Sunset Beach(6)

And then she was falling, endlessly spiraling down and down. She worked her feet out of the boots, feeling the board fall away. Frantically she thumbed the quick-release button on her harness again and again as the surface of the water grew nearer. She heard the splash of her body hitting the water, felt the impact on her chest and back and knees, the still-inflated kite dragging her face-first through the water, filling her eyes and nose and mouth and lungs with the burning salt water. Her body was broken and she was drowning …

Drue woke up, gasping for air, her body slick with sweat. She clawed at a clammy sheet that seemed to be dragging her back down beneath the surface of the water. “No, no, no,” she heard herself whimper.

Freed of the sheet, she pushed herself up to a sitting position on the sofa, her chest heaving, pulse pounding. She fumbled around on the coffee table, found her phone, thumbed the home button. It was 2:15 A.M. There would be no more sleep tonight. She could never resume sleeping after the dream descended upon her in the night, which it did regularly.

She walked stiff-legged to the kitchen, found the bag of frozen peas in the freezer, and limped back to the sofa, where she extended her right knee and applied the makeshift ice pack.

She reached for the phone, scrolling through the list of contacts until she found his number, which he’d insisted on typing into it.

“No.” Drue shook her head. She shoved the phone under the sofa cushion. Ten minutes later, she sighed and dug the phone out from its hiding place.

She tapped the text message into the phone. Hey Dad. About that job?





3


“This is a terrible idea,” Drue muttered, as she approached the green stucco bungalow housing the law offices of Campbell, Coxe and Kramner. Several other homes on the quiet, tree-shaded street had also been converted to commercial space. She’d spotted a dentist’s office, a title search company and three other law firms as she walked down the block from the bus stop, searching for the address Brice Campbell had texted her.

Their Friday-morning conversation had been brief. “You changed your mind!” Brice said when he called. “I mean, I’m glad, but frankly, I’m surprised.”

“Me too,” Drue told him. “Change of circumstances. So, when would you want me to start?”

“The sooner the better,” Brice said. “As I said, we’re shorthanded and about to roll out a new ad campaign. Could you start Monday?”

“Why not? Uh, what about the cottage? Is it okay for me to go ahead and move in? I mean, you did say it’s mine.”

He hesitated. “It’s yours, free and clear, but I don’t think you want to stay there right away. I did tell you it’s a wreck. But I guess you could stay with me until you’ve gotten the place cleaned up.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Never gonna happen, Drue told herself. “But tell me about the job, okay?”

“Sure. We’ll start you off as an intake clerk on the Justice Line. We can discuss salary when you get into town, but I assure you, it’ll be much more than you’ve been making waitressing. We have to be competitive to get the best kind of employees. You’ll have full medical and dental benefits, of course.”

“That sounds great,” she managed. “So … I’ll see you Monday. And, uh, what time should I show up?”

“The office opens at nine, but don’t you want to maybe get together over the weekend?”

“No thanks,” she said firmly. “I’m not sure how long it’ll take me to wrap things up here in Lauderdale. I haven’t even started packing yet.”

“Okay, well, if you’re sure.” Brice sounded disappointed. “Call me when you get into town, okay?”

“Will do.”



* * *



Of course Drue hadn’t called him. Physically and emotionally exhausted from the ordeal of leaving her old life behind, she’d finally rolled into St. Petersburg on Sunday shortly before midnight and checked into a cheap beach motel she estimated was only a block or so away from the cottage.

Her plan had been to wake up early, check out her new home, then report for work. But things didn’t go as planned. They seldom did in Drue Campbell’s life.

She stood on the sidewalk in front of the law office, fighting the instinct to run. Dread gnawed at the pit of her stomach. Why had she agreed to move back here? To the scene of the crime, as it were. And to work for the very man who was the architect of so much of her unhappy childhood?

Because, she thought. Because there is nothing left for you, back there in Fort Lauderdale. At least here you have a house. Papi’s house, she reminded herself. And a job.

She took a deep breath and pushed open the front door to the law office. A pale-faced young man with round tortoiseshell glasses resting on cherubic pink cheeks sat at a large reception desk. He was dressed in a lime green dress shirt and a skinny purple tie. He wore a headset and was typing on a computer terminal. He nodded at the visitor and held up one finger, signaling he’d be right with her. Drue nodded back.

The reception area had been carved out of the former living room. Thick Oriental carpets covered the gleaming hardwood floors and stiff formal draperies framed the picture windows that overlooked the street. There was a handsome fireplace and glass-front bookshelves full of obsolete leather-bound law journals. A pair of navy leather armchairs flanked the fireplace and a matching leather sofa was placed against the adjacent wall. A framed generic color photograph of a Florida sunset hung over the mantel.