On Tour (16 page)

I did a double-take. "How's that? I seem to remember you attacking the bears with a carving knife."

"Because you drove me to it," Ashley insisted.

"They were stupid looking."

"Ahh, sisterly love. So wonderful to see it first thing in the morning," Mark said as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

We both glared at him.

"Fine," I said. "I'll help today, but tomorrow we're heading back to Annapolis. Paparazzi or no paparazzi."

"Deal," Ashley replied. "Now let's get moving. I want to pick up new curtains while the primer dries. Mark can watch Tiffany while we're gone."

"I thought I was doing trim work?" Mark complained.

Ashley smiled sweetly at him. "Trim work and babysitting? Wow! You're going to make such a wonderful brother-in-law."

"Thought I wasn't the marrying kind?" Mark gave her a wry look.

"I think you've shown some potential, and besides," she added with a twinkle in her eye, "practice makes perfect."

"I'd have to have apprenticed on a funny farm to get the right kind of practice for this family," Mark grumbled.

We were browsing through the household department at Macy's, looking at aisle after aisle of flowery curtains. We'd picked an earth tone color scheme with cranberry as an accent for the kitchen. My sister was determined to find curtains with actual cranberries on them.

"You don't need cranberries on your curtains."

"But it would really tie the theme together," Ashley insisted.

"No, the theme is not cranberries. The color scheme has a cranberry accent. You start putting cranberries all over the place, and you might as well have just left the stupid bears up." Did I mention shopping for anything other than food was not my thing? Shopping with my sister took it to a whole new level of pain.

I tried a different tactic. "Did you see any themes involving cranberries or any other fruits on the kitchen makeover show?"

Ashley paused. "No. They didn't have any fruits."

"Exactly. Remember it needs to be simple and sophisticated."

Ashley nodded and stared off into to the distance. Probably had cranberries dancing before her eyes.

I snapped my fingers in front of her face. "Earth to Ashley."

"Isn't that Andre and Marsha?" She pointed a finger across the aisle at the electronics department. On at least fifty big screen TVs, the image of Andre and Marsha, hands clasped together and wearing towels and not much else, blared.

Speechless, we walked into the electronics department and stood in front of a TV.

The reporter said, "We're going live to our affiliate in Bermuda with this incredible story. This couple, believed dead after a boat explosion, has just been found on a small island off the coast of Bermuda. Steve, have you had a chance to speak to the survivors?"

A toothy, tan reporter wearing a Hawaiian shirt and holding a microphone responded. "The couple isn't talking much, but the authorities have identified them as CIA Agent, Marsha Kincaid, and private bodyguard, Andre Beauregard. You'll remember first reports indicated it was singer/songwriter Diana Hudson and her boyfriend, Mark Greene, who were on the boat. There's been a lot of speculation regarding the whereabouts of Ms. Hudson. Even some wild reports that she was in hiding from an assassin."

Ashley and I jumped up and down and exchanged high-fives. Ashley started to speak, but I hushed her so I could here the TV.

The camera flashed back to the anchorman in the studio. "Amazing story, Steve. Something out of a movie really. And now, a couple stranded on a deserted island." The anchorman shook his head in wonder.

Steve flashed another toothy smile. "You said it, Chuck. Quite a story. The only new info we have from the couple is that they were snorkeling when the boat exploded. They headed to the nearest island and waited to be rescued."

The picture flashed again to Andre and Marsha. With a smarmy smile, Steve added, "I bet the real story is what happened on that island over the last forty-eight hours. Back to you, Chuck."

Ashley looked over at me. "Yeah, I wonder what happened on that island. Did you see they were holding hands?"

I rolled my eyes. "They're safe, Ashley. What happened on the island is between them." I didn't really mean that. I couldn't wait to grill Andre on what happened, but I was taking the high road in front of Ashley.

"Let's pick these curtains and get out of here. I want to get back and see if Mark's talked to Marsha yet."

For once, Ashley didn't argue. She grabbed a cranberry and beige curtain without a cranberry on it and rushed to find a cashier. "Yep. This story's going to be better than an episode of
Jersey Shore
."

 *  *  *

Mark was on the phone with Marsha when we got back to Ashley's house.

