head above water. The hotel’s five permanent residents also paid rent. Most were on social security with small pensions. Kindhearted Aunt Amelia only charged them what was within their means. Liz’s attorney father, Fenton, also lived and worked at the Indialantic in a four room apartment at the rear of the hotel, which included an office with a separate entrance. He took on small legal cases, sometimes being paid in grouper or sea bass instead of cash. He was as altruistic as his paternal aunt and that was one of things Liz loved most about the pair.

Barnacle Bob remained unerringly quiet. Something was up. Liz glanced around for Dorian’s ferret, but didn’t see Farrah.

“In the meantime,” Aunt Amelia said to Wren, “Why don’t you have a seat in the courtyard? Someone will bring you iced tea or Pierre’s lemon limeade.”

Smiling, Wren said, “I would prefer something stronger. A shot of tequila or one of those umbrella type tropical drinks you guys are known for down here, if not, a margarita will do.”

Barnacle Bob, who’d so far had been on his best behavior, leaned forward, his sharp beak close to Wren’s small, pert nose. In his TV announcer’s voice, he said, “How about a punch? A Hawaiian Punch? Bam!” The macaw was referencing an old fruit drink commercial, Hawaiian Punch being one of her great-aunt’s go to beverages. Liz thought the drink’s sugar content was enough to make a type 2 diabetic out of a vegan.

Wren laughed. “You’re a nasty bird, aren’t you? I like nasty.”

She was no Laura Ingalls Wilder.

Dorian whizzed by her, giving the young woman an almost imperceptible elbow jab on her way to her fiancé’s side. “Julian, darling, Amelia’s assigned us the Oceania Suite. Wait until you see it. The terrace has a magnificent view of the ocean. And I’ve been down to the beach. It will be perfect for tonight’s blessing and ritual of prophecy, protection, divination, and love under a full magnificent moon.”

Not wanting to have to take control of the awkward scene, Liz breathed a sigh of relief when assistant manager Susannah entered the lobby. She looked around, assessed the situation and went to stand next to Aunt Amelia like she was ready for battle. For all the skirmishes she and Aunt Amelia had been in when it came to snagging prime parts at the Melbourne Beach Theatre Company, the two could still surprise everyone by acting like they were besties.

“Susannah, just in time,” Aunt Amelia said. “I need to get the Swaying Palms Suite aired out. Can you deliver some towels and clean linens to me when you have a chance?”

“Of course, Amelia.” Something was up, Susannah wasn’t usually so agreeable. Susannah looked at Liz and pointed to the nonexistent watch on her wrist, then mouthed, “I need to talk to you.”

Liz made sure no one was looking, then gave her a thumbs up.

As Aunt Amelia led Wren to the open doorway leading to the courtyard, Liz thought she saw Wren wink in Julian’s direction. He didn’t return it, only scowled.

The red haired man cleared his throat and Dorian said, “I’m sorry. This is Garrett McGee, my financial advisor and friend.” She gave him a warm smile.

“Friend first,” he added, giving Dorian a huge grin. He got out of his chair and came to where Susannah, Liz, Ryan, and Kate were standing. Then he exuberantly shook their hands. His grip was firm, and his green eyes matched his easygoing grin. “Crazy thing. A wedding and a mermaid festival all rolled into one.”

“Garrett, don’t forget the summer solstice,” Dorian said. “It will be the perfect merging of my spiritualism and astrological views and Julian’s Wiccan beliefs.

“Sounds complicated,” Garrett replied, shooting a distrustful glance at Julian. It was obvious there was no love lost there.

“Yes, Garrett,” Dorian answered, obviously not seeing the animosity in his eyes when he looked at her fiancé, “A Mystical Merfest and the summer solstice are perfect for our union. The Gemini twins are snug in their house and the full moon will be on hand in the next couple days. Right, dear?”

Julian remained mute, so Dorian explained. “The Sunshine Wiccan Society is different from other sects. They do use the pentagram, the only traditional symbol most people think about when they think of witchcraft. Other than that, it’s as the name suggests. Julian’s society is all about light and spiritual blessings. Pagan, but not archaic and dark. Spells are only performed for good, never evil. Right, dear?”

