12. Vivien
A s Peter ordered two glasses of pinot grigio, Vivien leaned back and pretended to take in the view from the deck known as a “skybar” in The Edge Seafood Restaurant. Not exactly a high-rise rooftop, but the open-air second-floor dining room was the perfect place for their dinner date.
The golden hues of the setting sun cast a warm glow over everything, and a light breeze carried the scent of salt and citrus. The soft murmur of other diners, the occasional clink of glasses, and the distant hum of motor boats blended into a relaxed ambiance.
A lovely restaurant, yes. But the sights, sounds, and experience Vivien liked the most was sitting across from her.
Peter McCarthy—the object of way too many girlhood fantasies, recipient of more than a few practice pillow kisses, and centerpiece of dozens of diary entries. She’d read one of those entries after getting dressed tonight, recalling the volleyball incident with nothing but affection for the person on that beach who didn’t laugh at clumsy Vivien.
And tonight? She was finally on a date with him.
Peter handed the wine menu back to the server, and pinned his dark gaze on her, a brow the same color as his light brown hair flicked with interest.
“Why are you smiling?” he asked.
“I can’t smile? I’m out with a great guy in the perfect place, and I’m happy. That’s why I’m smiling.”
He looked skeptical, leaning in. “That wasn’t just an ‘I’m having a good time’ smile. You were thinking of something that put a…gleam in your eye.”
“You’re so observant,” she said, purposely not sharing her thoughts.
“I’m a detective,” he replied, taking his napkin from under the fork and shaking it onto his lap. “I’m observant for a living.”
“It’s kind of like you can read minds,” she murmured.
“If I could, I’d know what put that smile on your face.”
“I’ll tell you later,” she promised. “Now, I just want to bask in the warmth of this sunset over the harbor, and thank you for being so nice and asking me to dinner tonight.”
“Nice?” He nodded. “I get that a lot. Not from the bad guys, obviously, but…from the ladies.”
“Because you are a considerate, classy, attentive man. That’ll earn you a ‘nice’ from most women.” She inched closer. “Which leads me to the obvious question—have there been a lot of ladies since you’ve been divorced?”
“Not a lot, no. I’ve had a few…I guess you could call them relationships. But nothing ever really developed. It’s fine. I’ve got a consuming job. Lots of colorful cases.”
“Like the one that brought you here? Can you tell me much about it?” she asked, sensing she should take the conversation off the more personal things, at least at the start.
“I can tell you I’m hitting more dead ends than live leads,” he said. “This guy just vanished. I’m starting to think he left the country, but we can’t find any record of him traveling.”
Eli had shared the most basic facts about the case, so Vivien knew a little about what Peter was working on.
“So, he’s a Pensacola resident—a salesman, right?” Vivien asked. “And he came here for a long weekend, never went home, and his car was here. That’s it? And his family reported him missing?”
“His ex-wife,” he said. “But only because he hasn’t paid alimony, which could be why he’s missing.”
“Huh.” She winced, thinking of other reasons he might have disappeared. “Could he be…you know?”
“Yeah,” he said, understanding the question. “But no body and no sign of foul play and no motive.”
“No other family or boss pushing to find him?”
“No one except the ex seems too concerned. Apparently, he’s a loner type who likes to travel, but the abandoned car is strange. He’s missed a few appointments and his cell phone is off; no record of use for a long time.”
“Don’t they say the spouse is always under suspicion, or have I watched too many Lifetime movies?”
He smiled. “They’re freakishly accurate,” he said. “She doesn’t really have a motive—their divorce was amicable.”
She rolled her eyes. “I believe a wise man once told me there really is no such thing.”
“I believe that wise man was me,” he acknowledged. “Maybe a tad bitter from all I’ve seen. But, anyway, we’ll figure it out.”
They ordered dinners, chatted about the restaurant and how the whole HarborWalk scene hadn’t existed when they were kids, sipping their wine.