I mouthed, "Can I talk to Andre?"

Mark nodded, saying to Marsha, "So, no warning at all? Engine didn't give you problems? The bomb must've been on a timer then." His face was grim. "Can't believe you two were out snorkeling. How'd he talk you into that?"

I couldn't hear her reply, but I saw Mark smile. "I knew it. Is Andre there? Diana wants to talk to him. Good to hear your voice, partner. Here she is."

I took the phone. "Andre?"

"Alive and well." He sounded pretty chipper for a man who had almost been blown up and had spent the last two days on an island with no food.

"God, I thought you were gone." A sob caught in my throat. "And it was my fault. I am so glad you're okay."

"Just crazy luck we were out there snorkeling when the boat went up. One minute we're staring down at clown fish and then—boom! Debris everywhere. And it took thirty minutes of swimming to reach the island."

"You sound good."

"We're fine. Just some sunburn. We covered ourselves with mud and tried to stay out of the sun, but it was tough. Not a lot of shade on the island." His voice was cheerful. Like someone who just got back from a vacation.

"Sounds like there's more to this story," I teased.

"No comment."

"What happens on the island stays on the island."

"Something like that," he replied easily. "So, I hear they got The Spider before he got you."

I let him get away with changing the subject. There'd be plenty of time to grill him for details in person. "Looks like it. So what's your plan? Are you joining Carlos in California? I'm going to help Carol with Greene's for the next month. No more rock star for me for a while."

"My plans are up in the air right now. Since you and Carlos are all set, I might take a little time off." His voice was casual, but there was a note of excitement I hadn't heard before.

"Maybe with a certain redhead?"

"No comment," he replied.

Ashley and I spent the rest of the afternoon painting and hypothesizing about what happened on the island. Mark kept quiet on the subject. I was pretty sure he knew more than he was letting on, but I didn't push it since he was doing all of the heavy lifting on this kitchen project.

We finished painting just as the school bus dropped off Justin and Josh. An hour later Dan's truck rumbled down the driveway, followed by two more pickup trucks.

"Oh, what's he up to now?" Ashley grumbled as she looked out the kitchen window. The kids and dogs bounded out to greet him.

Mark and I exchanged an interested look. Dan "up to something" was always entertaining. We put aside our paint supplies and headed out to the backyard.

"Lookie here, kids! Ain't they beauties!" Dan had the lid off of a large wooden box. I caught a glimpse of movement inside. Like snakes or…

"Are those crabs?" I went in for a closer look.

"Yep," Dan said proudly. "George got two bushels today out of the Wye River."

George tipped his John Deere cap at me and took a swig from his Budweiser. "Me an' my brother, Randy, took his boat out today. Things were just 'bout hoppin' in the boat." Randy came up and peered into the basket.

The crabs were impressive. "Looks like all number ones in there." I hadn't had any crabs this season, and my mouth was watering just looking at the squirming bunch of crustaceans.

"No doubt," Randy agreed.

"There's three hundred bucks worth of crab there if in there's a dollar." Dan spit tobacco on the ground.

George shrugged. "We could've sold 'em at Buddy's Crab Shack, but these were just too pretty. Gotta share 'em with friends and make a night of it."

Oh, boy. I'd been here for Dan's Friday night crab feasts before. The last time, one of Dan's friends had gotten drunk and tried to jump his Harley over Dan's truck using the picnic table as a ramp. I don't think he'd worked the aerodynamics out before taking the leap.

Ashley came up behind us and peered into the wooden crate. Dan seemed to hold his breath. I think he was anticipating a bunch of lip from Ashley about the impromptu party.

But all she said was, "Nice. Hope you got some corn to go with it."

Dan beamed and pulled another big box from his truck bed. "You know it! Straight from Mason's Farm."

"Then get me a beer, and let's get moving. These things aren't going to cook themselves."

Dan let out of holler and picked Ashley up like she was a doll and kissed her.

"Put me down, you goof," she ordered with a laugh. When he complied, she raised a finger at Randy and George. "No daredevil stunts tonight. I'm not having the fire department out here again."

Randy waved a hand. "No ma'am. That was Crazy Lenny. Can't imagine why he thought he could jump your truck with his Harley."

