Page 69 of Ten Beach Road

Nicole looked down at her hands, already rough and chapped from working on the house. She was doing manual labor while her brother seemed to be island and bank hopping. The list Agent Giraldi had provided made it clear that Grace Lindell’s foster children’s charity was just one of many that Malcolm had bankrupted. Her anger had not diminished, but it was hardened by shame. Didn’t he feel remorse? How could he go on about his merry way while his victims grappled with the fallout of his thievery?

Nicole pulled out her laptop and booted it up. She’d been the one who raised him after their father had died and their mother had expended all of her energies on survival. Had she somehow led him to believe that the end—triumphing over poverty, becoming financially secure—justified any means?

She typed in the address of a chat room he had once met her in years ago and when she was in she stared at the blinking cursor, thinking what she might say.

If she could just find him and talk to him face-to-face, she might have a chance at getting him to turn himself in. Or at least convince him to return the money he’d stolen.

Tentatively she typed,Gloria not singing. Suggests flight back from outer space. Will meet craft in person.It was a little vague, but then she had no idea what she was really proposing. Or whether Malcolm would ever see her message or act on it.

With her fingers still poised over the keyboard, she stared out the window and out over the bay, wondering where Giraldi was right now and when she might see or hear from him again. She’d been unable to discern any pattern to the agent’s drop-bys and had no way of guessing how often he might be watching her without her knowledge. The sheer unpredictability of his actions was unnerving, which might—or might not—be his intent.

Nikki closed down her laptop and put the incriminating pages and photos back in the envelope. She wasn’t sure how to get in touch with Malcolm or whether he might try to reach her. But maybe if the FBI thought she was willing to work with them, they’d give her some clue that would help her get to Malcolm first. What she did or said to her brother then would depend on a lot of factors. And would be no one’s business but her own.

It was just before sunset and Avery could already taste the strawberry daiquiris Nicole had volunteered to make. Maddie was in charge of the hors d’oeuvres, which meant something between Deirdre’s caviar and Avery’s Cheez Doodles. Instead of a swim or a shower or even a walk during the transition hour, Avery had decided the time had come to talk to Chase about the detached garage and her plans for it. Her “don’t ask, don’t yell” strategy had yielded results and cut down on the combat, but she was tired of the subterfuge. The whole approach reeked of cowardice.

Before she could change her mind or chicken out, she crossed the loggia, which had been turned into the door-refinishing area, and strode across the pool deck to the freestanding garage where she found not only Chase but Deirdre. Great.

She nodded to Deirdre, then turned to face Chase. Without preamble she said, “I think this should be converted to a pool house.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but she wasn’t ready to hear his objections. “There’s plenty of room to leave a two-car garage facing the drive and commit the rest of the space to a cabana-slash-guest house.”

“Avery, I . . .” He began what was bound to be the same old knee-jerk objection to any idea she raised.

She simply didn’t want to hear it. “Look, before you piss me off completely, why don’t we just walk through the space and discuss it?” Anger, hot and heady, began to pulse in her veins. She would not let him dismiss her.

“Avery, I already . . .”

“Seriously, Chase.” She was tired of sneaking around or arguing for every little thing, tired of being treated like a moron. “I get that you think I’m some little numbskull. I’m completely aware that my role onHammer and Naildidn’t help change that impression. That’s one of the reasons I’m no longer a part of the show.” She could not bring herself to admit that she’d been shoved out before she could even broach regaining her original role. Not to them.

“But . . .”

“But the fact that I’m blonde and female doesn’t mean I don’t have a brain.”

“Amen to that,” Deirdre said.

“You’ve known me a good part of my life and my father treated you like a son. Do you really believe he raised a ninny? Or that I got my architecture degree in a box of Cracker Jack?”

She glared at him, pretty much daring him to say yes, then continued without giving him a chance to answer. “I mean we can spend the summer arguing about every little thing that happens in this house or we can work together and do a better, more efficient job.”

“Well said,” Deirdre said.

The blood pumped in Avery’s veins. She squared off all the way and looked up directly into his eyes. Hating, once again, how completely he towered over her.

“Avery,” he said. “That’s enough.”

But it wasn’t, not nearly. She wasn’t leaving this spot until she’d convinced him that she knew what she was talking about. “I can completely see this space. And it wouldn’t be horribly time intensive or expensive to convert it.”

“Yes,” he began. “Deirdre and I . . .”

She noticed the tape measure in Deirdre’s hand and reached for one end of it, pulling it to the opposite wall. “We could put up a wall right here to separate the two spaces and a row of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the pass.”

Deirdre continued to hold the base of the tape measure as Avery walked her end across the width of the space. “I’d put French doors opening to the pool here.” She gestured to the wall closest to the pool. “It’s a simple structure and I think we go clean lined but not too screamingly contemporary. Maybe a touch of the Mediterranean and a hint of Deco.”

Deirdre smiled. “I’ve never seen a piece of furniture or a decorative piece in that style without thinking of you,” she said. “You fell in love with it when you were, what, five?”

“If you’re thinking of a stroll down memory lane, it’s going to be a pretty brief stroll,” Avery said. She let go of her end of the tape measure taking some satisfaction from the way the length of metal snapped back toward Deirdre, but she kept her focus on Chase. “I’m tired of your condescension and your . . .” She was so agitated she couldn’t even find the words. “It needs to stop.” Her neck craned upward and she crowded him, invading his space. Sort of like a bumblebee buzzing up against the trunk of a redwood.

He cut his gaze to Deirdre, which only incensed Avery further.

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