The House on Mermaid Point

Chapter Thirty-two

The Conch House Heritage Inn was comprised of two main buildings—a large white Victorian, with wraparound porches and Bahamian influences, and a shotgun-style house—both of which fronted on Truman Avenue in the heart of Old Town Key West. The grounds were lushly tropical and beautifully maintained; a far more contained and cultivated beauty than on Mermaid Point and the surrounding keys. The inn also featured on-site parking, which Chase informed her was highly prized; especially on a holiday weekend when Key West was packed with tourists who’d arrived in far more cars than the city had places to stash them.

“Sam Holland and I go way back,” Chase explained after he’d parked Avery’s Mini in one of those prized spaces, unloaded their bags, and led her up the steps of the main house. “This property has been in his family for generations, but Sam’s the one who renovated and turned it into a B and B.”

The “office” was an antique writing desk in a corner of the formal living room, a long space that overlooked the front porch and the pool. The floors were dark wood, the furniture that sat on them antique. The walls, which were accented with period trim, were decorated with family photos and memorabilia. Sam greeted them warmly, clapping Chase enthusiastically on the back and hugging Avery as if they, too, were old friends. He had an infectious enthusiasm that she had no doubt made total strangers feel equally welcome. “I’ve got you in the Marquesa suite on the second floor of the poolside cottage. It has a great view but it’s also extremely private.” He shot them a wink. “It’s one of our most requested suites.”

“Thanks, man.” Chase looked around appreciatively. “The place looks great. I know we’re both looking forward to hearing about the reno.”

Sam escorted them through the dining room and out to the railed porch overlooking the swimming pool. “We’ve got a full house so I’m kind of slammed this afternoon. But how about a grand tour after breakfast tomorrow? We serve from eight thirty to ten and a lot of people eat out here around the pool. I’ll need some sustenance before we talk about the renovation.” He laughed ruefully. “All’s well that ends well, but the renovation was of epic and sometimes terrifying proportions.”

“Ah.” Avery laughed. “I can relate. We’ll have to compare battle scars.”

Their room had tile floors and vaulted ceilings with exposed beams and was painted a tropical turquoise. Avery stepped out through French doors and inhaled the fragrant scents of frangipani and jasmine from the trees that climbed up over the private balcony. “Mm-mm. I think I’m starting to unwind already.”

“Me, too.” Chase stepped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss just behind her ear. “In fact, I’m thinking maybe we need a bit of a nap.” He yawned unconvincingly.

“But there are so many things to do and we’re only here for a few days.”

“Mm-hm.” He nibbled on her earlobe, dropped his mouth to the nape of her neck.

“You know like the Hemingway House, and the Southernmost Point, and . . .” She swallowed as his hands moved up from her waist. “The . . . uh . . .” She shivered slightly at his touch. “The sunset celebration at Mallory Square. I hear that’s a must.”

He turned her gently to face him and covered her mouth with his.

When the kiss ended she was short of breath and her knees felt distinctly Jell-O-like. “I guess it is a little hot outside right now.”

“Extremely.” He kissed her again. “Extremely hot.”

She went up on the balls of her feet so that their bodies fit even more tightly, driving up the heat between them and leaving no doubt exactly how glad he was to see her.

“I’m going to make sure you see every single thing in those brochures you brought with you, Avery. And a couple of things that aren’t.”

“That’s good.” She sighed as he ran his hands over her. Her skin prickled with awareness. “About that nap, though . . .”

His hands cupped her bottom.

She rubbed against him. “I think I’m a little too . . . awake . . . now to . . . sleep.”

“Not all napping involves sleeping.” He slid a hand under her knees and lifted her easily. Her arms looped around his neck as he carried her inside.

“It’s been way too long, Avery.” He lowered her onto the bed. “Like an eternity.”

She smiled as he lifted his T-shirt up over his head, helped unfasten his shorts, felt a tug of desire when he shucked them.

