I glared at her. “You couldn’t just call out from the door?”
She scooped her hair off her neck and pulled it into a ponytail. “No, I couldn’t,” she laughed and walked away.
Creole’s hands cupped my face. “I have to go. I don’t want you to worry. I called in a few favors, and your house will be under constant surveillance.”
“Don’t you think I need a personal body guard? Someone who never leaves my side? Sexy and funny is a must.” I smiled up at him.
“Got that covered. I’ll be back,” Creole said as he gave me a quick kiss. “I’ll see you later.”
I watched as he disappeared onto the path in the direction of the beach.
Chapter 6
The last place I wanted to be was inside my house, but guilt led me back. I peeked through the doors before entering. Mother sat on the couch with Kevin Cory, a local sheriff, next to her. He’d be my brother-in-law when my brother Brad marries his sister. He only tolerated the Westin women, and I heard him tell my brother it would be nice if we didn’t go off ‘half-cocked’ all the time.
Kevin was minus a partner these days and wouldn’t have another one anytime soon, due to cut backs. His last one asked for a transfer 'out of this dickwater' town. Kevin said she'd complained incessantly about the dull-witted people. Lucky her, she got sent to Gainesville, a college town in the middle of the state with no beach view.
Three other uniformed local sheriffs that I didn’t recognize milled around. I looked at the stairs, wondering if I could sneak up them unnoticed and hide in my bedroom, but I didn’t think that would be supportive of Mother. Spoon sat next to her and had her anchored to his side.
Brad didn’t approve of their relationship, due to Spoon’s colorful past. I reminded him that the man had reformed and become a somewhat-scary pillar of the community. I also pointed out that, although younger, at least Spoon wasn’t our age or 'fresh out of high school' as we liked to tease Mother. What hadn’t escaped Brad’s notice was that Spoon made Mother happy.
Mother was in her sixties, but lied about her age. They were an attractive couple. She was always well-dressed. Not long ago, her blonde hair would have never be out of place. Now she sported a wind-whipped look. She’d been a good influence on Spoon. He seemed less intimidating somehow and smiled more often. Mother had a hand in upgrading his wardrobe, but still kept it beach-casual.
I slipped into the kitchen and sat at the island. Because of the open floor plan, from here I could survey the living room, yet not be an easy target for relentless questioning.
Fab slipped onto the stool across from me. “The coroner just left with a metal box in hand.”
“Did you overhear anything?” I shuddered, pushing away gruesome images.
Fab looked around before answering. “You know I’m not allowed to eavesdrop anymore.”
I rolled my eyes. “That may be, but you do it anyway.” I'd seen Didier disappear upstairs. “I’m going to have a talk with Didier about changing you into someone totally unfun. Thank goodness you only listen when it suits you.”
“How long before you can get Weirdo, the crime scene cleaner, over here?”
“Is there a big mess out there?” I squeezed my eyes closed. “You have to stop calling him that, or I’ll never remember his name. And it’s not ‘Weirdo.’”
We looked at one another and laughed. We both knew that giving people rude nicknames was juvenile and a habit we needed to break.
I stood up, walked over to the kitchen garden window, and stretched across the sink as I checked out the courtyard. Nothing appeared out of place. The only sign of a crime was a piece of yellow tape tossed on the driveway.
“It will be a long time before I use the front door again,” I said.
“Just think of it as an excuse to drag home second-hand stuff and plant it with flowers,” she smirked.
“It has me thinking about redoing the front step. Hire someone hunky to pour a skim coat of concrete over the death scene, and I’ll embed it with seashells.”
Fab had more patience for my shelling hobby of late. She had zero patience for walking on the beach and having to slow down so I could bend over every other step. Now she helped me fill the bucket to the top, then we’d hide it and finish our walk. I had been banned from sneaking off on my own to find shells, which annoyed Fab because it took her longer to find me, and she liked knowing where everyone was.
Fab snorted.
