Part 22 (1/2)

Yolanda stepped off the plane just before dusk and was greeted by a warm rush of tropical air. She was Cuban by blood, 100 percent, but she'd never had a desire to visit the Caribbean, even though Vincent had often asked her to go. She'd wondered if her disinterest had come from a secret fear that if she'd gone, she'd have wanted to stay.

It was her heritage, after all. Palm trees and steel drums and bright-colored clothes.

Dios mio, she thought. I might as well go out with Junior.

Slinging her Coach signature duffle-a gift from a happy, white-haired customer-over her shoulder, Yolanda headed straight for the rental-car counter. She had not checked any luggage: she'd been more concerned about what Belita would need overnight.

Using Poppy's credit card, she rented a Ford Escort and picked up a map of the island. Once situated, she turned on her phone and called Elinor. Thankfully, the call went through.

”It's Yolanda,” she said when Elinor answered. ”Are you all right?”

”No, I'm not all right. I'm stuck here on an island with a half million dollars.”

”Tell me where you are. I'm coming to be with you.”

”What?”

”Don't ask questions. Just say where you are. My brother and Poppy think you might be in danger.”

Instead of going back to Poppy's for the dreaded house search, Poppy convinced Manny they should go to Momma's. She said there was something she had to do.

Momma was resting, so Poppy cooked supper-grilled cheese sandwiches, the only thing she knew how to make. But there was ice cream in the freezer-strawberry swirl, which Manny said was one of his favorites, unless he was lying because he was still hungry.

Never having had grandkids, Momma did not have a crib, but she did have a large cradle that Cain and Abel had shared before they'd been allowed to join Momma in bed.

Under Poppy's directive (Momma was feeling better by evening, but Poppy had suggested she stay under the covers), Lucky, Momma's companion, scrubbed down the cradle and brought it from the storeroom into the silver room, where they could keep an eye on the child while Poppy tended to her task. She lined the cradle with a soft comforter, though Belita didn't seem to care very much; she fell asleep right after her uncle Manny whispered something in Spanish, kissed her goodnight, and safely tucked her in.

”Now,” Poppy said, ”I'll need paper and a pen.” She went to the secretary's desk opposite the grand piano and plucked out a sheath of engraved ivory paper and a ladies' platinum-and-diamond Montblanc.

She was aware that Manny's eyes were upon her as she went to the bookshelves and carefully started her task. The fact that CJ was sure Duane wasn't Elinor's lover did not mean he wasn't her blackmailer. Not that it mattered. Duane and his antics had nothing to do with Poppy's need to finally purge the weight of her own sins.

Sterling humidor, she wrote on one line. Grand Hotel, Mackinac Island, Michigan, 1992.

She moved a step to the left. Sugar sh.e.l.l, Queen Elizabeth II, 1986.

”Poppy,” Manny said with a grin, ”what are you doing?”

”I'm making a list. For when I go to prison. Everything I took should go back to its rightful owners. In the morning I'll tell Momma her trinkets have gone to a museum. That will make her feel good. Her special things on display in a big museum.”

Suddenly he was behind her. ”You don't have to do this.”

”Yes. Yes, I do. I want a clean conscience, Manny. I don't want to give anyone power over my secrets anymore.” She gritted her teeth to stop from crying.

Ashtray, Fountainbleau, Miami Beach, 1991.

His hands rested on her shoulders. ”I can help if you want.”

She shook her head. ”You've helped me enough. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have the courage to be doing this. When I'm in prison, I'll remember this, Manny. I'll remember how kind you were to me.”

He turned her around, took the paper and pen from her hands, tilted her chin, and kissed her. Gently. Long. With warmth like Poppy never had known. This time, she couldn't hold back her tears.

”I'll do everything to help you get through this,” Manny said as he pulled from the kiss and held her close.

She shook her head. ”I'll get what I deserve, Manny. But maybe it isn't too late to help Elinor.”

Kiley Kate sailed through the preliminaries like the star she was becoming. As did Morgan Johnson and Taylor LeDuc.

Grrr.

Unfortunately, Alice was not a good judge of whether or not the others had done well: Her focus had been not on the glitter of the stage but on her ten o'clock date, which had taken on a whole new importance.

She'd bought Kiley Kate a light supper, helped remove her makeup, then tucked her into bed. By now her granddaughter knew the routine: Alice left the girl's cell phone on the nightstand while she went downstairs for a ”nightcap.” She instructed Kiley Kate to call right away if she was afraid of being alone: to date, Kiley Kate never had.

Still, Alice felt guilty as she stepped into the elevator and pressed L for the lobby. Guilty and reluctant and no longer sure about much of anything.

She stepped into the lounge and scanned the long bar. A few couples, a few men alone, two women together, whom Alice recognized as mothers of contestants.

She didn't, however, see a man who looked like the rather bland Internet photo, no one who looked as if he wasn't there on business, no one who looked like a theme-park magician.

The clock over the bar read 10:05. Should she sit down as they'd planned? Or would Bud stand her up? Would that be a sign of things to come for a middle-aged woman in search of a man?

Oh G.o.d, Alice thought, will I become one of those?

Then again, she thought as she stared at a leather-covered barstool that sinfully beckoned, maybe being stood up wouldn't be the worst that could happen. Since she'd started having the hot flashes, decisions were easier when someone else made them.

”Alice?”

He was so soft-spoken that she'd barely heard him.

”It's me. Bud.”

He was taller than she was, with silver-gray hair and a gentle smile. He was one of the men dressed like an executive. He did not look like a theme-park magician.

She followed him to a small table, where he pulled out her chair for her. After she sat down, he seated himself, toyed with the candle, and straightened the little tent card that advertised a fruity drink made of three rums.

”So,” he said. ”You're Alice.”

”Yes,” she said. ”I'm from Topeka.”

He smiled and asked her what she'd like to drink. She asked for a gla.s.s of Chardonnay, then the waitress appeared and he ordered her wine and one bourbon, neat.

Bourbon, Neal's favorite.

She s.h.i.+fted on the chair and tried to gather her feelings. Had Neal met his lover in a hotel bar?