Sailing In Style

CHAPTER FOUR

PIPER WALKED THE ten blocks from the dock to their apartment. She still felt cold from her dive into the ocean, but perhaps it was not only that. Cy was the same handsome, athletic, sensitive man she’d abandoned. Yet he wasn’t. Hurt had changed him. She had changed him.

She kept up a brisk pace, insisting to herself that she’d probably done Cy a favor. He needed to grow up and see the truth about life.

It was hard. It was unfair. It was no place for innocents.

Stomach knotted, she hurried the last stretch, resisting the urge to stop and take in the spangle of stars like she’d done so often with the only man she’d loved desperately in a time that seemed an eternity ago.

At the apartment complex, a sixty-something woman was sweeping the walk. The late hour did not seem to matter to Mrs. Rapapeet. Piper had never seen her without a broom in her hands. The twists in her elaborate coiffure gleamed in the moonlight.

“Hi, Mrs. Rapapeet.”

The woman tightened her grip on the broom, turned her back on Piper and retreated in angry sweeps down the walkway.

Odd. Piper let herself into their studio apartment. The smell of mac and cheese greeted her.

“Studio” seemed a grand label for one room, a run-down bathroom and a single burner stove, but for eight-hundred dollars a month, beggars could not be choosers. Uncle Bo had not been able to find a job that stuck, his prior gig as a hot dog vendor lasting only three weeks. She hoped the shuttle driver stint would serve a bit longer. They’d put up a curtain to create two minirooms, and it was enough since Piper stayed on the boat most of the time.

Uncle Boris was swathed in a “kiss the cook” apron. He wielded a spoon. “Just in time. The feast is served.”

The yellow glop could have been caviar and lobster and she wouldn’t have relished it any more as she grabbed a paper plate and sat. “Why is Mrs. Rapapeet angry?”

He joined her at the crooked table and tucked his napkin into his collar. “‘They do not love that do not show their love.’”

“Two Gentlemen of Verona,” she said automatically, “and Mrs. Rapapeet liked you when I left this morning, so what happened?”

“Women,” he shrugged. “Speaking of, I visited your mother. It’s meat loaf day—her favorite.”

Instead of wasting away in prison, Piper’s mother, SueBeth Brindle, had gained fifteen pounds. She maintained that she deserved the extra weight, but not the prison time. During Piper’s visits she would often lament that her downfall was not that she’d broken into the lawyer’s condo to steal his stamp collection, but that she’d panicked when she’d found him at home and smacked him with a fireplace poker. Purely out of instinct, and it left only a small bruise, but the California penal system did not concur. She was sentenced to two years in prison for first-degree burglary.

Piper patted her uncle’s hand. The guilt shimmered in his eyes as it always did after a prison visit with his sister.

“Only twelve months to go.”

He put down his fork and rubbed a plump hand over his face. “I blame myself.”

“She doesn’t.”

“She should.”

Uncle Boris had used the bits of conversational flotsam he’d acquired in his airport shuttle job the year before to glean that the man with the expensive stamp collection would be out of town. An easy job, or it would have been, if the guy hadn’t eaten a bad clam and gone home sick instead of catching his flight to Cincinnati. Boris had been home with a twisted ankle and unaware that his sister had assigned the job to herself. When SueBeth was arrested, Boris had been ready to take full responsibility for planning the heist, but SueBeth begged her brother to stay clear.

“Someone has to look out for Piper.”

And he had. Sort of.

Desperate to cheer him, Piper swallowed the last of the mac and cheese. “Spooley worked on a scene with me tonight. He really thinks I’m good, Uncle Bo. When he sees me in the show, he’ll have no doubts.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And you think he’ll make good on his promise to recommend you to Dizz?”

“If he sticks around long enough and convinces Dizz to come.”

“I watched Dizz’s show last night. He took the participants through these really weirdo acting exercises. Only six more episodes until we find out who he’s gonna pick as the winner.”