“I’m not sure how restful this nap is going to be.” Chase settled next to her and began to unbutton her blouse. “But I guarantee we’re both going to feel a hell of a lot more relaxed afterward.”

Kyra drove over the Howard Frankland Bridge to St. Petersburg with one eye on the currently choppy waters of Tampa Bay and the other in the rearview mirror of the rental car. Dustin was sound asleep in his car seat. So far she’d seen no sign of a photographer of any kind. If she were lucky Nigel and the other paparazzi were still hanging around Islamorada and doing drive-bys of Mermaid Point. Or on their way to some other vacation spot where they could stalk new, hopefully more tabloid-worthy, game.

The Gandy and Courtney Campbell bridges, which spanned the bay on either side of the Howard Frankland, looked equally packed with cars headed toward the Gulf beaches. From the bridge she drove 275 to the Pinellas Bayway, which deposited her onto St. Pete Beach. At the light she came face-to-face with the Don CeSar Hotel, a huge pink wedding cake of a building with white-icing-trimmed windows and bell towers, then turned south onto the two-laned Gulf Boulevard. On Gulf Way she got her first full-on look at the Gulf of Mexico and the wide white beach that bounded it.

Breathing in the warm, salt-tinged air, she drove past mom-and-pop hotels edged up to new construction on her left. On her right, cars filled the parking spaces that angled up to the low concrete wall and sidewalk that paralleled the beach.

The blocks were short; the avenues that stretched from the bay to the Gulf were barely longer. She passed the Paradise Grille and the Hurricane, a name she’d always thought was asking for trouble on a vulnerable barrier island. Eighth Avenue, which served as Pass-a-Grille’s Main Street, came next.

Her heart sped up as she neared the tip of the island. It was the first time she’d been back to Ten Beach Road since Christmas, when she’d accidentally discovered that her parents were getting divorced and then heard from an enraged Tonja Kay that Daniel was Bella Flora’s mystery buyer.

Bella Flora stood tall and pink, a smaller, more intimate wedding cake confection than the Don CeSar, which had been built right around the same time. Rows of arched windows lined both stories and wrought-iron balconies hung beneath them. Her chimneys and bell towers rose above an angled barrel tile roof.

“Buhfora!” Dustin was awake, his face lit with a smile. “Buhfora!”

“That’s right, Dustin.” She pulled slowly into the bricked drive behind what looked like a pool maintenance truck. “You were still in my tummy the first time you came here.” She parked and unbuckled Dustin. “Let’s go see if your daddy’s here.”

She carried Dustin up the curved front steps to the heavy wooden door. It felt odd to ring the doorbell; odder still to arrive as a guest at a home she knew so intimately.

The bell echoed inside and she wondered if she should have just gone around back. Before she was ready the door opened and Daniel stood in the doorway. He was barefoot; his jeans hugged his slim hips. A short-sleeved work shirt, which had Pasadena Pools inscribed over the pocket, hung open, exposing his bare chest and his equally impressive abdomen. His eyes were warm and slightly curious as he ran a hand through his dark curls.

“Dundell!” Dustin’s arms went wide and he leaned without hesitation toward his father.

“Hello, little man.” Daniel took him from her, settling him on his hip and dropping a kiss on top of his now blond head.

He ushered her in and shut the door behind her. “I see you both stopped off to have your hair done. Can’t say I ever imagined you as a blonde before.” He cocked his head, taking her in. “Interesting.”

“Yes, that’s right. Your wife is a blonde, isn’t she?” Tonja Kay’s hair was a symphony of shades of blond. Alabaster skin and a deceptively angelic face went with it.

He made no comment as he led them back through the central hall past the library, the formal living room, and the marvelous Casbah Lounge. They stood in the salon with its floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the pool and the pass behind it, where the Gulf and bay met. The massive playhouse built to look like Bella Flora that Daniel had sent Dustin for Christmas still sat off the loggia, where they’d left it. Kyra was relieved to see that no one had yet started excavating the salon for an indoor pool as Tonja Kay had threatened. So far Bella Flora appeared unmolested.

