Fay Robinson - The Notorious Mrs. Wright

He waited in her office. When Emma walked in, he repeated how glad he was that she’d decided to come. He also took a covert look at her legs and appeared to like what he saw. Her opinion of him went up another two hundred percent.

“Ready, Mr. Lewis?”

“Only if you call me Whit.”

“All right…Whit.” The nickname fit him. “I’m Susan.”

The marina was half a block away, just past the bridge to the island. The boat held about fifty people on two decks. Whit gave her the choice of where to sit, so she chose a table on the upper deck, where they could see better. Once on the water, there’d be a breeze to keep them cool.

Rumblings of thunder told her they could expect the usual afternoon shower, but for now the clouds were to the west and not over them.

The chairs quickly filled with parents and children. The engine started, the boat backed out of the slip and they were on their way.

“Have you taken this trip before?” he asked her.

“No, and I really have been wanting to. I don’t know much firsthand about the city, only what I’ve read or been told.”

“Where did you move from?”

“Mmm…Nevada.”

“Is that where you were born?”

Emma hesitated. Years of hiding out had made her wary of strangers, but the wariness was as much habit as necessity. She had no reason to worry about Patrick finding her now. He’d died years ago. And thankfully, he’d never discovered she’d had a child.

Legal ramifications existed, of course, if anyone realized she wasn’t Susan, but in eighteen years no one had come looking for the dead friend whose identity Emma had borrowed. And from what Susan had told her, no one had cared enough to look for her.

Like Emma, Susan had run away from an impossible situation at home. But unlike Emma, she’d been unable to resist the lure of drugs and prostitution. She’d died of an overdose.

Emma’s foremost concern was Tom. She wasn’t sure what he might do if he learned she’d taken over someone’s life. He must also never learn about his father. He’d never forgive her for the lies.

“I’m sorry,” Whit said in the extending silence. “Am I being too nosy? I’d like to get to know you better, but I don’t want to pry into your private life.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m not used to anyone being interested enough to ask, is all.”

“I find that hard to believe. You’re very attractive.”

“Thank you.”

She liked the way he was looking at her, as if he wanted to gobble her up, but it also made her very, very nervous. How to handle being gobbled wasn’t within her area of expertise.

He was a toucher, too, and that heightened her sexual awareness of him, and her awareness of her own body. Climbing the steps, he’d put a steadying grip on her elbow. Crossing the busy street, he’d held her hand. She’d never known that elbows and hands could be erogenous zones.

Each contact had sent an electrical current racing through her nervous system. Right now that current pulsed between her legs.

Lord! She tried to redirect her focus away from what his nearness was doing to her, but the pull—female to male—overpowered logical thought.

What had he asked? Oh, about her birthplace.

“I’m, uh, from Virginia originally, but I’ve lived different places over the years.”

“And how did you wind up in Saint Augustine?”

“Abby’s responsible for that. We worked together as waitresses a few years ago in a horrible place. The management was crooked. The food was awful. Only two good things came out of that job—becoming friends with Abby and hearing her talk about her hometown. I fell in love with the city sight unseen.”

“So you moved here?”

“Not right away. The opportunity to own my own place only came open for me last year. I wanted to locate somewhere with a moderate climate and thriving tourist trade, but I also wanted a safe, family-oriented community for my son, and preferably something near the ocean, since he loves the water. So, I thought…here’s your chance to live in the town of your dreams. I called Abby and asked if she’d like to help me run a business.”

“She’s your partner?”

“Legally, no, but we’re inching toward that. For now she oversees the catering and she’s fabulous at it. She works with the local bridal consultants and party planners to give customers an event they’ll remember all their lives—costumes, props, scenery, the works. You pick a theme and we can do it. We can dress the staff, dress the customer, dress the guests. We use live centerpieces instead of ice sculptures, too, which is unique.”

“Like what?”

“Oh…models dressed as mermaids reclining on a half shell in the middle of a seafood buffet—that sort of thing. No one else around here goes to that extreme.”

“So these aren’t specific characters like you do in the restaurant?”

“Some are. Some aren’t. It depends on what the customer requests. People love themed parties, especially brides. We can whip up anything, given enough time. I have a whole third floor packed with props and costumes.”

“What are some of the weddings you’ve done?”

“Well, we haven’t done too many yet because we only opened six months ago and weddings take a lot of advance planning, but we’ve done several mystery parties. Those are great fun.” She thought about what else. “Oh, and we did a Gone With The Wind anniversary celebration for an older couple. The hosts dressed as Scarlett and Rhett, and we had a replica of the front porch of Tara. They gave an elegant ball with an orchestra and period dancing and all the guests came in costumes.”

“Not exactly my kind of party.”

“Too cutesy?”

“Yeah. No offense.”

“None taken. My son said the same thing, that it sounded like a ‘chick party’ to him.” They both laughed. “But that’s usual for this kind of event. The woman plans it and the man goes along with it because he loves her.”

“Makes sense.”

“The guests did have fun at that one, though. We got a lot of referrals from it.”

“What kooky ones have you done?”

“Mmm, in October a couple plans to be married in one of the local haunted houses. They want me to dress them as Herman and Lily Munster.”

He grimaced. “That’s way too weird for me.”

“Me, too. It doesn’t fit in with the elegant atmosphere I maintain for the restaurant, but for private parties I try to be more flexible. Besides, it should be fun getting them ready. I haven’t done monsters before. We get a lot of calls for parties with ghost themes, since the city is known for its haunted buildings, but monsters aren’t my specialty.”

“Can you do it?”

“Oh, sure. No problem.”

“Where did you learn your craft?”

“The costumes and makeup?”

“Yes. Where did you study that?”

“I’ve picked up things here and there. I haven’t been to any kind of school, if that’s what you mean.”

“You’re really good for someone who’s not trained.”

She shrugged. “I suppose it’s all that experience playing dress-up as a child.” She realized her unintended pun and almost choked.

“What about your family?” he asked. “Are they still in Virginia?”

“My stepfather, yes. He raised me after my mother died.”

“You’re close?”

“Not much anymore. I visit him a couple of times a year.”

They passed a sandbar where big, brown pelicans sunned themselves.

“Oh, look!” she called out. “How pretty.”

The boat was fully under way now, and the captain had begun his monologue. The star-shaped Spanish fort, or castillo, on the left bank had once helped protect the town from invaders. Whit took photos of the birds and then the fort, moving from one side rail to the other for a better view.