Page 66 of Ten Beach Road

“She has a point,” Chase said.

“Besides, I’m just documenting the process like you all asked me to,” Kyra said. “I think the exposure could help when it comes time to put Bella Flora on the market.”

“All we were really looking for were before and after shots, Kyra,” Avery said. “I seriously doubt our target buyer is checking out real estate on YouTube.”

“Everybody watches YouTube,” Kyra said.

“Well, everybody doesn’t need to be yucking it up at our expense. If you’re planning to keep posting, you need to drop the snarky commentary and make it a little bit more about the house and a lot less about us,” Avery said. “And you,” she said to Chase. “I’ll let you know how the re-chroming goes.”

Satisfied, she walked out through the open front door before either of them could respond. She hadn’t exactly asked and he hadn’t really yelled. Perhaps, Avery thought as she retrieved her portable GPS and slid into the passenger seat of Nicole’s Jag, that was progress of some kind.

“I can’t believe she put us on YouTube without telling us.” Nikki had wound a white scarf around her auburn hair and put on an oversized pair of designer sunglasses. In the classic convertible, she might have been an old-time Hollywood starlet. “I look like shit on those videos. Inept and sweat-soaked are not the images I’m looking to project.”

“No kidding.” Avery sank lower in the leather seat. “I’m not exactly wild about appearing without a hair and makeup person. And frankly I’ve had enough of looking like a fool in front of a national audience to last a lifetime.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Nikki said as they headed off the beach. And then, “Speaking of arguing, what’s going on with you and your mother?”

“Nothing,” Avery said. “And that’s the way I’d like to keep it.”

“You’re not planning to accept her apology?” Nicole asked. The ends of the white scarf streamed behind her adding yet another whiff of glamour. As if she needed one.

“I haven’t heard an apology,” Avery said. “I’ve heard an offer to decorate. Those are not the same things.”

They rode in silence for a while traveling farther inland. Retail stores and restaurants multiplied, then grew sparse again as they moved into a more industrial area. The air remained warm but was no longer salt-tinged.

“Hardly anyone gets through life without being hurt or hurting others,” Nicole said, driving past a storage facility and several commercial warehouses. The Jag jounced over a railroad track.

“Yes, well, that’s easy to say when you’ve lived the charmed life you have—running around fixing up famous rich people.” Avery was on a rant now, not even pausing to let Nicole respond. “When I hear an ‘I’m sorry I abandoned you and ignored you for over a decade’ from Deirdre followed by an explanation that doesn’t reek of total selfishness, I’ll decide whether the apology should be accepted.” Avery didn’t want to think about how long she’d hoped for this very thing or how long ago she’d given up on it. “Maybe Hallmark will come up with a card to that effect and she can slip it under my bedroom door.”

They drove in silence for a time. At the GPS’s insistence, Nicole pulled into the parking lot of a former filling station. Several vintage cars sat behind a chain-link fence, but the doors to the service bay and office stood open. A rusty metal sign proclaimed that they had arrived at Alfred’s Auto Body Shop. Beneath it were scrawled the words Home of the King of Chrome.

Nikki turned off the engine and contemplated the sign. “What are we doing here?”

“I hope we’re going to get the bathroom fixtures re-chromed.”

“Does Alfred know that?”

“Not exactly,” Avery conceded as they climbed out of the Jag.

Nicole removed the scarf and dropped it in the driver’s seat. “Do they even do that here?”

“I’m not sure,” Avery replied. “But I don’t know why theycouldn’t.”

They looked up and saw a tall gangly man with pale white skin and the name Alfred stitched across the pocket of his splotched work shirt. A shock of faded red hair fell over one eye, and he tugged at the waistband of his ancient work pants, which hung so low on his nonexistent hips that Avery couldn’t help wondering how they stayed up.

The stark metallic smell of chemicals preceded him as he sauntered closer. “Nice ride,” he said with admiration. “Don’t see too many of those around here. It’s a V12 ’74 XKE, isn’t it?”

“You’ve got a good eye.” Nicole smiled at him. “And my friend and I here are hoping you have the right equipment.”

“Oh, Lord, I hope so,” he said fervently, and Avery knew she’d been right to ask Nikki to accompany her. “Car looks in mighty fine shape. Love that butterscotch interior. And if you don’t mind my sayin’ so, so do you two.” His look turned quizzical. “You sure you’re in the right place?”

Avery retrieved the two legs and the box of fixtures from the Jag’s trunk and carried them to Alfred. “We hope so.”

He stared down into the box, then reached in and pulled out a handle. “But this is bathroom stuff.” He considered the multi-spoked knob before placing it back with the other parts. “I restore cars.”

“But it’s chrome,” Avery pointed out helpfully. “Good vintage chrome. From a really cool house built in the 1920s. It should be the same process as dipping rims and bumpers, shouldn’t it?”

“Well . . .” Alfred looked unconvinced. Apparently bathroom faucets didn’t float his boat in quite the same way as classic car rims.

---