I sent Mac a text to get her behind to work and said that she’d better have my cat. I worried he’d be a disheveled mess and would never forgive me for leaving him.
Two heads poked out from behind the blinds when I pulled in and parked in front of the office: Mac and Shirl, wondering who the truck belonged to. Once they figured it out, they appeared disappointed, and their heads disappeared.
The door opened, thanks to Shirl, who sat where she could see down the driveway and had a partial view of the street.
“I’m baaa-aack,” I smiled.
All thoughts of Jazz hating me flew out of my head. He was curled up in between Mac’s legs as she reclined in her chair, feet on the desk. He looked up, barely acknowledged my presence, and went back to sleep.
Big Devil!
I took Fab’s seat on the couch and put my sore feet up; afraid to take my shoes off. I’d never get them back on.
“Do we get details?” Mac asked.
I gave them a shortened version. They stared back in awe.
“We should do a girl lunch. Fab can tell you how amazing she is in a crisis,” I said.
They both squealed.
“Let’s hear it. Anyone die or in jail right now? Any jail runs while I was gone?” I asked.
Mac took an interest in her tennis shoes, banging them on the desk, not realizing they weren’t the light up ones. She wore a cotton beach dress, covered in seashells. She didn’t look her hippy self today.
“Just spit it out––tell me our two star tenants didn’t die.” I’d never be ready for Miss January and Joseph to croak.
“They’re fine. We, uhm…,” she hesitated, then blurted, “have a new tenant. I bent your rule on not renting to locals. I can promise you he won’t be a problem.”
“We always think that,” I struggled not to yell. “Give him a week’s notice and then call Spoon.”
“Can’t do that.”
Shirl smirked, arms across her chest.
“Ba-loney. Get him out. They behave for a day or two; next thing, the driveway is full of sheriff cars,” I said.
“I can guarantee you the sheriffs will be here all the time, probably using the pool,” Shirl smiled big.
“The pool!” I shrieked.
Mac pointed at Shirl. “You can leave.”
“I’m not going any damn where,” she yelled back at her friend.
I slid off the couch. “I’ll take care of it. Spoon’s coming for dinner. Sooner is better when ridding the place of a felon.”
“It’s Kevin,” Mac blurted.
“Julie’s brother? He hates this place.” I knew this was a joke. He’d never move in here. He barely tolerated me, although we’d come to an unspoken agreement to make an effort to get along.
“His duplex burned down and he was desperate. I wasn’t going to be the one to tell him hell no,” Mac said. “It was your brother’s idea.”
“Kevin introduced himself to his new next door neighbor at the duplex,” Shirl said. “It spooked the man, thinking the sheriffs were on to his drug business and he went in and threw a lit cigarette on the sheets and left, destroying evidence,” she snorted. “Now he claims it was an accident.”
Shirl was a nurse on staff at Tarpon Cove Hospital, and befriended all the sheriffs on the force. She got the latest and most accurate information.
“Put the word out, we’re looking for another duplex. I’m sure he won’t want to stay long.” I grimaced. “Now give me my cat.”
“Jazz is a great cat,” Mac said. “I promise I took good care of him.”
“I can see that and I appreciate it––a lot.” I smiled at her.
He hated the cat carrier, but too bad. I couldn’t drive while he was climbing in my hair. I waved to them.
* * *
I dropped Jazz off at home and ditched the pickup at Jake’s, left the keys under the seat and texted Crum. It was a little worrisome that no one noticed that I snuck in the back door of the bar and rolled out my bicycle, but this time it worked out in my favor.
Pedaling down the beach, the wind in my face, I enjoyed the ride. For the first time in too long, I wasn’t consumed with thoughts of how to stay alive. I scanned the backyard before stepping off the path, all was still quiet. Hurrying inside, I made sure the furniture and everything was in the same place as when we left for the safe house. No one needed to find out I’d stayed here alone last night.
