“Since Didier and I are getting married, we’re talking about buying a house.” Fab flashed a smile around the table. “The plan is for us to be neighbors.”
“Moving?” As hard as I tried, my eyes filled with tears anyway. I didn’t want them to move.
“I knew this would happen,” Fab crabbed. “Fix it,” she ordered Creole.
“Why? It’s your fault.” He pulled me to his side, giving me his best sideways hug.
“It was inevitable,” I said, swiping at my face. “When’s the moving date?”
“We haven’t found anything yet,” Fab assured me. “The reason we came over this morning was because I wanted to show you that if we were neighbors or lived close by, nothing would change. We could still have morning coffee—my house, your house.”
“Another possibility is for the four of us to build a couple of houses to our liking… Fab would want an access tunnel between the houses,” Didier said.
“Great idea.” Creole rolled his eyes.
“I’m not suggesting you sell your Aunt Elizabeth’s house, since I know you inherited it and it’s a tie to a woman you loved. Renting could be an option to check out. Go through an agency that attracts a different kind of renter than The Cottages.”
Aunt Elizabeth’s house had run out of room a long time ago, and yet we’d made it work. I’d never thought to move, and the idea brought on a wave of sadness. Creole and I hadn’t discussed moving, and I imagined he had a few of his own ideas on the subject.
Fab pulled her phone out of her pocket. “Found this house at the end of the street, down from Creole’s, and arranged to check it out.” She handed it over for Creole and me to see. I was surprised to realize the house was one of the four on Creole’s secluded street. “The current owners are selling because they’re getting a divorce. We’d be a short beach walk away. Or we could meet in the middle.”
“Another option is adding onto my house,” I said. “Not sure it would get approval for building permits though. The cats will miss you. Especially you, Didier. I’ll need a treat list from you to keep the howling to a minimum.” Sounding enthusiastic wasn’t easy. “You promise you aren’t moving next week?”
“This isn’t good-bye. Before you ask, neither Didier nor I entertained purchasing an all-glass condo in Miami.”
Creole put his finger under my chin. “We’ll talk later and make whatever we decide to do work.”
“What would be fun is to have our own little compound.”
I smiled at Fab’s enthusiasm.
“Nothing has to change—coffee, meetings, barbeques,” Fab said adamantly. “Maybe a third and fourth house for your mother, Spoon, and Brad. Getting your brother to leave his penthouse might require kidnapping.”
“Show of hands.” I held mine up. “Who thinks this project should be put in Fab’s capable hands?”
Creole’s and Didier’s hands shot in the air.
Chapter Twenty
After finishing up my morning coffee, I leaned over the sink to pluck a couple of dead leaves from an orchid and decided today would be perfect for dropping in on Brad. I didn’t call and ask how he felt about it, instead opting to surprise him. Depending on how that went, it might be a short visit.
I was the first to use the electronic notepad Fab had installed on the refrigerator, scribbling a message for her. Her early-morning work hours were ridiculous, but they worked for her, and most mornings, she left the house with Didier and was back home by noon.
On the way, I swung by the Bakery Café, ordering Brad breakfast to go. In the Westin family, food tamed the surliest of attitudes. While waiting, I called Cara, who answered quickly, excited to hear from me.
“What are you up to?” She giggled into the phone. “I only have a minute; the school bell is about to ring.”
“I’m here at the bakery and want to get something for Alex—what does he like?”
“He loves those sink cookies.”
“Those are delicious. But at a thousand calories a cookie, it makes them a once-a-year treat… for me anyway.”
“How are you going to get it to him?” Her voice turned serious.
“No worries. I won’t be doing anything underhanded.”
“I’ve got to go.” She hurried and hung up as a bell blared in the background.
At some point, GC would have to accept that anonymity was over between us and him. I’d have to reassure him that neither of us would out him, even if we went our separate ways.
Between the food and cookie orders, I filled up two shopping bags. I ordered a fun breakfast for Brad and satisfied both men’s sweet tooth.