“And that lucky person lands an agent and a spot on a prime time show.” She sighed, biting her lip.

“Afraid Spooley will leave prematurely, before Steamboat Races opens?”

She sighed again. “Maybe. There’s been a sort of upheaval. Spooley dropped some hints that the decor was not up to snuff, so the boat manager has blackmailed someone to restyle the reception room into something star-worthy. If Spooley thinks it measures up, he’ll invite Dizz to come in a couple of weeks and see the show while he’s here. It’s my ticket to getting a spot on Acting Up.” She frowned.

“Complications?” Boris opened the cage for Peaches, his little yellow parakeet, and set him on his shoulder. The bird snuggled up against his chin.

“One.”

“Big one?”

About six feet. “Cy Franco is doing the renovations.”

“Ah.”

The syllable spoke volumes. Boris hadn’t met Cy, but Uncle Bo knew enough from what she had shared.

“If Cy can’t pull it off, Dizz won’t have a reason to come and see me. There goes the biggest chance of my career.”

He whistled to Peaches. “Buckle up, buttercup,” the little bird said in an exact imitation of her uncle’s voice.

Bo smiled. “There’s always another chance to score, Piper.”

“No more, Uncle Bo. We’re doing things the right way. We’re not that kind of family anymore, remember?” This was it. Her once-in-a-lifetime chance to seize the dream and remove herself from the loser list. And not only her. Someone had to keep the Brindle family on the straight and narrow. The more desperate the family became, the more her uncle’s mind fixed on plans to remedy their money problems the easiest way he knew how.

Stiffening her spine, she gathered up the paper plates, forming a concrete plan of her own. She’d work with Spooley, keep away from Cy and never, with a capital N, allow her uncle near any of them until she’d secured a spot with Dizz on his show—or died in the attempt. “So what happened with Mrs. Rapapeet?”

“I had to know.”

She groaned. “You broke in, didn’t you?”

“I just wanted a peek, to see what she kept in that locked garage. It was like Fort Knox.”

“Why couldn’t you just leave it alone? Mrs. Rapapeet is entitled to her privacy.”

“I didn’t touch a thing. I let myself in and looked. Unfortunately, she found me snooping, and tomorrow I have to leave.”

She felt like screaming. Uncle Boris, left to his own devices for much of his youth, was compulsively, obsessively nosy.

“So,” she snapped. “Was it worth it? Breaking into her garage and getting evicted? Did you uncover a hoard of gold coins or an illegal printing press or something?”

“Wigs.”

“Wigs?”

He nodded solemnly. “She’s got them labeled by season.”

She let her head sink onto the table. “Where are we going to find a place as cheap as this?” she asked, voice muffled by the Formica.

“Actually—” he said, giving her a wink “—wait ’til you hear this.”

Her pulse revved up a notch. “Please tell me you didn’t do something crazy.”

“Buckle up, buttercup,” Peaches sang out again.

* * *

A BRILLIANT SUNRISE eased away the worry in Cy’s belly as he finished his run along the beach. There was no greater balm for the soul than crisp ocean air. Piper was gone from his mind. Today, he would hit Julio’s bookstore. If anyone had a musty old tome about the glory days of the paddle wheel steamboat, it would be the eclectic Julio, who organized his books by authors’ first names and scrawled receipts on yellow note pads.

He threw open the door to the Pelican Inn, now termite-free, and soaked in the details once more. It was the same beloved inn where he and his sister had spent their high school years after the death of their mother. With a father gone AWOL, his foster aunt, Bitsy, had taken them in during those tumultuous years. He and Rosa had refurbished the old inn as part of a contest a month ago. They’d lost the contest, but the inn was spectacular, and Rosa had won herself a prize of a husband in Pike, his arrogant tendencies notwithstanding. The Pelican was now an elegant office building housing Pike’s struggling law practice, the Francos’ Dollars and Sense Design and rooms for them to live in on the top floor. Bitsy and Manny had found a nice little place of their own away from the inn.

