Among the Ducklings by Marsh Brooks Page A

pasta.”

    “How can
pasta be mean?” Phil asked.

    “Have you
ever seen a jalapeno spaghetti sauce?” Isabel teased.

    “Nope. That sounds scary.”

    “Well,
prepare yourself to be very afraid tomorrow,” Isabel
said with a laugh.

    For the
next hour, Isabel and Phil talked about everything and nothing, laughing and
teasing each other. It was as if time stood still, as if Isabel was not
engaged.   As she hung up the phone,
Isabel noticed the engagement ring around her finger. She regretted having
accepted Richard's marriage proposal. She knew it was childish to feel this
way. She didn’t know at that time that she wasn’t in love with Richard.   All she knew now was that she was an engaged
woman, and the love that she and Phil felt for each other could not make the
ring disappear.

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

    Chapter Nine

     

    When Phil’s
secretary knocked on the front door of Stacy's rented beachfront penthouse in
Miami Beach, Stacy didn't come to the door.   Instead, Myra heard Stacy's voice telling her to enter. When she
entered, she was amazed to see how beautiful the penthouse was.   It had high ceilings and was richly
decorated, with views of the Atlantic Ocean in every room.    She gave Stacy a hug and said, “It is nice
to see you again, Stacy. You haven't changed a bit.”

    “It's nice
to be seen,” Stacy replied.

    Myra looked
a lot chubbier than before. You
don't get to look like me by eating cheap hamburgers , Stacy thought. But
Stacy was grateful that Myra had agreed to be her personal secretary during her
stay in Miami.   Willingly or unwillingly,
Myra was going to help her with Phil.   Stacy knew that Myra would tell Phil about everything that they would be
doing or saying.   That's what good
secretaries do: Protect the boss. Stacy expected that. That was part her plan
too. Except for not seeing Isabel by the lake, the script was developing
perfectly.

     

    ##

    Phil lived
in a two-story four bedroom house located west of Baptist Memorial
Hospital.   The house was situated at the
end of a corner street in a gated community.   Phil didn't like gated communities.   But he had bought the house at a fairly good price and the neighborhood had
everything a neighborhood is supposed to have, even a noisy flirtatious neighbor.   In his case, the neighbor was in her early
fifties and seemed to enjoy spending more time with her black cat than her
husband.   When Jeremy pulled his rented
SUV into Phil's driveway that evening, Phil was outside chatting with his
neighbor about the neighbor's preference for cats over dogs.

    “It's about
time,” Phil said to Jeremy, after Jeremy parked the car.

    “Miami
traffic, you know,” Jeremy replied. “Hi Pamela. How
have you been?”   Jeremy knew Phil's
neighbor always tried to find an excuse to come talk to Phil when Phil was
outside tending to his yard.

    “Hi Jeremy,
you look well,” the neighbor replied. “Anyway I've got to go.   See you later Phil.”

    “Bye,” Phil
said, and turning to Jeremy, “Pam is right.   You look well.”

    “I see that
your ankle is looking better,” Jeremy simply said, pointing to the boot on
Phil's leg.

    “I have a
ways to go. But overall it's OK.”

    Jeremy then
picked up his carry-on from the back of the car and said, "let's go in.”
    Phil's house had one guest bedroom downstairs. On the second floor, there was
the master bedroom, a bedroom converted into an office and another guest
bedroom.   Since the accident, Phil had
been sleeping in the guest bedroom downstairs and Jeremy carried his luggage to
the second floor guest bedroom.

    When Jeremy
came back down, Phil was in front of the bar by the kitchen, fixing himself and
Jeremy drinks. The house was very spacious, with a private dining room situated
between the living room and the kitchen.   The swimming pool could be seen through the French doors that opened
from the dining room to the