“Who did you just ask to meet us here?” I asked after she dropped the phone back in her purse.
“Your brother. It’s been a while since the three of us got together.”
I wrinkled my nose. This would be the first time I’d seen him since the incident with Striker, who, according to Mac, hadn’t been back. I’d suggested that if he showed his face, she should anonymously tip off Julie’s overprotective, cop brother. He tended to keep an eagle eye on his sister and nephew.
“Mother…” I winced at the whininess in my voice. “I need your advice.”
“Is it too much to hope that you’re going to announce that you’re getting married and need my help to find a dress? I suppose you’ll want to wear flip-flops.” She sniffed. “Did you know they have white ones with pearls?”
“Oh, Mother,” I sighed. “Your best bet for marriage and babies is Brad and Julie. You need to work that angle. I’m begging you, please don’t mention the ‘M’ word to Creole.”
“Most women my age have grandchildren.” She gave me a forlorn stare. “You and your brother need to work on it; think about making your mother happy.”
“That is so manipulative.” For the most part, I was hardened to her attempts to make me feel guilty and this was no exception.
She smiled and tapped her glass, letting the server know she wanted another Jack on the rocks.
Babies. I need to rent one and see how that goes first.
“My problem is Julie.” I went on to tell her about Julie’s ex showing up and how she didn’t want me to say anything to Brad. My sixth sense told me she’d never say a word unless she was forced.
“I can tell Brad,” Mother offered. “But let’s give her time to say something first. If she doesn’t, I’ll tell Brad, and if it comes out, you can blame me. I’ll throw myself in her arms and beg forgiveness. What’s she going to say?”
“That could backfire. She could get mad and refuse to speak to you. I’ll take your suggestion to wait, and then tell him myself.” I smiled at her. “It would be cowardly of me to make you the bad guy.”
“You’d owe me.”
It was clear that she liked the idea of me owing her, and I could tell she was already figuring out the best way to redeem such an IOU. “You want a wedding? An opportunity to play dress-up? What about Spoon making an honest woman out of you? Brad can walk you down the aisle.”
Brad had come a long way from wanting to throw Spoon in the Gulf. Now he could be in the same room with the man and not growl when Spoon hugged Mother or kissed her on the cheek.
Mother’s cheeks flushed hot pink. “I’m enjoying playing the bad girl. Ssh.” She looked around. “He bought me a black leather motorcycle jacket.”
Sometimes I wanted to strangle her for doing things she’d never allow me to do. “Okay, I’m going to be the mother here. Wear the jacket all over town, to the beach, wherever, but I don’t ever want you draping your body over his motorcycle and cruising around town.” I wagged my finger. “Do you hear me, young lady?”
“I never sound all bossy like that.”
“No, you can be scarier.” I leaned in and repeated the question, growling out each word.
“Oh, okay.” She pointed. “Look who’s here.”
I turned to see Brad and Fab coming through the door. Fab tapped his arm and pointed to our table. I found it amusing that the women at the table were dressed up and all in black, whereas my brother was in beach casual: shorts and a tropical shirt, briefcase in hand.
“What happened?” I stood and hugged Fab, who tried to hide a yawn behind her hand.
Brad pulled Mother out of her chair and wrapped her in a bear hug, letting go when she grunted.
Fab sighed. “Didier got a call from Cruz, who made him available to the police for more questioning. At least this time, it was at his office. Didier took the Mercedes, and Brad invited me to tag along with him.”
“You were in Miami today?” I asked Brad.
“I had business to take care of and called to ask Didier a question. I wasn’t far away, and offered the ride.”
“I’m intruding on a family threesome, aren’t I?” Fab asked.
“Don’t be ridiculous, sister from parents I’ve never met,” I said and gently shoved her into the chair next to mine.
Fab grimaced. She rarely spoke about her parents or growing up in France. They’d turned their backs on her adventurous lifestyle, slamming the door on a relationship, and I knew she wasn’t as blasé about the estrangement as she pretended. Their loss was our family’s gain.
She and I met officially when she picked the lock of my house and made herself comfortable. I’d had to harangue her to get her to believe that although other friends had let her down in the past, I would not. We had a good relationship of covering each other’s backs. Her skills outshone mine, but thankfully, most of the time I didn’t feel like a slacker.
Our initial drinks arrived while Brad and Fab placed their drink order with the hostess, who brought them in short order. Fab leaned over and kissed Mother.
“What are you doing to find the killer?” Mother asked Fab. “You know my services are always available.”
“No, they are not,” Brad snapped, and guzzled his beer. “What services?” He pinned me with a stare. “You’re not encouraging Mother to hunt criminals, are you?”
“Mother’s got a nice, silver-handled .22; why not put it to good use?” I teased.
Fab banged her glass on the table. “Of course we don’t. We take her on the flea market jobs. You don’t know how excruciating it is for me to watch these two shoppers comb through junk.”
“Yes, Miss Haggle Queen, and who steps in when the price isn’t low enough in her opinion?” I didn’t bother to remind Fab that Mother and I had told her she could stay home but she’d refused.
Fab turned to me. “You’re the planner. Do we have one yet?”
