Psycho in Paradise

by Deborah Brown

  “How many others are coming?” I asked Mother.

  She bustled around the room, all nervous energy, offering to refill already full glasses. “Everyone’s here, dear.” She smiled.

  “Except Creole.” Did he get sick? I couldn’t imagine any other reason for him not showing up.

  She ignored my question. “Get to know Greg better while I check on dinner.”

  It would be rude to laugh, but everyone in the room knew that Mother didn’t cook anything. Spoon did. My eyes landed on the big man—he still wasn’t happy with his wife. He wasn’t a man used to being ignored, and instead of requesting her presence again, he cornered her as she attempted to slide by him into the kitchen.

  It finally clicked. This scene was familiar, bringing back memories of Mother setting me up with the man who ran the retirement home—whatever his name was.

  Greg laughed, amused by Mother and her antics. “She’s not very subtle, is she?” He patted my hand. “You first—tell me all about yourself.”

  “If you’ll excuse me for just a moment…” I stood and gulped the rest of my margarita, setting the glass on the table. I went back into the entry and, once out of Greg’s line of sight, turned to Fab and motioned her to get over here. She shook her head.

  Didier was watching the two of us. Leaning down, he whispered something in Fab’s ear. She flinched.

  Okay, time to confront the deceiver face-to-face—one of them anyway. I practically stomped across the room. “What the hell’s going on?” I hissed in Fab’s face.

  “Ask your mother.”

  I gave her a scorching look.

  Brad, who’d claimed a stool less than a foot away, spoke up. “I’ll tell you. Before you go ballistic, I only found out after I got here.”

  “Well…?” I tapped my foot.

  “The friendship ring isn’t enough of a commitment for Mother, and she got the bright idea to introduce you to other men. There sits candidate number one.” He nodded toward Greg. “Just in case.”

  “Has she lost her mind?” I asked as the fact that he was supposed to be my date sank in.

  “You know Mother.” He held out his arms. “Hug?”

  “No. Thank. You.”

  Brad grinned. “Sis, don’t toss a drink or challenge Mother to a brawl. Greg has no clue that he’s an unwitting pawn. You’ll feel bad later if you’re not your usual charming self to the man.”

  “Just a little brawl.” I held out my thumb and forefinger, a tiny distance apart. “Thanks for the laugh.” I patted my cheeks and forced a smile. “Charming, huh?”

  Brad gave me a thumbs up.

  I detoured to hug Liam and whispered in his ear, “Call Creole. Tell him what’s going on and to get here now.” I stepped back. “Don’t give me that lame look. Mother won’t find out unless you tell her.”

  He nodded and looked around. No one was paying him any attention, so he slipped out on the patio.

  I reluctantly returned to the sofa. Brad was right—it wasn’t Greg’s fault Mother got him here under false pretenses. “You first.” I sat down, this time leaving space between us.

  He appeared confused but smiled. He had to have noticed the weirdness in the room. “Your mother was so hot on us getting together, convincing me that we’d make a good match. Normally—” He let out a nervous laugh. “—I’d never say yes, but she’s quite a convincer.”

  “Mother can be very persuasive.”

  “I agreed that getting to know one another in a casual setting to see if we’re interested was a good idea. It’s my good fortune that Didier’s here—we were introduced once before, but he probably doesn’t remember. I’ve been wanting to set up an appointment about renting space down at the docks.”

  Before I could respond, Liam came up, another margarita in hand. I refrained from gulping it down and yelling, Refill. “Thanks.” I smiled up at him. After taking a long sip, I said to Greg, “I’ll introduce you to Didier.” I left unsaid so that tonight won’t be a complete waste of your time. I led him over to where Didier and Brad stood and made the introductions, telling him Greg was interested in retail space.

  “I’ll never speak to you again,” I whispered to Fab as I walked past her and retrieved my drink. No more alcohol after this, I admonished myself, promising to stick to water for the rest of the evening. I’d walk out right then, but I didn’t have a ride, it was dark, and my feet would fall off. I’d left my car keys on the counter at home, and that would never happen again. Just in case, tomorrow I’d be getting a hide-a-key that only I knew the location of.

