Swindled in Paradise

by Deborah Brown

  I asked the older officer, “Was this necessary?”

  “You’d be surprised the things we find inside bras and taped underneath.”

  The original officer, who’d disappeared for a moment after making a beeline for his car, was back, ticket book in hand. “For everyone’s safety, it would be prudent to follow the posted speed limit. By my calculation, you flew by at least three signs posting the maximum speed, which you ignored.” He shoved the annoying book at me. “Sign here.” He pointed. “You can avoid a trial by sending three hundred dollars to this address.”

  “Three hundred dollars?” I gasped.

  “I did you a favor and kept the miles per hour under the limit that would require a mandatory court appearance, more expense, and more points on your driver’s record.” Officer Watters, according to his name badge, acted like he wanted a thank you. He’d wait a damn long time.

  “We’ll be seeing one another again.” I scribbled my name at the bottom. “I hope you’ll remember me when I show up in court to contest this ticket.”

  “Go ahead. Boo hoo, you’re innocent. Judges hear it all the time. Whose word do you think carries more weight? Mine and my fellow officers’ or yours?”

  “Officer Watters, is it?” I glanced again at his name tag. That’s a name I’ll never forget, I thought. “I’ll be bringing my own character witness—Chief Harder. He knows exactly how I drive.” I retrieved my license and handed back his book.

  He shook his head and handed me a copy of the ticket. “This is what comes from being a nice guy. You’re free to go.”

  Fab watched as the officers got back in their cars, pulling out one by one. Watters finally turned off his flashing lights. “That was nervy.”

  “You’re driving.” I walked around to the passenger side. “What in the hell?” I shouted.

  Poking my head inside, I saw that our bags had been turned upside down, the contents scattered on the floor. The change of clothing I’d insisted long ago that we both have was strewn across the entire back of the car, our changes of underwear on top.

  My hands shook with the anger that rolled through me, and I tightened my grip until it subsided, willing myself to calm down.

  “What did we do to piss him off? Are you calling the chief?

  “No, but he doesn’t know that. I will be telling Creole all about Officer Watters.” I gathered our belongings together and comingled them in one bag. We could sort it out on the living room floor at home. I unscrewed the top of my water bottle and downed it. “I am going to court. I’ll have a talk with my hotshot lawyer. He’d never lower himself to go to traffic court, but he can give me pointers.”

  “I like this tough-girl side of you.”

  “I’m not paying a ticket I don’t deserve,” I seethed.

  Fab sat behind the wheel, watching out her side mirror, until Officer Watters pulled back out onto the highway. Then she pulled out, turning onto the highway. Fab stayed under the speed limit and hooked a turn in the opposite direction at the first opportunity.

  “In the future, you need to learn to have phone sex and drive at the same time. I suggest getting an earpiece.”

  Fab kept to the posted speed until we got to the freeway on-ramp. She broke the silence to say, “Let me know when the court date is. I’m coming to watch you in action. Your almost-lawyer bartender could give you tips.”

  “You know, I gave serious thought to going to law school. My problem was I lacked the discipline three more years of school would require. Instead, I went into business, found out that I was good at it, and never regretted my choice. I don’t think I could sleep at night if a client I thought wasn’t guilty went to jail. What were your career dreams?”

  “I was raised to be an ornament: a wife, a mother, an asset on a man’s arm. I’m well-educated and speak three languages, yet was expected to defer to my father or husband. Then I met my ex-husband, Gabriel, and he introduced me to pure excitement, the thrill of living on the edge, the rush… He was the complete package—wicked smart, breathtakingly handsome and, of course, a criminal.” She half-laughed.

  I knew a lot of her memories weren’t pleasant.

  “I didn’t know what I wanted,” she said. “At the time, I only wanted someone that my parents would hate. But now—I have more than I ever thought possible: a man that I love, a best friend, and a family that doesn’t seem to care that I’m flawed.”

