Sunshine Beach (8 page)

Joe was grinning now. “Now I really wish I could stay,” he whispered in Nikki's ear.

“I am the founder and president of the Tampa Bay Area Deirdre Morgan Fan Club,” the Deirdre continued. “Which I formed long before everyone else started jumping on the Deirdre bandwagon. She is the new Barbra. The new Divine Miss M. I'm already working on a tribute number for Inside Out, the premiere drag club in Ybor City, where
I
am the headliner.”

Still grinning, Joe brushed his lips across Nicole's cheek. “I'll be expecting an update later. You okay to handle this?”

Nikki nodded numbly, then watched him weave his way through the throng. A petite Asian Deirdre, presumably unaware that Joe carried a gun, reached out and pinched his butt as he passed. One applicant held out a cell phone and shot a selfie with Joe.

Nikki inched back toward the door, taking Avery, Maddie, and Kyra with her, but the too-tall Deirdre followed, causing the line to surge closer.

Nikki teetered briefly, torn between laughter and horror. Avery's face had gone white; her body was rigid. The presence of so many “Deirdres” had to be macabre and upsetting. Still, Deirdre supplanting Barbra Streisand and Bette Midler in the hearts of gay men? Well, that was quite a legacy, wasn't it?

“Listen, honey,” the first Deirdre said quite reasonably. “I know no one could or should replace your mother. But I am a huge
Do Over
fan. And I suspect we are all here in hopes of making a contribution to the series.” The red lips tilted up into a sincere smile. “I mean, don't we all deserve second chances?” She tugged at the waistband of her undergarment, then reached into her matching white straw satchel to retrieve a résumé and an extremely glossy business card. “I am not exaggerating when I tell you that I have yet to meet a space I cannot improve upon. I also do a stellar Ethel Merman. You simply must conduct the interviews as advertised. I believe that even without the incomparable Deirdre, this show simply must go on.”

As Avery had expected, interviewing replacements for Deirdre sucked. The fact that almost half of the interviewees were dressed like and impersonating Deirdre sucked even more. At first each Deirdre impersonator had been like a punch to Avery's gut. It took four or five before the shock began to wear off.

Clouds scudded across the sky throughout the day, finally blotting out the sun late in the afternoon. Rain began to tap against Bella Flora's windows and splatter against her tile roof just as the final applicant departed. Within minutes it was a deluge that curtained them off from the outside world.

“I'm glad it's raining,” Avery said. She felt like a sponge that had been soaked in a sea of strangers, forced to absorb their stories and their credentials, then wrung out by their obsession with a mother she had barely come to terms with. “I'm not even sure I have the strength to get up off this couch, let alone leave the house.”

“Me, neither.” Kyra yawned. “But I might be able to make it as far as the Casbah Lounge.”

They dragged themselves into the bar with its leaded
windows, Moorish arches and tiles, and red leather banquettes. Avery rummaged behind the bar finally coming up with a bottle of rum and an unopened liter of Diet Coke. Maddie returned with a bowl of Cheez Doodles and a plate of Bagel Bites.

Nikki mixed the drinks. Raised her own. “Well, that went better than I expected once we got the system streamlined.”

They'd situated themselves in the formal living room, Maddie checking in each applicant, Avery reluctantly conducting the interviews with input from everyone including Dustin, who'd been especially fascinated with the “Durdras.”

“I know it was hard,” Maddie said. “But I kept thinking how much she would have enjoyed all that worship.”

“It's true,” Nikki agreed. “A few of them had her mannerisms down and a good number of them were actually talented.”

Avery picked up a Cheez Doodle, put it down. “I don't care. I will slit my own wrists before I'll work closely with someone dressed up like my mother.” She swallowed. “Besides, how creative can someone who's imitating someone else be?”

Dustin, who'd fallen asleep midway through the interviews and been laid down for a nap, wandered in rubbing his eyes. He climbed onto his grandmother's lap and burrowed his face into her neck. A thumb stole into his mouth.

“So who are our top three?” Nikki lifted her drink to her lips, grimaced slightly, and shoved it away.

Maddie handed Nikki the résumés on which she'd asked, make that forced, Avery to scribble notes, all of which had been negative. Between each interview they'd filled out a score sheet that included design experience, reaction to the designer's portfolio, as well as a compatibility score. Which was, of course, completely ironic given that they had not chosen each other and that Deirdre never would have made the cut if Avery had had the veto power she assumed she did now.