  “Hold on.” Fab jerked my arm. “Look at that rock on your finger. It’s a friendship ring, which is nothing in the way of commitment. You’re not in high school.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, Creole and I are in love,” I said in the snottiest tone I could muster. “We’ll get married when we’re damn good and ready. And you and Mother will be lucky to get an invitation.” Eloping was sounding better and better.

  “Marriage.” She sniffed. “I think he’s commitment phobic.”

  “Take a long look at this ring.” I held up my finger. “It belonged to his mother. He’s not going to give it to someone who’s nothing more than a friend or just a—”

  “I apologize.” That wasn’t a word Fab said often. “It seemed like a good idea and a shove in the butt to Creole. I cringed when I saw your disgust and then the hurt on your face. I promise it won’t happen again.

  “Did Didier know?”

  “Heck no, and I’m going to pay for this one. The only reason Didier’s still standing by my side is so that I can’t get away and deprive him of the pleasure of killing me. Your mother and I thought that the fewer people that knew the real plan, the better, hence getting everyone here under false pretenses. Both of us thought it was the best way to go.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Not so much.”

  “If it were Mother or you standing in my position, you’d be livid. As for you—” I pointed my finger at her. “This means no sex. I’m going to suggest in a nosey, unladylike fashion that he really hold out on you.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  My eyes narrowed. “I believe I will.”

  Brad came up just then and led me away from Fab. “I’m doing my brotherly duty, preventing a chick fight.”

  “If I thought I had a chance of winning… it would be on, right here in the middle of the living room.”

  “Thinking strictly about myself, I need you whole and in one piece.” Brad hugged me hard. “You’ve been a rock throughout this Patty mess. I need you to remind me that everything is going to work out.” He looped his arm around my shoulders. “By the way, no way do you tell Mother that Phil and I are hanging on by a thread. Next dinner, it will be me in the hot seat, with some woman sitting there, looking at a book of wedding dresses with Mother.” He shuddered.

  “Your secrets are safe with me—all of them.”

  “I’m certain Tarpon doesn’t have a dating service,” Brad mused. “We should start one and put Mother in charge of other people’s love lives.”

  “That’s actually a good idea. I wonder if there’d be any interest. She could start with The Cottages, and if she can get those crazies fixed up, the normal ones should be easy.”

  Brad roared with laughter.

  All eyes turned our way. To my surprise, no one asked what was so funny. Probably afraid of the answer.

  The doorbell rang.

  “That’s Creole.” Brad hip-bumped me. “Liam was unaware that he had one set of eyes on him when he escaped out to the patio, and I cornered him when he attempted to sneak back in via his bedroom.”

  Spoon caught my eye and pointed to the door.

  I shook my head. “Mother can answer it.” She hadn’t heard Brad’s comment because she had her head turned.

  Spoon interrupted the conversation Mother was having with Didier and Greg, and whatever she said, he responded to with a shrug.

  She shot him a dirty look and headed to the door. Wh
en she opened it, Creole leaned down, kissed her cheek, and boomed out for everyone to hear, “My invitation must’ve gotten lost.” He hooked his arm around her shoulders and led her back into the living room. “Hey, everyone,” he said. His eyes zeroed in on Greg. “We haven’t met.” He looked down at Mother, waiting for her to make the introductions. For once, she couldn’t come up with anything to say.

  Greg ended up introducing himself, covering an awkward moment.

  Spoon handed Creole a beer. He took a long drink. “Madeline, why don’t you tell Greg here how I fit into the family picture?”

  Mother appeared completely chagrined, doing her best to melt into her husband’s side. “Spoon, you tell him.”

  “I wouldn’t want to deprive you, sweetheart.” He crossed his arms across his chest. “If, for whatever reason, you can’t quite spit out the words, I suggest your cohort, Fab, fill the man in. Everyone knows she’s never short of something to say.”