  Chapter 24

  Fab expertly parked the Hummer next to her Mercedes. We’d both seen Didier’s car parked in front, and before she could run into the house, I hugged her. “Mother and I both love you,” I whispered in her ear.

  Fab silently hugged me back.

  “We’re home,” I yelled as we came through the front door. I flew up the stairs and packed a bag in record time, then showered, lathering up with Creole’s favorite body wash, and pulled on a wildly printed mid-thigh dress with a deep slit and a little surprise underneath. I came back down to find Fab and Didier snuggling on the couch.

  Fab pointed to my bag on the floor. “Didier and I sorted everything out.”

  I smiled at her. “If Creole stops by and asks where I’m at, tell the detective to come find me.”

  Didier chuckled. “I bet he finds you at his first stop.”

  “I hope so. Tell him I hate to be kept waiting.”

  Before heading to Creole’s hideaway, I stopped at the local market and bought a piece of fresh grouper and an array of fresh vegetables. Since no dinner is complete without dessert, I grabbed some praline ice cream.

  I seldom made the trip down the Keys by myself. Usually the big man swept me off my feet, tossed me in his truck, and drove me to his house.

  It felt good to use my own door key, to slip inside, kick off my flip-flops, and spread the groceries out on the counter to prep for dinner. To go with the food, I picked out a bottle of cabernet from a California winery that Creole liked. I slid open the pocket doors to the patio, welcoming in the fresh air. After cleaning and cutting up the vegetables, I tossed a small salad and whisked up a marinade for the fish, then went out to the deck and set the small round table for two that overlooked the pool and the beach below. Long ago, I’d surprised him by putting together a set of dishes in the tropical colors he liked: green, tangerine, and yellow. I’d bypassed stores that sold complete sets and instead scoured the dishware outlets and flea markets.

  Creole’s job would be to get the barbeque fired up and grill the grouper.

  A nagging voice asked, What if he doesn’t show?

  Then I’ll wrap the food in foil and eat the ice cream.

  * * *

  I curled up on one of the deck chaises and watched the waves ripple onto the white sandy beach until I fell asleep. My eyes flew open when I felt hard lips on mine.

  Creole’s face hovered over mine, his blue eyes dark with amusement. “I found you,” he whispered. He lowered his head and his mouth came down on top of mine again, hot and intense and every bit as good as I’d daydreamed on the drive to his house. Finally, he sat down next to me and pulled me into his arms. He had changed into shorts, but he wore no shirt and his shoulder-length dark hair was wet at the ends.

  “Hungry?” I made little circles on his chest with my finger. “Dinner is prepped and waiting for you to fire up the barbeque.”

  “I’m starving.” He gave me another long, thorough kiss.

  I put my hand on his chest and shoved lightly. “Feed me first.” If he needed convincing, my stomach grumbled at that moment.

  He stood and pulled me to my feet. “I like coming home and finding you curled up here. We don’t get enough time alone absent pending drama.”

  The details of the encounter with Officer Watters can wait until later, I decided. “I crave quiet time with you. My favorite is to lie in your arms and just talk, watch a movie, or read. I love my family, but when they all descend, it’s loud and noisy and everyone watches what everyone else is doing. It’s hard to even sneak a kiss. What is it Mother calls us�
��lovebirds?”

  “I have something planned for after dinner.” He arched his eyebrows and grinned.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said in my most innocent voice, biting my lower lip.

  His eyes filled with confusion. “Do you have something planned?”

  “I do.” I pulled away and walked into the house, where I opened the drawer on a side table and retrieved a deck of cards. I put them on the counter in front of him.

  He studied them, turning the pack over.

  “You’re at the whim of your hostess.” I teased his lips with my finger. “We’re going to play strip poker, and the first person to lose all their clothes is sadly not the winner. The other person gets to decide what we’re doing the rest of the evening. The loser doesn’t get to complain.”

  “Good thing I’ve got the evening already planned.” He winked.

  “You’re very sure of yourself.”

  “I’m a very good player.”

  “I’m not half-bad myself.”

