“That would be great,” Aimee replied.
Cat grabbed two cans, and then she and Aimee returned to the great space and took up places on the sofas. The actress brought her feet casually under herself, and so did Cat. She watched Aimee study the artwork on the living room walls, which included a painting of Cornelius Vanderbilt and a century-old line drawing of Duluth city streets. On the mantle was a wooden plaque that said believe.
“It’s sort of Addams Family, huh?” Cat said. “Stride likes it that way. Serena keeps trying to slip in some new stuff.”
“I like things a little old-fashioned,” Aimee replied.
Cat took a sip of Coke. “Just so you know, I’m working really hard not to go all fangirl on you. Part of me wants to sneak out my phone and stream it live so everybody at school can see. But I won’t, don’t worry.”
“I appreciate it. You want a selfie together before I go?”
“That would be great! I mean, really, this is so cool, having you in my house. The whole idea of the movie thing happening in Duluth is just wild. Usually for us, freighters going under the lift bridge is about as exciting as it gets.”
“That’s sweet. You’re Cat, right? Is that short for anything?”
“Catalina.”
“What a beautiful name. I like it.”
“Thanks.”
“Serena shared some of your background with me,” Aimee told her. “You’ve had a rough time. I hope you know she’s really, really proud of you.”
“Oh, yeah. Serena and Stride are both great. My mom got killed when I was six, so I feel like I got a second chance with Serena. And Stride is Stride. He’s more than a dad. To me, he’s like the best man in the universe.”
“You’re lucky.”
“I know. I just wish I wasn’t such an idiot sometimes.”
“For a teenager, I think that’s part of the job description,” Aimee said. “Believe me, I’ve done a lot of stuff that I regret. And not just as a kid, either.”
Cat never knew what to say when people told her that. She twisted the tab on her can of Diet Coke until it came off and then played with it between her slim fingers. On the coffee table, her phone sang with a snippet of lyrics from Train’s “Bulletproof Picasso.”
“Hang on, that’s Mom’s text tone,” Cat said. “She got shot a couple years ago; did you know that? But she made it. I always tell her she’s bulletproof.” Cat read the text and said, “Serena stopped at Beaner’s for coffee and now she’s at the Zenith Bookstore next door. That means she’ll probably be a while. Do you want me to tell her you’re here?”
Aimee shook her head. “It’s not important. I’ll see her tomorrow.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, I just wanted to tell her that I felt bad about Haley Adams. I heard the news. Can you pass that along?”
“Oh, definitely.”
Aimee got off the sofa. She hadn’t touched her Diet Coke. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Cat.”
“Same here. Can we do that selfie now?”
“Sure,” Aimee said, smiling.
Cat opened up her phone, and the two of them pushed their faces together as Cat snapped several photographs. When they were done, she scrolled through them as if she couldn’t believe it. “This is amazing. Hey, before you go, do you mind if I ask you something? It’s personal, though.”
“Go ahead.”
Cat chewed her lower lip and tried to figure out how to say it. “I’m a math person, but I believe in other stuff, too. Spiritual stuff. I never used to buy into any of that, but after everything that’s happened to me, now I do. And Serena told me about you—that is, how you said you sense things. I was wondering, is that really true? What is that like?”
Aimee’s face had a serious expression. “It’s true. At least, I believe it, which is the only thing that matters.”
“Is it something anyone can do? Or do you have to be special?”
“I think only a small handful of people are sensitives. Which is why most people don’t believe it’s real.”
“How does it work?” Cat asked.
“Truly, I have no idea. There are moments when I just see things or feel things. I’ve learned simply to let it happen and not question it.”
“I like that. I like thinking it’s possible. This will sound weird, but do you sense anything about me?”
Aimee hesitated. “I don’t like to talk about those things. It freaks people out.”
“Please? That sounds like you do sense something.”
“It’s just feelings, Cat. It’s not specific. Most of the time I have no idea what any of it means.”
“Come on, tell me,” Cat urged her.
Finally, Aimee sighed. “I sense you doing something very foolish,” she said.
“That sounds like me.”
“And also very brave,” Aimee added.
“Oh.”
“That’s it. That’s all I know.”
“Thanks,” Cat said. “That’s really cool.”
Aimee followed Cat back to the front door, and Cat labored to get it open again. When she did, the winter air stormed the house with a cold, blustery slap. Cat clicked on the porch light, illuminating flurries in the wind.
“It’s snowing!” she said.
Aimee stared at the silver swirls as if she were hypnotized. “Beautiful.”
“I love the snow,” Cat said.
“Me, too. You’ll give Serena my message?”
“Absolutely.”
“Save me,” Aimee said.
Cat stared at her in confusion. “What?”
“I said, you’ll give Serena my message?”
Cat shivered in the cold and felt little needles spreading across her skin. “I will. I definitely will.”
“Thank you, Cat. Good night.”
Cat didn’t say anything more. She watched Aimee Bowe walk down the steps toward the street and disappear into the darkness and snow. She had no idea what had just happened.
15
Maggie sat at an outdoor table with a bowl of conch chowder and a Bloody Mary in front of her. She wore a flowered blouse, pink shorts, and leather sandals, all of which she’d purchased at the hotel gift shop. Through her sunglasses, she eyed the squat palm trees and white sand of the beach. The blue-green waters of the Gulf barely moved in the mild breeze. The sun felt millions of miles closer than it had the day before. When she rubbed a finger on the back of her neck, she felt sweat. It felt wonderful.
“Well, well,” she murmured aloud to herself. “So this is how other people spend the winter.”
Offshore, young people paddleboarded in bikinis. Treasure hunters, shell collectors, and sandpipers trailed through the wet sand as waves came and went. She saw fishermen with bait buckets. Labradors chasing Frisbees. Sun worshippers baking in the heat. It really was a different world down here.
She was surrounded in the hotel restaurant by rich middle-aged golfers who could afford the upscale prices. The handful of Pilates-trim older women at the other tables looked weighted down by their jewelry. Maggie had indulged in an expensive Versace watch for herself while she was browsing the gift shop. It hung on her wrist like a signal that she belonged here. In Duluth, she never flaunted her money, but she didn’t care down here. No one knew her.
The only man who was close to her own age—well, a few years younger—sat at the bar with a mimosa in his hand. He was blond, ridiculously tall, ridiculously handsome, with an I-don’t-care smirk on his face. Behind his sunglasses, he eyed her, and she eyed him back with a smirk of her own. There was no Troy in her life anymore. She could flirt if she wanted. He tilted his champagne glass in her direction and smiled at her with teeth that had no business being as white as they were. She smiled back.
Maggie decided that Florida was a very, very nice place.
On the table in front of her, her phone rang. She sighed as she saw the caller ID. She knew it was work, and she wasn’t ready to think about work, but she answered the phone anyway.
“Maggie Bei,” she said.
“Sergeant, this is Detective Lala Mosqueda with the Naples Police. I got your fax with the ballistics information in the Haley Adams murder. I have to tell you, that was quite the surprise.”