Free Sizzle by Julie Garwood Page B

eleven houses painted in bright pastel colors, had been lovingly preserved from another era and had escaped the ravages of progress. The homes, lined up on the east side of the street, had unobstructed views of the ocean. The pier was less than a mile away, and so were the shops. A coffee shop, a grocery market, and a flower and fruit stand were all within walking distance.
    Gigi’s garage sat behind her house, and the only way to get to it was from the side street.
    Lyra pulled in, parked the car, and walked between the houses to get to the gate of the picket fence surrounding her grandmother’s tiny front yard.
    Lyra had a key, but decided to knock. Her grandmother opened the door seconds later.
    “Lyra Decoursey Prescott, what on earth are you doing on my porch?” Trying not to smile, Gigi was obviously pleased that Lyra was home, though she wasn’t ready to admit it just yet. She stepped back so her granddaughter could get past her and asked, “Did the phone company go bust? Is that why you couldn’t call ahead and tell me you were coming?”
    Lyra kissed her grandmother on the cheek. “I know, I should have called.”
    “Then why didn’t you? If I had known you were coming, I would have made your favorite seafood chowder.”
    “Any chance you still could?”
    Before Gigi could answer, Lyra carried her bag and laptop upstairs to her bedroom.
    When she came back down, her grandmother was in the kitchen rummaging through her pots and pans.
    “Aren’t you happy to see me?” Lyra asked.
    “Of course I am,” she grumbled. “We’ll have to go to the market first thing in the morning. I’ll need fresh fish for my chowder. I’d better make a list, or I’m sure to forget something. There’s iced tea in the refrigerator.”
    “Sweet tea or regular?”
    “Regular.”
    Lyra poured herself a glass and sat down at the table. “This is good,” she said.
    Her grandmother found the big pot she was looking for and put it on the stove. “I always add a hint of lemon to my tea. Why are you here, Lyra? You haven’t gone through your trust fund so soon, have you? No, of course you haven’t. Your grandfather would roll over in his grave if he thought you were frittering that money away.” Lyra laughed. “I haven’t touched my trust fund,” she said. “And I don’t need any money.”
    Gigi nervously wiped her hands on a towel. “Then it’s your school, isn’t it? What’s happened? You were doing so well …”
    “I’m not having any problems with my classes,” she assured her. “I’m doing fine.”
    “How many more weeks do you have? Three? Four?” her grandmother asked as she opened a drawer, took out a pink notepad and pencil, and sat down across from Lyra. “I’m out of potatoes, and if I don’t write it down now, I’ll forget. I know why you’re here. It’s your father, isn’t it?”
    “You mean your son.”
    “And your mother,” she continued as though Lyra hadn’t interrupted her. “They’ve upset you again, have they?”
    “No, they haven’t upset me,” she answered. “I haven’t spoken to those people in quite a while, and I don’t intend to anytime soon.”
    Gigi smiled. “Dear, you really should stop calling them ‘those people.’” I was being kind, Lyra thought. She could come up with a lot worse to call her ungrateful, pretentious, greedy parents.
    “Father Henry called me.”
    Gigi put her pencil down and let out a sigh. “He’s a bit of a tattletale, isn’t he? Don’t get me wrong. He’s a nice man,” she hastened to add, “but he gets so worked up over every little thing. He’s going to end up with heart problems if he doesn’t learn to relax. Stress can kill,” she added with a nod.
    “Grandmother, you’re the one who’s causing him stress! Father Henry is very unhappy with you.”
    Gigi scoffed at the notion. “Taking a little water isn’t hurting anyone. And I always replace it. I don’t leave the tub empty.”
    “It’s not a tub, it’s a