“Dad never stopped dreaming,” he said. “Every couple years, he’d do something like this.” Martin patted the envelope on the table. “Come up with a whole new vision, new plans. My mother said his fantasies would be the death of her.”
Beth raised her Corona again. “To your father’s dreams,” she said.
Martin downed the rest of his whiskey and turned to the window, staring into the darkness of the marina.
“What about your dreams?” Beth asked.
“I’m sorry?”
“What are you going to do with the money from the sale?”
He frowned. “I’m not sure there’s going to be a sale. Di’s dragging her feet. I got us a solid offer, all cash, from a development group that wants to build a bunch of houses there. Could be good for the community, and it could really help my company get over this cash-flow hump. But the offer expires on Monday, and Di’s been refusing to discuss it. She’s been making noise about family legacies, some dream she has about building a horse spa. We’ll probably be holed up at the ranch all weekend battling it out.”
When he signaled to Scotty for yet another whiskey, Beth decided to make her exit.
Then the music changed, and Martin’s eyes lit up.
“Another one of Mom’s favorites,” he said.
Beth looked around. Scotty had dimmed the dining room, and Billy Idol was crooning about eyes without a face. She’d always thought the song was kind of creepy, but it clearly had sentimental value for Martin. He was wobbling to his feet, a wistful, lopsided smile on his face.
“What do you think it’s about?” she asked.
“Who cares?” Martin said. “Let’s dance.”
Martin extended a hand to Beth. She smiled but didn’t move. Then again, he looked kind of cute with his hand outstretched, his white button-down glowing in the dusky light. Beth let him pull her out into the no-man’s-land between the bar and the tables. She swayed back and forth an arm’s length from Martin, wary of who might be watching, maybe laughing, from the bar. But Scotty was in the back doing God knows what, and the regulars were all staring deep in their shot glasses like the meaning of life might be drowning down there. She closed her eyes and let the music take her away.
Chapter Forty-One
When Beth got home at ten, humming “White Wedding” under her breath, she found her mother and daughter on the sofa in the living room. Lana’s head was tipped back, mouth open, sending snores up to the ceiling. Jack was blinking at her phone. There was an empty pill counter and an open laptop on the driftwood side table.
Beth switched off the TV and put her hand on Jack’s shoulder.
“Hi, honey,” Beth said.
Lana jolted awake at the sound. For a moment her eyes flashed wide, hands grasping the couch cushions. She looked fragile and afraid. Then her eyes focused on her daughter, and her body relaxed.
“Beth.” Lana shook away a yawn. “You went to see Martin? Did you give him the envelope?”
“Yeah.” Beth decided it wouldn’t hurt to tell her mother what she’d seen. “It was a set of plans for some kind of compound, like—”
“Like this?” Lana swung the laptop onto her lap.
“How in the world did you . . . ?” Beth shook her head. “Yes, Ma. Exactly like that. But he didn’t seem to think they were a big deal.”
“He already knew about the project?” Lana sounded surprised.
“I don’t think so.” Beth rewound the evening in her head, trying to recall exactly what Martin had said about the plans. All she could remember was his distracted stare out the window, searching the shadows for the parents he’d lost.
“Lady Di acted shocked when I told her about it,” Lana said. “I think Hal was keeping the project from both of them.”
“I always thought of Mr. Rhoads as a straight arrow,” Beth said. “But it sounds like he didn’t tell his kids what he was planning, or even how sick he was. Maybe he was hiding other things as well.”
“Or he was trying to find the right way to tell them,” Lana said. “Maybe he was scared of how it might change their relationship.”
Beth looked quizzically at her mother. She wondered if Lana was still talking about the Rhoadses.
“Diana and Martin could be lying,” Jack said. “If they killed Ricardo to stop the project, they’d have to know about it.”
“I don’t think the two of them are close,” Beth said. “Martin was talking about Di like he resented her, or pitied her maybe.”