4. Beck
B eck walked out to the shaded terrace of the Coquina Café, barely noticing the turquoise and navy water that stretched from the sea oats to the horizon. Instead, her attention went right to the only people out there—her two older daughters, standing side by side against the white railing, deep in a lively conversation.
Normally, this in-demand seating area of the Coquina Café was packed with locals and tourists enjoying the diner delights made by Beck’s closest childhood friend, Jessie Donovan. But today, Jessie had closed off the whole section for privacy to plan a wedding.
If all went according to that plan, Heather, Jessie’s younger half-sister—also her assistant manager and pastry chef—would marry Beck’s son.
“Are you discussing names?” Beck guessed, smiling from one very pregnant daughter to one who was getting rounder by the day.
“I’m trying to get her to sit before her water breaks.” Savannah nudged her older sister toward a chair. “Are you sure you’re not having twins? Maybe they missed one hiding in the uterus shadows.”
Peyton looked across the table at Beck, making a face. “Permission to kill her?”
Beck laughed, comfortable in the knowledge that any animosity that had kept these sisters from being close as they grew up had melted in the Keys sunshine over the past two years.
“You’ll have your revenge in four months, Peyton,” Beck said. “She’ll be wide and waddling and you’ll be bouncing sweet baby Sanchez.”
“Baby Sanchez!” Savannah grunted, dropping her head back. “Pick a name for this girl already. I can’t decide on a girl’s name until I know you haven’t taken Danielle.”
“Danielle?”
“After Dad,” she said dryly.
Peyton snorted at the very idea, both of them having forgiven but not forgotten what their father put the family through when he left Beck for his law partner. Today, Dan was single, buying fancy cars, and barely speaking to his daughters. Beck, on the other hand, was living her best life in Coconut Key, with these two in her life on a daily basis.
Sometimes revenge really was sweet.
“You won’t call her by the right name anyway,” Peyton said. “You’ll hang a handle on her like Baldy McFatFace and that’s what she’ll be forever, just like Dylan, AKA French Frye.”
“Huh. Baldy McFatFace.” Savannah nodded. “That has a ring to it.”
“Please, Mom?” Peyton fake whined. “Make her stop.”
Savannah laughed and gave her a sisterly hug before dropping down in the seat between them.
“I’ll take it easy on account of your hormones, Peyote. And as far as li’l Frenchie, I didn’t make that up. I honestly think it was Ava. Speaking of…” She looked around. “Is the teen contingent coming? After all, it’s Ava’s father and Maddie’s mother who are getting married. And those two girls are joined at the hip—unlike their parents, who haven’t joined anything because…the Bible.”
She didn’t roll her eyes, though, which Beck appreciated. Their love for their older brother, Kenny, and his fiancée, Heather, included an abiding respect for the couple’s faith.
“I think the girls are on their way,” Beck said.
As the sliding door opened, they all turned to see Callie, Beck’s youngest daughter, coming out to join them.
“Hello, fam.” She gave Beck a hug, blew kisses to her sisters, and pulled out a chair.
As she sat down, she tossed back some of the silky black hair that always reminded Beck that her youngest daughter—surprising them a full ten years after Savannah—favored Dan both physically and in her relentless dedication to her future law career.
But Callie had chosen to come to Coconut Key, not Atlanta, for her law school winter break, which Beck considered yet another win.
“Mom, Lovely says you have new guests,” Callie said. “See why I wanted to stay in Savannah’s guest house? I knew you’d take some stragglers in at the B&B and I’d never have the quiet I need to get a head start on reading my Con Law text book before next semester.”
Now Savannah rolled her eyes. “So glad ‘ridiculous overachiever’ isn’t a generational curse we all have.”
“They’re not exactly stragglers,” Beck said. “But they are very, uh, interesting.”
“Ooh, do tell,” Peyton requested, absently rubbing her giant baby bump with one hand.
“Well, he is none other than Eddie Sly, the lead singer for Electric Breeze.”
She got three blank stares in response.
