The Beach House (Clearwater Bay Book 2) Page 3

  “Yeah, I guess so.” I was on the cusp of volunteering to take his case – pro bono or otherwise – but something was holding me back. The high profile lawyer? But I was also a high-profile lawyer in my own right, that shouldn’t be a concern. The mysteriously picky ex-client? I couldn’t quite place where my hesitation was coming from. Perhaps he wasn’t telling me everything?

  “Ah, well,” he slapped his palms on his thighs. “I’m sure it’ll all come right.”

  “These things have a way of doing that,” I agreed with a nod.

  He shot me one of his patented half smiles, and I repressed a groan at my stomach’s now predictable reaction.

  “Better get back to work,” he said, and I nodded again in reply.

  He disappeared into the bowels of the house, and once again, I was left with the sound of bristles brushing over a wall, paint fumes burning my nose and my spinning thoughts for company.

  Chapter Four

  By the time five in the evening rolled around, I was completely exhausted, and my shoulders were shrieking at me to stop. I stood up with a groan and stretched, before turning around. Liam was leaning against the door frame of the kitchen with his arms folded, watching me.

  “How long have you been standing there?” I felt somewhat self-conscious.

  “Not long, I only arrived when you stood up,” he replied smoothly. “The electrics are coming along well. I have no doubt they'll be in working order by tomorrow morning.”

  “That's good to hear!” I replied happily, before an awkward silence descended like a blanket of fog in the early morning over a valley. I stood there, my arms swinging, and watched him watching me.

  Eventually, though, he broke the silence.

  “I'd best be going now, but I'll see you tomorrow, bright and early?” Liam asked, a small, friendly smile on his face.

  I nodded eagerly, and held my hand out to shake his, before realizing I had paint smeared all over my fingers. “See you, Liam.”

  “Oh, before I forget...” he turned from where he was on the front porch, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a card, “… here's my number, in case anything more goes wrong with the house. I don't think it will, but you never know.”

  I plucked the card gently from his fingers. “Thanks.”

  He nodded and clattered down the three good front steps, got into his truck and roared away.

  I watched him leave for a few seconds, tapping the corner of his card in the middle of my hand, lost in thought. So, he was a handyman, who was a passionate environmentalist and also just happened to be going through a court case. I couldn't deny that Liam Carter was extremely interesting... but did I want to get involved?

  I looked behind me, and the cool, semi-dark interior of the house beckoned me inside. Didn't I find something interesting earlier in Grace's bedroom?

  I walked down the passageway and entered the room. Once again, the sweetly gentle smell of roses tickled my senses, and a sudden image of being wrapped in one of Grace's hugs came to mind.

  The chest was at the bottom of the bed, right where I had left it. Kneeling down in front of it, I opened the lid. The hinges protested with a loud creaking before a cloud of dust puffed up into my face and the smell of roses intensified. I coughed a little and looked down into it.

  A faded purple nightgown sat on top of whatever was inside, and I picked it up. My fingers wrapped around something hard and rectangular, and the nightgown was oddly heavy. Something was wrapped inside it.

  It was a picture frame. I turned it over in my hands, and the image of a much younger, carefree Grace with her arms around a handsome young man greeted me. This must be my great aunt and her husband, perhaps? There weren't any familial similarities that I could see, but could he be her brother?

  I reached inside the chest for the next nightgown, this one was a faded yellow, perhaps it had been white once upon a time. The frame wrapped in this one held a picture of a young man and woman. The woman looked exhausted, and was lying in a hospital bed, but both adults looked extremely proud of the shriveled pink raisin of a newborn baby the woman was holding in her arms. I sat back in shock against the bottom of the bed. These were my parents, and that shriveled pink raisin was me, a few decades ago.

  The last nightgown at the very bottom of the chest was a faded pink and covered in white bows. The picture in this frame had four subjects. Grace was on the far left, looking sad and stern. I was sitting on her lap, at around eight years old. My great aunt had her arms wrapped protectively around my middle. My parents stood off to the other side, looking at each other with wide smiles on their faces.

