“I…really just came for the halibut tacos.”
“I’ll throw those in too.”
Even though she still wore a wary expression, Ruthie stopped trying to flee. “I’ll take the tacos, hold the fortune.”
“See?” Alastair shot a dagger of a glance at Waverly. “She doesn’t want that money. Not all women are the way you think they are.”
Waverly swept a glance across Ruthie’s face and body. “It’s true, I know nothing about her kind.”
Ruthie’s mouth fell open slightly, and she blinked at Waverly. “Your tone of voice sounds like you’re insulting me. But I’m pretty sure it’s a good thing you know nothing about me. So, after careful consideration, I take no offense.”
Alastair hid a smile. Leave it to Ruthie to score the first point in a showdown with Waverly—without even trying, just by being herself. Even Waverly seemed to agree, since she dropped the nasty, scornful tone she’d been using.
“If you’re such a good friend of Alastair’s, maybe you should help me convince him to accept my offer.” She sat down on his couch again, as if she planned to stay there all night.
Alastair folded his arms across his chest. “I already told you it’s a waste of your time.”
“I see the problem. You think I’m still the Waverly you used to know. How do you know I haven’t changed? Don’t you think people can change? Ruthie, what do you think? Can people change?”
“Everything changes, so why not people?”
“Exactly!” Waverly patted the spot on the couch next to her. “Come here, quirky girl. Sit by me.”
As always, what Waverly wanted, Waverly got. Ruthie cautiously stepped toward his couch.
Again, Alastair had the urge to throw himself between Ruthie and the woman who’d invited herself into his house. “Don’t trust her, she’s a snake,” he murmured to Ruthie as she moved past him.
“Snakes are so maligned,” she whispered back. “Can you find a different comparison?”
Normally that would make him laugh, but Waverly’s presence made him too nervous. Could he physically boot her from his house? Knowing her, she might sue him if he did. The Berensons were so trigger-happy when it came to lawsuits. Hadn’t Tate once sued Tony over an oversized olive in his martini?
Ruthie sat down next to Waverly on the couch. He stayed standing, tense as a guy-wire, ready to jump to Ruthie’s defense at the first hint of wickedness from Waverly.
“I’ve done a lot of work on myself since the time Alastair was part of our family.” Waverly employed that deceptively vulnerable manner she’d perfected. “It’s always difficult when your father marries someone new. Now that I’m older, I can see that I wasn’t always kind to poor Alastair. I’ve done neurofeedback work and silent meditation on the subject. I’ve forgiven myself for how I treated him and he ought to do the same. That’s not too much to hope, is it?”
Ruthie slid her glasses back into position, then crossed her hands on top of her knees. It was an awkward pose, which meant she was feeling pretty uncomfortable under Waverly’s scrutiny.
Which she should. Everything about Waverly was deliberately perfect yet perfectly casual, as if she were eternally posed on a beach with a light breeze playing with her hair. Next to her, Ruthie looked like a different species with entirely different proportions—a hobbit side by side with an elf. He’d take the hobbit.
“Well?” Waverly said impatiently. “It’s rude not to answer a direct question.”
Ruthie cocked her head with a frown. “I’m pretty sure that was more of a rhetorical question. Those generally don’t require answers.”
Waverly drew back as if the hobbit had suddenly sprouted wings. “Well, mine do.”
“Hmm.” Ruthie took out her journal from one of her tote bags and scribbled a note inside.
“What’s that?”
“Just a note to myself. Don’t worry about it. I’m a researcher,” she explained. “That’s my thing. I love digging through information and making it all make sense. I have the kind of brain that craves order. Some people say that I have a little OCD, and I wouldn’t necessarily deny that. I also have social anxiety, which sometimes manifests in hives. The way you’re looking at me, don’t be surprised if I break out in a rash.”
Waverly edged away from Ruthie. The expression on her face was one Alastair had never seen before. Flummoxed might be a good word for it. Clearly she’d never met anyone quite like Ruthie Malone.
Then again, why would she have? Ruthie was one of a kind.
“Is it…contagious?” she asked.
“The rash or the social anxiety? Neither is. Actually, social anxiety could be, in a way. If one person is uncomfortable, other people, especially empathetic ones, might tune into that. But you probably don’t need to worry about that.”
And boom. Another one. Ruthie was taking Waverly down one jab at a time and making it look easy. Alastair wasn’t sure if she was doing it intentionally or by accident.
With a shudder, Waverly rose to her feet. “Let’s talk another time, Alastair. No need to conduct negotiations in front of an outsider.“
“There are no negotiations.”
She tapped something into her phone.
“Who are you calling? I thought the cab company blacklisted you.”
“Contingency. I paid a man in a truck to stand by in case I needed a rescue. I hope he’s not dangerous. If anything happens to me, the blame belongs to you, Alastair.”
A minute later, a black Dodge Ram roared up next to the house.
“That’s Ralphie’s truck,” exclaimed Ruthie.
“He seemed to be the best-looking of the lot.” Waverly wrapped a silk pashmina around her upper body and bent to pick up her purse. “To be continued, Alastair. You can find me at the Eagle’s Nest, which claims to be a spa but doesn’t offer a single treatment.”
She trailed toward the door of the fish house, leaving a cloud of pricey fragrance in her wake.
“Why are you staying? You’re wasting your time.”
“You know I always get my way, so maybe you’re wasting your time by resisting.” With a toss of her blond waves, she slipped out the door.
As soon as the truck left, he opened the door and let the light stench of mudflats at low tide fill the space. Yeah, it stank. But it was still better than Waverly’s scent, which reminded him too much of his years with the Berensons.
Ruthie wore a shell-shocked look. “How’s she related to you again?”
“My sister married her father. I naively thought I’d be getting a bunch of stepsiblings. I’m not sure what the relationship would be, technically. Maybe she’s my step-niece? Carole and Tony wanted us to be like stepbrothers and sisters, but they all hated me from day one.”
“But why? You must have been really young then.”
“I was fifteen. They hated me because I came along with Carole, and they hated her the most. She instantly became Tony’s primary heir, obviously. He was the one with all the smarts and therefore all the money. The rest of them mooched off him. She threatened their parasite lifestyle.” He squatted down in front of her and took her hands in his. “I don’t know if you planned it or not, but you were brilliant just now. You chased her away and gave her the shock of her spoiled life. Absolute genius, you are.”