“Yeah, I can see that.” His jaw tightened, and he nodded toward Paul, making it clear that there would be no polite introductions and he wanted Paul to exit the scene.
Paul looked from me to Ross and back, his forehead wrinkling against the dorky hat, the leather stampede string catching on his ear and hanging cockeyed beside his mouth so that he looked like Gilligan. If Ross was the mad pit bull in this stare-down, Paul was the clueless Labrador retriever with no idea that he was about six inches from a bad situation.
“Thanks again for telling me about J.T.,” I repeated, then snagged my grocery sack off the tailgate.
“Sure. Anytime. He’s a good student. Whenever I see him drawing those . . . things he draws, I’ll know it’s Zago Wars, not Pokémon.” Paul grinned amiably. “No wonder he’s been giving me the lame-oh look every time I say that.”
“That’s good. Well, have a great afternoon.” I reached for Ross, intending to catch his arm and turn him toward his own vehicle. I could feel the testosterone radiating in the air, like steam off a boiler.
“This the guy that was at your house when I called the other night?” Ross shifted his weight to one leg, bracing the other in front of himself, slightly bent so that his posture had a forward slant, a silent challenge to it.
A familiar rush of queasiness swirled through me. Since I was little, I’d known the feeling of a conflict working toward a flash point.
Apparently Paul didn’t have a clue about things like that. He smiled and jutted an open hand toward Ross. “Paul Chastain.” The greeting was relaxed and casual. Ross gave him the eye, and Paul just stood there with his hand hanging, like he didn’t even notice that he was failing to read the international man sign for back off.
Finally Ross shook Paul’s hand. “Ross.” He followed with a head jerk in the direction of his truck. “C’mon, Tandi. Wind swell’s got the surf pumping waist-plus off Pea Island. Gotta fix a faucet at one of the rentals, and then I’m headed that way to meet the crew.” His lips squeezed tight over the last word in a way that made it more than a casual invitation. This was a test.
“Sure.” I knew Paul was watching me. He rubbed his chin with the backs of his fingers, sliding the stampede string over his ear as his gaze fluttered past mine, a question in it.
Ross was already striding across the parking lot to his truck. I could feel the distance growing, the pressure increasing like a rubber band tightening. If I didn’t give, it would snap, and Ross would be off to the beach without me. There was a good chance he wouldn’t be coming back again after that.
“Well, enjoy your crab dinner,” I said awkwardly, then turned and trotted after Ross. He was already settling into the driver’s seat and starting the engine as I stepped onto the running board. For a minute, I thought he’d decided not to unlock my door, but then the button clicked and I slid in just before the truck lurched forward.
All four wheels spun, spitting out a shower of gravel that pinged against the metal on Bink’s store. I imagined Paul ducking out of the way, protecting the bucket of blue crab, but I didn’t look back to check.
“Geez, Ross. Bink is probably taking down your license number so he can complain to the police the next time they come in for doughnuts.”
Ross rolled his eyes and snorted. “I don’t give a rip about Bink.” The edge in his voice pushed something heavy through my stomach again, and what was left of Geneva Bink’s sausage created a hungry-sick feeling that took me back to Dallas. I hated it when Trammel talked to me that way —like he was disgusted by so many things about me, and I’d just reminded him of every little flaw.
Ross rolled down his window, and the breeze swirled my hair away from my face, cooling the burn in my cheeks. It wasn’t right for me to hold things against Ross just because I’d been stupid enough to get myself involved with a man like Trammel Clarke. Ross and Trammel weren’t anything alike. Ross made an honest living, for one thing. He worked hard. He was entitled to be in a bad mood if he wanted to, and he had come by Fairhope to find me, which meant that I mattered. He could’ve just headed for the beach without me. Of course, then he and his friends wouldn’t have anyone to run video cameras while they surfed, which was usually my job.
Ross looked me up and down, taking in the holey-kneed jeans and the T-shirt that was dirty from working all morning at Iola’s. “Where’ve you been, anyway? I stopped by your place looking for you a minute ago.”
“I went up to Bink’s to get some trash bags. I’m doing some cleaning work for the church. That’ll take care of my rent for a while, I hope.” I left it at that. I had a feeling that if Ross knew I had the key to Iola’s big white house, he’d expect to take a look inside. He was curious, just like everyone else.
We passed the driveway, and he pulled off into the ditch. “You need anything from your place?”
A mixture of guilt and curiosity nibbled at me as I looked through the trees at Iola’s house, and for a fraction of a second I wished that Ross hadn’t come by. I needed to be working, but more than that, I wondered what other pieces of Iola’s life I might find in there. After reading her letter on the desk yesterday, I’d started peeking in drawers and looking in cabinets when I didn’t need to. I hadn’t found anything else like the letter —or much of anything personal at all. It was almost as if Iola were only a visitor in the house, keeping her life in containers rather than moving in. What would cause her to do that? Was she afraid of something in there?
“Tandi, you need anything from your place?” Ross repeated, wrapping his fingers over the gearshift impatiently.
“Sorry. I zoned out for a sec.” Actually, I was trying to remember whether I’d locked all the doors at Iola’s before walking over to Bink’s for trash bags. I couldn’t go away and leave the place open, but I didn’t want Ross to see me with the keys, either.
“You know what?” I turned to him and smiled. “Why don’t you just drop me here and come back after you fix the faucet?” As much as I liked wandering the decks and checking out the view at the rental places, I couldn’t take the chance that Brother Guilbeau might come by and find Iola’s house hanging wide open. “That way I won’t be holding you up. It’s not too far for you to run back by for me, is it?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess not. Whatever. I’ll be back in forty-five.” He frowned and checked his watch —a fancy titanium Lodown with some feature he could use to check the tide on two hundred beaches around the world. “Less if I can patch the stupid thing back together good enough to hold for a while. Be ready.”
“I will.” I slid out the door and started toward the cottage, then turned in the direction of the main house when Ross was out of sight.
The water was running upstairs when I stepped through Iola’s front door. It sounded like a flash flood might cascade through the plaster any moment.
“Oh no!” Kicking the door shut behind me, I ran up the stairs two at a time.
Luckily, when I reached the bathroom, the sink was keeping up well enough that the basin was only half-full. As soon as the faucet was off, the drain slurped away the remaining pool, then went silent. In the quiet, the sound of bells pressed through, the music high and soft, drawing me down the hall and into the turret room. This time, the cat was standing in the window with one paw braced on the glass and the other toying with the bells on the suncatcher. One, two, three in succession, then two, then one, one, three, two, one, as if he were listening to the tone of each bell and putting together a melody.
“What are you doing up here again?” My voice disturbed the dust in the air, and the cat paused to look at me, his topaz eyes blinking slowly beneath the bitten-off ear. The shepherd’s hook tail twitched slightly.
“You know, you’re about the ugliest cat I’ve ever seen.”
His nose lifted a little, the gesture conveying that he really had no use for my opinions. Turning soundlessly, he crossed the walnut night table, then circled Iola’s resting spot before rolling over in the center of the quilt and stretching his front paws into a patch of indigo fabric.
“What, you’re not going to run and hide this time?”
A twitch of the broken ear and a yawn answered my question.