It was a 617 area code, not surprising, and it was—her heart sank—her unpleasant cousin, Wendell Spinney IV. The last time she’d seen him, he’d made fun of her hair, insulted her and then voted not to allocate funds for a Spinney donation to the Special Olympics.
What did he want? She thought about letting it go to voice mail, but she’d only have to call him back.
“Hello?”
“Katydid. It’s Wendell.”
She loathed the nickname. “No, Katy didn’t. What’s up, Wendell? Need a good stock tip?”
“I’m doing pretty well on my own, thanks. But I’m headed down to Miami and I need a place to stay.”
“Why are you coming down here?”
“Business,” he said vaguely. “Now, about accommodations—”
“That’s easy—the Mandarin Oriental.”
“I’m not paying those prices.” Wendell loved status goods but was incredibly cheap when it came to anything else.
“How about a Motel 6, then?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Go to the Spinney compound in Palm Beach. You’ll be a lot more comfortable there than in my condo. And there’s a chef.”
“Alistair is there with Lisa and the kids. And don’t tell me to just avoid him. It’s not possible with those brats.”
She sighed. Just when she’d found some peace…
“C’mon, Katy. Where’s your sense of family? Besides, I need someone to show me around town.”
“Wendell, I’m the wrong person to show you around. I do absolutely nothing but work.” Miami was an intimidating town to explore by herself, and she didn’t seem to possess the easy familiarity that made other students quick friends.
A brief hope flickered in her: maybe Wendell had become a nice person in the few months since she’d last seen him? Doubtful. Kate grimaced. And she certainly couldn’t dance on a table with him in the picture.
“I’ll be there from the sixth to the tenth,” he said. “Can you pick me up at the airport? And Katy, you do have a guestroom there?”
“Yes,” she admitted reluctantly. “But no bed.”
“You get a bed. I’ll bring my own sheets.”
“Get a bed? Just for you?”
“What’s the matter, Katy? Can’t afford it?” Sarcasm dripped from his voice. “You need one anyway.”
That’s debatable. But she said, “E-mail me your flight info.” Great. It looked like she’d have Wendell’s pudgy, pompous ass here whether she wanted it or not. It never ceased to amaze her how he didn’t blink at going where he wasn’t wanted.
Kate didn’t want any of her family down here, but she especially didn’t wish to see Wendell. However, she felt a certain sense of obligation and kinship—his nuclear family was just as screwed up as her own. Their mothers had been identical twins, down to their matching drug habits. The only difference was that Kate’s mother was hooked on barbiturates and Wendell’s had been hooked on cocaine. A martini too many on top of it all had stopped her heart when Wendell was three.
“See you soon, Katy,” he said into her ear. “Au revoir.”
She hung up the phone. Why had she answered it? Get a bed. The nerve of the guy! Kate scooted on her butt over to her laptop, which lay on the floor since she still had no furniture in her living room, either.
She logged onto the Internet, found the Web site of a well-known outdoor equipment manufacturer, and zeroed in on what she was looking for. Kate grinned evilly. She’d get a bed for Wendell, all right. One of the blow-up variety. He’d be right at home on the big air bag.
When her order was complete, Kate wandered out onto the balcony and let the wind blow through her hair, inhaling the damp, salty scent. The air here in Miami was thick with humidity, very different from the crisp, briny Cape Cod breeze.
Below her she saw people sunning by the pool, sailboats and yachts out in the ocean; the occasional fishing boat. She’d started to relax and just people-watch when she heard the phone ring again. Tension coiled in her neck and shoulders as she stepped through the door and picked it up. “Wendell, what do you want now?”
“Who is Wendell?” said a deep, amused male voice with a slight South American accent. “Your boyfriend?” The timbre vibrated right down her spine and coiled into her stomach.
“Who’s calling?” she asked, even though she recognized the voice immediately. A shimmer of unwilling excitement went through her. She shook it off.
“Alejandro, from the MBA program.”
“How did you get my number?”
“From the student roster, Kate. How are you?”
“Uh, fine.” A pause ensued, and she tried to remember her manners. “How are you?”
“Fine.” The tremor of laughter still echoed in his voice. “So who is Wendell?”
She dragged her bare toe across the sheen of the hardwood floor, leaving a streak. “He’s my cousin. My obnoxious cousin, who’s invited himself to stay, even though I hinted that he should call a hotel.”
“I see,” said Alejandro. “Well, maybe you should take pity on him. He’s probably saving money for new shoes, too.”
Kate snorted. “No need. Not only could Wendell dress in suits made of hundred dollar bills, but he’s the type of person who actually travels with shoe trees and polish. So his footwear tends to last longer than mine.”
“Ugh. I dislike him immediately,” Alejandro said. “But at least I don’t have to kill him, now.”
“Excuse me?”
“Because he’s not your boyfriend.”
Kate didn’t know how to respond. “You’re flirting again,” she accused him, suspicious.
“It’s a genetic flaw,” he told her. “I am unable to help myself.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that. But you can kill Wendell if you want to. He’s very annoying.”
Alejandro laughed, and she loved the sound of it, rich and deep like flavored chocolate. “Kate, mi corazon, if he’s so bad then why are you letting him stay with you?”
“He’s family,” she said gloomily.
“Enough said. How long will he be there?”
“Five days. Unless I can persuade him to leave sooner. I’m hoping the blow-up bed will do the trick.”
“A blow-up bed won’t get rid of anyone with determination. You’ll have to make things more uncomfortable than that.”
“I’d love to, but I’m not sure how. You can’t stick nails into an air mattress.”
“Hmm.” Alejandro thought for a moment. “Is this Wendell an animal person?”
“No. Not at all. Why?”
“Because I have a friend who could loan you a pot-bellied pig.”
Kate choked on a laugh. “A pig? You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I’m not. And does this Wendell smoke?”
“God, no. He’s rabidly anti-nicotine and germ-phobic. The guy travels with his own sheets.”
“Then you need a smooth-talking Peruvian