Turning into the underground garage, I pulled in next to Brad’s loaner Escalade, backing into the space. Then sat there for a second, scanning the different spaces, trying to figure out which two had been assigned to GC. The numbering was no help, as it didn’t correspond to unit numbers, making it impossible to figure out.
I had a couple of “none of my business” questions for the man, such as: did he have an office? Work out of his penthouse? I’d have to figure it out myself, since I lacked the nerve to outright ask.
When the elevator arrived on Brad’s floor, I set his bag in front of his door before backtracking to GC’s. In mid-knock, I changed my mind and rang the doorbell. I’d give it to the man—he was quiet; it took me a minute to realize that he was looking out the peephole. At least, I hoped it was him and not a scantily clad guest. I’d suggest (or not) that he upgrade and get one that didn’t give away a person’s presence by the change of lighting. I needed to check with Fab and make sure that, if she hadn’t upgraded at our house, she would put it on her list.
I held up the bag, showing off the label as incentive to open up. Nothing. What the heck? Stubborn man wasn’t going for bribery. It took about a second to dismiss the idea of making a scene in the hallway. Instead, I opted to pull out my phone and call the man. The call went straight to voicemail, and I called again.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I said to the door.
Still nothing.
Last resort—a threat I’d never actually carry out, but GC didn’t know that—was pulling my lockpick out of my purse and waving it back and forth in front of the hole.
I wanted to do a fist pump when I heard the lock turn and the door cracked open.
“What the hell do you want?” GC barked through the opening, keeping his face out of sight.
“You’re beyond ridiculous.” I snorted. “You’ve apparently forgotten I can now pick you out of a lineup.”
“Five seconds and I’m shutting the door,” he barked.
“I came by to say thank you in a way that men love—cookies. All you have to do is crack the door open a little wider, and I’ll shove this bag through. You don’t even have to say, ‘Thank you, what a sweet thing to do.’”
He shoved his hand out the opening, and I hooked the bag over his wrist. “I better not get sick.”
“You’re welcome.”
Surprisingly, he didn’t shut the door with a resounding bang, instead waiting until I’d taken several steps back towards Brad’s before closing it with barely a sound. Once again, I rang the bell, this time at the other penthouse condo. I’d promised my brother long ago not to just barge in. To be annoying, I stuck my finger over the peephole.
I lurched forward when Brad jerked open the door. “I knew it was you. Your juvenile tricks sometimes amuse me,” he said with a smile. He looked down and grabbed the bag, then stuck his face inside, sniffing. “Smells good. You came at the right time. I’m starving and have no food.”
“You never have food. You should drop a hint to Mother—she’d have your cupboards and refrigerator stocked in a blink.” I followed him into the kitchen.
“There are times when she drops by with leftovers… or so she says. But they’re always complete meals that have never been touched. The best part is she remembers the sides I like, the sauces, and there’s always dessert. Plus, she hasn’t yet shown up with some kind of ‘What is
this?’ that makes your nose curl up in disgust.”
“Mother spoils us. I miss her showing up in the morning with something yummy for breakfast. Now that she’s married, she’s doing naughty things with her husband instead.”
Brad groaned. “Please, not on an empty stomach.” He set the bag on the kitchen counter, grabbed a fork, and popped the lid off the container. “Beer or water, help yourself.” He motioned for me to follow as he ate.
I grabbed a water and crossed into the living room, sitting next to him on the couch.
“The kid mine or not?” Brad asked between bites.
“Her name is Mila.” I pulled one of my cards out of my pocket—I’d written the information on the back. “You’ll need to take a DNA test.”
“I’ll call today and make an appointment,” he said. “If she’s mine, I’m going to get a lawyer and get custody. They probably won’t give it to me, but they will to you.”
I ruffled his hair. “I’ll do whatever it takes. We both know that Social Services favors family members. I’m thinking I have a good chance.”