  * * *

  Creole pushed me down on the chaise, straddled the cushion in front of me, and shuffled. He fanned the deck, holding them out. “Best two out of three?”

  “I’m willing to put it all on one game.” I leaned forward, puckering my lips. “Shall we smooch on the deal?”

  His fingers wrapped around my chin and brought my face forward, sealing the stakes. “Are the cards marked or something?” He flicked the cards, giving them a cursory glance.

  “Deal!” I poked the cushion.

  “Did Fab find anything at Lauren’s that I don’t know about?” he asked after laying down the last card.

  “Are you forgetting that I waited in the car?” Not waiting for an answer, I continued, “I’m not giving you Fab information—ask her.”

  “Is Fab going back to Lauren’s?” He held his cards to his chest.

  “Fab never tells me stuff like that. I have to catch her in a lie or sneaking back in the door. She’s an insomniac, and it’s worse when Didier’s not home. She has a tendency to disappear in the middle of the night.”

  He smirked at his cards and winked. “Just so you know, I offered to cover her back.”

  “Yes, I heard about the offer of your services. Don’t take it personally if she sneaks off without you.”

  “How many?” He snapped his finger, pointing to my cards.

  I covered my face with my hand and stifled a groan—nothing but low-numbered cards, with the exception of the ace. I tossed the rest face down. “Four.”

  “Sorry, hon.” He took three.

  “No you’re not. It’s so ungentlemanly to gloat.”

  He turned his cards over, showing a pair of tens.

  I flipped my cards over as well. Once again, the ace was the only decent card, and it meant nothing by itself.

  “I’ll show you what a gracious loser looks like.” I stood and unzipped the back of my dress, sliding it slowly over my shoulders. I let it fall in a puddle on the ground and stepped out, standing before him in nothing but a smirk. “Surprise.”

  “Looks like we both came to play.” He stood, unzipped his shorts, and kicked them on top of my dress. He had the same surprise for me—whichever way the game went, it was destined to be over in one hand.

  He scooped me up and carried me inside to his big, king-size bed.

  Chapter 25

  Two days later, Phil called early, asking to meet for breakfast at The Bakery Café. Her background check on Balcazar was complete, and she wanted to share her findings.

  I shoved my foot into a tennis shoe to protect my toes and hobbled down the hall, stopping in front of Fab’s door and giving it three stiff kicks. “Rise and shine, we’re leaving in twenty,” I yelled, then hustled, giggling, back to my bedroom and into the shower.

  I dragged on a clean uniform, which meant a mid-thigh flirty skirt, and t-shirt and took a look in the mirror. I made a face. The skirt was too short for my thigh holster, so I switched holsters to the one that fit in the small of my back. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Fab had slept through my wake-up call, since I didn’t hear a sound as I headed to the stairs. “Don’t think I won’t leave without you!” I shouted.

  If I stopped to make coffee, we’d be late; besides I’d already decided to hold out for a latte. On the way out, I rang the doorbell a half-dozen times and slammed the door. I slid into the passenger seat and shoved the keys in the ignition, lighting up the dash clock. Five minutes—then I’d start honking the horn.

  The front door flew open with a bang. Fab blew across the driveway and around to the driver’s side. “Could you be more annoying?” she complained as she squealed out of the driveway.

  “Do I really need to answer?”

  “Go ahead, smirk now. Wait until Didier has a talk with you. We were…it doesn’t matter; you killed the moment.”

  “My defense will be that I learned that trick from you,” I said haughtily.

  “Where are we going?” Fab grouched.

  “Our favorite café for breakfast. A double latte and a pecan roll, and I’ll soon have you laughing about the start to the morning.” I bounced in my seat. “The best part is, the background check is back on Balcazar.”

  “We need to know more about Lauren. Where’s that report?” she asked in exasperation. “Didier is still the prime person of interest. The cops aren’t scratching his name off the list because they don’t have a replacement.”

