Chapter 15
“Sunny Side Bed-and-Breakfast,” I said, trying my best to sound like everything was perfectly normal as I answered the phone. Despite this morning’s revelations, I still had a business to run. “Hannah Bell speaking.”
“Hiya, Hannah. It’s Nicki Boyle,” said the woman on the line. I knew her from the neighborhood. Her family owned a few souvenir shops on the boardwalk. “I want to book your dining room for my sister Mimi’s baby shower.”
“Oh,” I said. “I didn’t know Mimi and Tony were expecting.”
“Well,” she said. “Maybe they are, maybe they aren’t. There’s a small chance the baby is Vinny’s.”
I took a moment to replay that last bit in my head.
“You mean Tony’s brother Vinny?” I asked.
“Yeah,” said Nicki. “But Mimi only slept with him because his whore of a wife Joanie had her hands all over Tony.”
“Oh,” I said. Because…what else could I say?
“Yeah,” said Nicki. “But Tony found out and took a swing at Vinny and accidentally hit Joanie, so it’s all good.”
“Is it?” I asked. I couldn’t quite see the logic of how that made it all “good.”
“Sure,” said Nicki. “The charges against Tony were dropped, and Joanie wanted to get her teeth fixed anyway.”
I didn’t know how to reply. Luckily, I didn’t need to.
“So,” Nicki continued, “I’m thinking we could do the shower in a couple of weeks? By then, Joanie should be able to eat solid food.”
“You’re inviting Joanie?”
“Hey,” said Nicki, “after all the trouble that bitch caused my sister, she at least owes her a fucking Diaper Genie.”
So, we picked a date, and I marked it on the calendar. And by the time I hung up, I felt oddly cheered. Compared to the family soap opera Nicki had going on, my merman situation didn’t seem so bad.
* * *
Later that afternoon, I ran over to Matzo-Rella to pick up lunch for Xander and me. Just before I got to the entrance, the door opened, and a trio of rough-looking, unshaven men spilled out onto the street, their arms laden with takeout bags.
As they made their way past me, I caught the unmistakable whiff of the ocean. But it was nothing like the fresh, clean, salty scent that clung to Xander. No, this odor stung my nostrils and made my eyes water. These guys smelled like they’d been at sea for a while.
I glanced back over my shoulder, watching them walk off. They had the loose, rolling gait of people with well-developed sea legs. So, maybe they were fisherman.
Or…undersea treasure hunters?
My radar went up, and the hairs on the back of my neck started to prickle.
Were these the same men who had attacked Xander? And, as Xander suspected, were they still hunting in the area for him?
Intent on learning what I could, I went inside my friends’ eatery.
Now, my nostrils filled with the delectable aromas of homemade tomato sauce and cheese, deli meats and toasted breads.
There was a decent-sized lunch crowd eating at the tables, but there was no one in line as I walked up to the register.
“Hannah!” called Miles, spotting me from the open kitchen. “I have your order right here.” He placed two wrapped sandwiches and a side salad container on the counter where his wife could grab them.
“One meatball sub. One tuna sub,” said Angie. As she expertly packed up the food—along with napkins, plastic utensils, and a couple of bags of chips—I noticed that another one of her bright-pink press-on nails was missing.
She caught me looking. “I know, I know. Another one bit the dust. But don’t you worry.” She grinned, and her eyes twinkled with amusement. “I stopped wearing red. Now, they won’t blend if I lose one in the sauce.”
I laughed, knowing she was joking. Angie was scrupulous about food safety and sanitation, and in over twenty years of inspections, Matzo-Rella’s kitchen had never received anything lower than an A rating.
“So, lunch for two today?” she asked, raising her well-groomed eyebrows at me.
“We hear you have a new handyman,” said Miles with a big grin.
Apparently, I wasn’t the only one on a fact-finding mission.
“I do,” I said, pulling out my wallet. “Xander is staying on to do a little repair work for me.”
“He seems like a nice man,” said Angie. She quickly wrote up my check, doing the math in her head quicker than I could have figured it out on a calculator. “He’s very handsome. And he was so good with the baby.”
“I gave him a side of pickled beets,” said Miles. “Good for the blood flow, if you know what I mean.”
I grimaced. I was pretty sure I knew exactly what he meant.
“Good for making your own babies,” he added with a wink, just to remove any doubt.
I shuffled my feet uncomfortably. I could feel my face turning as red as one of those pickled beets. Were Angie and Miles now conspiring with Rita to push Xander and me together?
But as I tapped my credit card to pay, I remembered I had an agenda too.
“So, what was the story with those guys who just left?” I asked. “Were they fishermen?”
“Yeah,” muttered Angie. “Fishing for information.”
I furrowed my brow. “What kind of information?” I asked.
“Don’t you worry,” said Miles. “We didn’t tell them anything.”
Uh-oh, I thought.
“You didn’t tell them anything about what?” I asked warily.
“They were asking did we see a redheaded stranger around here,” said Angie, making a disapproving face.
“A redheaded stranger?” I asked, my anxiety spiking.
“They even offered to pay for any tips we had about his whereabouts,” added Miles. “Said they’d make it worth our while.”
“But I don’t think they were looking for Xander,” added Angie. She stapled the receipt to the takeout bag and slid it across the counter to me. “They were looking for someone who might have trouble walking.”
Shit, I thought as that all sank in. They were definitely looking for Xander. And now, it sounded like they weren’t just hunting him. They were offering a monetary reward for any info that might lead to his capture. These were ruthless, greedy men, for sure.
