Madison Westin 02-Deception in Paradise

by Deborah Brown

  A red light went off in my head that what was happening might not be a good idea. “I can’t do this. I have a boyfriend.”

  “Damn. I was looking forward to stripping you naked.”

  “I’ve already gone too far.”

  He put his arm around me and pulled me into the kitchen. “How about a cup of coffee?”

  I knew Zach was mad at me, but I wasn’t ready for us to be over. Making coffee gave me a moment to catch my breath and think before I crossed a line that would change our relationship forever.

  Creole sat at the kitchen island with a mug of coffee in front of him. He grabbed my hand and pulled me around in front of him. “I hope this is not where I have to apologize for taking advantage of you.”

  I laughed, releasing the tension. “No, no apology.”

  “Good. I’m starving. Do you cook?”

  “I can put a frozen waffle in the toaster.”

  “I’ll stick with the coffee.” He picked up his mug.

  “You said I was asking around about you. I didn’t tell anyone you pulled me out of the warehouse. I figured it was the least I could do, since you made sure I didn’t blow up along with everything else.”

  “I didn’t find out until late yesterday that you were missing and presumed dead. Then I heard you turned up alive. If I’d known you were missing, I would’ve gone looking for you immediately.”

  “Look what I found.” He pulled my Glock and cell phone from his waistband.

  “Where did you find them?”

  “About a foot away from where we landed. Your gun works fine. I can’t say the same for your cell phone.”

  “Thank you. I’m glad you found them. The explanation as to how they were found at the warehouse explosion would have been a huge problem.”

  He laughed. “Did you know I used to live here?”

  “Here? When was that?” Elizabeth had owned the house a very long time. My guess was that he was around my age, in his early thirties.

  “Lived might be misleading. I stayed here on and off during my childhood. The only real home I had. Maybe we should do this like normal people.” He took my hand and kissed it, bringing back great sweaty memories. “I’m Luc Baptiste. I heard you’ve been asking questions.”

  I blinked my eyes in surprise. “I’ve been looking for you. And was close to giving up. And Creole is?”

  “My street name.”

  “Street name?”

  “Take a deep breath. I’ll start from the beginning, and you’ll see that you’re safe with me.”

  I topped off his coffee. “That would be a good idea.”

  “I grew up several houses down with my mean drunk of a father. I learned at an early age if he couldn’t find me when he got home, he’d get bored and pass out. I took to hiding out in your aunt’s garden shed and spent many a night out there. Until Liz caught me.”

  “What did she do?” I knew without a doubt she’d have ridden over hot coals for an abused little boy or girl.

  “She trapped me in the shed one day and forced me to listen to her. I’d never been that scared before or since. I knew I was headed straight to jail, and my father would find out.”

  “I bet neither of those things happened.”

  “She surprised me when she told me she’d been watching me for a couple weeks while I used her shed and swam in the pool so I’d be clean for school. She talked me into coming into the house, and she cooked me breakfast. She then informed me that there were rules for staying at her house, and they didn’t include sleeping in the shed. I’ll take one of your home-cooked waffles.”

  “Coming right up. I have the best raspberry jam.” I popped the waffles in the toaster. “What about your father?”

  “She kept my secret, and he never found out. When I got to be fifteen and could defend myself, he stopped beating on me. After that, I spent all my time here.”

  “I wish I’d known all about this from her.”

  “Liz protected me. Her finding me was the best day of my life. She hid a key on the back patio, and when I needed to escape, I came here and slept in the guest bedroom. I had a place to sleep, all the food I could eat, and she encouraged me to make something out of my life. She told me I was smart and could be whatever I wanted.”

  “She was good that way,” I said, tears in my eyes. “Why didn’t Brad and I ever meet you?”

  “I was shipped to Grandma’s every summer. There was work to be done, and I was the family workhorse. The food there sucked. Breakfast was the worst. It consisted of toast swimming in coffee with milk, and do you know why? Because the dog liked it that way.”

  I shook my head. “That’s disgusting.”

  “After high school, I went into the Army. They paid for my college, and then I went into Special Forces. Your aunt encouraged me to dream big, and I did. When my third tour was up, I didn’t reenlist.”

  “How does your living at The Cottages fit in?”