  Fab cut across the highway and lucked out on the traffic signals, making it to the café in record time. She growled when she saw our favorite table for people-watching, at the end of the sidewalk, overflowing with teenagers.

  “Stop grumbling and hurry up. Phil got us a table over there.” I pointed. “Beats sitting inside.”

  “Our table empties, grab it,” she said, heading inside the bakery.

  “I’m hungry,” I called after her. She knew that was code for her to order actual food and not just a danish.

  “Fab’s cranky,” I warned, slipping into a seat next to Phil. “Some good news would be an attitude-changer.”

  “Well, it’s not a smoking gun with someone else’s fingerprints on it.” She grimaced.

  I leaned back in my chair, scanning the faces around us for anyone familiar.

  A few minutes later, Fab slipped into a chair, plunking a box down on the table, a tented number on top. “Food will be out in a minute; they’re not very busy.” She leaned across to Phil. “I don’t want to hear about Balcazar; the hell with him. Anything new on Lauren?”

  Phil and Fab glared at one another for a moment. Then Phil jammed the top back on her coffee cup and slid her chair back, making a loud scraping sound on the sidewalk.

  “Sit down,” I said to Phil and turned to Fab. “You say something nice to make her stay.”

  Fab looked at her in all innocence. “Would you like another cup of coffee?”

  I bit down on my lip so I wouldn’t laugh.

  Phil dropped back down. “No, I would not.”

  The few heads that had turned our way lost interest. Finally, the server delivering a tray of food broke the silence.

  “This looks yum.” I picked up the plate with the individual frittata on it and pushed the goat yogurt and fresh berries in Fab’s direction.

  “It’s new on the menu. I did peruse the ingredients and noted there wasn’t anything listed that would make you barf. Your pecan roll is inside,” she said, pointing to the box, “along with Didier’s cookies.”

  “I’m taking over the meeting,” I told Phil. “We both want to hear your report, and we’ll save our questions until the end.” I gave Fab a nudge under the table with my toes.

  “Balcazar is a criminal and a crook,” Phil said before she took a sip of water.

  I was pleased to see that her opening line got Fab’s attention.

  “Ten of his high-powered friends formed a corporation that appears, on further investigation, to be nothing more than a multimillion-dollar Ponzi scheme. The company special
ized in the buying and selling of overbuilt condos. The deals were set-up with phony buyers and documents that appeared legit, but were complete fiction. When the collapse seemed imminent, the partners severed ties and disappeared. All but three, I should say. One was found murdered, one is presumed dead despite never being found, and the third vanished.” She smirked at Fab.

  “What are the chances of having two friends/business associates murdered and another go missing?” I asked.

  “It’s rumored that the FBI was in the process of squeezing the dead man, Harry Gant, for information. He’d supposedly just finished negotiations on a sweet deal that he wanted signed before spilling what he knew. A security camera at his office showed him leaving late one night and two unidentified men hitting him over the head and dragging him to a waiting van. He turned up several hours later, his body beaten and smoldering in a dumpster at a nearby construction site.”

  A shudder went through my body at the thought of that gruesome death.

  “The second man, Robert Stark, was under investigation in Gant’s death. His ex-wife reported him missing because she needed her alimony check. The cops went to his multimillion-dollar house, which was in foreclosure. They found signs of a struggle and his tongue on a serving tray in the kitchen, blood everywhere.”

  I gasped, covering my face and trying to block the image from taking hold. I put what was left of my breakfast on the empty table next to us.

  “No other parts turned up?” Fab asked.

  “Nothing, but the three of us know how easy it would be to make a body disappear with the right connections,” Phil said.

  “Anyone investigating the corporation?” I asked.

  “An investigation was opened by the state’s attorney and, as far I can tell, has gone nowhere. Even though some of the investors lost big money, no one is uttering a word.” Phil pointed to the bakery box. “Can I have a cookie?”

  I held my breath, crossing my fingers that Phil didn’t get her head bitten off.

  “Help yourself.” Fab pushed the box in her direction. “Lauren have a part in this scheme?”