Dockside by Susan Wiggs Read Free Book Online Page B

Bellamy, G winked back at her.
    “Oh, God. It’s him.”
    “So pick up,” Jenny suggested.
    “No way. I’d rather die.”
    “Then I’ll do it.” Jenny grabbed the phone.
    Nina made a lunge for it, but missed.
    Jenny clicked the talk button. “Romano residence. This is Jenny McKnight speaking. Oh, hey, Greg.”
    Nina collapsed on the floor in a heap of helplessness.
    “I’m fine, thanks,” Jenny said pleasantly. “Rourke, too,” she added.
    Of course she was fine, thought Nina. She was married to the love of her life, and she had just found a publisher for the book she’d written, a memoir about growing up in a Polish-American bakery. Of course she was freaking fine.
    She chatted pleasantly with Greg about his kids, who also happened to be her first cousins, though she hadn’t known them very long. Although Jenny was related to the Bellamys, the situation had come to light only in the past year. Jenny had grown up never knowing who her father was. Only last summer did she discover that there had been a tragic love affair between her mother, Mariska, and her father—Philip Bellamy—who happened to be Greg’s older brother. So that made Greg her uncle. They’d met just recently, but now, hearing Jenny chat so easily with him, Nina wondered if that blood tie actually counted for something.
    “Yes, she’s here,” Jenny said.
    The traitor. Nina nearly came out of her skin. With nonverbal Italian-American eloquence, she asked Jenny, Do you want to die today?
    “But she can’t come to the phone right now. I’ll make sure she returns your call. That’s a promise.”
    Jenny hung up the phone, seemingly unperturbed by Nina’s fury. “Good news,” she said. “He hasn’t found anyone else yet.”
    “How do you know? Did he say anything?”
    “Of course he didn’t say anything. It’s none of my business.”
    “Then how do you know he hasn’t moved on to his next victim?”
    “If you don’t believe me, call him yourself.” Jenny held out the phone.
    Nina shrank from it. “I need a drink.”
    “I can help with that.” Jenny led the way to the kitchen with the familiarity of a best friend. She went straight to the cupboard and found a bottle of sweet red wine. “This will be perfect with the biscotti I brought from the bakery,” she said. Although the Sky River Bakery had decidedly Polish roots, there were a number of Italian selections on the menu as well, including cantuccini biscotti that were admittedly better than anything a Romano woman had ever baked. Dunked in the sweet dark wine, they made Nina forget her troubles for approximately twenty-nine seconds.
    “So what did he sound like?” she asked Jenny.
    “You already spoke to him today, right?”
    “No, I mean did he sound conciliatory? Pissed?”
    “He sounded like a Bellamy—you know, Manhattan prep school, Ivy League college and all that.” Jenny emulated the accent perfectly, then laughed at herself. “Sometimes I still can’t believe I’m related to those people.” The lighthearted reference belied the ordeal Jenny had gone through as she discovered her ties to the Bellamy family.
    “They haven’t changed who you are,” Nina reminded her, “and that’s a good thing. Remember how the two of us used to make fun of the summer people when we were growing up?” As girls, she and Jenny would observe the summer vacationers who escaped the city for the cool relief of Willow Lake. They used to discuss the ridiculousness of the girls’ tennis whites and straight, silky hair, and that the kids were looked after by servants. The one thing neither Nina nor Jenny ever acknowledged, however, was the fact that their ridicule was rooted in envy.
    “Don’t turn this thing with Greg into a feud,” Jenny warned her.
    “I was mayor of this town for four years,” Nina said. “I’m good at feuds.”
    “It would put me in an awkward position,” Jenny pointed out. “I’d have to take your side, and then everything would be all