“Hi, Your Wildness.” She was tall and lanky with white-blond hair and a heart-shaped face and, he was now remembering, a very clever tongue.

“Hi, babe.” Damn. That had just slipped out. Madeline Singer stiffened further until she was doing a pretty fair imitation of a two-by-four. Hudson shot him a pitying glance and this time Will didn’t hesitate to act. He gave his friend an unmistakable look and crooked his finger. Hud sighed, but he got up. “You remember Hud, don’t you, darlin’?” He took Hud’s arm and dragged him toward the blonde. “I’m going to have to excuse myself. Hud was just saving my seat.”

He sat in the chair next to Maddie just as the commercial break ended. He wasn’t the only one at the table who barely breathed as the rest of the scene played out on the television screen. Baby Dustin windmilling his arms and putting himself in danger. Madeline arriving with Max Golden. Dustin’s happy “Gax!” The horror on Maddie’s face when she realized what was happening.

Kyra sprang up from her chair with Dustin in her arms just as she showed up on-screen. “Come on, little man. Time for us to go to the potty.” She turned and left quickly.

Will’s attention returned to the drama that was playing out on the TV screen. Gunshots rang out. Deirdre shoved Avery out of the way and Max Golden dove in front of a second bullet to protect Dustin. Troy and another man burst into the room. There were sirens. Max Golden was carried out unmoving on a stretcher.

Next to Will, tears streamed down Madeline’s cheeks. Avery covered her mouth with a hand, stifling a gasp. Nicole slumped in her chair.

“No frickin’ way!” came from the next table.

“Did that really just happen?” Hudson asked.

“Oh, God,” Deirdre whispered.

They sat like pillars of salt through the funeral scenes as Max Golden was laid to rest and through the closing credits and even the commercials that followed.

“Jesus,” Will said. “That is so fucked up.”

He’d been through a lot of shit in his time, but he’d never seen anything so intentionally awful. He did not want to think about how he was going to come across when he and Mermaid Point were laid bare next season.

He became aware of someone standing behind him—it was Kyra Singer with Dustin in her arms. Her eyes were fixed on the screen where a promo for the next season currently being filmed on an unidentified private island in the Keys was currently being shot. Images of Mermaid Point, his house, and all the other structures on the island appeared. It ended with a promise of celebrities and scandal and ended with two shots meant to deliver on that promise. The first was a slow zoom in on a grainy black-and-white photo of “a cast member in the hot tub with the island’s owner.” Only this time the pile of discarded clothing on the pool deck was clearly visible. Jesus fucking Christ.

He flinched and saw that Maddie did the same. He could only hope they’d used that photo because that was all there was.

The final shot was of Kyra Singer in a lip-lock with Daniel Deranian. They were standing on some sort of loggia with a playhouse behind them.

Everyone at their table watched the final shots in horrified silence. The only movement was Troy Matthews and his audio guy coming closer for what Will guessed would be a three-shot including Will, a tear-stained Madeline, and Madeline’s clearly horrified daughter, who was holding Daniel Deranian’s son.

The screen went black and still no one spoke. As completely salacious but unforgettable promotions went, it didn’t get any better than that.

Chapter Forty

By the time the end of July had bled into the beginning of August some might have been tempted to liken Mermaid Point to Dante’s inferno. It was hot, steamy, loud, and teeming with people. Barges packed with materials and workmen came and went, gliding across the water like Charon’s ferry delivering shades to the underworld. The island bulged and reverberated with noise until even Avery had to admit that the “private” in “private island” might need to be eliminated. No longer an oasis of calm, Mermaid Point felt more like a refugee camp for people with tool belts or possibly a circus in which performers juggled power tools and wielded screwdrivers. For Avery it smelled and sounded like heaven.

The plumber had finished running lines and installing new tankless hot water heaters, tile had been laid in all the bathrooms, and the new air-conditioning system was operational. Mirrors were being cut and as soon as the custom cabinetry was delivered and installed, the countertops could be templated. Each step completed made the next step possible. Soon the painting, landscaping, and final decorative details would be dealt with. It was a speeding locomotive, and Avery’s job was to shovel coal and make sure nothing got on the track.

