She kicked hard, this time the heel of her foot connecting with his nose. He released his hold as blood erupted from his nose.

She made it to her feet and stumbled forward toward the stairs. She hurried up to the screened door, locked it and then the french doors leading to the sleeping porch. From her purse she fished out her brass knuckles and slid them on her hand, like a rich woman’s diamond rings. Her heart pounded in her chest, but as tempted as she was to flee, she hurried to the window and peered out.

Peter Manchester lay on his back at the bottom of the stairs, clutching his nose. The blood looked black in the moonlight. He pushed up on his elbow, swept the blue-black hair off his forehead as he swayed.

A light upstairs clicked on. April’s thin frame descended the stairs, a billy club—that showgirl’s choice of a weapon—clutched in her hands. “Carlotta, what’s going on?”

“Mr. Manchester was just heading back to the hotel.”

April stood beside Carlotta, her gaze dropping to the man on the beach as he staggered a step and touched the trickle of blood dripping down his temple. He stared up at the two women. He might have made a run at one, but a second could inflict damage or escape to get help. Eyes narrowed, and without a word, he turned and walked along the beach toward the lights of the Seaside Resort.

“What was that all about?” April asked.

“It’s nothing,” Carlotta said. “Go back to sleep.”

April regarded her. “Your face is bruising!”

Carlotta dabbed her cheek. Manchester wasn’t the first patron to assume more than he should. “I’ll put ice on it. It’ll be gone by morning.”

April reached for her arm.

Carlotta flinched in pain. “Go back to bed.”

“I won’t,” she said. “Come into the kitchen. Least I can do is make an ice pack for you.”

“No . . .”

“You’re not in charge all the time. Come with me.”

The force behind April’s normally meek voice was charming. She lingered another moment at the window, and when she saw no sign of Peter Manchester, she followed.

April turned on the light, and Carlotta winced against the rush of brightness. April opened the freezer, grabbed the metal ice tray, and raised the lever until the ice cubes cracked free. Carefully she spread out a blue-and-white checkered dish towel, dumped the ice into the center, and then twisted the bundle until it was secure. She carefully pressed the ice to Carlotta’s cheek.

“I saw him at the show tonight,” April said. “He was on his way to drunk.”

“His favorite pastime.” Carlotta looked toward the window and caught her faint reflection in the glass. “How much did you hear?”

“Enough.”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

“We all have pasts,” April said.

Carlotta looked up the stairs. “Where is Max?”