Killer Summer, Lynda Curnyn [books suggested by bill gates .txt] 📗

I hadn’t responded at first because I was in a bit of a mad scramble before I got out to the beach.

And now…

Now I realized I had gotten the upper hand by not calling back. And I figured I’d hold on to it a bit.

As the call rolled over into voice mail, I sucked down the rest of my beer. If only they had waitress service out here on the beach. I could sure use another cold one.

With that thought in mind, I got up and headed up to the house. Maybe Zoe was back from her run. Though I appreciated the privacy while I conducted my business, I was getting a little bored watching the waves break with just that mutt staring at me. Sage had passed out the minute her head hit the beach blanket. I guess she’d had a lot of tequila last night.

Unfortunately, Zoe was not at the house. But Tom was. Cooking again. Geez, didn’t this guy ever take a break?

“I see you decided to join the living,”! commented as I walked past the counter where he was busily chopping away at something or other. Seemed to be a habit with him. Maggie, too, come to think of it.

Actually, I tried not to think of Maggie. It only made me feel guilty, especially after I filed her business plan away in my drawer file, under U for useless.

Tom looked up at me with a puzzled frown. “What’s that?”

“You feeling any better?” I asked. He had been in pretty sorry shape the night before. I guess I should be grateful, seeing as I didn’t have to put up with any late night chats with Tom once I crawled into bed myself. But the snoring! Jesus.

“I feel fine,” he replied, same puzzled expression on his face.

“Okay, buddy. Just wondered. I mean, you had a lot to drink last night.”

He shrugged. “Ah, that was nothing.”

No, dude, it was something, I thought, remembering his little display after the fireworks. At least it kept Zoe occupied, concocting her crazy theories.

“Nick, will you do me a favor?” Tom said now. “Can you go up to the market and pick me up some dill?”

Dill? I never saw anything like dill in that market, and I was about to make that point when he continued,“And if they don’t have any in the produce section, ask Bobby. They usually have a secret stash in the back for residents.” He winked at me, as if he were somehow letting me in on the dill conspiracy.

Whoop-de-doo.

“I’ll walk up there with you, Nick.”

I looked up to see Francesca, leaning languidly against the sliding glass door, clad in a baby-blue bikini.

“You better put something on,” Tom said. “You’ll get a burn walking around like that.”

That’s not the only thing she’ll get, I thought, watching as Francesca narrowed her eyes on him.

“You need anything else?” I asked. I was immediately sorry I did. Because I wasn’t gonna ask for money—in fact, I would feel a little dumb doing that, seeing as he was probably cooking that meal for us. And though I was grateful to be served a home-cooked meal, I didn’t feel like emptying my wallet in that overpriced market. I had bills to pay. The band. Lance. Comp USA.

Shit. I’d forgotten about the Comp USA. Man, I really was almost outta cash. I guess I didn’t have to get that new iPod, too. Maybe I could get Les to come down in the advance a bit…

“Naw, that’s it. Just dill. Thanks, Nick.”

“No problem,” I said, then stepped through the sliding glass door and on to the deck to wait for Francesca.

She came out moments later, having added the tiniest miniskirt to her bikini outfit. I was surprised she managed to get by Tom in that getup.

We started to walk down West Lighthouse toward the market. Of course, Francesca didn’t say a word. But she hardly had a thing to say last night at the party, even after I told her about my label. Well, she did seem kinda interested. Her eyes lit up a bit when I mentioned I was in the music business. Which only made me more curious about her.

“So you down here for the summer, huh?” I asked now.

I felt her looking at me from behind her black sunglasses. Gucci, too. I bet they were real. “Here and Manhattan,” she replied.

“Is that right? You live in the city?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Whereabouts?”

“64th and Park. With my dad,” she replied, as if the answer was obvious.

“Oh.” I didn’t think Tom’s daughter lived with him. At least Sage hadn’t said so. Maybe it was a temporary thing. “You go to school up here?”

She smiled, stopping to pull a pink flower off a bush in front of house we passed. “I’m done with school.”

“Congratulations.”

No reply as she tucked the pink flower behind one ear.

“So where’d you go?”

“Florida International University. In Miami.”

“Nice. Beach all year round.”

She shrugged. “It was my mother’s choice, not mine. She’s in Boca.”

“Oh.” Damn, this girl was a tough nut to crack. “So you got a boyfriend you left down in Florida?”

“Boyfriend?” She sputtered out a laugh.“I don’t believe in boyfriends.”

What the hell did that mean?

“I mean, really,” she went on, “what is a boyfriend? A friend that’s a boy?” She laughed again. “I don’t play with boys.”

“Oh yeah,” I replied gamely. “What do you do with them?”

A mysterious smile curled her little pink mouth.“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Dill. You know? I think it’s an herb…or something. Anyway, you got any?” I asked Bobby with no small amount of irritation. Not that it was Bobby’s fault I was irritated, I thought, watching as Francesca leaned over the freezer case in that minuscule skirt.

I focused my attention on the ever-accommodating Bobby— at least, he was accommodating every time Sage came to the market with me—and saw that he was shaking his head at me.

“Nothing?” I replied. “Not even in the back?”

Now Bobby, who looked a little like John-Boy Walton, aged about twenty years and outfitted with a gut and