Speak No Evil (9 page)

C
aroline tossed her phone onto the passenger seat without answering. It rang three more times, and she stared at the road ahead, feeling painfully ambivalent.

Her feelings for Jack were the one thing she had never been able to control. She could deal with her mother—and pretty much everything else in her life—without waffling, but she had never been able to take a stand with Jack. That, more than anything, was why she’d left Charleston.

It was past time to face her fears, she told herself—all of them. Not just those having to do with measuring up to her mother’s expectations. Except that where he was concerned, she didn’t have a clue what it was she was truly afraid of.

Having his love then losing it?

Or was it that she was just afraid she wasn’t worthy of love—anyone’s—and that Jack might wake up one day and figure that out?

For years, any time she had considered more than drinks and dinner with a guy, Jack’s face always popped into her head. She could lie to herself, but the reason was perfectly obvious. What she’d felt for him was real. But loving someone didn’t mean that being with him was right. Nor did it mean he reciprocated her feelings. Caroline didn’t want to settle.

But she was going to be living in Charleston, and her position at the paper would put her face-to-face with Jack more often than she might like. Was she really going to continue to go to incredible lengths to avoid him?

She eyed the phone, annoyed by the dialogue in her head. Reaching out, she picked it up and weighed it in her palm a long moment, staring at the road ahead. And then she took a deep breath, unlocked the phone and tapped the first entry on her call history.

 

It’s just another place,
Caroline assured herself.

The new building with its meandering wooden ramp reminded her less of the original graffiti-etched edifice and more of something you’d find on the strip in Myrtle Beach. The only thing that was familiar to her now was the enormous mountain of discarded oyster shells out back. The original restaurant had been a Charleston institution until it burned in 2006. It was also where she and Jack had had their first date. Unfortunately, she didn’t recall that part until after she’d already hung up. But where in the city could they have gone to be free from the ghosts of their past?

“Wow,” she exclaimed, as she got out of her car. “This is so different !”

Jack waited at the bottom of the ramp, his lips slanted a little ruefully. “Of all places . . . you picked this spot?”

Caroline lifted a brow as she reached his side. “Technically, our first dinner here wasn’t a date.”

“Just like this isn’t?”

He was challenging her.

“That’s right,” she said with an anxious smile.

Truthfully, she had no idea what
this
was and she hoped he wouldn’t ask for further clarification, at least not now. Her attraction for Jack was alive and well, but tonight was more about setting boundaries, forging a tenuous new friendship and maybe a little fishing—although not the sort generally done with a pole. Caroline hoped to get a little insight about Amanda Hutto’s investigation—anything that might give her mother hope. Although Folly Beach had its own small police force, which was handling the case, Caroline knew Jack had friends among them.

Touching a hand to her waist, he urged her up the ramp before him and Caroline jumped at the contact, peering up at him in surprise. The glance they shared was far too revealing, and Caroline averted her gaze. Thankfully, he didn’t touch her again, but the air between them was charged with undercurrents.

Inside the restaurant, the atmosphere was no less touristy and Caroline had the overwhelming impression of plasticity. Gone were the mismatched graffiti-covered chairs and rickety, newspaper-covered tables. Although still a hodgepodge of furnishing, the tables and chairs were all now plastic and the shack-like atmosphere was gone. The tables were covered in red-and-white plastic checkered cloths and there were talking fish on the walls. And it was clean.

Jack seemed to sense her disappointment. “Mind sitting on the dock?” he asked. “There’s a breeze tonight. Mosquitoes shouldn’t be bad.”

“I’d like that.”

“Let’s do it.”

Caroline stepped back to let him talk to the hostess, studying the small crowd. It was chic to come here now. A couple sat at the bar with martinis, staring dreamily into each other’s eyes. Back in the day when she and Jack had come for the occasional oyster fix, there was no glamour to the experience, and the place was usually empty but for the few locals who knew where to find the hidden entrance on Folly Road. It looked to Caroline as though they were now set up for bigger functions—weddings maybe.

The thought sidled through her brain before she could filter it out.

It was about Amanda Hutto. It was about proving, at least to herself, that she could live up to the expectations her mother had set. There was more at stake here than feelings and the death of romance. The picture was far bigger.

With Jack’s natural charm, they didn’t have to wait long for a table on the narrow dock, surrounded by Sol Legare Creek. The waitress placed them at a table for two and tried a few times to light their candle. Caroline nearly told her not to bother, except that the sun was setting and there didn’t appear to be any other light source on the dock.

A sliver of sunlight on the horizon sent tendrils of pink and peach for miles, casting a supernal light over the creek.

Caroline sat, wholly regretting her choice of restaurants. She had chosen this place because it was the least romantic setting she knew of in the entire city, not realizing until Sadie enlightened her on the way out the door that it had been rebuilt.

Ignoring the other couple at the end of the dock and the too-intimate setting, Caroline compared the images to the ones that lived in her memories. The evening breeze was balmy and the scent of plough mud, whence the oysters they’d soon eat had been so recently plucked, was pungent and strong. Out here, she could easily imagine that nothing had changed . . . that inside, every inch of the interior—chairs, tables, walls—were covered with the graffiti of ages. Back in the day, there was only one reason anyone came to Bowens Island—for the oysters. She hoped that hadn’t changed.

“Don’t worry,” he said, seeming to read her thoughts—at least the part that didn’t have to do with lovers or regrets. “They’re still great.”

“Oh, good!” Caroline said a little uncomfortably.

Luckily, they didn’t have long before the waitress returned. “Drinks?” the girl asked buoyantly.

“Not for me,” Caroline announced, setting down her menu. The last thing she needed tonight was impaired judgment.