I’d never doubted Xander’s story about the hunters. But now, the scary truth about the danger he was in really hit home.
For the most part, my Atlantic City neighbors were good people, like Angie and Miles. Merchants or not, they minded their own business. But the opportunity to earn a little extra cash in exchange for some seemingly harmless info—especially during the off season—could be a tempting proposition.
I took the bag of food. Like red press-on nails in the tomato sauce, Xander was going to have to blend.
* * *
“Hold still,” I told Xander after lunch. He was seated at the kitchen counter, and I was trying to wrangle his massive mane of red hair with one of my elastic ponytail holders so we could conceal it under a hat.
“You don’t think this is an overreaction?” he asked, still squirming.
“Are you kidding?” I shot back. “According to Angie and Miles, these hunters are out canvassing the neighborhood, specifically looking for a ‘redheaded stranger.’ They’re even offering a reward.
” I shook my head. “No. We need to take extra precautions. So, from now on, whenever you go out, you need to cover up.” I paused.
“Or, if you’d rather, we could shave your head. ”
He looked a bit panicked at that.
“Oh. Does your hair have some kind of magical power?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “It’s just…” He shrugged, embarrassed.
Oh, snap! Had I just discovered Xander’s one vanity?
“Maybe you and Joey D could exchange styling tips,” I teased.
He turned red. “I don’t get the impression he’d want my help,” he said.
I smothered a giggle. “You’re probably right.”
But after that, he quit his fidgeting. I managed to get his long hair twisted into an unwieldy bun.
“Cap,” I said, extending my hand like a surgeon requesting a scalpel.
Xander passed me my father’s Philadelphia Eagles baseball cap from the array of headwear options I’d gathered.
“The Eagles are the local baseball team?” he asked.
“Football team,” I corrected.
“Then why is their logo on a baseball cap?” he asked.
It was a fair question. For a moment, I had to admit, I was stumped.
“Because no one wants to wear a football helmet to the grocery store?” I suggested. It sounded like the punchline to one of my father’s awful jokes, but Xander smiled anyway.
Smiling back, I put the cap on his head.
It was trucker-style, so I’d thought it would be roomy enough to contain his long, thick hair.
Clearly, I could have used Angie’s help with the math because my calculations had been way off.
Frowning, I tried to adjust the hat. And adjusted it again. With a sigh, I removed it.
“Let’s try the knit one instead,” I said.
Xander plucked up a gray knit cap from the pile on the counter. “This one?” he asked.
“Yup,” I said, trading caps with him. “I guess you don’t wear hats back home, huh?”
“Oh, we don’t wear anything back home,” he said.
Right. I had to ask.
Maybe Xander only had one vanity, but his fine attributes were many. And now, dammit, images were forming. Suddenly, the joke was on me.
I slid the gray knit cap on over his hair. Not thinking about Xander naked.
Then, I stepped back and looked at him. Also not thinking about Xander naked.
“That’ll work,” I said.
Not. Thinking. About. Xander. Naked. At. All.
* * *
My next order of business was to start a Xander Watch group text.
I messaged Drew and Rita, alerting them to keep an eye out for those three seafarers I’d seen outside Matzo-Rella.
And to bolster our security efforts—with Xander’s permission—I asked Drew to read Garth in on the situation as well, giving us another trusted person to tap for help.
You’re cute, texted Drew. You think I didn’t already tell him everything?
Drew added his husband to the group, who promptly texted back a zipper-face emoji.
* * *
Over the next few days, our group text was active, but no one reported any additional neighborhood sightings of the three men. Of course, we all remained vigilant. But I began to feel less anxious, and Xander and I fell into an easy routine.
During the daytime, we did our respective chores around the Sunny Side. Then, in the evening, after eating dinner and walking Casey, we generally sat together in the wing chairs by the fireplace and read. Turned out, we both enjoyed reading.
I was too self-conscious to read the fixer-upper romance in front of Xander.
So, instead, I’d been raiding my mother’s library of thrillers.
Tonight, I was just starting a new one. I assumed that Xander, as usual, had his nose in one of my father’s fix-it manuals, studying up on whatever task he planned to tackle tomorrow. But then, I heard him chuckle.
I looked up from my novel, curious. “What’s so funny?”
He met my gaze. “What’s the strongest fish?” he asked.
I blinked. “What?”
“What’s the strongest fish?” he repeated.
I shrugged and shook my head.
“A mussel,” he said with a big grin.
“A mus—”
Then it dawned on me.
“Xander,” I asked. “What are you reading?”
He lifted the book from his lap to show me the cover. It was one of my father’s collections of corny jokes. He must have found it tucked in with the repair guides.
“This book is hilarious,” he said.
“Is it?” I asked, smiling.
“It’s full of ridiculous inaccuracies,” he said. “For instance, a mussel isn’t even a fish. It’s a mollusk.”
I laughed.
“And even if it were a fish, it certainly isn’t the strongest,” he said. “What do you think would happen if a mussel tangled with a great white shark? Or even a blue marlin?”
“Nothing good for the mussel,” I said.
“Exactly!” he said.
We both laughed.
As our laughter died down, he shook his head and went back to his book. I watched him for a moment, still smiling. Then, I curled my legs up under me and closed my thriller. “So,” I said, leaning toward him, “did you find any other, uh…inaccuracies?”
His head immediately popped up, and he had an eager-to-please look in his eyes. As he began to wax poetic about how starfish didn’t only come out at night, I couldn’t stop grinning.
I could absolutely get used to evenings like this.