He shrugged his shoulders and looked like he would rather be anywhere but where he was.

“We best get you unpacked,” she added.

“Susannah, do you know what suites Auntie has assigned our wedding guests?” Liz asked, wanting to break up the not-so-cozy scene.

Her straight stance and in control, no nonsense demeanor took over. “Yes of course. Mr. Starwood you’re in the Golden Sands Suite…”

“My last name is Arnaud not Starwood,” Branson said.

“My apologies, and your sister, Ms…”

“She goes by Starwood, even though it’s mother’s maiden name. Helps her sell that ridiculous book of hers.”

Susannah seemed to have had enough. Acting like a subservient servant wasn’t in her wheelhouse. She snapped, “Whatever name she goes by, she will be in the Island Breeze Suite.” Realizing everyone was staring at her, including Dorian, she continued in a softer tone, “Mr. McGee, you’ve been assigned the Indian River Suite. Everyone can leave their luggage here, and someone will bring it up to you.”

“Thank you. It’s no problem. I can get mine,” Garrett answered, making it clear he wouldn’t be carrying anyone else’s.

She looked toward Ryan. He smiled and gave Susannah a salute. “I’ll bring everyone’s luggage up.” It wasn’t his job, but Liz appreciated him helping out, especially by the looks of Phoebe’s two huge suitcases.

Dorian grabbed Julian’s wrist. “Now that that’s settled.” She led him to the bottom of the lobby’s spiral staircase, and they started up the staircase.

“Mama. Dorian,” Phoebe called out, “aren’t you going to introduce me to your fiancé?” She had a very slight French accent, not as strong as Pierre’s, the Indialantic’s eighty-one-year-old chef and Liz’s surrogate grandfather.

Branson slapped his sister on the arm. “He already introduced himself to you before Mother came in, dweeb. And what’s with that fake French accent. You were only in Paris for three weeks.”

Phoebe shot her brother a dirty look. “Just because you’re old pals with our future stepdaddy…”

Liz saw Julian wince at her words.

She continued, “Doesn’t mean he and I can’t do some bonding in the next couple of days.”

It seemed Phoebe had never met Julian before.

Branson made a fist and tapped her upper arm.

“Mama, he slapped me.”

It wasn’t forceful, and it wasn’t a slap.

Halfway up the staircase, Dorian turned to look down at them.

“For heaven’s sake, Mama! You know it’s bad luck to turn on a staircase. Thought you read my book? At least you listened to me and are getting married in June.” In a singsong voice she added, “Married in the month of roses—June. Life will be one long honeymoon.”

Branson added his two cents. “Why would anyone read a book on superstitions? Only to have more things to worry about. You know you only wrote it as a publicity ploy, taking advantage of the Dorian Starwood franchise. A bunch of bull. Just like your tarot reading at my restaurant. You’re no intuitive. If I could only tell you how many complaints we’ve gotten about your doom-and-gloom prognostications.”

“It’s not your restaurant. Mama bought it for you after she pulled you out of that hellhole you were living in. You want me to just make crap up? I read’em as I see’em. Mama taught me how to weave the cards together to create a story that supports my intuitive abilities. Right, Mama?”

“Branson!” Dorian admonished.

Her son’s face was redder than BB’s chest feathers. He closed his eyes and slipped into some kind of meditative state for about the count of ten, then opened them. “Sorry, Mother.”

Dorian looked toward Liz, Kate, and Ryan. “No worries. I know how things turn out. Soon they’ll be best friends.” Then Dorian and Julian continued up the staircase.

Liz couldn’t wait until the wedding was over. Come Monday she could get back to her editing and start collecting ideas for a third book. It was funny, when she first came back to the Indialantic after the trauma she’d been through, she couldn’t write a word. Now, she couldn’t wait to get started.

Ryan must have been on the same wavelength as he whispered to her, “If the whining doesn’t stop, I might be the first one to throw a punch as Barnacle Bob alluded to. Looks like this small wedding’s going to pack a big wallop.”

Now who was the psychic?