Blake looked at the beach. “There is that,” he said with a degree of regret in his voice. “I remember some fun days on this beach.”
David laughed. “More likely it’s the nights you remember. And a certain busty teenager named—”
“Stop.” Blake put up his hand. “Let’s stay in the present.”
Turning around, the two brothers looked at the town. A huge house, now a school, sat in front of them. It had stood there as long as David could remember. Since their vacations here were in the summer, the school was always closed. David wondered what the view was like from the upper floors. Thorn’s department store was nowhere near this house, but it too would have a view from the top of the building.
Two floors of the House of Thorn Logan Beach were dedicated to administrative offices and would have full 360-degree views. David believed that sunlight not only fostered production, but also contributed to better attitudes. His law office in Manhattan had huge windows.
The lower floors of the store were dedicated to merchandise.
“Have you reached her yet?” Blake asked, interrupting his thoughts.
“Not yet,” he said, shaking his head. He didn’t need to ask whom Blake referred to. David had been trying to reach Rosanna Turner for a week, but to no avail.
“I’d forget about her. There have to be other people with experience who can fill her spot.”
“I promised the Bachs,” David insisted.
“You called her how many times? Twelve? Thirteen? And she doesn’t answer, doesn’t return your calls. She’s probably moved or taken another job. It’s not up to you to send out the dogs.”
“I’m not calling her again,” David said.
Blake smiled. “I knew you’d see reason. That lawyer mind of yours knows when a case is lost.”
David didn’t reply. And his case wasn’t lost. Not yet, David thought to himself, but he wasn’t going to debate it with Blake. Promises meant something to David. He’d try one more time, but not by phone. Rosanna Turner had to be somewhere and he’d find her.
They started walking in the direction of the store. It was a couple of miles from the ocean. He could walk it on a good day. Thorn’s wouldn’t open for at least three more months. The exterior was complete, but the inside needed building, furnishing and stocking. David had relocated from New York City to Logan Beach and secured temporary office space next to the store. He’d toured the construction of Thorn’s and spent one day at the shore. He didn’t think he’d get many days to spend walking on the sand. Without a boardwalk, Logan Beach still had crowds of sun worshippers dotting the area. While Blake loved the ocean, when David swam, he preferred a pool to the salty sea.
“When do you leave?” David asked his brother when the two reached David’s car.
“Next week. I have to go back to New York tonight. My meetings with Dad and Mom take place in the next three days.”
When their parents told the family they were planning to retire, David jumped at the chance to take over the conversion of the Logan Beach property. Blake was headed for San Francisco.
David nodded. He remembered the last-minute instructions from his parents before he left for the shore property. Blake’s conversation would be different since the San Francisco store was fully operational.
The Logan Beach store needed extensive renovation. And David’s first order of business was to find Rosanna Turner and see why she wasn’t living up to the person the Bachs had gushed about.
* * *
As the sun sat high in the afternoon sky, David parked at the curb and stepped out of his BMW i8. The bluish gray vehicle was incongruously lavish in front of an apartment building whose glory days had probably been before he was born. Punching the lock button on the key fob, he strode around the hood and checked the building’s address on his cell phone.
He was in the right place. The structure’s door was ajar and unlocked. Three young boys careened out of the opening, laughing in youthful exuberance, and ran toward the main road. David entered. The hall was dark, lit by a single bald bulb that couldn’t expend enough light to clear the shadows.
There was no elevator, but a staircase, nearly devoid of paint, led to second and third floors. Rosanna lived in apartment eleven, undoubtedly on the top. Her door had obviously been replaced with a salvaged one. It was a murky yellow against walls that were dark and in need of refinishing.
David knocked.
“Who is it?” someone called.
“David Thorn,” he replied, his voice seeming to boom in the empty space.
David thought he heard a sharp intake of breath. A few moments went by before he heard the rhythmic click of several locks being opened.
The door was widened by a few inches and a woman cautiously poked her head through the narrow space, her arms grasping the door in readiness to slam it shut.
“What do you want?” she asked. Her hair was pulled back severely, and she had high cheekbones that showed the hollows of her face. Wearing no makeup, she had the most incredible eyes he’d ever seen—large, brown and watery. He wished she’d smile. He’d like to see how her eyes changed when she did. Her dress was faded and too large, as if she’d recently lost a lot of weight.
“You are Rosanna Turner, right?”
She nodded.
“I’d like to talk to you about Bach’s.”
“Don’t you mean Thorn’s?” she asked flatly.
He waited a second before nodding. “I suppose I do.”
“Not interested.”
She pulled her face back and moved to close the small rectangular opening. David stuck his foot in the door to stop her. It was the first time in his life he could remember doing something so impulsive.
“At least give me a moment to explain why I’ve been trying to reach you. You haven’t answered any of my calls and I’ve come this far.”
Her expressive eyes raked him up and down for a full ten seconds, before she stepped back and allowed him into the apartment. The inside wasn’t much better than the outside. It was lit better, due to the large set of windows. The furniture was old, past the comfortable stage, but not as bad as the front door.
“Would you like something to drink—coffee, tea, water?”
He heard no reluctance in her voice and took that as a good sign.
“Coffee would be fine if it’s already made.”
She didn’t say anything, only turned and walked to the small kitchen. The distance couldn’t be more than three or four steps from where he stood. David waited, looking through the window. Across the street was an empty lot. The grass was overgrown and several rusted-out garbage cans were strewn throughout the place.
She returned with two mugs. “Cream and sugar?” she asked.
“Black,” David told her, turning away from the window. After the light from outside, the room seemed darker. He took the mug and sipped the coffee. It was good.
Rosanna sat down on the out-of-date sofa and David took the seat across from her in a single armchair.
“You’re aware that Thorn’s has bought the Bachs’ store,” he said, stating the obvious, but he needed a way to break the ice. She