“Yay!” Dorie clapped her hands. “When’s he coming?”

“He’s driving down after work tomorrow. I hope nobody minds.”

“Not me,” Ellis said. “Does this mean you’re considering his offer?”

“Offer?” Madison said.

“Booker has been begging Julia to marry him for the past year. He’s taken a job as art director for a magazine in DC,” Dorie explained. “He wants to buy a house and get married.”

“And knock me up,” Julia said dryly. “And no, this does not mean you guys should start shopping for bridesmaids’ dresses. It just means that we haven’t seen each other in over a month. A girl has needs, you know.”

“When the trailer is a-rockin’, don’t come a-knockin’,” Dorie quipped happily.

“Actually,” Julia added, “I think he’s just as interested in seeing the house as he is me.”

“Which house?” Madison asked.

“Our house. The one we’re staying in. Ebbtide. I’ve been e-mailing him the pictures I’ve been taking of all of us with my cell phone, and for some reason, he’s fascinated with the place. I’d suggested maybe we’d want to get a hotel room, just for the weekend, you know, but Booker says he’s dying to see the house. If you guys don’t mind him staying with us.”

“I think we might all feel a little safer with a guy around,” Dorie said, and Madison nodded her agreement.

“He’d better get a good look at the house while he’s here,” Ellis said glumly. “Ebbtide is in foreclosure. If Ty doesn’t find a way to catch up on his payments by September fifteenth, the bank will auction it off on the courthouse steps.”

“What’s Ty got to do with Ebbtide?” Julia asked.

Ellis smiled enigmatically. “Turns out Ty Bazemore is actually Mr. Culpepper. He owns the place! His mother’s family built the house in the thirties, and Ty bought it last year from his uncle, who’d inherited it. He’s been living in the garage apartment, renting out the big house, trying to raise enough money to fix it up and keep it. But then the economy went to hell, and now, if he doesn’t figure something out, he’ll lose it.”

“Garage boy is actually Mr. Culpepper?” Dorie repeated. “Why didn’t he just tell you that from the beginning?”

Ellis shrugged. “He says he never tells the tenants that he lives on the property, because then they’d be pestering him night and day. He does all the rentals, all the communication by e-mail, like he did with me. That way, he can concentrate on doing his stock research and trading.”

“Hey,” Julia said. “You never did tell us how your date went last night. Come on, give. And don’t you dare leave out the sexy bits.”

*   *   *

Eventually, the sun went down, and the volleyball players, sweaty and covered in sand, retreated into the bar to be joined by hordes of girlfriends and thirsty college kids.

“Where to now?” Julia asked, shouting to be heard over the din.

Ellis hesitated. “Ty mentioned that they’re having some kind of special promotion at Cadillac Jack’s tonight, for a new citrus-flavored vodka. Cheap drinks and karaoke. You, know, if anybody’s interested.”

“Karaoke? Hmm,” Julia said. “So corny.”

“So fun!” Dorie insisted. “Come on, you guys. Let’s go. I’m finally starting to get some energy again. And I love karaoke. You guys can party and not worry. I’ll be the designated driver.”

Twenty minutes later, they were pulling into the parking lot at Caddie’s. A huge hot-pink canvas banner fluttered from the front of the building. PUCKER-UPPER NITE, it proclaimed. PUCKERADE COCKTAILS, $2.

“I can’t wait to see what goes into a Puckerade cocktail,” Julia said as they elbowed their way into the crowded bar.

“There’s Ty,” Dorie said, pointing towards the bar. “Come on, let’s get a table.” She gave Ellis a gentle push in that direction. “Let him know we’re here, and order us some drinks, okay? See if they can make me something without any booze, will you?”

“Well, hello,” Ty said, when Ellis finally managed to slither through the three-deep row of women pressed up against the bar. “How about a Pucker-Upper? Tastes like shit, if you ask me, but these women seem to be lapping them up.”

And it was true, it seemed that each woman in the crowd was clutching, or sucking from, a yellow, vaguely lemon-shaped plastic orb with a straw sticking out of the top.

“Okay,” Ellis said. “Three Pucker-Uppers, and something nonalcoholic for Dorie.”

Ty handed her one of the lemon cups, and Ellis, feeling suddenly overcome with shyness, took a long drink. And then another.

“Not so bad,” she pronounced.

“The others came too?” Ty asked, obviously pleased. “Even Madison?”

“Even Madison,” Ellis nodded. “Hey, thanks for letting us use your computer. It looks like Madison may be in more trouble than we knew. According to the Philly paper, it looks like the police back in Jersey want to talk to her about the money her husband embezzled from the insurance company where she worked. There’s sort of a reward out for her.”

“You really think somebody might come looking for her? Is it safe?”

“I’m not sure,” Ellis admitted. “Madison’s friend from work, a guy named Adam, is somehow mixed up in all this stuff, and he’s supposedly on his way here to see her. I’m a little worried because he knows she’s staying at Ebbtide. Not the address, exactly, but he does know the street name and the name of the house. So yeah, I don’t want to sound too paranoid, but I’m actually a little worried.”

Ty frowned. “I’ve got a friend who’s a sheriff’s deputy, Connor Terry. In fact, he’s working the door tonight. I could ask him to roll past the house in his county cruiser, keep an eye out.”

“Could you?” Ellis said gratefully. “That would make me feel a lot better.”

“Sure, no problem,” Ty said. “Where you sitting? I’ll send Nella over with the drinks as soon as she comes back.”

Ellis reached for her pocketbook to pay, but Ty shook his head. “On the house,” he said.

*   *   *

Julia took a cautious sip of her drink. “Not bad,” she admitted.

Madison sipped, but made a face, pushing the souvenir cup away. “Kinda tastes like lemon Pledge, if you ask me.”

“It’s okay,” Ellis said, working on her second drink of the night. “Anyway, the price is right.”

“Ooh, free drinks,” Julia drawled. “Aren’t you clever, shagging the bartender?”

“I am not…” Ellis started, and then dissolved into a fit of Pucker-Upper fueled giggles.

“Yet,” Dorie said, hopefully.

“Yet,” voted Madison, suddenly realizing how much she enjoyed the company of these women, how much fun it was to tease Ellis, and yes, even to bait Julia.

*   *   *

An hour later, their tabletop was littered with yellow plastic Pucker-Upper cups. Karaoke had started, and three sunburnt chicks wearing UNC-Greensboro T-shirts stood on the postage-stamp-sized stage, arms locked around each other’s shoulders, swaying as they shrieked a drunken, tuneless version of “Lady Marmalade.”

“Sounds like a cat got skinned,” Madison complained. “Voulez vous shut the fuck up?”

“Think you can do better?” Julia retorted.

“Not a chance,” Madison said. “I’m a wanted woman, remember?”

“Ellis!” Dorie cried. “You have to. Please?”

“Who, me?” Ellis laughed. “You know me better than that. As far as I’m concerned, karaoke is strictly a spectator sport.”

“Don’t look at me,” Julia warned. “This was your idea, not mine.”

“Spoilsports,” Dorie said, pretending to pout. “Y’all are no fun anymore.”

So they stayed, and drank, and danced as a pack, even persuading Madison, once, to join them in the Electric Slide, and Ty kept sending drinks over, and Ellis kept glancing over her shoulder to watch him in action behind the bar. He was so fine, she thought. So fine. And mine.

In the end, it was Dorie’s bladder, not exhaustion, that did them in. “Y’all,” she complained, hopping from one foot to another. “The line to the ladies room is like twenty people long.”