“So tell me about this client you’ve reeled in, Vivien,” he said. “Pretty impressive to start a business from scratch in a whole new town.”
“Well, having Eli and my mother hand me the job to stage the Summer House was a huge boost. Then Tessa coordinated a party and her client’s wife introduced me to Fiona, my client.”
“Who gave you an outdoor shower as a test of your skills.”
She rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t her,” she said. “It was the incompetent handyman who had no idea where to point a sprinkler system. Why a woman with that much money couldn’t hire someone a little more skilled is beyond me.”
“Maybe she’s difficult to work with and that’s all she could get.”
Vivien’s jaw loosened and she pointed at him playfully. “Right on, Detective McCarthy. She is not an easy client.”
“Tell me about her.” He seemed genuinely interested, which she appreciated.
“She’s a wealthy widow and her husband owned one of the biggest property management firms in Destin. She’s running it now. She bought a big eighties-built faux Victorian in Indian Bayou and wants to do horrible things to it.”
He drew back, laughing. “Sounds criminal.”
“It is! She wants to take this house—which is admittedly in desperate need of an update and renovation—and turn it into some kind of soulless box of white and gray…nothingness. It won’t be easy to design.”
“And you have to do exactly what she wants?”
She angled her head. “To a point. Obviously, she holds the checkbook, but I’m hoping to introduce some colors and textures, and possibly put a little life into the place. She wants to strip out some really nice wood accents, too.”
Peter studied her, a glimmer of interest and admiration in his dark brown eyes. “I guarantee you’ll knock it out of the park.”
She felt her cheeks warm slightly at the flattery. “Thank you. It’s really a huge opportunity that can lead to more business. That’s important because my ex isn’t going to send me any clients or projects like he promised.”
Peter nodded thoughtfully, both of them quiet while their dinners were served, filling the air with the delicious aroma of grilled seafood.
“So I guess I owe you an apology,” he said as they began to eat.
“For what?” She held her fork without taking a bite, unable to imagine what he could apologize for.
“Oh, you know.”
She did? Then it dawned on her. “It’s fine, Peter.”
“No, really, I should have?—”
“No.” She put her fork down and put a hand over his, resting on the table. “You don’t have to apologize for things that happened thirty or thirty-five years ago. I was a dumb kid with a big fat crush and you didn’t owe me anything. If anything, I owe you an apology for following you around for all those summers, no doubt making it painfully obvious that you were the number one topic of all my diary entries. I mean, you could barely say a sideways word to me and I was writing, ‘Peter McCarthy brushed sand from my face,’ in all caps, underlined and heavily hearted. So, no apologies for…”
Her voice faded out as his expression slowly changed from sincere to confused to…seriously amused.
“I was going to apologize for sending you up the high road to make nice with your ex-husband,” he said, fighting a chuckle. “But then you gave me what cops call a panic confession.”
Very slowly, she lifted her hand as the blood rushed out of her head as she realized…what she’d confessed. “You…didn’t know…that?”
He laughed, his broad shoulders shaking. “Not one word.”
“Eli…didn’t tell you?” she croaked. “Like a bro code thing?”
“He’s your bro first. Eli is man of honor, and you are his beloved sister. He’d never betray your…what did you call it?” He leaned in, his eyes dancing with mirth. “A big fat crush ?”
She just stared at him, fighting a smile and a moment of profound embarrassment.
“So I guess my observation skills weren’t so great back then,” he said. “’Cause, honestly, I had no idea.”
She laughed and took a deep drink of wine. “Well, my secret’s out now.”
“Your diary, huh?”
“I have them all, thanks to Eli,” she told him. “He found them before he did demo; they were in an indestructible plastic container with instructions for immediate death to anyone who read them.”
He chuckled, searching her face. “What else did you write?”
She let out a sigh, relaxed now, and not feeling judged. “About the time I got a terrible sunburn and you walked a mile to buy me aloe vera.”
