“They’re getting a little bit of that back now,” Beatrice Golden said. She was a woman who lived in Caspar, and Zyah had met her the very first day she had come to work. “Their son refuses to help them at all. He doesn’t work, you know. He lives off his trust fund. He lies around their guesthouse all day smoking pot. If they ask him for anything, he won’t do it for them.”
“How sad,” Zyah said. “One would think he would at least have some respect for his parents.” She put the groceries in Beatrice’s tote.
Beatrice moved to one side along with Marie and Jane Darden to allow the next customer access to the space so Zyah could ring her up. Apparently, they were all going to continue talking.
“That young man, what was his name, that rescued Marie?” Chiffon, her next customer, asked. She was all of seventy but kept sending little glances toward the back of the store.
“Keys. He’s Torpedo Ink. He was helping out today, putting stock in the back,” Zyah supplied. He must have seen Perry holding things up on the monitor.
“He was very fast,” Chiffon continued. “And so heroic, saying he’d go to jail for Marie.”
“He did, didn’t he?” Marie said.
“He’s very good-looking, dear,” Jane added. “You’re single, aren’t you?”
Zyah’s fingers had been flashing over the keys, but she stumbled when she realized the ladies were in a conspiracy to hook her up with Keys now that they thought he was heroic and good-looking. Recovering, she gave them a small smile and a shake of her head. “You are all incorrigible.”
The women laughed, in no way deterred or remorseful. Others in the line laughed or smiled as well. Caspar was a small town, and for the most part, those who resided there knew one another. This time of day, late afternoon, most of the shoppers were locals and retired.
“What is that young man’s name again, dear?” Talia Barber asked. “I couldn’t quite hear it.” She made a face at the other women for talking so low.
Zyah knew Talia Barber lived two houses down from Jane. She owned a large piece of property with her husband, Lars. They had a main house they lived in, and had a second cottage they rented to a woman named Maggie Arnold, who, like them, was in her late sixties. They had a huge garden, mostly flowers, some very rare. Zyah had learned quite a bit about the garden from the Dardens.
“He’s called Keys, and he’s very nice. They all are, and they really have helped me. It’s been kind of difficult finding help. They come in and stock shelves sometimes and unload the trucks when they come in for Inez. I really appreciate that.”
“That’s what Inez told us,” Chiffon said. “Inez always knows everyone.”
Zyah rang the next customers up faster, hoping to keep the line moving so the women would stop matchmaking and head home. Apparently, they had a quilting class to go to, which she wanted to tell her grandmother about. Anat liked to sew, and she might find something like that very fun. It seemed quite a few of the women either knew her or knew of her through Inez or Lizz.
The rest of the afternoon and evening passed in a long blur of work. Zyah enjoyed the various customers. She was getting to know the regulars and liked most of them. Like Sea Haven, Caspar was mainly a small town made up of retired people, but there were some younger families moving in. Real estate wasn’t cheap. The views of the ocean were breathtaking, and many couples had bought homes specifically with the idea to retire there after working in cities.
Not everyone had tons of money. Many people had homes they were trying to hang on to, with minimum-paying jobs. Some, Zyah could tell, were tired of fighting the usual drug and alcohol problems, while others were determined to beat the odds. There was a community center where people came together with all sorts of ideas, and she’d been invited to just about every kind of function there was. It surprised her that in such a small town, there were so many diverse activities for the very young as well as the very old.
She called her grandmother several times a day to check on her. Anat always sounded cheerful—sometimes tired, but always cheerful. When she asked about Player, he was always resting, with one of the Torpedo Ink members looking after him, and Steele had come by to see him twice a day religiously. She didn’t know why, but she always felt a little twinge of jealousy, as if Steele were taking her place. She should have been grateful, but instead she felt as if she needed to rush home and claim the man for herself.
Night fell and she closed the store and made her way to the restaurant, Keys following her. She was used to the escort now and no longer resented any of the Torpedo Ink members shadowing her. She felt safer with their presence. She found it astonishing how quickly she’d adapted to the club.
The restaurant was on the smaller side, an intimate experience, not meant to feed a huge crowd. Alena had wanted to provide something special for her clientele. She didn’t advertise. In fact, she’d been so nervous about her opening that she’d practically told the club not to let anyone else know the restaurant was opening its doors.
The building was rectangular, mostly made of glass, built up on the hillside so that it had the view on one side of the distant ocean and on the other of the climbing slope leading up to the highway. The slope was covered in wildflowers and lilac and lavender bushes, with stairs meandering through the overgrown shrubbery all the way up to the flat top.
Tables were scattered throughout the room, with space between giving the clients plenty of privacy for intimate conversations. The chairs were comfortable and inviting, the tables solid and carved by Player, Master, Maestro and Keys, all of whom owned a construction company together but, more importantly, had a deep affinity for woodworking and created beautiful, unique pieces of furniture.
The overhead chandeliers and wall sconces were simple but beautiful, tasteful handblown glass by Lissa, the wife of Casimir, one of the Torpedo Ink members. Lissa was famous for her artwork and sold it all over the world. Lana had sewn the tablecloths and napkins, white with gold threads running through them. Lana had also been the one to choose the chairs for the tables. Anya had helped with the inside design of the restaurant itself.
There was a second room, equally as beautifully appointed, held in reserve for members of Torpedo Ink and locals who were good customers and came in without a reservation. Alena tried to accommodate them if at all possible. The restaurant was small, but it was very upscale, and the prices reflected that. Zyah didn’t know what she had been expecting, but when she went over the menu, she was a little surprised at what was offered.
She didn’t recognize any of the three waitresses, although the youngest looked familiar to her, as if she’d seen her in passing. All three smiled at her and sent Keys a quick acknowledgment.
“I don’t know them.”
“Darby,” Keys said, indicating the youngest waitress. “Czar’s girl. Scarlet, Absinthe’s wife. She’s the one with all the red hair. And that’s Soleil, Ice’s wife. Everyone pitches in when it gets really busy. We’re looking for help, but Alena’s very picky.” There was laughter in his voice. “She only serves wine here, not hard drinks, so no bartender.” He kept walking, taking her back to the kitchen. “Alena really does need help. Eventually, she’ll have a full bar, but at the moment, she just doesn’t have the help she needs.”