“Number one, shockingly, is Amazonian Deirdre,” Nikki said. “And not just because he/she offered us free tickets to the drag club. His work was impressive and his portfolio included two midcentury installations.”

Avery's stomach lurched at the real possibility that they might not get the Sunshine Hotel. Especially since they had no plan B.

“And I think he wants the job badly enough to work for the same amount we are. Which is basically nothing. Plus he's used to working on a shoestring, which is, unfortunately, still a budget we can only aspire to,” Nikki continued.

“I liked him. And he is already in show business, so he wouldn't be thrown by the cameras,” Kyra said.

They all looked to Avery, but she was busy examining the Cheez Doodle in her hand as if it might contain heretofore unexamined secrets of the universe. Or at least a means of ending this conversation.

“Second is Alice Lawrence,” Nikki continued. “She was the tall, no-nonsense silver-haired woman who's done several hotels and a family compound. Bertrand Mirdeau was third.”

“Wasn't he the elegant French gentleman?” Maddie asked.

“Yes, he had lovely manners,” Nikki said. “He reminded me of a count I once had as a client. He kissed my hand.”

“Well, there's an important talent,” Avery said. “By all means let's hire him. Not that we have the money to hire anyone.”

“Do we want to hold more interviews?” Kyra slid closer to Maddie and eased Dustin onto her own lap. “Because I've got about sixty more applicants. In fact the
Do Over
Facebook page kind of blew up after I posted that we were looking for a new designer. I just hope they all tune in for the Mermaid Point episodes.”

“You know it's possible we have a larger audience than Lisa Hogan ever let on. Most of her energy went into keeping us on the defensive and off balance; the last thing she'd ever do would be to tell us we were part of a hit show,” Nikki said.

“True,” Avery said.

They sipped their drinks and nibbled on snacks as the rain continued to fall and thunder rumbled in the distance.

Nikki reached for a bottled water. “A big enough audience could make raising money easier. I thought I might go see Bitsy Baynard in Palm Beach. She's the only person from my former life who stays in touch. She might be willing to invest.”

“I'm prepared to put in most of what I have left from the sale of Bella Flora, but there's not a ton,” Avery said.

“Me, too,” said Maddie. “I just need to keep back enough for Andrew's tuition and expenses.”

Kyra's lips tightened. “I thought Dad was supposed to be responsible for that.”

Maddie dropped her eyes but said nothing. She rarely mentioned Steve Singer. In Avery's experience no news was good news when it came to ex-husbands.

“I can contribute and Joe offered, too, though I'd really rather not risk his money.” Nikki took a long pull of the water. “I was thinking that if we can't raise the two million plus, we might go after some form of crowdfunding.”

Avery ran a hand through her hair, but it did nothing to clear her head. “I'm not prepared to choose any of the people who came here today. I will not work with anyone who gets off on dressing up like Deirdre. I don't even want to work with anyone who knew her. If we're looking for a fresh start, then let's have one.”

No one looked at all happy with that, but no one argued, either. Avery didn't make the mistake of thinking that meant they wouldn't. “The only thing that really matters right now is nailing down the project.” She reached for a Cheez Doodle, gathering her resolve. “I'm going to call Renée right now. We have to talk to her and her sister. And this time, I promise you I'm not going to take no for an answer.”

It took three days to hear back from the Franklins. Days in which Maddie watched Avery hunch over a drafting table, crumbling and tossing rendering after rendering, and muttering to herself.

On the fourth day Maddie, Avery, and Nikki drove to the small neighborhood tucked behind a small inlet across from the Don CeSar Hotel, where Renée's sister Annelise Handleman lived. The homes ranged from untouched to newly renovated and were arranged in the shape of a nautilus with the outer edge of homes facing the water. Annelise's home was a well-tended forties-era ranch that commanded views of the Pinellas Bayway, Tierra Verde, and the stretch of Boca Ciega Bay that ultimately fed into the pass behind Bella Flora.

Renée greeted them at the door and ushered them inside. “This was our grandparents' house,” she explained as she led them through a small formal living room that overlooked the water. “Annelise and I lived with them after our father died.” They reached a dining area off a small updated kitchen. John and Renée's younger sister were already seated at the table.

John rose to greet them. Annelise remained seated but smiled up at them as they took their seats. “It's very nice to meet you,” she said in a breathy childish voice that occupied a completely separate universe from her older sister's decisive tones. “Please have a seat.”