“The band that recorded the song Her Name Was Lovely ,” Beck explained. “And with him are his extremely inquisitive and too-well-informed grown daughters, named Melody and Jazz.”
Savannah almost choked on a sip of water. “I don’t know where to start with that one. Melody and Jazz? And Dad’s a singer in some lame band?”
“Wait. Are you talking about that ‘Lovely’ song that Lovely has on every playlist?” Peyton asked, incredulous.
“He sang it and wrote it,” Beck said. “And get this—they got out of the car and were shocked to find out Lovely was alive, confused because they thought my mother was named Olivia, and that she’d died. Oh, and they knew I had three daughters.”
Callie drew back. “How? Is it on your website or in your marketing materials?”
“No. They claimed they couldn’t be too careful, with the famous father and all, and had to know the backgrounds of the B&B owners.”
“I call foul,” Callie said, pulling out her phone.
“I don’t know if it was foul,” Beck said, “but it was a first. Does Nick do background checks when he stays somewhere, Savannah? He’s a genuine celebrity and this guy is an admitted one-hit wonder.”
Savannah shook her head. “He sometimes checks in under a fake name—or he did when his career was thriving. But these days, his star status is diminished, since he’s a stay-at-home dad whose current claim to fame is directing the high school play for the second year in a row.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” Peyton said. “What does finding out if someone’s mother is dead or alive tell you about the management at a B&B? Why would they care?”
“Because they’re scam artists,” Callie said with a shocking amount of authority as she looked at her phone.
Beck gasped. “What?”
“They could be stealing your identity or casing the B&B to rob you blind or planning not to pay their bill,” Callie said, rattling off the awful-sounding options like she was reading a menu. “The possibilities for fraud are endless.”
“Fraud…” Beck felt her heart climb into her throat. “What do you mean? They’re alone at Coquina House now. Should I be worried?”
“I doubt they’re cleaning out the silver,” Savannah said, turning to Callie, who was already madly tapping her phone screen. “Looking up case law on B&B scams?”
“No. Doing our own background check.” Callie tapped her screen. “Eddie Sly, you said? And…” She shuddered. “Electric Breeze? Seriously?”
“It was the sixties,” Beck said, as if that explained everything.
“Okay, okay, I got something here.” She swiped up. “His real name is Edward Sylvester. He’s seventy-six years old. This your guy?”
They all leaned in to see a picture of the same man Beck had just met, wearing a tux on a red carpet. Hair pulled back, giant smile, and the camera caught those distinctly blue eyes.
“That’s him. He really doesn’t look seventy-six.”
“He’s kind of handsome, in that silver fox way,” Peyton mused.
“Save us from Harrison Ford with a ponytail,” Savannah murmured, sitting back to let Callie continue reading.
“He founded, and is currently chairman emeritus of, a pop label called Sly Records, based in San Francisco. He retired from day-to-day responsibilities six years ago, handed over the reins to his oldest daughter, Melody Ono Davidson?—”
“Like Yoko?” Savannah asked.
“Do you mind?” Callie shot her a death glare. “Melody is fifty years old, the daughter from his first marriage to Kailani Kahue.”
“Yes, she looked Hawaiian,” Beck said.
“Kailani passed away in 1975,” she read.
Peyton made a face. “Aw, sad.”
“He rebounded,” Callie told them. “He married ice cream heiress Victoria Swann in 1977?—”
“Mmm.” Savannah leaned into Peyton. “Ice cream.”
Callie’s eyes shuttered as she powered on in the face of their jokes. “He had a daughter, Jasmine Swann Sylvester, in 1980, and then divorced. He co-owns a small winery near Napa with his ex, and lives on a ranch outside of San Francisco recently valued at— whoa —seven million smackeroos.”
“Sounds like Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous ,” Peyton said.
“ Real Housewives of Northern California ,” Savannah added.
But Beck was amazed. “How did you get all that, Callie?”