The paparazzi became bolder and sneakier, hiding among the crowd of workmen. Several had made it into the main house before someone discovered that the only tools they knew how to use were cameras and digital flashes. One of them had been found in William Hightower’s master bath, taking pictures of his laundry hamper. Will, whose pool had been drained for resurfacing and whose pool deck was currently being jackhammered out of existence so another could take its place, had been about to chuck the photographer headfirst over his bedroom balcony when Hudson arrived and talked him out of it. But Will paced his home and grounds like a caged animal, unable to swim off his excess energy or escape from the invaders. Hud took him off the island whenever he wasn’t busy guiding, but Will’s temper grew shorter each day and the odds of an eruption increased with each barge that arrived and every hammer blow that was struck.

They gathered in the houseboat at lunchtime to down sandwiches and cold drinks and took turns in front of the feeble wall air-conditioner, which blew halfhearted gusts of cool air between shudders and death rattles. It wheezed as if taking its final breaths, but so far it had refused to die.

Maddie brought out a plate of cookies for dessert. They took their time passing them around. The houseboat might be too small and not particularly comfortable, but it had become the closest thing to home they had and it beat the hell out of the blazing afternoon sun that awaited them outside.

Avery sipped her Diet Coke and perused her checklist. “We’ve got just under three weeks to finish, which will leave us with about four days for furniture placement, accessorizing, and staging under Deirdre’s supervision.”

“I’ll have everything on-site by then,” Deirdre said. “We need to be up and ready for guests on Labor Day weekend—that means sheets and towels and a stocked kitchen, the whole shebang. Lisa Hogan has agreed to cater a party for our sponsors and local officials to kick off the weekend.”

“The only thing we haven’t addressed is what to do about William’s studio.” Avery looked up from her notes.

“Do? I didn’t think we were allowed to ‘do’ anything.” Nicole broke off a piece of cookie.

“Maddie’s got the path almost cleared—the garden club can trim and plant while they’re on the grounds,” Avery said. “They want to get rid of anything that’s not native, which Will seems okay with. Anyway, I thought maybe we could just kind of spruce up the exterior. It’s a bit of an eyesore, and unless we add a locked gate to the bamboo fence, guests are going to see it.”

“I don’t think we should touch the building,” Maddie said. “He’s very sensitive about his studio.”

“The network’s been pretty adamant about not leaving anything undone.” Avery set down her list and reached for a cookie. “I feel like we’ve got to deal with it in some way.”

“I’ve never seen him anywhere near it. If we’re lucky he might not even notice we touched it until we’re gone.” Nicole examined her cookie.

“Unlikely.” Maddie set her cookie aside. “He knows a lot more than he lets on.”

“I agree we can’t ignore it completely,” Deirdre said. “Especially not if the network wants it dealt with. Why don’t we just give it a bit of a face-lift and call it a day?”

“This is a really bad idea.” Maddie began to crumble her cookie into pieces.

“Sorry, Maddie,” Avery replied. “We’ll just have to be careful not to touch it too much.” She barely paused. “Do we have a volunteer?”

No one moved.

“I hate to have to draw straws when we’ve already named a Hightower Handler.” Avery looked pointedly at Maddie.

“You saw those women all over him last night.” Maddie seemed to be gritting her teeth. “I don’t think I’ve got what it takes to ‘handle’ William Hightower.”

“I think the important part there is who was all over whom,” Deirdre countered. “I also think you’ve got exactly what it takes. Even more important, I think you may have what ‘His Wildness’ actually needs. Whether he knows it or not.”

“Extremely doubtful.” Maddie stopped crumbling the cookie. “I’ll do it, but I’m going to hope like hell I can get the work done without being detected.” She pushed the paper plate away.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. Maybe it’ll be like Fred’s Field of Dreams analogy. Maybe if the studio looks more approachable William will be tempted to step inside it someday.” Avery checked the item off her list, much as Fred Strahlendorf might have done. “Besides, how mad could he be over a little weed pulling and pressure washing?”

* * *

Late that afternoon Maddie found out just how mad William Hightower could get.

She’d hauled the equipment to William’s studio and managed to connect it. The first pass with the pressure washer had been moderately successful. The keystone block building was old and somewhat fragile and she’d learned the first time she’d pressure washed at Bella Flora that too little pressure was far safer than too much so she was careful not to set the psi too high and to keep the wand moving. She tried to stay alert to the sounds of anyone approaching as she sprayed the soapy mixture, but the pressure washer was loud and her mind was preoccupied with thoughts of the man the building belonged to.