LJ Maas: Rebecca’s Cove

If Juliana wasn’t BJ’s best friend, she would probably have been the last person BJ would call. However, BJ found herself obsessed with the stranger from the previous evening, and she was determined to find her, although she still wasn’t absolutely certain why.

“Jules, I need you to find me a girl,” she said as soon as her friend picked up.

“I’ve told you a hundred times, I’m not that kind of agent. Go down to Rush Street, it’s like a smorgasbord down there,” Juliana said. Her accent made her words come out in a quick jumble of dropped syllables, but BJ was used to it.

“That’s very cute. I don’t mean that kind of a girl. I need to find the girl I was with last night.” In BJ’s mind, she could see her friend’s head shaking.

“I know it sounds strange. In fact, it sounds a little pathetic now that I’m actually saying the words out loud.” BJ quickly told her the rest of the story. “Look, I know this sounds insane, but all I know is that I have got to find this girl again. I don’t understand why, but it’s as if my whole future depends on seeing her again.”

Juliana thought about what BJ had just told her. This was a departure from BJ’s customary cavalier attitude regarding women. Over the years, BJ had grown into a regular beauty and the beast all rolled into one. She was drop-dead gorgeous and could be charming when she wanted something, but she also had the most unpleasant disposition of anyone Juliana had ever known.

Their friendship endured because BJ seemed able to let down the walls and be herself with Juliana, who, being a literary agent, was used to dealing with temperamental writers. Their egos needed stroked twenty-four hours a day, and BJ was no different. In fact, her ego was more fragile than most. The irony was that although BJ probably needed and wanted love more than anyone else, her attitude, anger, and selfish behavior never allowed anyone the opportunity to get that close.

“Okay, okay, Miss Melodramatic. I’ve got someone I can put on it. So where did all this magic take place?”

BJ gave Juliana as much information as she could about the previous evening.

“Hey, speaking of where you were last night, mate, your grandmother called me,” Juliana interjected.

“Tanti? Why did she call you?”

“Because you had your phone turned off. Don’t you ever check your messages? She said it wasn’t life or death, but she did say that she had to talk to you today. Did you need me to ring her back for you?”

“No, no. I’m just getting home now. I plan on soaking in a hot bath, then committing suicide if this hangover doesn’t go away. I’ll call her before that.”

Juliana chuckled. “All right. Just remember not to bleed too heavily on the carpet.You’ll never get your deposit back if you do.”

BJ groaned in pleasure at the feel of the hot bath water on her skin. She stretched her neck and winced. Passing out and sleeping in a strange bed had twisted her neck and shoulder muscles. They were screaming in retaliation. She sipped the ice-cold Chopin vodka and held the heavy tumbler to the side of her head. The cold glass stopped the pain at her temple for a brief moment, but then the throbbing resumed.

BJ had phoned her grandmother’s house six times over the last few hours with no answer, and she was beginning to worry. Her grandmother lived off the coast of Florida, on an island called Ana Lia. BJ had only been there a few times in her life. She couldn’t even remember her last visit. She thought it must have been after her college graduation when her parents were still alive.

Evelyn Warren was her father’s mother. The old woman had adored BJ but had some sort of falling out with her son. Neither talked of it, but BJ’s father had never encouraged her to visit her grandmother. BJ had always found love and acceptance from the old woman, even though she thought her odd most of the time.

Her Tanti, as BJ called her, had been a renowned photojournalist. Evelyn Warren’s name had been on numerous Life magazine covers from 1940 to 1970. A Jeep accident during an assignment in Guatemala during the early seventies had left her injured, and she and her best friend Aimee had retired to Evelyn’s island home after that. Aimee was a nurse, which worked out well. Evelyn had been a stubborn woman back then, and Aimee’s prodding and pushing had been the reason that Evelyn made it through her physical therapy, which ultimately allowed her to walk again.

BJ smiled as she remembered how the two old women used to shout across the house at each other. After Aimee passed away, BJ’s grandmother grew more reclusive, content to stay inside her house on the island no matter how many times BJ encouraged her to move to Chicago. BJ talked to her twice a week and saw to her financial needs, although she still didn’t go to the island any more than she had when her father was alive. Her absence was due in part to the strangeness of the island. The people there seemed off center, as if they were untouched by modern-day thoughts. The second reason was BJ’s fear of water. She had to drive over an excruciatingly long bridge across the Gulf or take a ferry to the island. Neither of those options had held much appeal for her.

BJ’s cell phone rang, even though it sounded a lot more like a shriek to her aching head. She reached out with one hand and pushed the talk button.

“Yes?” “Baylor?”

“Tanti!” BJ was relieved, yet she unconsciously shuddered. Her grandmother was the only living family she had left and the only person to still call her by her given name. “Tanti, where on earth have you been? I’ve been calling you for hours.”

“Well, now, things aren’t that bad.”

“What do you mean, that bad? Why should they be bad at all? Are you sick?”

“No, dear, I had a little accident is all.”

“An accident!” BJ sat upright in the tub, ignoring the pain in her back. “Tanti, what happened? Are you okay?”

“I had a little fall, seems I broke my hip and wrist.”

“I’m coming to get you. You need to be in a hospital, not some—”

“Baylor, dear heart, calm down. I am in a hospital.” “Are you on the mainland?”

“No, I’m here on Ana Lia.”

“They have a hospital on the island?”

“Why, yes, dear heart. It only has five beds, but it’s like being in a hotel.”

“Tanti, how on earth did you—”

“Baylor...I need your help.” The older woman’s voice, which had always seemed so strong and confident, was suddenly soft and needy. She had never before asked BJ for assistance.

“Whatever you need. Just ask.”

BJ remembered that promise for quite some time. She blamed much of what happened to her next on that vow. If she had any clairvoyant abilities or woman’s intuition at all, she would never have uttered her next words. “I’ll catch a flight first thing in the morning, Tanti. You can count on me.”

“I don’t understand, Tanti. Did you fall down? How were the conditions there? Do I need to call my lawyer?”

“Baylor, please sit down. You’re making me dizzy.”

BJ paced the small hospital room from one end to another. Seeing her grandmother in traction, looking small and pale, affected her. Her day hadn’t gone well and she felt light-headed from the combination of caffeine and sleep deprivation. Earlier that morning, she had three cups of Starbucks coffee while waiting at O’Hare. On the flight to Florida, she briefly entertained the notion of a drink but didn’t want to show up at her grandmother’s hospital bed smelling of alcohol. She settled for more coffee instead.

The car rental agency at the Tampa airport had been an experience in itself. BJ wasn’t sure if it had been the incredible ineptitude of the clerk or the caffeine that had shifted her anger into high gear. It only took an additional year or so to explain to the clerk that she had reserved a car like the one she owned—a Jaguar XK8—and that a Toyota Corolla was clearly not the same thing. She pulled out of the airport calling everyone from the baggage handlers to the car rental clerk rat bastards.