“Legal database from when I worked for Dad. I saved the login and use it all the time.” She held up the phone. “But only the free basic service. For twenty-five bucks, we can find out where he banks, who his doctors are, and what kind of cars he drives. Level Two will give us the legal filings on his divorce, how much he owes on his credit cards, and what he ordered from Amazon last year.”
“Good grief,” Savannah said. “What’s Level Three? Account passwords and underwear preferences?”
Callie lifted a brow. “Close. But it costs a fortune.”
Beck swept her hand, uncomfortable with the conversation. “He’s just a very careful and successful record executive.”
“Wait, wait.” Peyton tapped the table in front of Callie. “Mom said two daughters. Tell us about the one named Jazz.”
Callie clicked the phone with lightning speed, her dark eyes narrowed in focus. “I got a little on both of them. Melody is married to Gideon Davidson, the chief operating officer of Sly Records. She has two kids, Lark and Kai, both also employed at the label. This Mel?”
She showed them an image, and Beck nodded, instantly recognizing the beautiful woman.
“I liked her,” she said, studying her dark eyes and the eye-catching silver streaks. “She had a lot of personality and spunk. The other one was a little cooler.”
“Jazz Sylvester,” Callie said, back to reading. “Forty-three years old, a partner at Sullivan Mease Venture Capital.” Her brows shot up. “Nice. She’s a UCLA undergrad, has an MBA and a law degree from Stanford, and was a software engineer at Modesto Technologies.”
“Smarty-pants,” Savannah muttered.
“And she’s taken no less than a dozen companies public in the last three years.” Callie let out a whistle. “I might be in love.”
Savannah laughed. “You’re so easily impressed, Cal.”
“These people are impressive,” Beck said. “Too rich and successful to be scam artists. And it explains why no one flinched at my astronomical holiday rates.”
“You should have booked a Level One investigation and doubled the cost,” Savannah cracked.
“I would never do that,” Beck said. “The research or the price gouging. In fact, I don’t like this conversation. So they did some checking on us. That’s how they roll and that’s fine.”
“But they were confounded by the fact that Lovely was alive,” Peyton insisted. “Why would they know that or care?”
“Whose name is on the tax rolls as the owner of Coquina House?” Callie asked. “Lovely or Olivia?”
“Mine, now,” Beck said. “But Granny Sue left it to both Olivia and Lovely. Olivia just let Lovely have it, maybe as…as…”
“A consolation prize for getting to raise you?” Savannah guessed.
“Something like that,” Beck said, purposely vague as she always was when this subject came up. Mostly because she wanted to protect Lovely, but also because this was ancient history and Olivia—the grandmother these girls called “Grandie”—was long gone. “Where are you going with the tax roll question, Callie?”
“Maybe they knew Grandie?” Callie suggested. “Maybe they?—”
“Wait a second.” Savannah smacked both hands on the table. “Maybe it wasn’t Olivia they knew…maybe it was Lovely . Or you , Mom.”
They all looked at Savannah, curious.
“Well, you said this guy sang the song about a girl named Lovely back in the sixties, right?”
“Sang it, wrote it, and has it tattooed on his…” Beck’s voice faded out as the blood drained from her head as she read the very clear expression in Savannah’s coppery-green eyes. “What…are…you…”
The girls all shared a look, silent, but did they have to say it?
“You think he’s…” Beck tried to swallow, but nearly choked.
Peyton sucked in a soft breath and Callie put down her phone, the four of them dead silent as the real and shocking possibility of who the man with the Lovely tattoo might be.
“How?” Beck croaked the question. “Lovely didn’t know his last name. How could he know hers?”
Savannah grimaced. “Might be me,” she said. “Nick and I did one of those DNA things a while back, when his mother showed up and then we met his biological father. Who is now your boyfriend,” she added, pointing at Beck. “I had to find out the gene pool, Momma. And Nick wanted to know if their story was legit. So we spit in the bag, mailed it in, and kind of forgot about it. But once your info is in the database…”
“They can just find you?” Beck asked.
