Page 45 of Ten Beach Road

Chase smiled at that. He’d been mercifully noncombative and Avery intended to keep it that way. So rather than discuss or ask permission, she took Nicole by the arm and said, “I’m going to leave Madeline and Kyra with you, Chase. Nicole and I are going to start taking down the interior doors so we can strip and refinish them.”

“Wait,” Nicole said as Avery led her away. “I want to get a sharp stick and have it ready. Just in case.”

Later that week, Nicole finished her morning run on the beach with relief and walked across Beach Road, past Bella Flora, which still sat quietly in the early morning light, its driveway and front curb not yet littered with trucks or workmen. Stripping the doors, which meant leaning over them all day while she wiped the stripper on and off, was indeed stickin-the-eye-worthy, not to mention backache inducing, as was sleeping on a mattress every night. Each morning when she got up, straightening felt like a major accomplishment. She needed her morning run to work out the kinks.

Trying to bring her breathing back to normal, she continued to the sidewalk that hugged the bay and walked it at a leisurely pace. The neighborhood woke up around her, the occasional car passing on her left, the even more occasional boat puttering by on her right. Ahead she saw signs of life on the whitewashed wooden fishing pier. On the opposite corner of Eighth Avenue folks were already lined up for breakfast at the Seahorse Restaurant. The smells of frying bacon and freshly brewed coffee carried on the breeze.

Nicole stopped to lean against the concrete wall that bordered the sidewalk. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the smells along with the salty tang of the air and listened to the insistent caw of a lone gull. If it got any more exciting here she’d be asleep. When she opened them, she saw Kyra Singer approaching from the opposite direction.

The girl’s dark hair hung down her back in a careless braid and she hadn’t bothered to put on makeup, but even a close inspection proved the girl didn’t really need it. She had that clean, fresh-faced appeal that only those under thirty took for granted. Her eyes were a clear gray and she seemed practically bursting with rosy good health. Her legs were long and lean and her bust swelled against the tight T-shirt with its logo for some film production company.

“Hi.” Nikki nodded and the girl stopped and leaned against the concrete railing beside her.

“’Morning.”

“No video camera?”

“Nope, just out for a stroll.” Kyra smiled.

“I was beginning to think it was surgically attached.” So it had seemed yesterday morning when the girl had panned it down the line as they waited for the bathroom.

Kyra opened her hands, palms out. “Nope.” She smiled. “Not even Velcro’d.”

“I think I speak for all of us when I say that’s a good thing. I may have to use it at sunset.”

“You all are strangely camera shy,” Kyra said.

Things were bad enough without documented proof that she’d been reduced to performing manual labor. “How many women do you know who like to be filmed while sweat is pouring down their faces? Or standing in line to use a bathroom?”

“Point taken.” Kyra tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear and smoothed a hand over her stomach. “Are you ready for another day in the salt mines?”

“No,” Nikki said. “The only thing that’s keeping me going at the moment is that I figure if your mother can survive that re-glazing business, I can strip a few hundred doors.”

Over Kyra’s shoulder Nikki noticed a van approaching. She’d noted the name of the cable company painted on its side and had begun to turn back to Kyra when the van’s horn beeped twice. Feeling the workmen’s assessing gaze on them, her own gaze narrowed at their nerve. Which was when she recognized the dark good looks of the man in the passenger seat. Agent Giraldi saluted her with an annoying tip of his cap as the van drove by and made the turn onto Beach Road.

“Cable company,” she said with a grimace that she could tell from Kyra’s expression was out of place. “I, uh, think I’ll head back to the house to make sure they, um, put the outlet in the right place.” Not waiting for a reply, Nikki turned and strode after the van, ready to head the agent off at the pass. Kyra fell in beside her. If she thought it strange that they were racewalking back toward the house, she didn’t comment.

Giraldi was already out of the van with a coil of cable over one broad shoulder and a work order in the other hand by the time she reached Bella Flora. Unable to accost him in front of Kyra, she followed him and his partner inside and waited while Madeline led his colleague toward the salon and their lone television. Kyra shot Nikki one questioning look and followed them.

Giraldi stood staring up at the effigy that dangled from the upper landing. “Not a bad likeness,” he said softly. “Although I’m sure your brother is wearing a better suit and more expensive shoes. When we went into his home on Long Island I found twenty pair of Italian loafers—all handmade.” He shook his head. “He has a real thing for the Italian designers.” He turned to her, his eyes probing hers. “Just like his sister.”

She glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one could hear them, but she didn’t respond to the jibe.

“I guess growing up poor gives some people a craving for expensive things,” he continued. “Maybe it makes them think they’re entitled to those things, even if they have to steal to get them. But stealing is stealing. And thieves deserve to be punished.”

She ignored this, too. “What do you think you’re doing here? Are you planning to bug the house?” She kept her voice low, afraid that Kyra would come back with her camera rolling.

An upstairs door opened and closed and bare feet sounded on the floor above, but she didn’t know whose. “We’ve got rats and roaches. Oh, yes, and birds. We’ve also got dust, dirt, and a kind of caked-on salty grime that I’ve never encountered before. What are a few listening devices?” Her laugh held no humor. “I told you I haven’t been able to reach Malcolm, and he certainly hasn’t reached me.” Not a lie exactly since his email attempt had been unsuccessful and unclear.

“And how do you think your ‘partners’ would react if they knew you were related to Dyer?”

The answer of course was badly. In fact, she suspected she’d be hanging right next to the dummy, in person, at this very moment if they had any idea. But she knew it was better to brazen it out; she’d be damned if she’d let him see her fear. “Do you want to tell them?” she hissed as Madeline came down the hallway toward them. “Or shall I?”

“Tell me what?” Madeline glanced at Giraldi, seeing, no doubt, nothing more than an extremely good-looking cable installer.

Nicole was careful to keep her breathing normal and her face expressionless as she waited for him to “out” her. But he turned to Madeline and said, “We weren’t sure if you wanted another outlet upstairs. The one will be enough to network your computers off of, but we didn’t know whether you wanted outlets in the bedrooms.”

“I don’t think so,” Madeline said. “Do you, Nicole?”

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