“I heard that. I’ve got to leave. There’s an emergency at The Cottages,” I said. I didn’t look at her to sell my lie, but thought it sounded convincing.
The whole dead body––well, the severed head––and all its implications made me squeamish. If I could put distance between me and the doorstep, I could pretend for a little while it never happened.
Fab put her finger under my chin and turned my face up.
“I don’t like saying I don’t believe you, but I don’t.”
“Be a best friend and take care of things here.” I jumped up to leave. I'd barely taken two steps when she grabbed the back of my shirt and jerked me to a halt.
Fab cleared her throat. “Kevin, do you have any questions for us? If not, we’re headed to The Cottages. Miss January’s lost her cat again, and you know how upset she gets.”
Spoon smirked at Fab. “I can’t imagine you have any feline skills. Must be my step-daughter.”
“Please don’t say that in front of Brad,” I said. Spoon and my brother were getting along these days; step-daddy talk would throw cold water on good relations.
Kevin’s mouth dropped open and he turned to Mother. “You married him?”
I glared at him. It irked me that Kevin never gave Spoon credit for turning his life around, especially when Mr. Straight and Narrow Cop had a fondness for strippers.
“I can handle things here,” Spoon said, ignoring Kevin. “Pretty Boy’s got an appointment in Miami.” Spoon's eyes shot to the top of the stairs where Didier stood giving him the finger.
“We’ll be finished up in a few,” Kevin informed us. “If I have any more questions, I’ll save them for the next family dinner,” he said with a laugh. Everyone glared at him. Not long ago, I decided to play get-along and started including him in family get-togethers, which were never without a little drama.
“Madison,” Mother started. “When we’re done here, I’m going with Spoon. We’re going out on the boat.”
I walked over, leaned in, and gave her one of her patented stern looks. “Take your phone. And don’t get in any trouble.”
“What about him?” She nodded at Spoon.
“Don’t get him in any trouble either.” I hugged her and whispered in her ear, “Have fun.”
Chapter 7
Fab sat at the signal, revving the engine of the SUV, flirting with a young hottie who didn’t want to race but wanted her to pull over. I clutched the arm rest and looked out the window. I wished she’d find another source of amusement. The light turned green. She took off and hung a hard right onto her favorite dead-end... or so the sign said. Only a handful of locals, and insomniacs with severe snooping skills, knew that the last driveway was a thru-way to the next street over.
As she blew through the wooded residential area, my phone rang. I looked down at the screen.
“When he calls me, it’s some awful job he knows you’ll say no to,” I told Fab. I rejected the call and shut my phone off.
Instantly Fab’s phone rang.
“Hi, Boss,” she answered.
Finally, after incessant nagging and a few threats on my part, we now had a reciprocal listening agreement and put our phones on speaker. “She hung up on me again!” Brick started yelling.
“She answered, but the line was dead. Bad reception.” Fab made a face.
“I want the two of you in my office five minutes ago,” he said before he hung up.
“He and I need to go over the terms of my employment agreement,” I grouched.
I had nothing in writing and ins
isted I would only take work on a case-by-case basis, but that was nothing more than big talk as we rarely said no.
In the contract Fab had with him, she never said “get screwed” to any of his jobs. In exchange, she drove the hottest cars in town until he wanted them back. I paid for my car, so I felt less inclined to be ordered around.
“What do you suppose he wants?” Fab asked.
“Think of all the jobs you wouldn’t take and pick one of those. Are you keeping him as a client now that you’ve got your lighthouse?”
“I need him until I get other clients. Are you forgetting he pays cold hard cash?” Fab asked.
Of course Brick paid better than anyone in town. His jobs had a tendency to go sideways. Word had gotten around, and now he had a difficult time hiring freelance help.
I laughed at her. I knew this new idea of hers would eventually be a win-win. It was only a matter of time until she was back at Jake’s, sharing office space with me at our private table out on the deck. I knew Fab better than she knew herself. It frustrated her not to be in the know, and she’d soon find her new location isolated and without the food service that Jake's provided.