I gave Mother and Fab a quick recap of everything Brad had told me about Lauren. “Do you have anything to add, bro?”
“No, but I’m available to help out, and I’d prefer it be legal,” he said as he signaled the waiter. It only took a minute to order, as we almost always ordered the same thing. We knew what we liked and rarely deviated.
When the waiter had gone, Brad opened his case and fished out a contract, which he handed to me.
I glanced at the paperwork for the new project, and it appeared standard. Nothing unusual stood out. “Is this moving forward, or is it on hold?”
“I knew Balcazar would be at the funeral, but I dropped by his office to see who was in charge in his absence. The doors were locked, and no one answered my knock,” Brad said.
“Good work, bro. I told our favorite investigator to blow the skeletons out of all the players’ closets, including the company’s. My hope was that we’d locate a friend or two of Lauren’s with inside knowledge that would help us.”
“I watched you and Mother flitting around the grave, haranguing people in their time of grief.” Fab barely succeeded in not laughing. “How many of those people did you unleash your charm on, getting them to spill their guts?”
“Madison’s had that annoying gift since her teenage years. She won’t ever cut anyone off and tell them to get a drink and sleep it off,” Brad said.
I ignored my brother. “Big dead end. The majority of the people in attendance were rented mourners.”
Brad laughed. “That’s a good one.”
Fab rolled her eyes. “Your made-up crap is usually better.”
The food arrived on a large tray, and my stomach grumbled at the veritable feast.
“Two appletinis,” Fab told the waiter. She handed over her glass. “I hate funerals.”
Chapter 9
Creole cruised into the driveway just as Fab and Didier were pulling out for a weekend getaway. He scooped me off my feet, put me in his truck, and sped off to his beach hideaway, secreted away at the end of a dead-end road that overlooked the western coastline of the Gulf, the n
earest neighbor a half-mile away.
He had purchased a run-down house and ripped the inside walls doing most of the work himself to turn the choppy rooms into one large living space that included a kitchen, living room, and a king-size bed with a bit of privacy behind a bamboo screen. The side facing the road had no windows; the other side had sliding pocket doors that opened out onto the pool and private beach. The large bathroom was my favorite, with its sunken tub, walk-in shower, and decadent water view.
* * *
For the entire weekend, we’d blocked out the world and, best of all, turned off our phones. We stayed in bed until noon, walked on the beach, read, talked, and cooked our own meals. We worked well together in the kitchen, and we used all fresh ingredients that we’d picked up at the Farmer’s Market. Most meals were eaten outside on the patio overlooking the blue-green water. I wasn’t looking forward to ending our two days together.
The second we turned our phones back on, both of them beeped several times, letting us know we had messages. Creole was summoned to a big meeting at the Miami Police Department, and Fab had left me a message that Brick Famosa had called and demanded our presence in his office.
Fab and I had done many jobs for Brick, and they were seldom straight up, in and out, clean and no bullets. Fab had more tolerance for the man than I did.
Creole leaned over my shoulder to read the message. “I don’t like Famosa; he’s smarmy. He doesn’t look out for your safety, and his apologies after the fact are weak. Makes me want to pound his face in.” He turned me around. “Promise me you’re going to start saying no to your volatile best friend. You can assess a situation; you know when you’re in over your head.”
I sighed. “I’m working on that. It would help if you could install a tamper-proof GPS on the SUV that stays in working order.”
He picked up my bag, and we headed out the door. When we got to his truck, he swung me around, scooped me up in his arms, and set me on the front seat, planting a kiss on my lips. Then he reached around and fastened the seat belt in a sweet, protective move.
The GPS was a big issue between Fab and Creole. He wanted us to stay safe and had programmed an alarm into the GPS to alert us when we entered a crime-infested neighborhood, which was intended to prompt us to turn around.
Fab saw it as a control issue. The woman had more tricks up her sleeve to disable it and make it look like just another malfunctioning unit … except the times she removed it, threw it in the street, and ran over it several times. He never had to ask what had happened to the unit, as she finished by throwing it in his truck bed or on the front seat.
Creole’s snarky laugh surprised me, and I stared over at him, a little uh-oh bell going off in my head. “What have you done?”
“I’ve got a surprise for Miss Fabiana the next time the alarm goes off. You watch her reaction and report back in excruciating detail.”
“Promise me she’s not going to get hurt.” I frowned.
“If I wanted to hurt her, I would wring her neck.”
The traffic on the Overseas Highway was light this early in the morning – a few locals and tourists breezing through town to get to Key West and enjoy the day. I scooted over and put my head on his shoulder.
“Which snitch are you using to dig up info on Lauren Grace?” he asked.
“I expect a call anytime with an update. I’ll share what I find out.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
I hadn’t thought I’d get away with not giving up a name, but it was worth a try. “I’d have to ask before revealing the name. Don’t worry, it’s not the homeless guy at the liquor store.”
“I’ve used Bosco a few times myself. Sometimes you get desperate.”
Just as Creole turned onto my street, both of our phones chimed. Fab had texted me that she’d extracted a promise from Brick that the job was local. She knew that I loathed driving all over the state.