  Seeing that picture triggered a memory of that day. I didn't remember much, but I did recall that Grace was on her own. She looked sad and depressed when she thought no one was looking, and she was particularly stern with me that day. She scolded me for running up and down and touching things I wasn't supposed to.

  I doubt I ever met the man she was with when she was younger though. He was long gone by the time I was old enough to start retaining memories.

  I packed up the nightgowns and picture frames reverently and closed the lid of the chest. The more I found out about Grace, the more questions I had.

  *~*~*~*~*

  When I left the house, I barely remembered to close the door behind me, let alone lock it I was so deep in thought.

  I pulled myself out of my musing and memories when I found myself sitting outside the Clearwater Café without any recollection of getting there. I shook my head and patted myself firmly on the cheeks to wake myself up. There was no point dwelling in the past.

  I got out of the car, locking it behind me then went inside the cafe. Joanne wasn't at the front counter this time, instead it was a sulky looking young man who was trying to be a Goth and failing miserably.

  “Welcome to the Clearwater Café, what can I get you?” he deadpanned.

  “How about a fruit juice and a savoury muffin?”

  He glared at me and sighed, like I had the audacity to ask him to do his job.

  “Fine,” he grumbled, then printed out my receipt and waved me towards one of the three rickety tables.

  I sat down on one of the chairs and pulled my phone out of my back pocket. Liam's card came fluttering out, and nearly fell on the floor. I picked it up and studied it with a critical eye. The card was white, with plain black print on it, detailing Liam's name, number and occupation, nothing fancy, which was exactly what I expected.

  I unlocked my phone and decided I had a while to wait, judging by the snail's pace Goth boy was going at behind the counter.

  I saved Liam's number into my phone and decided to make use of the café’s free WiFi. Opening my browser, I typed in “liam carter clearwater bay”.

  The first result was the handyman website I found him on before, which wasn't a surprise, but the other results when I scrolled down were.

  “LOCAL HANDYMAN FIGHTS FOR BIRDS” was the first result I clicked on. Apparently, a Ms Felicia De La Croix had wanted to build an apartment block on a bird sanctuary about a year ago. She felt that the area was prime real estate, that the apartments would sell like hotcakes due to the view and the flat surrounding area.

  Liam - and I really wasn't surprised to see his name - advocated that the bird sanctuary was much more important, for the environment and the protection of local bird life. The sanctuary was something of a tourist destination, which meant income for the entire town, unlike an apartment block, where one developer would reap the reward. He admitted that the birds weren't endangered or anything like that, but that it still wasn't fair to destroy their homes to make more for ourselves.

  I definitely supported his side of the argument much more than De La Croix's.

  The article didn't tell me who had won, so after a cursory look over at Goth boy - he'd only gotten my fruit juice out - I exited out of the article and went back to the results page.

  The next article gave a bit of history about Liam, explaining the work he'd already done for the town's environmental footprint, what with getting rid of the styrofoam cups, before recapping his argument against the apartment complex. The disagreement ended up in court, where both parties passionately argued their points of view. Apparently, the judge took about half an hour of deliberation before he ruled in favour of Liam and the birds.

  I resisted punching the air and saying “yes!” out loud. Liam really was very persuasive.

  Didn't he mention that his ex-client's name was Felicia? Was this the same Felicia?

  Movement next to me caught my attention and I looked up just in time to see Goth boy slamming my juice and muffin down on the table at my elbow.

  “Will that be all?” he all but snapped.

  “Yes, thank you,” I smiled and paid him for the food. He huffed and stomped back to the counter, where I heard him aggressively trying to beat the cash machine into submission.

  I broke a piece off my muffin and popped it into my mouth while typing “felicia de la croix” into the search bar of my phone with the other.