Chapter 47
Behind the wheel of the Mercedes, Fab blew into the driveway. Didier must have taken her car, which meant that only my SUV ended up stashed away. I whooshed out a sad sigh, feeling melancholy as I watched them from the kitchen window. Didier held the driver’s side door and as Fab’s feet hit the ground, he hugged her and kept his arm around her shoulder.
“We’re back!” Fab yelled, throwing the door open. “We want details.”
“Spoon wasn’t forthcoming on the phone, so we have to wait. He and Mother are on the way here.”
“I heard you offered to cook,” Fab snorted. “We took a vote––unanimous for take out.”
“You, too?” I frowned at Didier.
He laughed and shook his head at Fab. “Where’s Creole?”
I ignored the question and focused on Fab, who slowly checked out the living room. She turned to me. “You stayed here last night, didn’t you?”
I glared at her. “I didn’t feel I’d be welcome at Creole’s, so I hid out somewhere else.”
“Cherie...,” Didier soothed as he put his arm around me, giving me a hug. “You two will work this out.”
Fab flung my bed pillow into the corner of the daybed.
She’s so good. Anyone else wouldn’t have noticed.
I continued to give her the evil eye. “What are we going to tell Mother?”
“The truth! She won’t like it, but she’ll be happy we didn’t skimp on the details. She’s not stupid; she knows we water down most of our stories.”
“I’ll let you tell her.”
My brother burst through the front door. Slamming a stack of paperwork on the counter, he scooped me off my feet and twirled me around.
“Let me go, this clench is claustrophobic.” I pushed away. “Don’t say anything sweet, or I’ll start crying.”
We stared at one another for a long moment.
“I love you,” I whispered.
“Yeah, me too.” He pulled me into another hug.
“I’m going to tell on you. ‘Mother, he touched me’.” I gave a long, drawn-out whine.
“Go ahead, she’d love to send you to your room and lock you in,” he laughed.
“Miss me, bro?” Fab hugged him. “Where’s your girlfriend?”
“She’s at Liam’s track meet. He doesn’t know anything that happened, and she wants to keep it that way.”
I shook my head. “He won’t hear it from me but, when he does find out, he’ll be mad.”
“It wasn’t my decision.” Brad shook his head.
Didier handed him a beer and they talked about the next bike ride. Brad had his back to me. I settled onto a bar stool and opened the leather portfolio, crammed with paperwork that had been with him since college and looked worn out.
A real estate contract lay on the top and I scanned the contents.
“What the heck is this?” I held it up. “Don’t tell me it’s none of my business. That doesn’t apply in the Westin family.”
Fab looked over my shoulder. “What about my lighthouse?”
“My new gift shop is fine and not going anywhere,” I told her.
The look of disbelief on her face was priceless, and I had to contain my laughter.
“We’re selling the Trailer Court. Initial in the circles and sign on the last page,” Brad informed me.
“Hold on a second. How is this going to work? I’m not willing to give up any part of the rest of the property. How am I going to share with new owners?”
Fab whistled and pointed to the sales price.
Didier motioned Fa
b to his side and she ignored him, earning a glare and a few choice words in French.
“As you can see, I got us top dollar. The property was sub-divided long ago; the new owners will fence it off, making the current front entrance the back, thereby separating it from your other businesses. The dirt strip that runs along the far side will be paved, and the new entrance will be at the end. There’s a clause that there can be no building of condos.”
“Are you sure about this? I thought you liked your new venture.”
“The fun was in fixing up the property and getting top dollar,” Brad said. “Besides, we need the money for another real estate deal I’m looking at in Miami. You have The Cottages––do you want to run the Trailer Court? I know I don’t.”
I took the pen he held out and signed in all the appropriate places.
“Does this mean less fishing?”
“I’m keeping the business. Thinking about taking on a partner who will handle the trips.”
“When do I get to hear about the new project?” I asked.
“We’ll have a meeting,” he smirked. “I’ll pitch the deal. I realize I sprung this on you, but I’m not taking on a new project without your approval.”