“Even if I were to get custody, the two of us would have to move in with you. I don’t know anything about kids. You have some experience—you have cats.”
I laughed. “You’ll figure it out as you go along, just like every other first-time father. Look at Liam—he loves you.”
“He was a pre-teen when we met. I treated him like a guy friend, which would probably have been looked down on if I’d been his father. But look at us now. He’s such a great kid.” Brad drifted off. “One thing I’m certain of—I don’t want my kid in foster care. Guess I’ll have to grow up.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s not for sure, and whatever happens, it would be nice if Mila got placed permanently. Just remember that you have family that will do whatever you ask. And Mother, how excited is she going to be?”
“Not a word until we know for sure.”
“I’ll let you break the news.” I zipped my lips. “You working from home these days?” I glanced over at his desk, which he’d moved in front of the window. It was piled with paperwork, the monitor glowing.
“Might as well—Bordello and Phil went to Chicago for some kind of family get-together. I wasn’t invited, and I suspect I wouldn’t have been even if I could leave the county.”
“How are things with Phil?”
“We’re both ignoring the fact that we can barely stand to be around one another.” Brad blew out a long sigh. “Too many secrets. Every time I see her, I wonder what else she’s hiding. Phil wants us to live in ignorant bliss, and Bordello is mad because I didn’t take it well when I found out all the secrets that Phil had been keeping. I wanted to tell him to shove his ‘get over it’ attitude. He wouldn’t tolerate that from one of his multitude of women.”
“Where does the condo project stand?” Bordello and he had signed the partnership agreement before the truth came out about Bordello having a sister. That wasn’t the problem. It was that Phil didn’t think Brad needed to know she was related to his partner until after they were married that Brad hadn’t gotten over.
“We’re ahead of schedule.” Brad smiled at his accomplishment. “I’m surprised that Bordello hasn’t made an offer to buy out my interest. I truly have expected that shoe to drop.”
“Would you take the offer?” I didn’t like the man, and the feeling was mutual. He had, after all, schemed to put Fab and me behind bars.
“I wouldn’t want to but probably would. After that kind of offer was extended, it would be hard to work together. One thing’s for certain—there won’t be another partnership. After this, I’m going to take some time off, and my next venture will be solo. Having control over your own business is everything.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Oh, stop feeling guilty for blurting out the whole sordid mess.” He practically licked the inside of the container and tossed it back in the bag. “If not for you, I would’ve married a woman I didn’t know.” He rubbed his stomach. “Goood. You got any good news?”
I told him about Fab’s moving idea, not bothering to mention that I hadn’t come around to the idea yet.
“The idea of a waterfront family compound sounds way damn cool.”
“Waterfront?” I laughed. “That just upped the price tag.”
“I suppose, since I haven’t received an invite or anything, that I’m the last to know where Creole lives, after even Mother?”
“Mother doesn’t know the location. The only reason Fab and Didier know is that we needed their help on a case.” I told him about Fab barging in for coffee, and that had him laughing.
“Fab’s so damn nervy. One thing’s for sure—you can depend on her. She’s called a couple of times, checking on me. Asks prying questions, most of which I avoid.”
“She’s full of surprises, all right.” I stood and grabbed the shopping bag, putting it by the door.
“What are you doing with that?”
“Dumping it in the trash for you.”
“You know I’ve got a dude for that. You hired him. He’s good at cleaning but damn unfriendly.”
I sat back down next to him. “I can get you someone different.”
“We don’t need to be pals for him to do his job and me to stay out of his way.”
“Let me know when you take the DNA test. Mila’s caseworker said she’d stay on top of it. I think she’d like to see a match.” I stood. “I should let you get back to work.”
Brad grabbed me in a bear hug. I nudged him lightly in the ribs, and he loosened his grip. “Come on.” He hooked his arm around my shoulders and walked me to the elevator.
Next time, I’d kick GC’s door on the way out.