  “I don’t actually live there. I use it as cover for my current job. Liz rented it to me when I started working the Byce case. I’m a DEA agent out of the Miami office.”

  “Did my aunt know?”

  “I didn’t have any secrets from Liz. I loved her like a mother.”

  “I was trying to find you. I asked a few people. All of them said they’d never heard of you. I even asked a skip tracer to run a report, but I never heard back.”

  “What were you going to tell me?”

  “My aunt left several envelopes to be delivered to special people in her life, and yours was the last. I felt guilty that I might never find you.”

  “Four days before she died, we had lunch down in Marathon Key at a seafood dive. She looked good to me. I replay that lunch over and over in my mind as though there were something I missed, and if I’d noticed, I could’ve saved her, and I wanted to save her.”

  I covered his hand with mine. “I didn’t see you at the funeral.”

  “I was there. I watched from the back. No one noticed me because the funeral was such a circus. I thought she deserved better. I was angry at your family for a long time, until I heard Tucker was the one who had planned everything.”

  “Why haven’t you introduced yourself?”

  He put his mug in the dishwasher. “I’ve been on the Byce drug-running ring for more than a year now. I couldn’t jeopardize my undercover status. In my line of work, you never take the chance that you can trust someone. It took me a while to figure out that you hold a lot of people’s secrets close.”

  “Now a few of yours.” I smiled. “After all that, Alexander gets away, and your case blows up.”

  “Not quite. Late last night, Alexander was taken into custody. By now, Daddy Byce must know we have his progeny in jail, and that’s where he’ll stay for awhile anyway.”

  “That’s great. How did that happen?” I asked.

  “We had him under surveillance in the Caribbean, and for whatever reason, he came back on his own. Once he set foot on United States soil, we had him.”

  “I didn’t think he was that stupid.”

  His eyes turned steely. “The rich think they can write the rules however they want.”

  “I heard all the evidence blew up.”

  “Right before the building blew, I lifted the surveillance DVD’s from his office. When I came down the stairs, I saw you and your cohort take off in different directions. I tossed the back pack to one of my partners and went after you.” He laughed. “Do you know how many times we showed up in the same place? At first it was funny, and then not so much.”

  “I was warned more than once to stay out of everything. People tell me I don’t listen very well.”

  “That’s a shock.” He rolled his eyes.

  “At first I wanted to clear my ex-husband for selfish reasons and to get rid of him. What about Pavel? No one mentioned his name after the novelty of his dead body being plucked from the water wore off.”

  “Byce carries a lot of weight around here and isn’t bashful about wor
king his connections. And he employs a lot of your neighbors.”

  “Do you think Sid Byce was totally oblivious?”

  “For the most part. We believe he was tipped off that we were hours away from a raid. I’d bet hard cash Sid arranged for the warehouse to be blown up. Proving that is another matter since everyone died and he has an alibi.”

  “What about his spawn?”

  “We tried to pressure Alexander into talking, but the first words out of his mouth were ‘I want to call my lawyer.’ His five-thousand-dollar-an-hour lawyer told him to keep his mouth shut, and he did.”

  “Will there be any charges related to Pavel?” I asked.

  “He’s the casualty in all of this. Shooter’s dead and we have nothing that links Alexander to the murder.”

  “A disk was mailed to me, and it shows Tony Carlos confessing to Alexander that he killed Pavel. Pavel was peeing in the wrong place at the wrong time. Tony didn’t ask any questions, he just shot him. The disk was turned over to local police.”

  “I’m going to get that disk. Tighten the screws on that smug punk.”

  “That’s a nice thought.”

  “I was across the canal the night that bastard Carlos took a swing that sent you into the water. I knew there was no way I could get to you before you drowned. I really felt like I’d let Liz down again, and then you surfaced and took cover until they stopped looking for you. Good job. Just to let you know, that guy would’ve disappeared, never to be found.”

  “Worm food?”

  He laughed. “Who’ve you been hanging with?”

  “I protect my sources. There’s something you should be made aware of.”

  He leveled his gaze at me. “What?”

  “Elizabeth left me all of her IOUs from you.”

  “No, she didn’t.”

  “I have it in writing. And…”

  “There’s more? I’m going to need to see proof.”

  I laughed. “I’m happy that we’ve been officially introduced.”

  He stood up and wrapped his arms around me. “I’m leaving before I make another attempt to wiggle you out of your clothes.” He lightly kissed my lips.

