Whiskey Beach Part 89

Even as he stepped to the door, the wild, warning barks erupted from inside.

He stumbled back, heart racing into his throat.

He'd seen Landon with a dog on the beach, but it had seemed friendly, playful. Harmless, the sort of dog you trusted with your kids.

He'd put a couple of dog biscuits in his bag, as a bribe.

The violence of the barking didn't speak of the easily bribed. It spoke of vicious teeth, snapping jaws.

Cursing, near to tears, he backed away. Next time, the next time he'd bring meat. Poisoned.

Nothing would keep him out of Bluff House and away from what was rightfully his.

He needed to calm down, and he needed to think. It infuriated him most of all that he needed to go back to work, at least for a few days. But that would give him time to think, and to plan. Maybe come up with a new idea to implicate Landon or the woman. To get one or both of them out of the house, into police custody for a time. Enough time.

Or maybe one of the Boston Landons would have an accident. That would draw the b.a.s.t.a.r.d out of the house. Clear the road.

Something to think about.

Now he needed to get back to Boston himself and regroup. Put in appearances, make sure he was seen where he was supposed to be seen, make sure he talked to those he was supposed to talk to.

Everyone would see an ordinary man going about his work, his day, his life. No one would see how extraordinary he was.

He'd rushed it, he thought now as he checked his speed, made sure he stayed within the posted limit. Knowing he was close had driven him too fast. He'd throttle back a bit, give everything and everyone time to settle.

When he came back to Whiskey Beach he'd be ready to move, ready to win. He'd claim his legacy. He'd dispense justice.

Then he'd live as he deserved to. Like a pirate king.

He drove carefully by the beach-front restaurant where Eli and Abra held hands across the table.

"I like dating," Abra commented. "I'd almost forgotten."

"Me, too."

"I like first dates." She picked up her wine, smiled over the gla.s.s. "Especially first dates where I don't have to decide if I'm going to let myself be talked into bed."

"I really like the last part of that."

"You're home. You're home in Whiskey Beach. It shows, and I know how it feels. Tell me your plans for Bluff House. You have them," she added, taking a finger off the stem of the gla.s.s to point at him. "You're a plan-maker."

"I used to be. For a while, for too long, just getting through the day was too much of a plan. But you're right, I've been thinking about plans for the house."

She edged forward, candlelight in her eyes, the roll of the sea through the wide gla.s.s beside them. "Tell me all."

"Practicalities first. Gran needs to come back. She'll stay in Boston and work on her therapy until she's ready, then she'll come home. I was thinking of an elevator. I know an architect who'd come out, take a look. There's going to be a time when she can't handle the stairs, so maybe an elevator's an option. If not, eventually we could see about turning the smaller parlor into a bedroom suite for her."

"I like the elevator. She loves her bedroom, and loves being able to go all over the house. It would help her have all that. I think it's years off, but it's good planning. What else?"

"Update that old generator, do something with the bas.e.m.e.nt. I haven't figured that out yet. Not a priority. The third floor's more intriguing."

"New office s.p.a.ce for the novelist."

He grinned, shook his head. "First on the list with the elevator-I want to have parties in Bluff House again."

"Parties?"

"I used to like them. Friends, family, good food, music. I want to see if I still like them."

The idea made her almost giddy. "Let's plan one, a big one, for when you sell your book."

"That's an if."

"I'm an optimist, so it's when."

He shifted when the waiter served their salads, waiting until they were alone again. Superst.i.tious or not, he didn't want to plan a party around the book he'd yet to finish much less sell.

Compromise, he thought.

"Why don't we have a welcome-home party when Gran comes back."

"That's perfect." She gave his hand a squeeze before she picked up her fork. "She'd love it. I know a great swing band."

"Swing?"

"It'll be fun. A little retro. Women in pretty dresses, men in summer suits because I know she'll be back before the end of summer. Chinese lanterns on the terraces, champagne, martinis, flowers everywhere. Silver trays full of pretty food on white tables."

"You're hired."

She laughed. "I do some party planning here and there."

"Why am I not surprised?"

She tapped the air with her fork. "I know people who know people."

"I bet. What about you and plans? Your yoga studio."

"It's on the slate."

"I could back you."

She inched away, just a little. "I like backing myself."

"No investors allowed?"

"Not yet anyway. I'd like a good s.p.a.ce, comfortable, serene. Good light. A mirrored wall, maybe a pretty little fountain. A good sound system the way the one at the church is absolutely not. Lighting I could dim. Color-coordinated yoga mats, blankets, blocks, that sort of thing. Eventually establish enough to take on a couple other instructors but nothing too big. And a little treatment room for ma.s.sages. But for now I'm happy doing what I'm doing."