Dan shook his head and grinned. "Couldn't no one talk him outta it, though. Man, that was a party. But he won't be here tonight."

George chimed in. "Yeah, ever since he got his new liver he ain't been a bit of fun."

"Lenny New Liver's what we all call him now," Randy said with a nod. "Man can't stop preachin' 'bout the evils of drinkin'."

"You'd think gettin' a new liver an' all that he wouldn't be so worried about it," Dan said seriously. "I mean he could get a lot of miles outta it."

George and Randy nodded in agreement. I excused myself to help Ashley in the kitchen. Mark gave me a pleading look as I waved goodbye.

Ashley was getting out the Old Bay from the cabinet and assembling the necessary utensils for cooking up the corn and crabs.

"You're taking this party in stride." I grabbed a box of plastic ware and a stack of paper plates.

Ashley shrugged. "Dan went dancing with me last night. I figure it's the least I can do."

I looked out the window. Dan and the brothers were gesturing wildly about something. Poor Mark appeared to be having trouble following along.

"At least there won't be a repeat performance by Lenny," I said.

Ashley shook her head in wonder. "I've lived with Dan for almost a decade. You'd think I wouldn't be surprised by anything that goes on, but I am. Did I tell you about going to the funeral for one of the guys in Dan's gun club?"

I shook my head. This ought to be good.

"The guy was cremated, and they had the memorial service at the gun club. Can you believe they took his ashes stuffed them in bullet casings and then shot the guy's remains off in a twenty-one gun salute? The guy's wife—dressed in a really expensive black suit—fired one of the guns. I'm standing there thinking someone's going to run out and yell 'gotcha' or something." Ashley waved her arms in the air.

"I don't want to ever hear you tell me my life is wacky. Not after that story."

"Diana, you had a hitman named The Spider trying to kill you, and you sing with pirates. I'm not sure my life comes even close to that."

She had a point.

An hour later, we were all seated at big long picnic tables covered in newspaper. Piles of steaming crabs and sweet corn lay in front of us. A cooler of sodas and beer was close by, and rolls of paper towels stood at the ready.

Everyone dug in at once. Crab guts and shells were separated from sweet, white meat. Mark elbowed me.

I'd already picked my first crab and was enjoying the fruits of my labor. God, it was so good. "What's wrong? Why aren't you picking your crab?"

He leaned over and said in a low voice, "I don't know how."

"Really?" I asked through a mouthful of crab. "Don't you like crabs?"

"Yes, I've just never picked them before."

"How's that possible?" I looked pointedly at little Tiffany ripping off the legs of her crab and then expertly plying apart the shell. "I don't think I've ever dated a guy who couldn't pick a crab," I teased.

"I'm not from here. We don't have crabs like this in Atlanta. Geez, call me a pansy just because I don't know how to pick a crab like Lenny New Liver." Mark grabbed a mallet and made a move to hammer his crab.

I put my hand on his arm and shook my head. "Mallets are for pansies."

"Your sister's using a mallet." We looked down at Ashley. She gave us a crab covered wave.

"She's a pansy."

Mark sighed. "I see a drive-thru in my future."

"Nah, just follow my lead." I held up my crab. "First you pull the tab off. Then all the legs."

Mark did as instructed.

"Now some of those legs might have a nice little chunk of meat on the end so eat it if you got it." I sucked on one of my crab legs. Mark tentatively picked up one of his legs.

"Now you pry the shell apart with your fingers and scrape all the mustard and lungs out. Some people like to dip them in water, but that takes all the flavor out. If it's really yucky, you can get a paper towel in there. But tapping it on the table usually does just fine."

"This is disgusting."

"Yep, but we're almost to the good part. Now break that in half and just crack the shell like it's a boiled egg. Lift the shell off and voila," I held up a lump of crab meat and tossed it in my mouth.

Mark tossed a mouthful of his crab into his mouth.
Crunch. Crunch.
"Is it supposed to be crunchy?" he asked through a mouthful of shell.

I looked down at his crab. Something had gone wrong along the way. Shards of shell were mashed into the perfect lumps of meat. "Nope." I picked the rest of the meat from the packed shell of my crab and put it in front of him.