but had never met you.”
“Well, the name may have fooled him. We were seldom in the
same classes, and he probably only knew me as Patsy. I dropped the
diminutive from my family name for professional purposes, so I’m a Simon
now, not Simonetti. He didn’t put the two together. Besides, I knew TJ
better than Jared.”
Because TJ had the brains and Jared had the charm and the
Patsy she’d been had been terrified by charm and could only deal with
the male of the species on an intellectual level. Figures she’d end up
in an industry that survived on charm and looks. Must be payback time
from another reincarnation.
“TJ didn’t mention that, but then,” Cleo said, “he keeps a lot to himself. Katy says you’ll begin filming soon.”
Katy. Katy—the overly eager B&B proprietress. Knowing
people was everything in this business. Mara brushed a straying curl
from her eyes. “Not unless I can find a way through TJ’s roadblock back
there. Film crews require a lot of equipment that can’t be hand carried.
Got any suggestions on how to persuade him?”
Mischief twinkled in Cleo’s eyes as she considered the
problem, but she answered without a hint of humor. “I don’t think anyone
knows TJ well, but I have a suspicion it would take a bulldozer to move
him.”
“I was seriously contemplating that. Do you think the feds
would throw me in jail if I plowed up those bones? I mean, if TJ would
only declare them pirate bones, I’d not be so ticked, but he’s being
nasty about that, too.”
Cleo shrugged and watched as the boys, bored with the
conversation, ran off with the kite. “I’m avoiding confrontation these
days. If I were you, though, I’d be careful around TJ. From what I can
tell, he’s gnawing on something that doesn’t digest well. All that
ill-tempered gas is likely to explode on contact.”
Before Mara could translate any part of this, Cleo ran off
to rescue the plunging kite. Definitely not Miss Congeniality, Mara
concluded without rancor, kicking a shell on her way back to the road.
It would be nice to know someone who didn’t want or expect anything from
her. She ought to get out and meet real people more often.
Of course, if people got anymore real than TJ, she’d have
to carry a gun and start shooting. That would take care of his little
“digestion” problem.
What in hell had Cleo been talking about?
She’d have a digestion problem of her own if she couldn’t
move him out of the path of her trucks. Maybe a little media attention
would twist his arm.
Chapter Five
“Saw it with my own eyes, right out there off the island
where you’re at now. Them German subs had their searchlights on, bold as
brass.” Wrapping both hands around the whiskey glass he was nursing,
the wiry old man spoke earnestly on his favorite topic.
TJ popped another fried clam into his mouth. He’d already
learned that Ed could talk for hours on the subject. He didn’t have to
say a word. A good bar like this one could keep a man entertained for a
long time—or at least keep him from thinking too hard.
“Whales got searchlights?” another old man at the bar
taunted. “Remember old Hickock up on Bulls Island thought he saw a
U-boat? Had the whole island up in arms, running around like chickens
with their heads off, shooting everything that moved. Turned out to be
nothing but beached whales.”
“At least them people up at Bulls patrolled like they was
supposed to,” Ed replied indignantly. “We didn’t have nobody hardly out
there. Hickock even had a radio he could talk in. What did I have? I
tell you—”
“They rode horses,” another old-timer intruded. “We didn’t
have no horses and couldn’t get them out to the island if we did.
Wasn’t no roads back in them days.”
TJ forked the last clam, wiped his fingers on a bar
napkin, and reached for his wallet. He rather enjoyed the muted argument
over old wars instead of the rabid hostility over current
“Well, the name may have fooled him. We were seldom in the
same classes, and he probably only knew me as Patsy. I dropped the
diminutive from my family name for professional purposes, so I’m a Simon
now, not Simonetti. He didn’t put the two together. Besides, I knew TJ
better than Jared.”
Because TJ had the brains and Jared had the charm and the
Patsy she’d been had been terrified by charm and could only deal with
the male of the species on an intellectual level. Figures she’d end up
in an industry that survived on charm and looks. Must be payback time
from another reincarnation.
“TJ didn’t mention that, but then,” Cleo said, “he keeps a lot to himself. Katy says you’ll begin filming soon.”
Katy. Katy—the overly eager B&B proprietress. Knowing
people was everything in this business. Mara brushed a straying curl
from her eyes. “Not unless I can find a way through TJ’s roadblock back
there. Film crews require a lot of equipment that can’t be hand carried.
Got any suggestions on how to persuade him?”
Mischief twinkled in Cleo’s eyes as she considered the
problem, but she answered without a hint of humor. “I don’t think anyone
knows TJ well, but I have a suspicion it would take a bulldozer to move
him.”
“I was seriously contemplating that. Do you think the feds
would throw me in jail if I plowed up those bones? I mean, if TJ would
only declare them pirate bones, I’d not be so ticked, but he’s being
nasty about that, too.”
Cleo shrugged and watched as the boys, bored with the
conversation, ran off with the kite. “I’m avoiding confrontation these
days. If I were you, though, I’d be careful around TJ. From what I can
tell, he’s gnawing on something that doesn’t digest well. All that
ill-tempered gas is likely to explode on contact.”
Before Mara could translate any part of this, Cleo ran off
to rescue the plunging kite. Definitely not Miss Congeniality, Mara
concluded without rancor, kicking a shell on her way back to the road.
It would be nice to know someone who didn’t want or expect anything from
her. She ought to get out and meet real people more often.
Of course, if people got anymore real than TJ, she’d have
to carry a gun and start shooting. That would take care of his little
“digestion” problem.
What in hell had Cleo been talking about?
She’d have a digestion problem of her own if she couldn’t
move him out of the path of her trucks. Maybe a little media attention
would twist his arm.
Chapter Five
“Saw it with my own eyes, right out there off the island
where you’re at now. Them German subs had their searchlights on, bold as
brass.” Wrapping both hands around the whiskey glass he was nursing,
the wiry old man spoke earnestly on his favorite topic.
TJ popped another fried clam into his mouth. He’d already
learned that Ed could talk for hours on the subject. He didn’t have to
say a word. A good bar like this one could keep a man entertained for a
long time—or at least keep him from thinking too hard.
“Whales got searchlights?” another old man at the bar
taunted. “Remember old Hickock up on Bulls Island thought he saw a
U-boat? Had the whole island up in arms, running around like chickens
with their heads off, shooting everything that moved. Turned out to be
nothing but beached whales.”
“At least them people up at Bulls patrolled like they was
supposed to,” Ed replied indignantly. “We didn’t have nobody hardly out
there. Hickock even had a radio he could talk in. What did I have? I
tell you—”
“They rode horses,” another old-timer intruded. “We didn’t
have no horses and couldn’t get them out to the island if we did.
Wasn’t no roads back in them days.”
TJ forked the last clam, wiped his fingers on a bar
napkin, and reached for his wallet. He rather enjoyed the muted argument
over old wars instead of the rabid hostility over current
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