Kyra spent some time studying her surroundings partly because she loved this room and this house in a way she’d never loved anyplace else; not even the house she’d grown up in. And partly because she was not yet as immune to Daniel Deranian as she needed to be. Even now, it was hard to resist the warm brown eyes that deserved the adjective “bedroom.” And then there were the chest and abdomen that had filled many a movie theater with female awe and longing.

“I hadn’t realized quite how fabulous this house was before I bought it.” He sounded almost surprised and she wanted to ask him why he’d done it; what possible reason he could have had for making Bella Flora their sixth house when Pass-a-Grille and the not-so-booming metropolis of St. Petersburg just beyond it were so clearly not the kinds of places the Deranian-Kays ever chose to frequent. But she hadn’t come here to engage in a debate, or anything at all. She’d come to deliver Dustin.

“Would you like something to drink or eat?” Daniel asked. “The fridge is stocked and there are meals in the freezer.”

“Duce! Nack!” Dustin exclaimed, holding tight to his father’s neck.

“Coming right up,” Daniel said brightly. “You must both be hungry.”

They moved toward the kitchen, but Kyra didn’t stop there. “I’ll just get the things out of the car.”

“Do you need help carrying them?”

“No, thanks!” She called this over her shoulder, the words echoing in the silence.

She hardly knew this helpful man. And it occurred to her as she headed for the door that other than the heady, if brief affair that had led to her pregnancy, they’d spent very little time alone together. And even those original couplings had been hurried and furtive. Only someone as young and naïve as she’d been then on her first movie set could have believed his interest was prompted by anything more than lust. Remembering how she’d stood in this very house and argued with her mother that Daniel loved her, and wanted to spend his life with her and their son, made her flush with embarrassment.

She returned and found the two of them seated at the kitchen table, a huge array of food spread before them. She saw a jar of caviar and a plate of carefully arranged hors d’oeuvres. But there was also a large container of peanut butter and a jar of grape jelly. Daniel was putting the finishing touches on a PB&J sandwich as she set Dustin’s duffel and a bag of diapers down inside the kitchen door.

“Boy, you guys travel light.” Daniel cut the sandwich in half and set it in front of Dustin while Kyra stole a look around the kitchen Deirdre had designed, with its Spanish tile floor, reclaimed wood countertops, and soft green glass-fronted cabinets.

“Dustin’s things are pretty small and it’s only a couple of days. There should be more than enough here.” She toed the bag of Huggies. “Did you bring a nanny with you?”

“Nope.” He didn’t look at all worried about changing diapers or much of anything else. “Come have a snack,” Daniel said. “And then we should move your car to a spot I’ve lined up. I’ve got a series of different maintenance company trucks arriving at intervals so it looks like the house is just being worked on.” He popped a stuffed olive into his mouth, clearly pleased with his plan.

“I’m going to move my car to my hotel, so you don’t need to worry about it.” Kyra prepared to go.

“What?” He poured white grape juice into a sippy cup for Dustin with an experienced hand, and she reminded herself that he’d done this many, many times before; he and Tonja Kay had adopted children. Dustin might be his only biological son, but he wasn’t Daniel’s only child.

“But there’s no need to go to a hotel when there’s a whole house full of bedrooms here.” He said this quite reasonably, as if it were only a matter of space.

“This is your and Dustin’s weekend. I’ll be reachable, but I think it’s better if I’m not a part of it.” Needing to end the conversation and any chance of temptation on her part, she moved to the table to hug Dustin good-bye.

“Well, at least come back for a swim or to watch the sunset with us.” Daniel’s gaze was puzzled.

“Can’t,” she said. “But thanks. Oh, and Dustin’s suit and floaties are in his bag. And don’t let him go to bed without brushing his teeth.”

“But . . .”

She gave Dustin another kiss, told him to have a great time and listen to his father, and left with a cheery wave. But she was very careful to park the rental car at the far side of the inn next door where, hopefully, Daniel Deranian would never, if he felt so inclined, think to look for her.