It was a shame, in a way. The old, ramshackle structure, perched on a cliff overlooking a sparkling cove, was meant to draw visitors, not commerce. Truth was, Cy might have liked to try his hand at innkeeping for a while. He figured he had the people skills, but Bitsy was right: Running an inn was just too much work, especially since she and Manny were starting off a new married life and Dollars and Sense required Cy’s complete attention.

Despite the reno, there were plenty of things that needed fixing at the Pelican, Cy reminded himself. A ton of ways he would keep his father busy, engaged and on track mentally. Maybe they’d start refinishing the floors in the attic room as soon as the boat project was finished. New tasks were what the doctors would order if they weren’t a bunch of gloom-and-doomers.

A misshapen black creature scooted out from under the sitting room settee, paws scrabbling on the pine flooring.

Cy scooped him up. “Baggy, I’ve missed you.”

The lumpy dog aimed his one steady eye at Cy and slurped a tongue across his face. It was dog language for, “My world is now complete because you have returned.” Baggy basked in the delight of having his ears rubbed as Cy carried him toward the smell of breakfast.

Aunt Bitsy was cooking. Manny sat at the kitchen table, sipping coffee.

Cy planted a kiss on Bitsy’s cheek.

“Old bag of bones Baggy missed you,” Manny said to his son. “Wouldn’t eat and whined like a spoiled toddler.”

“He’s got attachment issues.” During a part-time moonlighting gig when he lived in Danville with Rosa, Cy had discovered the dog nearly starved, left in a paper bag on the shop’s back porch. “I’ll make him something special.”

“Don’t bother, sweetie.” Bitsy put a plate of scrambled eggs on the ground for Baggy. Baggy required soft foods since several of his teeth were missing.

She handed Cy two more plates of eggs, one without bacon to accommodate his vegetarianism and one with bacon for Manny, before she joined them.

Cy dug into his food. “You don’t have to come here and cook for me. You’re retired.”

“We had to return Baggy anyway, and it’s in the blood, I guess. I didn’t realize how hard it would be to walk away.” She tapped a finger on the side of her mug. “Once an innkeeper, always an innkeeper.”

He chugged some coffee. “So this paddle wheel riverboat has an amazing history. This thing has survived fires, two sinkings and conversion into a military barracks. I even read something about a starlet who disappeared from the River King. I mean, you couldn’t write stuff better than this.”

“Cy,” Bitsy interjected.

“And consider the fact that it was christened in 1927. Can you get over it?”

“That’s amazing, but, Cy...”

“The old boat is fixed up like a modern hotel. It’s a travesty. Ignoring all that incredible history.”

“Honey, can you focus for a minute? I need to tell you something.”

Cy shook away the pull of history. “Sorry. Rosa usually just gives me a smack on the back of the head. What’s up?”

There was a tap on the kitchen door. On the other side of the screen, a compact older man, neatly groomed, holding a birdcage, smiled at them from under the brim of his fedora. “Good morning.”

Baggy looked up from his eggs and swiped his tongue over his crooked mouth.

Cy smiled back. “Hey, there. Can we help you with something?”

“I was just letting you know I’m here.”

“Lovely,” Bitsy said. “Would you care for some breakfast?”

“No, thanks. My niece is here to help me unload.” He tipped his hat. To his knowledge, Cy had never seen a man actually tip his hat. Neither had he seen someone strolling the gardens with a parakeet. He hadn’t realized parakeets needed walking.

“Welcome to the Pelican,” Bitsy said. “Please let us know if there’s any way we can help you.”

The man tipped his hat once more and sidled away.

Cy shot a glance at Bitsy. “I am getting the sense that you’ve been trying to tell me something.”

Manny grinned. “Finally sank in, did it? Bitsy rented out the carriage house to Boris the birdcage man.”

Cy frowned. “I thought we were out of the innkeeping business.”