Creole pulled to a stop half in and half out of my driveway and returned his call. “You okay?”
I leaned over and tried to listen. After all, Fab employed the same strategy.
He gave me a toothy grin and shook his finger. “I won’t be back until late tonight. Catch up with you over morning coffee.” I watched as he frowned at the phone and made a few grunting noises, his shoulders relaxing a little. He hung up. “Lucky Didier.” He shoved his phone in his pocket. “He has an alibi for the time the coroner estimated for Lauren’s death. He’s not off the hook, but the investigation is going his way.”
“The killer has to be found. Didier’s reputation is being smeared in the tabloids. His long-time agent took a step back and suggested he take a vacation. This is when he’ll find out who his real friends are.” I leaned back against the seat, not eager to go inside and find out what kind of drama awaited. “Why did the police suspect Didier right from the start?”
“Lauren was found dead in her living room, single gunshot to the forehead. No defensive wounds, which suggests she knew her killer. Didier’s jacket lay over a chair.”
I shuddered, my mouth forming an O. “How frightening for Lauren. To stare death in the face and have no way out.”
“Hey.” He wrapped his arms around me. “We’re going to solve this murder and keep Didier out of the slammer.”
He got out of his truck and ran around to my side. When he reached for me, I wrapped my legs around his torso and pulled him down on top of me. I needed a final make-out session to jumpstart my day.
“We need to stop before I drive you around the corner and molest you in public,” he whispered against my lips.
I clutched his shirt and pulled him against me. “We need to do this again—and again—very soon.”
He lifted me out and set me on my feet. The only other way for me to get out of the truck was to roll on my stomach and slide down to the ground. I’d once suggested a stepladder, but he about spit out the water he was drinking.
“Behave yourself,” he said with a low growl.
I wagged my finger. “You need to watch your back. No getting shot.”
He bit the tip of my finger and swooped in for a quick kiss. “I’ll track you down later.” He slid behind the wheel and waved.
A loud whistle echoed across the driveway. Fab, hand on her hip, motioned to me. “We don’t have all day,” she yelled.
Chapter 10
Fab nearly missed the driveway into Famosa Motors, but she’d never admit to not paying attention. A bundle of pure frustration, she hadn’t taken her eyes off the Miami patrol car that had followed her for blocks before we reached our destination. She’d started tapping her fingernails on the steering wheel when the officer pulled up behind her, waiting for his lights to start flashing, but he’d cruised along patiently.
Brick specialized in the sale and rental of high-end cars in this well-located, upscale area of Miami. In addition, he owned pawn shops, bail bonds agencies, and a strip joint in Alligator Alley.
One salesman dogged a mangy-looking guy around the lot, probably afraid he’d touch one of the sports cars. If the would-be buyer was stupid enough to steal it, Brick would have us chase the auto down. The other salesman, who was guarding the front door, straightened up and gave the Hummer a once over. Recognizing us, he nodded and went back to rubbing his back up and down against a pole, a cup of coffee in one hand and a phone in the other.
We walked under the double roll-up doors, both of us admiring the sleek black Lamborghini with red leather interior on display.
“Do you suppose Bitsy’s hiding under the desk?” I eyed the empty chair at the receptionist’s desk.
Fab looked around. “Where is our least-favorite bosomy blonde?”
Brick had promoted his favorite stripper from pole dancer to receptionist; he swore she was an asset to the showroom. What he meant was her double D’s were an attention-getter for his mostly male clientele. Fab and I had had an aversion to her ever since she screwed us on a business deal and bullets were exchanged.
; I looked up at Brick’s second-floor office window. Usually, the man stood there surveying his kingdom, but not today. “Shall we scream our arrival from down here or surprise the boss man?”
“I dare you.” Fab quirked her brow.
She knew I’d never make a scene. I ran to the stairs and got there one step ahead of her. We swung our hips back and forth, knocking into one another, laughing all the way to the top.
“Just once,” Brick huffed out a growl, slapping his fist on his desk, “could the two of you not play on the stairs and stay off the damn banister?”
I glanced around the office, checking the tops of the cabinets and the side table before turning to Brick and demanding, “Where’s the candy bowl?”
Fab leaned against the window ledge and scrutinized the busy boulevard below. She liked to scope out all of the exit routes wherever we went. In this office, it was the door or the window, but you’d have to knock out the glass and then risk the long jump and hope for the best.
“Got rid of it. Too much sugar puts on weight.”
The dark-haired, sexy Cuban boxed five days a week at a local gym for badasses. There wasn’t a scintilla of fat on his rock-hard body. His dark brown eyes turned beady as he returned my stare.
“I’ll go sit in the car. Hurry up,” I told Fab and marched to the door.
“You get back here,” he roared. He turned in his chair, opening the credenza, and slammed my favorite bowl on his desk, mini candy bars and, my favorite, a bag of Oreos falling over the side. “I don’t know why you can’t buy your own.”
“I’ve already told you, they don’t taste as good when you have to pay for them yourself.” Everyone knew that, I thought.
I picked out a mini Mars bar, which I knew was one of his favorites, and put it in front of him. “Do you have a bag? I forgot my purse.” I fingered the snacks.
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