“I remember that,” he said. “We watched Ferris Bueller’s Day Off .”
“You do remember it!” She gave a little clap. “Yes, we did. And thus began a long crush.”
He shook his head, studying her. “I didn’t see you as, you know, a girl.”
“I know. But you sure saw…Bethany or Brittany…the blonde.”
“No recollection,” he admitted. “But you were a little more like family than a girl I’d pursue. I’m sorry.”
“You do not owe me an apology,” she insisted. “You were never anything but kind and, yes, you were more like a brother. Especially in the summers. During the school year, you weren’t around much.”
“I did sports and…took care of my mom,” he said. “My dad wasn’t in the picture by the time I was in high school. But in the summers, my mother went up to see my grandmother in New England. I had to choose between a trailer park in New Hampshire or the beach in Destin. Not a tough decision.”
She nodded, vaguely aware that he’d had a much tougher upbringing than the Lawson family.
“I’m glad you chose Destin,” she said, sensing that it wasn’t the right time to dig into his childhood—though she wanted to, and would, eventually.
“And the diaries are here?” he said. “I have to see one.”
“Oh, no, you don’t. You don’t need to see how many different ways a girl can write ‘Vivien McCarthy’ in pink Flair pen.”
He sucked in a breath. “You?—”
“I was thirteen. Fourteen. Maybe fifteen, although I haven’t gotten that far yet. A kid.”
“You were eighteen that last summer,” he said. “But I had a lot going on that year. Had to decide if I was going to drop out of school or join the military. It was a complicated time in my life, or I probably would have noticed you.” He inched in. “I’m noticing you now. Is that going to make a diary?”
Vivien’s breath caught slightly at his words, and she took another sip of wine, looking at him over the rim. “It might. Depends on if you brush sand off my face again.”
He reached over the table and grazed her cheek with his knuckle, leveling his gaze at her long enough for her to feel it right down to her toes.
“It’s my signature move,” he joked with a wink.
“And once again, I swoon.”
They both laughed and stayed quiet for a few seconds, enjoying the connection before they continued with the dinner and talked and laughed about a million different memories from the past.
They remembered the time Eli got stung by a jellyfish and Peter announced that the only thing that could save him was to pee on it. And the summer they were stuck inside for three days during a tropical storm, and spent the entire time playing a Monopoly marathon. They remembered meals they’d made, nicknames they’d invented, and a few more girls Eli had obsessed over.
“But no one could hold a candle to Tessa,” Peter said. “Especially the last two years. After she turned seventeen, Eli was a goner.”
“He was a goner from the day he saw her.” She looked skyward. “We all knew it. Even Kate, who felt about him like I did about you.”
“Another crush I didn’t know about.”
“We kept that one very secret because they were sisters and Eli was…oblivious.”
He lifted his brows. “Funny thing, though. I sense something real with Kate and Eli now. She’s special. Do you think they’ll work out?”
Vivien considered the question, narrowing her eyes as she thought. “I think they have a shot, except for the small matter of living a thousand miles apart. And his beliefs are strong. If she’s going to be in his life, I’d imagine she’d have to at least give faith a chance.”
He nodded. “I’ve thought of that, although he’s low-key about his religion.”
They finished eating and lingered over coffee and the conversation until it was well and truly dark. They finally left to walk with the tourists that filled the sprawling shopping and retail center.
As they got downstairs from the second-floor restaurant and stepped outside, Vivien let out a grunt of frustration.
“I left my cardigan on the chair,” she said. “I bring one for air-conditioning and always forget it.”
“Stay right here,” he said. “I’ll be back in a second.”
She gave him a grateful smile and leaned against the railing, looking out at the lights of the boats all over the harbor.
The strains of music from the restaurant floated down and she took a deep breath, replaying the conversation and feeling…something.