  It amused me to recognize Fab’s look as total disgruntlement. She really wanted to shoot Spoon.

  No one said anything, and an awkward silence ensued.

  “I’m sorry for the misunderstanding, Greg.” I stepped forward, reaching out and entwining my hand in Creole’s. “Mother was under the impression that I was available, and I’m not. But if you’re interested in meeting someone, I’m sure she’d love to help. Wouldn’t you?”

  Mother’s cheeks bloomed bright red. “I’m sorry about the confusion.”

  “No worries,” Greg said. “This has been fun. I’ve enjoyed myself.” He got extra credit for being a good sport when he was clearly confused as to what was going on. After a moment, he continued his conversation with Didier.

  Creole set down his beer, crossed to Mother, put his arm around her shoulders, and ushered her over to just outside the patio doors. He bent his head to hers, and they engaged in conversation. Brad and Liam tossed glances their way, unlike Spoon and I, who openly stared.

  “He won’t kill her, will he?” Spoon said, half-joking.

  “I think he’s having a conversation with her that he should have had a while back, and afterwards, everything will be fine.” I crossed my fingers behind my back, hoping that was what was happening. “Mother can move on to meddling in someone else’s life. She’s running out of candidates. Brad and I just tossed around the idea of her starting a dating service.”

  “If either of you mentions that to her, you’re both dead.” Spoon cracked his knuckles with exaggerated menace.

  “Ouchie.” I shook my finger at him. “You take your scary stare and unleash it on someone who’ll give you the satisfaction of running. You’re not getting that here.”

  “I think my only regret is that I didn’t have children.” Spoon smiled. “Too old now.”

  “One day, there will be grandchildren, and I suspect you’ll be good at it,” I said, giving him my vote of confidence.

  “Grandchildren are a way better idea than some damn dating service,” Spoon grumbled and winked.

  “They’re finished.” I pointed. Creole was kissing Mother’s cheek. “That’s a good sign.”

  The two of them came back to where Spoon and I stood. Mother hugged me and said, her voice low, “I’m going to make this up to you with a legitimate girl outing. Creole thinks it’s weird for the boyfriend and the potential date to be in the same room.” She sighed in my ear. “So he’s sneaking you out.”

  “What was your conversation about?”

  “He told me about the proposal.” Mother sighed again. “So romantic.”

  “It had a couple of stumbles, but I wouldn’t change a minute of it.” I hugged her. “Fab doesn’t know, and when you tell her, you should lord it over her that you knew first. Behave yourself. But not totally, so we can have fun.”

  Creole had come to stand next to me, and I heard his stomach grumble. I grinned at him. “Hungry? How about we go get something to eat?”

  “You sure?”

  I nodded. “It would be weird to stay here with Greg, and he’d like to talk business with Didier anyway, so it will be a good night for him.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The next morning, Fab insisted on meeting at her office. Halfway there, I realized I’d left my purse sitting on a chair at Creole’s and had to turn around. When I turned onto his private road, it surprised me to see a white Lexus slowly cruising the street. I eased off the gas, coasting until the car made the curve out of sight.

  That was a first. There were only four houses on the street, including the home at the opposite end that had caught Fab’s interest. I suspected all were second homes, as I’d never seen another car on the road or anyone using the beach. Oftentimes, Creole and I had joked about having our own private beach. The “no parking” signs discouraged anyone who detoured off the highway wanting an isolated place to swim.

  All the houses had garages, and Creole had paved parking for two in the front. I pulled in haphazardly, knowing I’d be right back out, and had barely gotten inside the house when my phone rang, Mac’s smiling face popping up.

  “What’s up?” I asked, sitting down on the couch.

  “You know how you’re always grouching about wanting to be the first to know when stuff happens?”

  “I object to grouching.”

  Mac snorted. “Here’s your headline for the day—Crum’s first exercise class is today. All the female guests signed up, and a couple of women from the neighborhood wandered in.”

