Autumn Dreams (32 page)

Cass blanched at the thought. “What if she was overcome by smoke?” She raced down the stairs and rushed through the swinging doors. She came to a halt as she saw Glossy Flossie draped
over the back of a love seat, her chest rising and falling in sleep.

“Told you,” Dan said from directly behind her.

She grabbed the cat who gave a startled squeak. “Are you okay, baby? You don’t have to be afraid anymore. Mama’s here.” As she hugged the animal, Flossie responded with a contented purr that made Cass smile. “Come on, sweetheart. We’re going upstairs to bed.”

Weariness washed over Cass as she and Dan climbed to the second floor. He opened the door of a room across the hall from his. She walked in and put Flossie on the bed. Then she came back to the hall. “Thanks, Dan, for everything. I—I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

He smiled and wrapped his arms tightly around her. She rested her head on his shoulder.

“Just know I’m here for you, Cassie. I won’t let anything bad happen to you or the kids.”

She knew he couldn’t guarantee that he’d be able to keep that promise. No one could. Life was too uncertain. But she delighted in the fact that he cared enough to try. He kissed her good night, and went to his room. As his door closed, she rubbed at her arms against a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the weather. Unsafe in her own house!

She showered, washing away the smell of the night but not the lurking fear. She slept fitfully in her guest room, clad in an old sweat suit of Jared’s that was only slightly too big. Even with Flossie tight against her, she couldn’t get warm. It was 5:30 A.M. when she finally gave up trying and got up.

She went downstairs to the kitchen and turned on the coffeemaker. A fine gritty dust lay over the entire back of the house. While she waited for the brew to drip through, she wiped down the counters and the table.

She felt edgy as, mug of coffee on the table beside her, she snuggled on the love seat, feet pulled up and under the throw Paulie had brought for Mom. She wished she had the quilt from the bed she’d just slept in to fend off the cold seeping around the cardboard that Jared and Dan had tacked over the gaping window. Her own quilt stank too much to use without a thorough cleaning. The love seat didn’t smell too good either.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Dan stood in the doorway, wearing jeans
and a sweatshirt, tall, handsome, and sleep-rumpled. Cass’s heart thumped at the sight.

“Help yourself to some coffee,” she said. “I was just going to turn on the Weather Channel and get the bad news about Rodney.”

Dan filled a mug and walked to the love seat. “Slide over a bit.”

She slid away from the arm, her feet falling to the floor. Dan sat where she had been, twisted to rest his back against the arm, and slid one long leg behind her, letting the other fall to the floor. “Now turn and lean back on me. I’m freezing.”

Cass turned and slowly, carefully rested her back against his chest. Her knees were bent, her feet resting against the other arm. She spread the throw haphazardly over them.

She held herself stiffly. It was bad enough she hadn’t expected to see him for at least an hour, and therefore hadn’t washed her face or combed her hair. She was also afraid he’d find her too heavy leaning her full weight on him.

He reached over her and adjusted the throw so that it covered her legs and was pulled up to her chin. “Relax,” he whispered in her ear. “I won’t bite, and already I’ve stopped shivering.”

So had she.

By the time they finished their coffee, she had relaxed to the point of resting her head on his shoulder as she watched Heather Tesch talk about Hurricane Rodney. It was a category two storm and had 110-mile-an-hour winds as, traveling north by northwest, it bore down on the coast of Virginia. It would make landfall around Virginia Beach in a couple of hours. Whether it would blow itself out as it hit land was anyone’s guess.

There was a small possibility that Rodney would continue its north by northwest trajectory and travel up the Chesapeake Bay instead of following the coast. If it did so, Maryland, Delaware, southeastern Pennsylvania, and New Jersey would get a real beating. Traveling over the vast expanse of water that comprised the Chesapeake could help it sustain itself at strength instead of blowing itself out. If it continued at its present rate of travel, estimated time of arrival at the Jersey shore was sometime late Tuesday night or early Wednesday morning. There would be heavy rain and high tides no matter what Rodney did or became.

“Will the folks from Software Solutions still come, do you think?” Dan asked.