Chapter Twenty-One
Fab had been very secretive about her plans for the all-girl dinner, which she’d thus far not shared one detail about, except that Mother and I were the only guests. I demanded the name of the restaurant, and that got me nowhere. Even Mother expressed complete ignorance. Fab did say casual attire, about which I was happy, as I’d expected black tie, which I wasn’t going to do, no matter how long she went on about the fun I’d miss. Fab full of secrets should’ve been a red flag.
Before I got in the shower, she’d even gone so far as to lay out an outfit on the bed, which I planned to ignore just like she did me, walking out of my bedroom while I was in the middle of telling her, “I’m not six. I don’t need you picking out my clothes.” The only problem was the white bohemian skirt and hot-pink top were favorites. To my shock, she’d even chosen a pair of ankle-strap sandals.
The first stop was Mother’s. I offered to run upstairs and get her, but Fab insisted on parking and both of us going up.
Fab announced us over the security system, which was a first. The woman preferred her lockpick. When we got to Mother’s floor, Spoon stood in the doorway. He kissed our cheeks, ushering us inside. Mother met us, handing me a margarita and Fab a martini. Brad, Liam, and Didier waved from the living room. Fab walked into Didier’s arms. I crossed the room and stood next to Brad and Liam, holding up my glass in a toast.
The patio doors were open, and it was easy to see that the table had been set. I mentally counted the place settings. There hadn’t been a mention that the guys were having a dinner and expecting guests. I turned to catch Fab’s eye, but she ignored me.
“How much time do we have before our reservation?” I asked.
“There’s been a change of plans,” Mother said, a bit too cheerfully. “No worries—Fab and I have this all planned.”
Judging by everyone’s expressions, they were waiting for me to figure something out, but what? Maybe I was overreacting. I downed the rest of my margarita and handed the glass to Spoon. “I’ll take another.”
“I’ve got a pitcher made.” He smirked, amusement in his eyes.
“So the all-girl outing was ditched in favor of coed? Or was that always the plan?” I leveled a look at Didier, who nudged Fab and motioned for her to stop i
gnoring me.
“Just the family,” she said with too much sweetness.
“Works for me. When will Creole be here?”
The doorbell rang. Spoon handed me my refreshed drink, but instead of heading to the front door, he gave Mother a slight shove in that direction.
“It’s probably Creole.” I stood. “I’ll get it.”
Liam, who had changed chairs and was now standing next to me, tugged on my arm. “Let Grandmother get it.”
My first or third clue should’ve been that all eyes were focused on me, waiting for… what?
I’d never seen the man coming through the door before. Brad’s age and height, reasonably good-looking, he was dressed in beach casual, like the rest of the guys. Mother looped her arm in his. “This is Greg Reed.” She introduced him around the room before turning to me. “This is my daughter, Madison.”
I smiled, wondering how this stranger fit into a family dinner. Salesman? I managed to contain a laugh at the thought.
Mother asked the man something I couldn’t hear, but I had my answer when she signaled Spoon to get him a glass of wine.
Liam stood, offering Greg a seat next to me, which he took, sitting too close, which had me squirming away, only to find I was out of room. I tossed Liam an annoyed look, which he answered with a wink.
“Your mother’s told me a lot about you.” Greg took his glass from Spoon and clinked it against mine.
“I wish I could say the same.” Okay, that didn’t sound friendly. “You’ll have to catch me up.” Where was my phone? I had a one-word text for Creole: “Hustle.” Come to think of it, he hadn’t said a word about coming to dinner, only that he had a stack of paperwork to wade through.
So far, no one had said a word after the “nice to meet you,” comments each person uttered as Mother introduced him around the room.
“I met Greg through my friend Jean,” Mother said. “We hit it off so well, I thought it would be a great idea to invite him to dinner, so we could all get to know him.”
Spoon openly glared at Mother and motioned her to his side, which she ignored. Didier whispered to Fab, who stepped away, or tried to anyway—he tightened his hold. Money exchanged hands between Brad and Liam. I’d find out what the bet was later.
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