“I’m a little jealous, but I’m thinking that with a little patience on my part, I might get your new offices for a tourist gift shop.” I felt certain it would disappear in the night before I got any souvenir paraphernalia unloaded.
“You wouldn’t, would you?” She looked wounded.
Fab’s phone rang again and I sighed. It was probably Brick yelling at us to hurry up. She answered, but didn’t say a word, putting it on speaker.
“Why in the hell can’t you say hello? I know you’re there, I can hear you breathing!” Mac yelled.
Mac Lane held the position of office manager of a ten-unit beachfront property that I inherited from my aunt. One day Mac showed up at the pool of The Cottages, demanding a job interview. Instead of conducting a professional question and answer, I hired her because she made me laugh and knew she could handle herself in a barroom brawl. Both highly sought-after skills.
“Hey, who works for whom here?” I yelled back, anticipating a highly entertaining conversation.
“Why is your phone off?” she continued, barely taking a breath. “You need to get over here.”
I heard the thump in the background and knew it wasn’t her foot stomping on the floor, but her tennis shoe kicking the desk in frustration. The lights that ran around the bottom of her shoes must have gone out again. Mac had regressed in her footwear choices. Every pair had to scream neon or have feathers or flowers. She wouldn’t wear “boring” things.
“Brick first. Then you,” Fab barked. “Hold the mayhem together until we get there. We’ve got to go.” She disconnected, as she often did, without a friendly good-bye.
Chapter 8
Fab pulled into Famosa Motors, a car dealership specializing in high-end sales and rentals. She screamed to a stop at the front of the showroom. Her driving must have started growing on me, because I hadn’t complained once and I'd finally let go of the cheater bar.
Two salesmen leaned against a large column to the side, giving us a cursory glance before they went back to their conversation. They were new guys, which was no surprise as none of them stayed around long. These two reminded me of pimps: dark eyed with slicked-backed hair, dressed in their Florida uniform of shorts and tropical shirts that were unbuttoned to show off their bear-hairy chests, covered in gold chains.
“Hey, Bitsy,” I yelled as we walked in and past her desk. “Your fake hair looks better than usual.”
Bitsy was Brick’s long time receptionist. Her biggest job qualification was a pair of double D’s. Brick boasted that he promoted from within when he transferred Bitsy over from his strip club.
She also ran an unsavory side business of selling information. I’d heard through gossip, which in our line of work frequently turned out to be the most reliable source, that Bitsy had screwed another customer, reselling the same information several times over.
Apparently, the victim showed up at Famosa Motors, making a huge stink until the security guards escorted him off the property. He left, shouting threats and obscenities. I wondered if Brick gave her the talk about the rules, when to and when not to screw people over. Long overdue, in my opinion.
Bitsy liked us even less than we liked her, which was saying something after she had screwed us over on a business deal last year. To show our displeasure, we tormented Bitsy as much as possible. On one visit, I pulled her hair and, to my surprise, it came completely off, revealing ugly, chopped-off, multi-colored hair. “I wish Brick would get rid of the two of you,” Bitsy snapped. She gave us the finger.
“Oh, you're hurting our feelings.” I wiped away a pretend tear, sniffing as though holding back the floodgates.
Fab and I looked at one another and giggled, gliding past her and up the stairs.
“I need a favor,” Brick said as he flashed his loathsome smile. “I’d appreciate if the two of you would skip the drama and just do it. I’d hate to remind you that you both owe me.”
I squinted at him. “You’ve got a lot of f’ing nerve. If Mother were here, she’d beat the hell out of you.”
Mother had met him a handful of times, and she’d never been impressed. Smarmy was the word she used when referring to him.
Fab laughed.
“How many times have the jobs you’ve given us exploded in a hot second?” I demanded.
“You could have just dumped this favor in my lap,” Fab smirked. “But no. For whatever reason, you have to have Madison on the job. Does that sum it up?”