Cass shrugged. “Who knows? I sure hope so. They’re the type of clientele that I’d like to develop for midweek off-season. I bought a small business mailing list and sent a specifically designed brochure to several hundred companies, describing SeaSong as the ideal place for a planning retreat. Software Solutions was the first response, and I’ve got two more companies booked for early next year. If a few businesses come and like it here, the word will get around, and bingo! I’ll have a full house most of the winter.”

Cass watched as the TV showed on-site pictures of the surf at Virginia Beach. Blown by the high winds, huge waves rolled in, covering the beach and rolling right into the streets. A piece of a metal roof flew by followed by a Stop sign.

“They could decapitate a person,” Dan said as he too watched the flying debris.

“Ever been in a hurricane before?”

He shook his head. “Never had the privilege. You?”

Cass nodded. “You get this you-and-me-against-the-elements feeling. You know there’s danger, and you respect the power, but it’s also exhilarating.” She pointed at the TV. “See? That reporter’s got it.”

The TV reporter was hunkered inside a hooded raincoat, water streaming down his face. His expression reflected a mingling of fear for what the elements can do when they explode and exultation at standing unbowed by the wind and fury.

“But if there’s an evacuation order, we will follow it,” Cass added.

The station switched to taped shots of the Carolina Outer Banks taken yesterday. The video showed a house on the beach slowly collapsing as the waves pounded it, falling in slow motion into the furious sea. Cass was suddenly glad that SeaSong was two blocks from the water.

The station switched back to Virginia Beach. The reporter showed a tape from yesterday as the folks of that town prepared for the onslaught. Merchants shuttering show windows and home owners putting plywood over sliding doors reminded Cass.

“We’ve got to get that broken window fixed today.” She
glanced toward the boarded-up opening. “I hope the glazier can come.”

“I can do it for you,” Dan said and seemed to stop breathing as he waited for her answer.

“Good with windows, are you?”

“Yes.”

“But—”

“If you say, ‘But you’re our guest,’ I think I’ll toss you onto the floor.”

Cass blinked and twisted to look at him. He stared back without expression, but she felt a suppressed anger rippling from him. Then it clicked.

“So that’s what yesterday’s little diatribe on the boardwalk was all about.”
You’re our guest
. She’d said those very words when he told her he could watch the kids. How many other times had she said it to him?

“It wasn’t a diatribe.”

She sat up and swung her legs to the floor. She turned to face him fully. “I’m sorry. I never meant to seem unkind.” She took one of his hands as she looked into his eyes, searching for some clue that she was on the right track. “I’ve just been trying to save you from being caught in the cyclone that my life has become.”

“What if I want to get caught?” he asked. “Ever think of that?”

She nodded. “Boredom can make you do all sorts of things you wouldn’t normally do, I suppose.”

“So can other emotions.”

She stopped breathing. Other emotions? The same ones she felt? Her mouth went dry at the possibility.

He stared at her for a moment longer, unblinking. Then he grinned, reached out a finger, and pressed her nose. “So, do I have the job?”

W
HAT WENT WRONG?

At midmorning Tuck looked out his bedroom window in the ratty room in the house next to SeaSong. He was careful not to brush against the filthy curtains that hung in near tatters. The dust cloud they’d raise would surely asphyxiate him. Dirty as they were, though, they weren’t as bad as the pillow he’d had to use last night. He’d covered the gray case with one of his T-shirts, but he still got the whim-whams when he laid his head down. Fortunately, he hadn’t spent much of the night in bed.

He couldn’t let himself think too much about his surroundings, or he’d hyperventilate at all the dirt and crud. The germs and little creatures that shared his room made his skin crawl. The smelly old man who owned the place, crazy as a coot, hacked and coughed all day and all night, spewing who knew what latent epidemic into the air, but he had one saving grace. He didn’t ask questions. He was too busy hating the world to wonder about a guest willing to pay an exorbitant sum to stay in his abominable place. If the stakes weren’t so high, Tuck wouldn’t stay here on a bet.

But the stakes were high. Two million high. Not that two million went all that far when one lived as he intended to. And that brought up the issue of Grandad Cal’s will, not to mention Hank’s. One heir for all that
green stuff was so much better than two. Tuck smiled at the thought of that money. He stared through the dirty window and thought of his Caribbean island, its clean air, its pristine beaches, and its lovely women.