“Kenny found you,” Callie said, referring to the son Beck had given up for adoption…whose wedding they were on this balcony to plan.
“His mother had my name and gave it to Ava, remember? No DNA.” Beck shook her head. “Wait a second. Wait a darn second. Are you saying this Eddie guy is…my father ?”
“Hang on. That’s a huge leap,” Callie said, holding out her hands to rein in her sisters, who looked like they might hoist their pregnant bodies over the railing and run down the beach to the B&B. “We have no evidence whatsoever.”
“Got it, counselor, but we’re talking about our biological grandfather ,” Savannah said.
“Let’s just ask him,” Peyton suggested.
“No, no, no .” Beck used her strongest mother tone, looking from one daughter to the next. “This is Lovely’s life we’re talking about.”
“And your father ,” Savannah reminded her.
Beck shivered. Was that long-haired tattooed man her?—
She wiped the thought away and looked at Callie, who appeared to be the most reasonable. “What do you think?”
“I think…” She leaned back. “As a granddaughter, I want to know the guy right this minute. But, honestly, this is a pretty significant logic leap with no hard evidence except some strangers’ curiosity and a tattoo.”
“Exactly,” Beck said. “Can’t we do a little more digging with that website of Callie’s or even look at the DNA information before dragging Lovely into something…embarrassing?”
“Embarrassing?” Peyton asked. “I’d think she’d be excited.”
“It was a one-night stand,” Beck said, aware that only she knew just how one night and stand-y it was.
Savannah snorted. “You really think I’m going to judge? Hello, Starbucks barista and the cute guy in the baseball cap. Whole latte-love that night.”
“Oh, man.” Callie groaned. “Does any woman in this family ever get pregnant after they’re married?”
“Now that’s our generational curse,” Savannah quipped. “Be the one to break it, Cal.”
Beck barely heard her daughters’ banter, which blended into the sound of a gull and the splashing of waves beyond the balcony. Her head was thrumming with the possibility that Eddie Sly was Ned from the tent…and her biological father.
“Let me talk to him,” she said, instantly knowing it was the right thing to do. “Don’t say anything to Lovely yet. Let me find out what his game is and determine if there’s a shred of truth to this. Then we’ll tell Lovely, or he may want to do that himself. Remember, he came here thinking my mother had passed away.”
“Which means he came here looking for you ,” Peyton said.
“It won’t take Lovely long to put the puzzle together and come up with Sly Fox as her baby daddy,” Savannah said. “I mean, the proof is written on his arm.”
“That’s not proof,” Callie insisted. “He commemorated his one hit song, and she’s certainly not the only woman to be named Lovely.”
Peyton reached over the table and put her hand over Beck’s. “You okay, Mom?”
Beck inhaled the briny air as she considered the question, looking from one beloved and beautiful face to the next, not surprised by how they handled this.
Savannah joked, Callie reasoned, and Peyton empathized. And Beck just wanted to protect her darling mother.
But still…only one thought echoed in her head.
“I never had a father,” she said the words out loud on a soft whisper. “I never counted the man Olivia married briefly after I was an adult. For all but the last two years of my life, I thought my father was Lance Corporal David Joseph Mitchell, who died in Vietnam when my mother, Olivia Mitchell, was pregnant with me.”
“Then you found out that Lovely was your mother,” Peyton said. “And what has she told you about your father?”
“That he was a guy named Ned she met at an outdoor concert in Key West in 1965.”
“Ned?” Callie asked. “That’s short for Edward.”
Beck dropped back against the chair just as the sliding door opened and Jessie, Heather, and Lovely came out, laughing and holding notebooks and pens.
“Time to plan a wedding, girls!” Jessie announced, pulling out chairs.
As Lovely looked around the table, she narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Everything okay out here?”
Her daughters didn’t say a word, but Beck managed a smile. “Yes, of course. Everything’s great.”
But she had a feeling Lovely’s whole world was about to tilt sideways and all Beck could do was hope none of them fell off in the process.