Storm Season. Charlotte Douglas

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СКАЧАТЬ at the house until I could talk to you.”

      “You could have taken her to a motel.”

      “I tried, but Labor Day weekend’s coming up. Every decent motel or hotel in the area is booked solid.”

      “How long do you intend for her to stay at our place?” I tried but couldn’t keep the hostility from my voice.

      Bill rose from his chair, crossed the cabin, sat next to me, and took both my hands in his. “I love you, Margaret. Whatever there was between Trish and me is over and done. Dead. I’m not the same man I was all those years ago.”

      But he’d loved Trish before, a nagging little voice in my head insisted. And if he’s around her long enough, he might love her again.

      “If you don’t want her in our house,” he said, “say the word. I’ll find someplace else, even if I have to rent Abe Mackley’s guest room.”

      Abe, now retired, had been a detective with us in Tampa. I doubted his wife wanted Trish around any more than I did.

      “What’s your plan?” I knew Bill wouldn’t have brought Trish all the way across the country without some thought of what to do with her once she arrived.

      “First, find her another place to stay. Our house is only temporary until she can locate an apartment. I’ll loan her some funds until she can get a job and pay me back.”

      “What kind of job?” Breaking into the workforce at sixty was no easy feat.

      “Trish was a secretary in a law firm before we married,” Bill said.

      “Typewriters ruled in those days.” I shook my head. “She’ll need training, unless she’s already learned computer skills and the necessary programs.”

      “Then she can sign up for courses at the Clearwater campus of St. Petersburg College.”

      Knowing Bill, he’d pay for that, too. Here I was, figuratively rubbing my hands with glee over what-goes-around-comes-around, while he, the person Trish had hurt the most, was bending over backward to bail her out of deep doo-doo. I should have been ashamed.

      But I wasn’t.

      “It’s up to you, Margaret,” he said.

      “Why me? She’s your ex-wife.”

      “Because you’re the most important person in my life, and I won’t do anything that would hurt you or make you uncomfortable.”

      Great. All I had to do was say the word. Bill would leave Trish to fend for herself, and I’d spend the rest of my days feeling like the world’s most selfish bitch.

      I tried to shove emotion aside and let reason reign. What harm would it do to let Trish stay in our house a few days until she could find her own place? Bill and I hadn’t planned to move in for a few more weeks. And just because Trish had been heartless all those years ago didn’t mean I had to follow her example. If Bill could forgive her and show compassion, so could I.

      “You’re right,” I said, feeling magnanimous. “We’d be cruel not to help her.”

      He enveloped me in his arms, and his lips brushed my ear. “I knew you’d understand. You’re a good woman, and I’m a damned lucky man to have you. It’ll all work out, you’ll see.”

      I wished I shared his optimism. I saw potential disaster no matter what decision I made, and I wouldn’t rest easy until the glamorous Trish was once again out of our lives and, preferably, at least three thousand miles away again.

      Bill released me. “We’ll take Trish to dinner tonight to try to cheer her up.”

      I stifled a groan. Talk about a rock and a hard place. I didn’t want to socialize with Bill’s ex, but I didn’t want him alone with her, either. I was mulling over which was the lesser of two evils when Bill’s cell phone rang.

      He answered and handed it to me. “It’s Darcy.”

      “I’ve got a hysterical woman on the other line,” Darcy said.

      My first thought was that Trish had called the office.

      “She says somebody’s trying to kill her,” Darcy added.

      “Tell her to call 9-1-1.”

      “I already did. She claims she’s talked to the police and there’s nothing they can do. She wants to talk to you.”

      “Make her an appointment for first thing in the morning.”

      “Tried that. She wants to see you now. Says she needs a bodyguard.” Darcy paused. “She’s either a total weirdo or really scared out of her mind, Maggie. I can’t tell which over the phone.”

      “Give me her address,” I said with a sigh. One dilemma, at least, was solved. If I was interviewing Darcy’s caller, I wouldn’t have to go to dinner with Bill and Trish.

      “Her name’s Kimberly Ross,” Darcy said, “and she lives in the penthouse at Sun and Sea condos on Sand Key.”

      “Tell Ms. Ross I’m on my way.” I pushed End and gave Bill his phone and a summary of Darcy’s message. “I’ll have to pass on dinner. Can you take care of Roger? I don’t know how long this will take.”

      “Of course.” He grasped my chin and tipped my face to look into my eyes. “You sure you’re okay with this Trish thing?”

      “No,” I answered honestly, “and I need time to think about it. But the woman has to eat, so I have no objection to your taking her to dinner.”

      Okay, so that second part wasn’t so honest, but with Trish back in the picture, the last thing I wanted was to come across as an insensitive jerk or rabidly jealous. I’d wait, assess the situation and then, if I thought Trish posed the slightest threat to our relationship, I’d scratch her gorgeous green eyes out.

      “You’re the best, Margaret.” Bill kissed me to back up his words.

      Leaving Roger with Bill and heading for my car, I could only hope, with Trish back in town, that I maintained that ranking.

      

      GOING-HOME TRAFFIC was heavy on Edgewater Drive all the way through downtown Clearwater and across the arching bridge that led to the causeway and the beach. I crossed the causeway, navigated the roundabout and headed south on Gulf Boulevard. Beach real estate was in a state of flux. Where mom-and-pop motels and restaurants had once stood, land had been cleared for multistory luxury condos. In the coming years, families that now swarmed the area for a last fling before going back to school would find no affordable places to vacation. Only the rich and richer would be able to afford living on the beach. That famous white sugar sand might as well be gold dust.

      I crossed the Clearwater Pass Bridge onto Sand Key and watched for the sign for Sun and Sea among the towers of condos on the Gulf side. I found the complex south of the Sheraton and turned into the drive. When I pulled up to the entrance, yellow crime scene tape flapped in the onshore breeze just inside the gate.

      Although I’d never been СКАЧАТЬ