  Exercise class? All women? How many of those so-called exercisers turned out to be ex-lovers would be the determiner for whether the cops got called. “Anything you’re forgetting?” I leaned my head back against the couch.

  “Damn it. Miss January is out cruising the driveway, bottle in hand. Last time she fell. Nobody around here listens. Heeey,” she yelled and disconnected.

  “Just great,” I said to no one. Today was turning out to be a twofer for trouble—both Miss January and Crum running amuck. Change of plans. I’d need to stop by The Cottages and… do what? Be the mean one. Order the two back inside their cottages and tell them to stay there until tomorrow under threat of eviction? My luck, Miss January would burst into tears, and Crum would favor me with one of his patented condescending stares.

  The doorbell rang, which snapped my attention to the door. It wasn’t Fab— she’d have picked the gate lock and kicked the bottom of the door to announce her arrival. That had been her compromise for not picking the entry lock and announcing herself as she walked in. “At least you’ll know it’s me,” she told Creole. Knowing he wanted to strangle her, I had looked down at the floor to mask my laugh.

  My hand sought out the remote, and I flicked on the television, bringing up the security screen. The Lexus was back—parked in the middle of the street. A fiftyish fellow stood out front in dress pants and a shirt. He rang again.

  I got up and crossed to the security pad, hitting the speaker button. “Can I help you?”

  “You the owner?”

  “What do you want?”

  Although the speaker sound was excellent, he grumbled something I couldn’t quite make out. “I have a client who’s interested in your house, and I’m here to make an offer,” he said in an insincere cheerful tone.

  “Not interested.” I expected him to turn and leave, but instead, he stepped back, appraising the exterior of the property.

  “It’s a solid offer that’s worth considering instead of rejecting out of hand.”

  I didn’t offer a response and watched as he snapped a couple of photos with his phone. I briefly entertained the idea of going out and shooting the phone out of his hand. Creole had made privacy a high priority when he remodeled the place. The man’s pictures would consist only of the ten-foot high fence that surrounded the property—he couldn’t get a glimpse of the house. The side fence opened to a path that led to the pool area and was only accessible with a security code.

  The bell rang again.

  “What?” I asked.

 
; “I’m certain if we could speak face-to-face, we could come up with a mutually agreeable offer.”

  “Like I said before, I’m not interested.” I took a calming breath. “Don’t come back.”

  “I’ll stick my card in the fence.”

  This was a man who didn’t take “not interested” for an answer. I sat back on the couch and watched. He walked the street from one end of the property line to the other, his phone out in front of him. Then he attempted to get the side fence open, and when that didn’t work, he slipped off his shoes and stood on the back of his car. No respect for the pricey car, and as far as I was concerned, I’d had enough.

  I unholstered my Glock and was already out the gate when he jumped down. There was more than one way to encourage the man to not come back.

  Making eye contact, I leveled my gun at him. “I told you nicely that we weren’t interested in your offer. Get in your car and don’t come back.”

  “You can’t shoot me,” he said in full indignation. “I’m on public property.”

  “Then I guess I’ll have to drag your body back over the property line.” I’d morphed into Fab, and it was fun. “My accuracy is spot on. I can just as easily nick you as send you to the afterlife—my choice, which I’ll make a split second before pulling the trigger.”

  “All I want—”

  I interrupted him. “I know what you want, and you’ve been told multiple times that we’re not interested. Now I’m out of patience. Hit the road. If you ignore my warning and come back, you’re gambling with your life.” I sounded so badass, I wanted to clap myself on the back.

  The man had the sense to hustle to his car. Opening the door, he said over the roof, “I’ll be back, and it will be with the cops.” He threw himself behind the wheel and gunned it down the street.

  I waved and watched as he disappeared between the trees that dotted the side road before going back inside.

  Back in the kitchen, I grabbed a sticky note and scribbled down “security fencing.” I wasn’t sure what it would take to enclose the entire street, or if the neighbors would go for it, but it was worth looking into. Grabbing the remote, I reversed the security tape, freeze framing on the Lexus, and copied down the license plate number.