As they settled around the table, Maddie knew she wasn't the only one marveling at how little the sisters resembled one another. Older by eight or nine years, Renée was tall and robust while Annelise appeared small and fragile. Renée's salt-and-pepper hair was thick, short, and decidedly low maintenance, her tanned face devoid of makeup. Annelise's hair was a thinning grayish blond cut in what had once been called
a pageboy. Her features were soft and delicate, the whole more pleasing than any one part. Her bow lips were coated with a light coral lipstick and she wore a soft green twinset. But it was her eyes, a pale and unfocused blue, that caught Maddie up short. At Renée's request a small hummingbird of a woman named Mrs. Arnold served them coffee and pastries. At Renée's nod she excused herself and disappeared down a nearby hall as Renée took the vacant seat beside her sister.

“Now, then,” John said after they'd murmured their thanks for the refreshments. “I believe you have something to show Renée and Annelise?”

“Yes.” Avery stood and began to pass out the folders in which she had placed copies of her sketches and a brief write-up. She unrolled a large piece of paper with sketches and laid it in front of Renée and Annelise and then cleared her throat nervously. Maddie's throat was equally dry as she offered up silent prayers for a go-ahead from both sisters.

Renée leaned forward to study the drawing. Annelise simply sat and waited, her pale blue gaze pinned to Avery's face.

“Okay, then.” Avery cleared her throat once more.

Renée gestured toward the drawing. “Take a look, Annelise. Please.” Her voice was casual, but Maddie could feel the effort that had gone into keeping her emotions under control.

A few long heartbeats later, Annelise's attention turned to the rendering, and Avery began to speak. She covered the material quickly and clearly, ticking off the most important parts of her plan to bring the property into the twenty-first century while maintaining its mid-twentieth-century architecture, décor, and vibe. She'd brought sketches of the reception area, the dining room, and one of the two-bedroom cottages. She didn't bring up the budget, how much they hoped Renée and Annelise might contribute, or where on earth they were going to get the rest of the money because
they'd agreed that none of that mattered until they had permission to renovate. Barely ten minutes later, she concluded with a “we will do everything humanly possible to bring it back to its former glory” and took her seat.

Annelise looked up from the drawing, her expression troubled. “But our house is going to be turned into a guest cottage. There'll be nothing left for the crime scene people to investigate.” The words, uttered so clearly in the childish voice, sent shivers up Maddie's spine. “I know how cold cases work. I want . . .”

“Yes, we know what you want,” Renée interrupted. “And I've told you that an FBI agent will be looking into the evidence and having the property reexamined before anything is touched.” She turned to Nikki. “Isn't that right?”

Annelise turned her eyes on Nikki, who shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Maddie, who could almost see Nikki's internal debate over how much to say, did the same. Getting a go-ahead on the Sunshine Hotel was their only hope for keeping
Do Over
alive.

“Yes,” Nikki said finally. “Special Agent Joe Giraldi is, a, um, close personal friend of mine. Of all of us, really. And he's promised to try to get any existing evidence reexamined and have the scene gone over again before work commences.”

Annelise placed a finger on the rendering. Slowly she traced the main building with it.

“I think we should do it, Annelise,” Renée said. “The place is falling down.”

Annelise's finger moved to the long rectangle that represented the pool. She traced its lines almost lovingly. Renée sighed, her eyes closing briefly in obvious frustration.

“It's a good compromise, Annelise,” John said. “We know how much the place means to you but we can't continue as we have. The structures are way beyond patching. It's this, or tearing it the rest of the way down.”

Annelise's head snapped up. “That's what you both want, isn't it? To get rid of the hotel. So that everybody can forget.” Annelise's voice had lost its breathiness. Her blue eyes had sharpened.

There were quick footsteps from the hall.

“Of course we want it torn down,” Renée said, her fists clenching on the table. “It's crazy to leave it moldering.” She paused, drew a deep breath. “But that doesn't mean any of us are ever likely to forget what happened there. Believe me, I've tried.”

Mrs. Arnold arrived and hovered near the kitchen. John Franklin placed a hand on his wife's clenched hands. Renée, who had always seemed so calm and unflappable, continued to jangle with emotion.

Every family had its dance, Maddie thought as they waited for Annelise's answer. She knew firsthand how difficult it could be to change the steps. Barely breathing, she braced for disappointment while continuing to offer up prayers for a reprieve. Across the table Nikki, Kyra, and Avery did the same. Just when Maddie thought she might pass out from lack of oxygen, Annelise huffed and pushed the drawings away from her.