Mother rushed through the door, leaving Spoon behind to carry in a mountain of food. She grabbed Fab and me in a group hug.
“You two better be okay!” She kissed us, sounding relieved. She had tears in her eyes.
“Don’t cry,” I whispered. “We’re fine.
“You’re both grounded,” Mother said, looking us over for cuts and scrapes.
“Good luck on that,” I laughed. “In a tight spot, second daughter here is the best tool ever. She never backs down and doesn’t accept defeat.”
“Guess who walked in?” Fab nodded toward the French doors.
I turned and tall, dark, and devilishly-handsome Creole filled my eyes. I felt my cheeks warm, having been caught staring.
“You be nice,” Mother warned as she pinched my arm. “Be sweet, distract him, and he’ll get over his anger. You two will get back together.”
“What are you suggesting, Mother?”
“Probably not cooking,” Fab smirked.
Mother and I stared at her.
“You know what they say about men and food,” Fab defended.
I watched out of the corner of my eye as Brad offered Creole and Spoon a beer. The guys unloaded the shopping bags: Mexican from Jake’s. I kept waiting for the pitcher of margaritas but it never came. Instead there were all the makings for Spoon to blend them himself.
Creole and I made eye contact. He nodded and I smiled back at him.
An assortment of food was laid out on the countertop. Didier got out plates and utensils. The men worked well together, laying out the veritable feast.
We helped ourselves to the mountain of food, while Brad brought in extra seats. We crowded around the island as I sucked down half of my margarita. I needed to calm my nerves, but not get drunk and do something inappropriate.
“I suppose eating and talking about body parts isn’t appropriate, but we’re all here, and I’m sure we all have questions,” I said. “Is Billy dead? Last thing I remember, I saw him lying on the floor.”
“A bullet can’t keep him down,” Spoon smiled. “Lucky bastard, his dog tags saved his life. Never knew he did a stint in the Army. He’s been discharged from the hospital; his girlfriend took him home with her. I know he’s better, because he started milking the sympathy before he got to the car.”
I stirred uncomfortably in my seat as Creole slid into a seat across from me. I couldn’t help myself and stole another glance; he caught my stare, his lips quirking up.
“Did you blow up Bonnet?” Fab asked Spoon.
Didier said something in her ear and she jerked away.
“Well, did you?” Fab demanded.
Spoon grinned at her.
“No, and you know why? I thought you and Madison might be on board.” He hugged Mother. “Hence the reason we thought you might be dead.”
“We thought you were in negotiations. Why no big rescue off the island? Did you figure we could fend for ourselves?” Fab continued to grill him.
“It wasn’t the first time you two broke your word and took off,” Creole reminded us, an angry edge to his voice.
“When was the last time we took off and left a man behind with an almost bullet hole in his chest, especially after he made us a yummy dinner?” I grouched.
“When Billy didn’t answer my call,” Spoon said, “I went to my boat and found him lying on the floor. You two were gone without a trace of a disturbance. Next day, I motored out to Bonnet Island.”
Mother smiled up at him, patting his arm.
Spoon continued, “Billy told us you were in trouble as they wheeled him away on a stretcher. Me and my posse took a trip out there and confronted Bonnet, threatening him with war. He looked me in the eye and swore he had nothing to do with your disappearance, told me to have a look around. We searched the house and property and found no sign you’d ever been there.”
“That’s why the redheaded Amazon escorted us to the dungeon room,” Fab said.
“So you met Lethal Lexie. Rumor has it she’s a contract killer. Made her services exclusive to Bonnet a year ago. She’s tougher than any of her ilk in male form that I ever met. Not an ounce of empathy, narcissistic to the extreme, her allegiance is to money. She is high-dollar talent.”
“They kept us in a horrid cement room on the downstairs level,” I said. “Didn’t seem like anyone was looking for us, and we were on our own.”
