His face registered surprise, the brown eyes wide, the eyebrows lifted. I watched closely for any signs that he was faking it. It was hard to tell. “I checked the logs myself,” he said. “She never signed in. We have residents who work the door at night, as a sort of job training. Sonya was on the door last night. She’s a friend of Elysia’s, as a matter of fact, so she would remember.”
“Then how do you explain it? I know I saw her go inside.”
He didn’t say anything for quite a long time. He just gazed into the distance with unfocused eyes. “Perhaps,” he said finally, “perhaps Sonya took a break. They do that sometimes and have a friend sit in for them for a few minutes. I’ll ask Sonya.”
“Could you do that now?”
“I’m afraid not, Ms. Sullivan. She’s at work.” Those high cheekbones, full lips, jutting chin. It was so difficult not to be taken by his looks.
“Just call me Seychelle,” I said. “I hate Ms. Sullivan.”
He smiled then, and turned on about ten thousand
watts of dazzle. You could not not smile back. “And I’m James, okay?”
“That’s a deal,” I said, grinning like an idiot.
By the time I left Harbor House I had agreed that James Long would pick me up for dinner at seven. He was so smooth, the date was set before I really had time to think about it.
I was on the verge of losing my business, I seemed to have screwed up the friendship I valued with B.J., and people were dying all around me. So what was I doing? Going on a date with some gorgeous guy I’d just met, a smooth operator who either played very fast and loose with the truth or was unaware of what was going on in the establishment he managed. James Long didn’t seem unaware of anything. I didn’t completely understand why I’d said yes, except that I hadn’t found any real information to explain what had happened last night after we’d dropped off Ely. Maybe, relaxing over a drink or two, James Long would tell me a little more about those things that went on here, those things that Ely had insisted I would never understand. And maybe, given the sting of a certain recent rejection, I’d feel what it was like to be out in public on the arm of an incredibly handsome man.
And, of course, given my financial state, a free meal wasn’t a bad deal, either.
That left me with at least an hour to kill before trying to put on a “girl suit.” Red used to say that whenever he saw me get dressed up. Working as a lifeguard or helping him out on the Gorda, I lived in shorts and T-shirts, so he had always been surprised to see me looking like a woman.
When I turned into the Larsens’ drive and there was no sign of B.J.’s El Camino, I wasn’t sure whether I was relieved or disappointed. I hopped out of the Jeep and walked out to the street to get the mail. Bills, bills, and more bills. The only stuff for the Larsens was some third-class junk the post office wouldn’t forward. There was also a note from FedEx that they’d left a package under the mat at the Larsens’ front door. I collected the package and walked around to their back door took the key from under the rock and left the package on their kitchen table along with the rest of their mail. Since we were heading into summer, I didn’t expect them to show up anytime soon, but it was so typical of rich people like the Larsens, having their stuff sent FedEx just because they could afford to.
I showered and sorted through my clothes, trying to find something appropriate. Judging from appearances, James would choose a formal dining spot, and my wardrobe was sorely lacking in that department. I finally decided that since I wasn’t big on chiffon, I’d have to be original. I took a hand-painted silk pareu I’d once bought on a lark and tied it as a sort of off-the-shoulder sarong. I blow-dried my hair and pulled back one side with a small barrette, then rubbed vanilla-scented lotion on my freshly shaved legs and put on some low-heeled leather sandals. That was it. I stood in front of the mirror turning to look at my profile. No, braless was not the way to go when one was nearly thirty. I dug around in my underwear drawer and found an old strapless swimsuit top with an underwire. Presto—cleavage. I checked the mirror again. Good enough. I wasn’t about to trowel on makeup just because I had a date with a guy who looked like he belonged in a café on South Beach surrounded by gorgeous models.
I had given James directions to my place, but I’d told him to ring the buzzer outside the fence. Abaco didn’t particularly like strange men, and I didn’t want to start my date off with a dog bite.
The buzzer rang at seven on the dot. I locked the cottage door and hurried out to the gate.
“You look great,” James whispered as he brushed his lips across my cheek. He was wearing a crisp, original Guy Harvey shirt with a picture of a leaping marlin painted on the back, khaki pants, and Top-Siders. I was pleased to see I wasn’t too underdressed.
Looking past him at the car in the Larsens’ driveway, I let loose a loud “Wow!” I walked around the silver Jaguar convertible making all kinds of unintelligible, appreciative noises. He opened the door smiling, but without saying a word. I liked the fact that he didn’t launch into a big lecture about the car. Most guys who drive hot cars like nothing better than to talk about them all the time.
I sank into the soft leather seats and decided I would be perfectly happy if he took me to a drive-in. I could have stayed in that car all night.
We headed north on Federal Highway, making the usual small talk. I laughed when he told me we were going to the Mai Kai Restaurant.
“You don’t like it?” he asked.
“No, it’s not that, it’s just that I have a friend who has several family members who work there. He’s always complaining about the place. See, he’s Samoan, and he thinks the shows are far from authentic—demeaning is the word he uses. Now I’ll have a chance to tell him what I think.”
It felt rotten talking about B.J. like that. Talking about him was making me feel the heat of his kiss all over again.
Fort Lauderdale’s Mai Kai really belongs in Orlando. It was as fake and touristy a place as I’d ever seen, full of vacationing New Yorkers, French Canadians, and Germans. Although we had no reservations, James was taken to a table right away. Several of the waiting tourists glared at us as we were led to a spot near the stage, but there were nods and acknowledgments as James walked past the tables of better-dressed patrons. James explained to me that we would eat first and watch the famed Polynesian revue afterward.
He pulled out my bamboo chair, and before I sat, he brushed away imaginary crumbs with a cloth napkin from one of the extra place settings. He did the same to his own seat. I looked around at the carved tikis, flower leis, fake rock waterfalls, live orchids, and lush palms. No wonder B.J. was irked at his culture being reduced to Disney proportions.
James lifted his glass after the waiter poured us each some Pouilly-Fuissé. “To Elysia. We’ll keep her alive in our memories.” We were seated not across from each another but rather at an angle so we would both have a good view of the stage. We clinked our glasses.
I sipped a little of the wine. I would have preferred a beer.
“You really look lovely, Seychelle,” James said, resting his chin sideways on his interlaced fingers and staring at me. “It’s quite a treat for me to be out with a beautiful young woman instead of a wealthy, wrinkly widow with a large estate.”
“Thank you.” It embarrassed me when men complimented me, but it was a pleasant embarrassment.
“How is it that a beautiful and accomplished young woman like you is not involved with a man at the present?”
I didn’t really want to go into this tonight. I tried for the short version. “I was in a relationship, but that ended a few months ago. I don’t want to jump into anything on the rebound.”