If Griffen were looking for a more complete explanation, she didn’t say as she led him along a beautifully landscaped walk back to the pool. He had his share of rich friends. He could certainly afford a higher lifestyle than he was living, although nothing approaching that of Leonardo Pascarelli, which was still relatively modest by Palm Beach standards. He had no interest in maintaining and protecting an expensive piece of property, never mind living in it. If Croc were there, he’d be buzzing in Jeremiah’s ear about whether Mollie had grown accustomed to her godfather’s standard of living and didn’t want to give it up.
Still, Jeremiah had to admit it was a hell of a nice backyard. The pool sparkled in the fading sun, and Deegan Tiernay was doing a deep dive off the board. He looked very young and energetic. Jeremiah watched him breaststroke underwater. It was a coolish evening, the rain at bay for now, the air laden with the smells of lush flowers and vegetation, the light shifting with the swaying of palms and oaks. There was none of the rawness and pungency of the wild swamp grasses of the Everglades to the west, a different world from Palm Beach, more Jeremiah’s kind of paradise.
Deegan surfaced at Jeremiah’s toes. “Mollie’s gone upstairs. She’ll be back down in a minute.”
He went back under, and Griffen, watching him, said to Jeremiah, “We’ve got a pitcher of margaritas. Interested?”
“No, thanks.”
She eased onto a lounge in the sun and slipped her sunglasses down over her eyes. “I haven’t been into the pool yet. I’m not hot enough yet. Mollie’s sweet to let us hang out here for the evening. It looks as if we’ll get more rain. I have a pool at my condo, but it’s not as big or as private. And needless to say, we aren’t going to hang out at Deegan’s house.” She bent a long, tanned leg. “I’m glad I wasn’t born rich. I’d hate to have the pressures on me he has on him. My folks do all right, but they’re hardly in the Atwood-Tiernay league.”
Jeremiah shrugged, remaining on his feet. After whittling, he had showered and dressed in dark trousers and dark shirt, allowing him to play either spy or dinner guest, depending on Mollie’s state of mind. He went back and forth on which he’d prefer. A couple of hours with Leonardo Pascarelli’s friends? Or a couple of hours sneaking around in the rain?
“I suppose you don’t have a lot of sympathy for that sort of pressure,” Griffen went on, her attention focused on him now, not her boyfriend in the pool.
Jeremiah shrugged. “A big trust fund and a snotty grandmother aren’t the worst life can throw at you. Deegan will figure that out pretty quick. He’s no dope.”
“That he isn’t.”
Deegan jumped out of the pool and, bypassing his towel, splashed water on her, laughing when she squealed and leaped to her feet. He grabbed her by the elbows like the kid he was and heaved her into the pool. She went in fanny first, all the way under. She bobbed up instantly, laughing, splashing, pretending she was going to kill him. Deegan sat on her chair. “Ten laps before you’re allowed out!”
She stuck her tongue out at him, looking more like a teenager herself, but eased off into the water, doing a slow backstroke. Deegan didn’t take his eyes off her. And she knew it. Jeremiah observed the proceedings with mild interest. His lifestyle did not include many twenty-one-year-old rich kids dunking their older girlfriends in a pool owned by a world-famous opera singer. He was, he thought dryly, out of his element.
“So,” Deegan said, eyes still on Griffen, “Mollie didn’t seem surprised to have you show up. I didn’t ask why not, because it’s none of my business.”
A smart lad indeed. Mollie didn’t respond too well to overprotective males, as Jeremiah himself had discovered. He supposed it came from having a flaky family. He figured she’d been left to her own devices from the time she was a tot and had learned early on how to take care of herself, responding to a sort of benign, even healthy, neglect on the part of her parents. He’d had the run of the Everglades from the time he could walk and understood that defiant gene, if not the Lavenders particularly.
“I wouldn’t underestimate her if I were you,” Deegan went on seriously. “She tends to take people at face value more readily than I would, but she’s not naive.” He talked as if he were sitting in a sociology class. He peered over at Jeremiah. “She knows you’re probably on this jewel thief story.”
This, Jeremiah thought, was true. However, he had no intention of discussing his relationship with Mollie—or his work—with her college intern. “I’d say she knows a lot.”
Deegan didn’t take the hint. “I’ve been around reporters since I could walk. You live and breathe the next story. You’re never off.” He reached for the margarita pitcher. “Mollie’s new in town, but she’s got people looking out for her. Her clients are all loyal.”
“Including Ash, the dog.”
Deegan didn’t like that one. He almost came up off his chair, but instead just angled a nasty look at Jeremiah. “You’re a real asshole, aren’t you?”
“I have my moments,” Jeremiah said mildly.
But the kid wasn’t finished. “She’s been straight with me right from the start, no BS, no coddling or hand-holding. Not just anyone would let Michael Tiernay’s son intern for them, you know. Anything goes wrong, he could ruin them. But if everything goes too well, then they look like a toady.”