3 A Brewski for the Old Man Read Free Page A

need to get away from here.”
    “No matter how many hours I work, there still aren’t enough.”
    “You need a vacation. That will take care of the ghosts.”
    “And who will do the work?”
    “Get more help. How long has it been since you played golf? Before you played every day, now…” He lifted his shoulders. “It isn’t worth it, Sherri. Listen to a man who knows what he’s talking about.”
    There was no use telling him I was barely breaking even financially and one more person on the payroll would tip me over into bankruptcy.
    “Buy a good mystery and sit out on the beach for the afternoon.”
    “Ah, so now I see. You aren’t interested in me; you’re just trying to drum up business.” I smiled to show him I didn’t for a moment believe it.
    “Business is important but life comes first.”
    “Did Clay put you up to this? It’s exactly what he was telling me just before he left.” Never mind that Clay had even more money in the Sunset than I did — the hours I’d been working were leading to arguments between us. Clay told me that if he’d known he was never going to see me he wouldn’t have come into the Sunset with me. In frustration he’d left two days before to crew in a yacht race from Miami to Cuba.
    “How is the race going?” Peter asked. “Have they left for Cuba yet?”
    “Nope, still stuck in Miami while protesters block their boats and federal agents search them. Their plan was to be gone for ten days, two weeks at the most. I don’t think they’re going to make that schedule now.” What I didn’t tell Peter was that I was happy with this delay. It would buy me a little time. Clay had said things had better change when he got back, an ultimatum I hadn’t decided how to handle.
    “Well, if Clay and I are both telling you the same thing, it must be true.”
    “I’ll think about it on the way to the bank,” I promised. And I did. There were things I didn’t want to face, didn’t want to deal with. Running away and starting over suddenly seemed very attractive.
    When I returned with Lacey’s burger and fries, Rena was busy with a customer. Lacey and I went to a small curtained-off office space at the back of the store and huddled on two little stools with our knees nearly touching. Lacey was dressed in khaki cargo pants and an oversized long-sleeved shirt over a tee. Unlike her mother, she never dressed suggestively but seemed to hide inside her clothes.
    I handed Lacey a paper sack and said, “I’m taking the night off. Want to come to my place for dinner and a movie?” Even as I was asking I was calling myself all kinds of fool. I didn’t want to know what was going on because then I’d have to deal with it. Miss Emma always said, “Don’t rake the coals, ’less you want to start a fire.”
    Surprise lit Lacey’s face — and why not? While I’d always been friendly towards her we were really too different in age to hang out. Somehow, without out really articulating it to myself, I’d decided I had to tell her what Ray John had done to me, to warn her if it hadn’t already happened to her and let her know she wasn’t alone if he’d already messed with her. That was all I was prepared to do, that much and no more.
    “Yeah,” Lacey said, cautious and uncertain. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

C H A P T E R 5
    Lacey stopped dead in her tracks. “Wow.” She turned around in the circular marble foyer of Clay’s penthouse. “Wow,” she said again when she had completed the circle.
    “That’s what everyone says.” I pushed past her and led the way into the body of the apartment. “I’m denim and flip-flops and this is definitely haute couture.”
    I gave her the tour of Clay’s penthouse apartment. Oh, excuse me, Clay always corrects me here, our penthouse apartment. Very little, besides my clothes swimming in the walk-in closet of the master bedroom, belongs to me, and those few things I brought with me scream out for attention, they look so out of