“Guinness,” Jack said easily, scooping up her menu and handing both back to the waitress. “We’ll have two all-you-can-eat oysters and one Frogmore stew sans the frogs.”

The waitress didn’t catch Jack’s wink to Caroline. “Oh, there ain’t no frogs in the stew,” she reassured.

Jack sounded disappointed. “Not even one?”

“No, sir. The stew gets its name from . . .”

Despite herself, Caroline hid a smile but Jack didn’t hold back his chuckle.

“You’re teasing me!” the girl declared in a thick Southern drawl, and laughed, lingering a moment too long, her gaze on Jack while she shuffled the menus nervously.

“Just a little,” Jack confessed and his grin was full of good-natured mischief.

He still had the same effect on women—the moment he opened his mouth or smiled, he somehow charmed every last one—except her mother.

“So tell me why we’re here,” Jack said, not bothering to mince words. He didn’t even notice the girl’s moony-eyed expression as she walked away. “I was surprised you called back.”

“Well,” Caroline began, unraveling her napkin, “I’m not sure whether you’ve heard yet, but I’m home to stay . . .” She glanced up to gauge his expression. “For a while.”

He didn’t appear all that surprised, but she explained anyway, in detail, not realizing until this instant how much she needed to talk about the changes in her life. She went on to tell him about the stipulations of her mother’s will, Augusta’s temper tantrums and even her concerns about Savannah’s avoidance of her life. She hadn’t realized how long she’d been talking until the waitress returned with Jack’s Guinness.

“So is this what you want?” he asked, referring to her return to Charleston.

Caroline shrugged, relaxing a little. “As much as I don’t like that Mother is calling the shots from the grave, I’d be stupid to walk away from it all. Even Augusta can’t do it.”

Jack shrugged. “You can do a helluva lot of good with that kind of money,” he acknowledged. “That’s for sure.”

As though someone kicked up the volume on the background music, the sounds of the marsh rose as the sun set, leaving them bathed in the light that spilled from the windows amidst a chorus of crickets.

Caroline’s thoughts drifted to her mother.

Flo had certainly done her share for the community. People loved her for it, but it would have been nice if her charity had begun at home. Their lives, in so many ways, were a mess—all of them. Caroline couldn’t commit, or even have a normal relationship. Augusta seemed to feel she had to bleed for the betterment of mankind. As far as Caroline knew, she had no life and devoted all her time to her position as the Director of Volunteer Services and Youth Services for the American Red Cross. And Savannah . . . Caroline had to confess . . . she didn’t know her youngest sister any longer. She knew her life history, of course, but she didn’t really know what made Savannah tick. Savannah was quiet and distant and intensely private—something Caroline hadn’t realized until returning to Charleston.

“How are you holding up?”

The tenderness in his question took her by surprise. Her chest constricted a little and she opened her mouth to answer, but found her voice jammed in her throat. She swallowed and shrugged and for a moment, she could only stare into his knowing blue eyes, confused by the emotions his question roused.

He looked exactly the same, except for a few lines around his eyes and mouth.

She didn’t dare ask.

Caroline reminded herself to breathe.

“Your sisters look up to you . . . even if they don’t show it,” he offered.

Only Jack had ever truly understood her relationship with her sisters. . . even when Caroline didn’t. Memories too sweet to be discarded filled her head. Defensively, she pushed them away and clung to the here and now.

She changed the subject. “Anyway, thank you again for coming to my rescue the other night. I guess you can say this is my attempt to thank you . . . I thought we could find a way to bury the hatchet.”

He grinned. “So long as it’s not in my back.”

Caroline laughed. “There was a time I might have contemplated that,” she admitted, “but we’re past that . . . right?”

His smile softened, his lips turning only slightly at the corners, but the smile faded a little from his eyes. “Caroline,” he began, and she braced herself for a tense conversation. But then he seemed to think better of whatever he was about to say, and conceded, “I’d like nothing more than for us to start over.”

Something fluttered in her belly.

She wanted to ask him what, exactly, he meant by that. Her idea of starting over was trying to find a middle ground where they didn’t want to kill each other, but she was afraid she already knew what he was proposing.

The breeze lifted slightly and the candle flickered nervously between them.

Caroline couldn’t avert her eyes from his. “So . . . how’s Kelly?” she found herself asking without wanting to know. It was impossible not to know about Jack’s love life. For all its cachet, Charleston was still a very small town and gossip had reached her clear to Dallas—mostly through “well-meaning friends” who thought she had a “right to know.”

Jack picked up his glass, took another hearty swig and then lifted it to show the waitress he was ready for another. He swallowed hard, as though biting back more than just the words he wanted to say. “We’re done.”

“I’m sorry,” Caroline said automatically.

“Don’t be. It should have been over a long time ago. What about you? Leave any unfinished business in Dallas?”

“No.”

The single word left a thousand unanswered questions hanging in the air. Jack had the courtesy not to ask any of them.

The waitress brought him another pint, and Jack tended to it conscientiously as they talked through a first and second oyster dump on their table. By the time the stew came out of the kitchen, Caroline was too full to eat any of it, but she picked at the sausage and shrimp. She noticed Jack avoided the shrimp, even pushed a few in her direction, remembering that she liked those best.

She preferred to think of it as his peace offering.

“Delicious!” she said. “Thank you!”

He watched her as she ate, his gaze focused on her mouth, and Caroline tried not to care what he was thinking.

He leaned forward, and her heart skipped a beat at his nearness. The table was entirely too small, too intimate. Even with the cool breeze, her palms grew damp. Butterflies fluttered in her belly.

“You’re beautiful, Caroline,” he whispered.

Caroline swallowed the bite of shrimp and then swallowed again, a nervous lump rising into her throat.

His hand slid toward hers on the table and electric pulses shot through her body. She didn’t move, couldn’t seem to.