Contents ( 66)
- Cover
- Books by Valerie Fraser Luesse
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Dedication
- Contents
- Map of Florida
- one
- two
- three
- four
- five
- six
- seven
- eight
- nine
- ten
- eleven
- twelve
- thirteen
- fourteen
- fifteen
- sixteen
- seventeen
- eighteen
- nineteen
- twenty
- twenty-one
- twenty-two
- twenty-three
- twenty-four
- twenty-five
- twenty-six
- twenty-seven
- twenty-eight
- twenty-nine
- thirty
- thirty-one
- thirty-two
- thirty-three
- thirty-four
- thirty-five
- thirty-six
- thirty-seven
- thirty-eight
- thirty-nine
- forty
- forty-one
- forty-two
- forty-three
- forty-four
- forty-five
- forty-six
- forty-seven
- forty-eight
- forty-nine
- fifty
- fifty-one
- Epilogue
- Keep Reading for a Preview of Valerie Luesse’s Next Book!
- Prologue
- one
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Back Ads
- Back Cover
“Give them their money back, Finn.”
“But, Gert, some of ’em were willin’ to pay top dollar and—”
“Finn, I swear, if you don’t give them back their money right this second, I’m gonna beat you to death with your own crutch.”
Now the women had surrounded Finn, who was looking desperate.
“Hold on, ladies,” Peyton intervened. “Finn’s gonna give you your money back, but I’d be honored to dance with you. When Aunt Gert’s ready to spin again, though, you’ll have to find another partner. That shouldn’t be too hard, because, if you don’t mind my sayin’, you all look very pretty tonight.”
Now the women were smiling again.
“There now, see?” Finn said. “Everything worked out, and we’re all friends again.”
“Not till you pay them,” Aunt Gert said. “Cough it up.”
Finn reluctantly repaid the women. A plump one at the front of the line pinched Peyton on the cheek and said, “I’m first!”
“Yes, ma’am.” He escorted her to the dance floor, the line of women following, as the band played “A String of Pearls” and wondered how on earth he’d gotten from spring dances with Lisa to a VFW with women just this side of the nursing home. But then again, he knew the answer. He got here on a bus by way of a hospital by way of a bottle by way of a war.
sixteen
Peyton and Aunt Gert sang and danced all the way from the VFW hall to her purple bungalow. The breeze was picking up, and they could hear occasional thunder off in the distance. The Atlantic coast could swing from hot and sunny to brisk and stormy in a heartbeat.
They were walking up the driveway, laughing about one of Peyton’s missteps, when Aunt Gert suddenly fell silent and stood very still. She was frowning and staring at her house.
“What’s the matter, Aunt Gert?” Peyton asked.
She pointed at the dark house. “I never leave the lights off when I’m out at night.”
Now Peyton was looking at the bungalow barely visible in the darkness, surrounded as it was by palms and tropical shrubs. “When we left for the VFW, I asked if I should turn off the living room light, and you said no,” he reminded her. “I’m sure I left it on.”
“I’m sure you did too. Let’s get to the toolshed.”
Inside the dark shed, Aunt Gert felt her way to a spade, which she handed to Peyton, and a shovel, which she held on to herself. “Follow me,” she whispered to Peyton, “and keep quiet.”
They tiptoed onto the front porch, stopped, and listened. Nothing. Aunt Gert felt for the key she kept on top of the door frame, but it wasn’t there. She looked at Peyton, then slowly turned the doorknob. They both heard it click open. Just inside the living room, Aunt Gert reached for a lamp and switched it on. No one was there. The living room was empty, the lamplight a comfort.