Warmth. Comfort. Security. Peter was a friend, and, yes, in some sense, a brother. She already loved him like that, but could it be more? She didn’t know, and considering the fact that her divorce wasn’t even final, it really was a moot point.
At the sound of a woman’s laugh, she looked up and caught sight of a couple upstairs, something about her pulling Vivien’s attention.
Was that Fiona Buckman?
It was! She was too far away to greet, but Vivien leaned back and watched her talking and laughing with a man seated across from her. Well, what do you know? The merry widow was on a date.
Vivien squinted to get a good look at the man in the shadows and soft restaurant light. He had a strong jaw, a handsome face, and the posture of confidence. Wealth, even. Or maybe that was the cut of a shirt that, even from a distance, looked custom made.
Wait a second. Wait one ever-lovin’ second.
She stood a little straighter, inhaling a sharp breath. Was that the handyman ? That handsome man who was definitely much younger than?—
“Here you go.”
“Oh.” She turned to see Peter, holding her sheer white sweater. “Thank you. I…”
“Who you stalking?” he asked as he slipped it over her bare shoulders, following her gaze.
“That’s Fiona, my client,” she said in a whisper, even though the woman couldn’t possibly hear her. “And she’s out with the hapless handyman! Who has to be ten years younger!”
He looked suitably impressed by the gossip, glancing up again. “Ah, well, that explains why she hires him. He’s…handy.”
She laughed, taking another look. “I’d have never guessed that. Maybe he moonlights as…an escort?”
He gave that same shrug that said nothing surprised him.
“He is dressed very nicely,” she added.
“Maybe he’s dipping into her bank account,” he speculated. “She wouldn’t be the first rich widow to be taken for a ride by a good-looking man.”
“He certainly doesn’t know his way around a toolbox,” she added, concern pressing on her heart. “Do you think he’s stealing from her? Or…what’s it called when a younger man pursues an older rich woman? Is it a crime?”
“It’s called life,” he cracked. “But if he exploited or coerced money from her, then we could get him for fraudulent inducement. But the real crime, if it happens, is that she’s dumb and, unfortunately, we don’t put people in jail for that. Or this place”—he waved toward the crowds—“would be empty.”
“So cynical,” she teased, giving him a playful elbow nudge.
“Hey, you’re the one assuming there’s a crime when a man and woman who are”—he peered up again—“maybe ten years apart in age are having dinner together.”
“True,” she admitted, taking one last look. “But I still think something’s up. I’ll have to keep an eye on him when I’m over there. What should I look for?”
He considered that as they walked. “Well, first watch for tells, like a new truck or expensive things that a handyman wouldn’t own. And see if you can find out if she pays him in cash or—this would be a major red flag—if his handyman’s talents extend to helping her with finances.”
“Oh, yes, I could see where that would be a problem.”
“Also, if he isolates her or she’s weirdly defensive about him. Those could be signs of some kind of manipulation.”
She smiled up at him. “Good thoughts, Detective.”
“Find out if he has a real job, his own place, or maybe disappears and only shows up when he needs money. Manipulators work in shadows, so shine light on him. If he’s a con artist, you’ll find out.”
“But will Fiona want to know?” she wondered.
“Hey, maybe she’s falling for the guy and wants a second chance at life.” He leaned into her. “Would that be so bad?”
She laughed as he put an arm around her and guided her through the tourists.
“Keep me posted. I love undercover work, and I’m happy to teach you my powers of observation and deduction…” He gave her shoulders a squeeze. “For a price, of course.”
She slowed her step and looked up at him, feeling a smile pull. “A price? And what might that be?”
Was Peter McCarthy finally going to kiss her? Right here in the crowds at HarborWalk? She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
“A small price,” he said, turning her toward him and doing the knuckles-on-the-jaw thing again. Whoa, that was a power move.
“What is the price?” she whispered, ready to pay it.
“I want to read those diaries.”
She threw her head back and laughed. “Not a chance, McCarthy. Not a stinking chance.”