  “CARTER AND DE LA CROIX AT IT AGAIN” the Clearwater Bay Chronicle headline shouted at me. This time, I learned what I already knew, that Liam had apparently installed faulty wiring, which caused a house fire and half a million dollars in damages. Felicia had retained the counselling of a top shelf lawyer (no matter how hard I dug, I couldn't find out who her lawyer was, which I found somewhat odd) and was coming after Liam with a vengeance.

  All of this told me one thing, and one thing only.

  This whole thing was personal.

  Chapter Five

  In no time I was staring regretfully at a plate full of crumbs and no muffin. Painting was hard, hungry work.

  I looked out of the window and could just see the playful blu
e waves a little behind the road. The temptation to walk barefoot on the sand proved too much, so I got up and left the café.

  Within moments I had crossed the road and was walking in the surf, shoes and socks dangling from my fingertips. I closed my eyes and focused on feeling the sand squishing gently through my toes, focused on the sound of the sea lapping gently at the shore, and the seagulls calling to each other as they came in to settle for the evening.

  When I opened my eyes again, I felt much calmer and more collected. The sea never seemed to fail to do that for me.

  I paced up and down the shoreline, thinking. On the one hand, I could be helping out a friend in need. But on the other, I'd be going up against this ruthless De La Croix woman and her pit bull of a lawyer. Or at least, I assumed the lawyer would be something of a pit bull.

  I paced up and down, deliberating, for a good long while, weighing the pros and cons of helping out Liam. Would getting closer to him be wise? We were already going to be in each other's space for at least a week, would signing on as his lawyer as well be a good idea? I mean, as he said, we had sparks flying between us... would being around each other full time turn those sparks into an inferno? Would I want that? Matter of fact, would he want that?

  I flopped down on the sand, unlocked my phone and navigated to my contacts list. Staring at Liam's name didn't help me come to a decision, and neither did hovering my finger over the 'call' button for five minutes.

  Get a grip, Alyssa, I told myself firmly. Then I took a deep breath and hit the button.

  “Good evening, Liam Carter speaking.”

  I released the breath I didn't know I was holding as soon as I heard his honeyed voice.

  “Hi Liam, Alyssa here. Alyssa Waterstone.”

  “Out of interest, how many Alyssa’s do you think I know?” he asked curiously.

  “I don't know?” I said, confused.

  “Only one. You. And you don't have to introduce yourself with your full name. Now, what can I do for you?”

  Deciding to jump right in, I took a deep breath.

  “What would you lose if you lost this case against De La Croix?” I queried, watching the surf come in and then go skittering back out again.

  “Well, my pa is almost entirely dependent on me,” he started.

  “Mm-hmm,” I nodded my head, even though I knew he couldn't see me.

  “He's a diabetic you see, and a silly one at that. My old man never thought to put away a retirement fund, so he's living off me and social security, which we all know doesn't feed much more than a cat.”

  “Okay, you have a dependant, that's good,” I was thinking like a lawyer even though I wasn't meaning to. “Anything else?”

  “Well, I really love my job, helping people transform their houses into something special.”

  “I can understand that. I became a lawyer for the same reason – to help people.”

  “Also, how can I be Joanne's environmental avenger from prison?” he asked.

  “Who said anything about prison?”

  His silence was all the answer I needed.

  “Is that De La Croix woman threatening you?” I demanded.

  “Well, yes and no. All of it’s anonymous, but I know it's her.”

  I found myself clenching the hand not holding my phone into a fist in the sand.

  “What exactly has she been sending?” I asked through gritted teeth.

  “Oh, mostly letters telling me that she'll make me sorry I was even born, you know, the usual.” I could hear him trying to stay casual and upbeat, but the wobble in his voice gave him away.

  “All because you insisted on a bird sanctuary staying a bird sanctuary?” I said incredulously.

  “Ah, so you know about that,” his voice shone with pride. “Well, if she'd gotten her apartment buildings, the house fire wouldn’t have devastated her financially, apparently.”

