Beach Rental by Grace Greene Page B

the stairs.
    “I hope you like roses.”
    “Ben.” She waved her arms as if to say ‘why?’
    “Do you?”
    “Do I what?”
    “Like roses.”
    “I like roses, but this is extravagant and—”
    “It’s a surprise.”
    “I wish you’d said something about gifts. I didn’t even get you a card.”
    “I don’t need a card. I wanted you to be surprised. I want to see you smile.”
    How could she not? She gave him the smile he wanted and then, impulsively, blew him a kiss.
    ****
    It was foolish to think Frankie would go away and stay gone. Like a hyena roaming the African bush, Frankie scented an opportunity and his greed was so strong it was beyond his ability to deny it free reign. As Ben and Juli enjoyed their sunset walk, she gripped his hand fiercely.
    He looked at her. “Is something wrong?”
    “No, sorry. Stronger than I knew.” She refused to look toward the crossover where Frankie was standing lest Ben notice and become curious. Her attention might also encourage Frankie to think he had more power than he did. He might do something reckless or stupid.
    They were more vulnerable now. Frankie knew who Ben was—could recognize him. She’d become protective of Ben, at least where Frankie was concerned.
    It was time for her to take matters into her own hands, to face down Frankie and put quits to this. For the life of her, she couldn’t imagine what leverage she’d use against him, but she’d think of something.
    Frankie would be most easily found at the apartment house and, while there, she could give notice. She’d still need somewhere to live when the marriage ended, but there were other, better places, with new neighbors.
    She drove into Morehead City the next morning while Ben was napping. Juli sat in the car outside of the apartment house, parked in the deep shade of a low branching tree, camouflaged, necessary or not. It was quiet on the street. No one was in sight and traffic was light.
    Juli hoped to surprise him. Frankie didn’t work mornings. He wasn’t a morning kind of guy. His sunrise beach appearance was an aberration. He preferred evening work and, like Juli, picked up work where he could get it. In the foyer, the musty smell of the old house was familiar. She liked it. It said history to her. A past with progression. Continuity? Still standing despite the blows life handed out.
    Frankie’s apartment was on the ground floor and shared the front door entrance with two other apartments. His was a studio apartment with a kitchenette.
    Juli was nervous, surprised to find her hands damp and a low-level trembling throughout her body. She needed to get this over with. She knocked, then again, more loudly. When he didn’t answer, she was disappointed and relieved, both at the same time. No matter how hard she tried to pump up her courage, she knew Frankie wouldn’t be intimidated by her.
    So, no Frankie, but at least her hands were steady again. She went down the hall and knocked on Mrs. White’s door. It was usually a wait. Juli leaned back against the wall while she got into the right state of mind. Mrs. White was a nice lady, no question, but Juli wasn’t comfortable around her roomies.
    After a few minutes, a high voice called out, “Who is it?”
    Juli put her face in front of the peephole. “Juli Cooke. From upstairs.”
    The wood paneled door swung open. “Well, hello, dear. Come in.” She preceded Juli into the living room and motioned to the sofa. “Sit, dear, and I’ll get us some tea.”
    Mrs. White’s monster cat reclined on the back of the sofa. He would have looked no different on a rock ledge protecting his territory. Juli approached the sofa and he meowed. She went to the chair instead. As soon as her bottom hit the seat, Buster came in, drooling and slavering, butting the chair with his head. He liked to have his ears scratched.
    Juli tried to push him away, saying in a low voice, “No, Buster, no.” She broke off, embarrassed, as Mrs. White returned.
    “Oh, you