Bitsy waved a hand. “It’s just the carriage house, and he is welcome to cook for himself in the kitchen. That’s all. We’re not providing meals or linen service or anything.”

“But you and Pops aren’t here all the time, and I’m going to be busy with the River King. Who’s going to keep an eye on things?”

She waved a hand. “Boris doesn’t need keeping an eye on, and to be blunt, you all need the money.”

“We don’t...”

“Pike spent every penny on this inn, and his law practice is struggling. Dollars and Sense was just beginning to fledge when you, well...” She blushed.

He sighed. “Landed us in a mess with the flood damage I’ve caused.”

Bitsy patted his hand. “Eight hundred dollars a month will help until things straighten out, don’t you think?”

“Did you check out his credentials, at least?”

“He’s a shuttle driver. He gave us a ride home from the airport after our honeymoon last month, and I told him about the Pelican. He called me up yesterday and asked if we had a room to rent. How could I resist?”

Manny finished the last of his eggs. “Quit worrying, son. Guy isn’t an ax murderer or anything.”

Bitsy nodded. “Mr. Brindle is charming.”

Cy choked on a mouthful of coffee. “Brindle? That’s not Boris Brindle, is it?”

“Yes.” Bitsy frowned. “Do you know him?”

“Oh, I know of him. And you’re right, he’s not an ax murderer.” Cy pushed out his chair so violently that Baggy leapt for cover. “He’s a thief.”

CHAPTER FIVE

CY CHARGED OUT OF the kitchen, followed by an agitated Bitsy and Manny. Baggy managed to streak through before the door slammed shut.

Boris Brindle. The name rippled through Cy like an electric shock. What were the chances he’d run into Piper and her criminal uncle in the span of two days? He spied Boris as he stood surveying the lush garden and chicken coop, shaded by the twining clematis vines. Boris put the parakeet cage down on the carriage house porch step and breathed in a lungful of fresh air with the appearance of a completely satisfied man.

Cy was not swayed. He covered the distance in ten angry steps.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Brindle, but my aunt was mistaken. We don’t have a room for you here.”

Boris did not lose his smile. “Oh? Did I misunderstand?”

Bisty shook her head. “No, you did not. Cy Franco, this is the rudest thing I’ve ever seen. What has gotten into you?”

“You don’t know this man, Aunt Bitsy.”

Boris cocked his head. “And I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure, either, have we?”

Cy wasn’t about to say, “Three years ago I fell in love with your niece, and instead of accepting my marriage proposal she was driving a getaway car for you.”

“No, we’ve never met, but let’s just say I know about you, and you’re not welcome here.”

Boris reached for his parakeet cage. “No harm done. My mistake.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Bitsy snapped. “I offered him a room here, Cy.”

“You shouldn’t have done that. We aren’t an inn now, and you don’t—” He stopped short of saying the rest. You don’t own the Pelican anymore. She knew what he’d been about to say. He could see it in her expression. He felt like ripping out his own tongue.

Tears welled in her cornflower-blue eyes.

“Aw, Aunt Bitsy,” he said, taking her hand. “I’m sorry. I’m a clod.”

“I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right.” She swallowed. “I’m not the owner, and I didn’t have the right to rent out a room without checking with you or Pike or Rosa. I’m sorry.”

Idiot, Cy. What a jerk to make your aunt feel worthless. “Of course you did. You’ll always be an important decision-maker here.” He drew her away from Boris. Manny followed.

“It’s just that Boris Brindle is a thief, a criminal,” he said, voice low.

Manny pursed his lips and gave Boris a once-over. “Doesn’t look like one. How do you know that?”

“Yes,” said a sharp voice as Piper appeared along the path, holding a full cardboard box with a pair of slippers peeking out of the top. “How do you know that?”