All that stood in his way was Sherri.

So where had she been last night? He didn’t understand it. Several people had rushed outside, but not Sherri. Did she and that idiot Kevin sleep so soundly that they couldn’t hear smoke alarms? He’d worked under the assumption that in a public building like SeaSong, if one alarm sensed smoke, they all rang.

Maybe the alarms were individual battery alarms instead of ones hard wired into the electrical system. If they were individual, they wouldn’t have sounded unless the smoke reached them. It was possible to sleep through the noise under those circumstances if you were, say, on the third floor with a fan or air conditioner on. But it was November. Who had cooling units on this time of year in this locale? The furnace was more like it. And certainly the people who lived in SeaSong with them would make certain they escaped.

Today was Tuesday. Time was becoming an issue. If he had found SeaSong’s number, so could Hank. If he had come to Seaside, so could Hank and Patsi. He had to make certain there was nothing for them to find if and when they arrived. He had to be certain, too, that he was long gone.

Smiling to himself, he leaned on the window frame and studied SeaSong. What he wouldn’t give to be able to stay there instead of in this garbage pit. He loved class, and SeaSong had it in spades.

The back door opened and the tall blonde stepped out. Pretty lady. A bit overblown for his taste, so tall and round and all, but still very attractive. She dumped a green trash bag full of stuff—probably dirty rags and paper towels from cleaning up his mess—in the big trash bin behind the garage.

He’d watched with fascination last evening as the comedy of errors with her mother had unfolded behind the garage. He shook his head. How did you manage to run over yourself without killing yourself?

He hadn’t seen Sherri at the car accident scene, but he hadn’t really expected to. A guest wouldn’t necessarily be involved in a
situation like that, probably wouldn’t even know about it. It was the blonde and her family—the two kids and that big guy who was her husband. No way did Tuck want to tangle with him. Not only was he huge; he was also in shape, a bad combination if ever there was one.

The back door opened again, and he blinked as Sherri walked out. She had a large green plastic bag in her arms too, and when she met the returning blonde halfway to the trash, the blonde turned back and opened the lid of the trash bin for her.

What was Sherri doing helping the blonde clean up? Sure, she’d always had an unhealthy addiction to helping people, but this was extreme. He studied the blonde. He couldn’t believe that someone who ran as classy a place as SeaSong would let guests help. It wasn’t like the damage from the smoke was all that great.

He hadn’t wanted to burn the place down or anything. Arson wasn’t his thing. He’d dropped the smoke bomb through the kitchen window he’d broken, taking care not to cut himself on the shards of glass sticking up in the frame. He wasn’t about to leave his DNA on the windowsill.

The bomb had done a great job, loosing billows of white, nasty-smelling smoke that swirled through the kitchen. He’d watched it pour out the broken window for a minute before he ran back to his vantage point at the window in his room.

There he waited for everyone to rush outside so he could have a shot at Sherri, maybe even Kevin. He had a great angle on both the front and back of SeaSong. But Sherri hadn’t appeared.

Now here she was, and he was leery of shooting in the daylight. He’d be too vulnerable.

Sherri and the blonde stopped just outside the back door of SeaSong as the big guy pulled into the parking area in front of the garage and got out of his BMW. Tuck eyed the silver car with appreciation. Running a B&B must bring in better money than he’d thought, if that car was any indication.

The guy leaned into the backseat and lifted out a pane of glass, which he proceeded to mount where the broken kitchen window had been. The blonde and Sherri watched for a minute. Then the blonde pointed to the window and made little back-and-forth motions with her hand. Sherri nodded and disappeared
inside. She reappeared in a few minutes with a big bottle of blue liquid and a roll of paper towels.

The big guy climbed down from the stepladder he’d been using, and Sherri scrambled up. She began washing the window.

Washing the window? Sherri? Suddenly he began to laugh, and he couldn’t stop. She was the help, not a guest.

Tuck had rarely been so surprised in his life. Sherri Best, Miss Apple of Hank’s Eye, was working as a chambermaid or housekeeper or something like that. She who never had to work a day in her life, she who had grades in school that would more than set her up for a good position in Best Electronics—she was doing grunt work.