Mother leaned over and kissed my cheek. “I know my girls. I knew you two would be back.”
“What’s your side of the story?” Creole asked, eerily calm except for the look on his face.
I briefly glanced up at him. Although his tone sounded neutral, he didn’t expect the truth. Fab and I exchanged glances.
Fab gave an evil smile.
“We were chloroformed. Did you notice the scratch on Lexie’s face? That was a present from me.” She apparently paid attention when I relayed stories; she recounted the details like bullet points, headline style. She embellished some, but stuck mostly to the truth.
My favorite was about how, kicking and screaming, putting up the fight of our lives, our abductor had to smoosh that rag over our noses to get us off the boat. Not a word that we were caught off guard sleeping. She turned us into super girls, sneaking past our captors, out of the mansion, overpowering the boat steward so we could jet ski to Key West. Mistaken for hookers, we lucked out running into a wannabe john that turned out to be an old acquaintance, and he gave us a ride back to the Cove.
Mother hung on to her every word. When she looked at me, I flashed her a small smile and winked. Everyone accepted the story. Creole held back; due to his experience, he didn’t know what to believe.
Brad laughed. “I wish this was a story I could brag on about my sister.”
“Fab deserves the credit,” I said. “She never gave up, always had a plan. I did my best not to whine and show fear, believing she’d get us home in one piece, and she did.” I smiled at her.
“Don’t sell your contribution short.” Fab smiled back. “The fun part happened when we finally got back on the mainland. For a while, we switched personalities and I was the calm one.”
“Where’s Jax?” I asked.
“When we found Billy, I checked on him,” Spoon said. “Your mother insisted he relocate immediately. Thinking more about my boat repairs than his health, I wasn’t happy. But it worked out better than I could have hoped. Jax got me an introduction to a friend of his. He’s towing my boat to his shop and finishing the repairs.”
“Got Jax a fishing gig out of Clearwater. When he’s done, he has the option of signing on again or using the airline ticket I got him to go anywhere he wants,” Spoon said.
“When he finds out about Bonnet, he’ll probably head back home,” Mother said. “We had a long talk before he left. He misse
s his family.”
Brad’s phone rang. He looked at the screen and laughed. After a minute, he responded, “Congratulations old man.”
“Yeah, good luck,” he hung up.
“Congratulations,” he looked at me. “You’re a step-mother to six.”
Confusion written on my face, it took me a minute. “Harlot? Six kittens?”
“All different colors. You know what that means?” Brad raised his eyebrows.
“Yeah, she was banging every tom in the neighborhood,” I said in disgust.
“Madison,” Mother hissed. “Banging,” she mouthed.
Fab and I laughed. Didier shook his finger.
“I know other, more colorful words,” I said sweetly.
Mother held up her nearly empty margarita glass. “To family,” she toasted.
Mother, Fab, and I sat at the island polishing off our drinks while the guys did dish duty.
Everyone drifted into the living room for more comfortable seating. I wanted to sneak off to my bedroom and avoid Creole. I just survived near death, I reminded myself. How bad could the brooding detective be?
I just didn’t want to hear the words “we’re over.”
Creole lounged against one of the French doors, watching my every move like a hawk. I could feel his stare, finally getting up the courage to meet his eyes. I wanted to run to him, less chance of changing my mind. Scooting around my Mother and Brad talking, I inched my way to his side.
“Who invited you?” I asked, staring up at him.
“I don’t need an invitation.” He filled the small space between us, standing in front of me.
“You’re welcome here anytime.” I wanted to lay my head on his chest and ask if we could turn back time to pre-dead bodies and skip everything in between.
“Are you still mad?” I asked softly.
“Yes!”
“I could apologize, and then I’d gracefully accept yours for hiding us in that dreadful place.” I hoped for a quick laugh, which I didn’t get.
“Hypotheticals aren’t helpful in this situation. Would you mean it?”
Deborah Brown - Madison Westin 07 - Kidnapped in Paradise Page 23