Brick sighed.“You remember Carmine Ricci, Madison? He’s got a job for you. I told him you already have a partner. He didn’t like it, but accepted it. He’s a preferred client, and I want you to take the job.”
“Do you know any details?” Fab asked.
“He only said this job needs a woman’s touch. I’ve got a number here and he’s waiting for your call.” Brick pushed a notepad across the desk.
I met Mr. Ricci on my first luxury car delivery. The experience was intense and a bit scary. He’d been a gentleman, but, then again, I’d never had the occasion to tell him, “No, I’m not interested.” I was willing to bet that Mr. Ricci never heard those words from anyone.
“He’s a mobster,” I told Fab.
“There’s no proof of that ugly accusation,” Brick huffed. “Carmine’s a retired businessman and any stories to the contrary are lies. I’ll remind you, he’s also a longtime friend of mine.”
Brick was one of those people who expected other people to take his every word as gospel truth.
“Call him,” Brick pointed to the paper in front of me. “He’s waiting for your call.”
Fab left her spot at the window that overlooked busy street below, surrounded by pricey commercial real estate. She made herself comfortable in the over-sized chair next to me, then dialed the number and put the call on speaker.
The phone rang twice and Carmine answered. “Madison?”
“Hello, Mr. Ricci. I’m here with my partner, Fabiana Merceau.”
“Yes, partners. I don’t approve, but Brick assures me that you only work in pairs. I have a matter of the utmost discretion that needs to be taken care of as soon as possible. Today, if at all possible. Are you available?”
I closed my eyes and shook my head.
“We can clear our schedule,” I said, against my better judgment. I didn’t think we had any plans, but with Fab you never knew. She had a tendency to spring jobs on me at the last minute.
“My mother is in a bit of legal difficulty. I believe she became overwhelmed by the legal system and has run away. She's in hiding. I don’t think she’d leave the South Florida area, as she has no ties to anywhere else.”
“She didn’t kill anyone, did she?” I asked.
“Hardly,” he sniffed. “She’s eighty-five. I need her handled with care and brought back home without scaring her to death. I need someone to reass
ure her. My lawyers have made this misunderstanding a top priority, and I’m certain I can make the charges go away. She doesn’t need to fear incarceration.”
I shook my head at Fab and pinched the bridge of my nose. We looked at one another, both of us understanding that his story stunk.
“Do you have any idea of where we’re supposed to look?” I asked.
“Brick has a photo and a list of addresses. He’ll give it to you. I’m hoping to hear from you soon. Don’t disappoint me.” He hung up.
Brick reached into a side drawer and withdrew a folder, sliding it across the desk.
“She needs to be found and brought in nice and quiet.”
“Did she commit a felony?” I scowled at him.
His slow response was noted.
“Carmine wants his mother back. If she's not found, I’ll be out a lot of money, as I posted bail for Carlotta.”
That was a nice non-answer.
“Cut the bull and spit out the truth,” Fab said as she stood up. “Never mind. Let’s go.”
“Sit down,” he half yelled. “She was charged with prostitution, pandering, and some other minor charges.”
I looked at him with pure disgust, and looted the snack bowl on his desk, pouring the contents in my purse.
“That’s the worst made-up story I’ve ever heard.”
Fab and I had reached the top of the stairs when Brick yelled, “Wait! She runs a high-class prostitution ring, catering to the uber-rich out of South Beach. Other than this misunderstanding, she has a clean rap sheet.”
“How are we supposed to find her?” Fab yelled back.
“Get back in here,” he barked. “And no more yelling, unless it’s me doing the yelling.” He waited until we were seated.
“In addition to Carmine’s list, I scribbled down a couple of possible hiding places. This requires discretion. She’s not to know that her son’s got his people combing the streets. She’s not stupid; she turned selling sex into a multi-million dollar business. I suspect she’s on alert.”
“What happens to her when we return her to her gangster son?” I asked, taking Fab's former spot on the window ledge and watching the busy traffic below.
Deborah Brown - Madison Westin 07 - Kidnapped in Paradise Page 4