What parallel Brindle universe had he been sucked into? Cy checked again. Yes, he was standing in the gardens of the Pelican Inn. There should be no Brindles around for miles, yet here she was, her eyes blazing green fury at him. Forcing a breath in to calm himself, he faced her. “I know because after my stolen truck was recovered on a side street, an LA cop friend of mine told me about a certain set of fingerprints he lifted off the vehicle.”

Her face blanched, but she did not look away.

Bitsy took Manny’s hand and led him to a garden bench, allowing the fireworks to continue in semiprivate.

“If they found fingerprints, why didn’t they arrest me or Uncle Boris?” she asked.

“I didn’t want to press charges. I just wanted the whole thing to be over. My cop friend told me all about your uncle’s little habit of stealing things. Family trait, I assume, since I heard your mother...”

She raised a finger. “Don’t.”

The anger and pain in that one word slapped him like ice water. What was he doing, hurting his aunt and tearing open family wounds in public? Another quick breath and his reason returned. He would not be cruel. Not about that.

“Piper, it shouldn’t be hard to understand why I don’t want your uncle here. He’s a thief.”

“Not anymore.”

“So you say. He’s not welcome on this property.”

The sunlight caught the gold sparks in her hair. One long tendril had blown loose from her braid and flickered around her face in the breeze. He wanted to touch it.

“Believe me, if I had known he wanted to rent a room at your family home, I would have talked him out of it. I don’t want him around you, either.”

Cy stiffened. As if his family was the bad influence. “Afraid he might learn a few things about honesty and integrity?”

Bitsy stood and walked over. “I’m sorry. I tried to give you two privacy, but this garden is only ten feet wide, so I’ve heard every word.” She tipped her face up. “I know you’re trying to protect me, Cy, and I gather you and this lady have had a difficult past, but I will remind you that I was previously married to Leo, man who took things that didn’t belong to him. I loved him until his dying day, and so did you.”

“That was different, Aunt Bitsy.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“But he’s...”

“I appreciate your kindness more than you know,” Piper said to Bitsy, “but we will leave now. We’re sorry for any trouble we’ve caused.”

She whirled on her heel and marched up the steps to Boris without a backward glance at Cy.

Bitsy folded her arms across her chest and gazed mournfully at Cy. “Oh, honey.”

Cy resisted the urge to put his hands over his ears like a child. “It’s for the best,” he offered up lamely.

She bit her lip, and he saw the deadly glimmer of tears again. Manny put his arm around her shoulders. “It’s their inn now, Bits. The young people. We’ve got to let them do things their way. Our time is past.”

Cy considered his aunt’s tears and the grip of his father’s once-strong arm, which now seemed spindly, and saw that he was stripping them of their dignity. In a moment, they were reduced to old, irrelevant, extraneous. Because of him. But surely the answer was not allowing a thief, Piper’s uncle, to live at the Pelican? Surely not that.

* * *

PIPER’S CHEEKS BURNED with shame as she rushed over to her uncle. Cy knew everything. He’d known for years. And worst of all, he’d kept Boris out of jail, which made him a sort of benefactor. It was too horrible. She blinked hard. She’d hoped he had chalked up her theft of his truck to temporary insanity. Now she knew she was nothing more than a common criminal in his eyes, her uncle’s getaway driver.

How could he think that? After all they’d shared. Six months together, months like no others.

She gripped the box so tightly it bit into her palms. You stole his truck and left him on the beach because you were ashamed. You’ve earned every bit of his distrust. Somehow she made it to the carriage house steps in spite of her trembling knees.

“We can’t stay, Uncle Bo.”

He sighed. “I got that. Shame, since we’ve started to put down roots already.” He gestured to the cage at his feet.

The ugliest dog she’d ever seen was crouched in a ball on the steps, staring through the birdcage bars at Peaches.

“Is this some sort of predator-prey thing?” she asked.

As if on cue, Baggy put his misshapen nose closer, and Peaches awarded him a sharp nip. Baggy drew back with a whine before settling into the same position, eyeing the bird with rapt attention.