  “Liam?”

  “Yes, Lyss?” he answered softly, and I found myself being okay with my maddening nickname – as long as it came out of his mouth.

  “I'll be your lawyer.”

  “Wait, what?” he sounded shocked.

  “I'll be your lawyer,” I repeated. “But I have a couple of rules.”

  “Go on.”

  “Number one.” I held up a finger to the sun starting to slowly dip below the horizon. “And this is a fairly big one. If you don't follow any of the others, you have to follow this one.”

  “Okay...” H sounded hesitant.

  “You have to tell me everything. I want no surprises in the middle of a court case. Everything. If you knew this woman during her awkward phase in high school, I want to know about it. If you accidentally poured coffee down her front on your way to work one day, I need to know about it. Capische?”

  “I capische,” he replied. “What's rule number two?”

  “Don't call me Lyss.”

  “Gotcha.”

  *~*~*~*~*

  By the time we hung up, the sun was well on its way to setting. I could never get tired of the sunset, so I sat and watched it stain the water gold and peach and pink and orange. A chilly wind ruffled my hair once the stars started winking into existence, so I got up and headed to my car. I enjoyed the music of the local radio station during the short ride to the hotel, rather than getting caught up in my thoughts again.

  I waved cheerily to the concierge as I made my way up the stairs to my room, but changed my mind halfway up and pivoted on my heel, before clattering down the stairs again. I smiled and shook my head at the confused concierge as I walked past the desk.

  I poked my head around the door of the room where I had found Mary the night before, hoping against hope that she was there. And what do you know, the little cloud of snowy white hair was peeping over the top of her chair.

  “Evening, Mary,” I said.

  She didn’t look up from the knitting needles clicking rhythmically at her chest, but her head inclined for a moment toward the rocker beside hers. I sank into it, watching her. She was knitting something different this evening, but just as colourful as the last one.

  “A crossover jacket for my grandchild,” she explained when she caught me looking. “She does ballet. Also, good evening, Alyssa.”

  “How was your day?” I asked politely.

  “Good, thank you,” she replied, just as politely. “I found a new type of cookie I like, which isn't something that happens often to an older person who’s always loved cookies. Want to try one?”

  She reached for a small china plate sitting on the table at her elbow, before offering it to me. I plucked one off the plate and took a small bite.

  “Good, eh?” she twinkled at me, and I nodded. “Now, I've decided. I'm not telling you anything more about your past until you tell me more about your future.” She settled her hands in her lap, folding them serenely, as if settling in for a long story.

  I nearly choked on some crumbs I’d breathed into my lungs in shock.

  “Well...” I began, once I could talk again and wiped the tears from my eyes after my coughing fit. “I've met a guy in town...” Where did that come from? Why was I thinking about Liam in the same sentence as my future?

  “Mm-hmm?” she prompted, picking up her knitting again. The rhythmic clicking of the needles relaxed me somewhat. “Who is the lucky man?”

  I felt supremely uncomfortable (and that's saying something for a criminal defence lawyer) but forged on anyway.

  “His name is Liam Carter, and he's the handyman fixing up Grace's place.”

  Mary had abandoned her knitting again and was looking at me eagerly. “Go on.”

  “As soon as we met, I knew we had something. I've never felt that actual attraction to a man from the get-go before.” I continued, telling her about everything that had happened today, from the static shock, to how my emotions reacted every time the man caught my eye.

  Mary just hummed in reply, the look on her face eager and proud.

  I stood up, and started pacing as I spoke, running my hands through my hair while I tried to work through my confusion.

  “He's actually amazing,” I rambled. “But if he's too good to be true he probably is, right? I mean, he cares about more than just himself, like the environment, for goodness’ sake! Previous guys haven't really cared what throwing a piece of trash on the pavement does for the flamingos in... in...” I lost steam trying to remember where flamingos lived.