  “Friends? You’re welcome here anytime. I’d like to introduce you to Brad.” I walked into the living room, lifted the lid on a wood box that a high school boyfriend had carved for Elizabeth and pulled out the envelope, handing it to him.

  “One more thing.” He opened the front door. “If you break up with the bf, I’m your first call.”

  I laughed. “You’d be just what the doctor would prescribe.”

  He leaned in, kissed me, and disappeared down the drive.

  * * *

  Excerpt from CRAZY IN PARADISE

  Chapter 1

  There should be a law in South Florida that a person can’t die during the summer. The death of a loved one was hard enough without the added humiliation of sweat. I felt it rolling down my back, like a stream trapped by the belt of my dress with nowhere to go.

  My name is Madison Elizabeth Westin, and I’m seated at the funeral of my favorite aunt, people watching, of all things. Most of the mourners looked ready for a pool party, some of them in shorts and bathing suit cover-ups. I was the only one dressed in black; even my brother wore khaki shorts.

  The minister began, “We are gathered here today to give thanks for the life of Elizabeth Ruth Hart, who shared herself with us. It is in her memory we come together and, for all she meant to us, we are thankful.”

  My mother had named me after her older sister. Elizabeth was like a second mother to my brother Brad and me. We spent summers with her in Florida, running and playing on the beach, building sandcastles, and she was a regular visitor to our home in South Carolina.

  After five years of not seeing her, I had packed for a several-month stay and planned to spend the summer with her. That’s when I got a phone call from her lawyer telling me she had died. I still found it difficult to believe it had happened so suddenly.

  When I walked into the funeral home earlier, the heat had smothered me; this main room was suffocating. The air conditioning wasn’t working and it felt as though it was more than one hundred degrees. The director, Dickie Vanderbilt, had apologized for that, telling me that the central unit had gone out earlier in the day. He informed me he had all of the ceiling fans on high, which, in my opinion, were only circulating hot air.

  Dickie Vanderbilt gave me the creeps. He had a slight build, pasty white skin, and long skinny fingers. When he reached out to touch my arm, I tried hard not to squirm.

  I’m not a big fan of shaking hands. I find people only want to shake your hand when they can see you’re not interested. A friend suggested I perfect the dog paw shake for those who insist. I extend my hand like a paw and let it hang loose. Often times, they jerk their hand away and give me an odd stare, which makes me want to laugh every time.

  The minister rambled on. I found him to be uninteresting, his speech dry. He talked about Elizabeth as though she were a stranger to him and everyone here. Apparently, Elizabeth’s jerk attorney, Tucker Davis, hadn’t given the minister any information about her. I didn’t understand why my aunt left all of the details of her funeral to Tucker. Why would she exclude the people who loved her and knew her best from having input? I wished I had one more day to walk along the beach to laugh, talk, and collect shells with her.

  On Sunday, Tucker called to inform me that Elizabeth had died in her sleep from a heart attack. “The funeral is Wednesday, 1:00 p.m. at Tropical Slumber Funeral Home on Highway 1 in Tarpon Cove,” he told me.

  “I want to help plan the funeral.”

  “All of the arrangements have been made.” He sounded impatient, emphasizing his words. “If you want to, you can call anyone else you think should be informed.”

  “My aunt would’ve wanted her family to be involved in the decision-making for her funeral. After all, my mother, brother, and I are the only family she had.”

  “Elizabeth appointed me executor. She left me written instructions for everything she wanted done after her death, including her funeral.”

  I didn’t believe him. Elizabeth loved us. She never would’ve excluded her family in this way, knowing how important it would be to us.

  “I oversaw all of the arrangements myself. I’m sure you’ll be satisfied. If you have any other questions you can call my assistant, Ann.” He hung up the phone.

  My aunt never once mentioned Tucker Davis to me or anyone else in the family. Here he was, a stranger, handling her estate.

  The next day, I called the lawyer back to tell him that Elizabeth’s sister Madeline, her nephew Brad, and I, would attend. He refused to take my phone call, and I was frustrated.

  “This is Madison Westin. May I speak with Tucker Davis?”

  “I’m Ann, Mr. Davis’s assistant. He’s not accepting calls at this time. Can I help you with something?”

  “I wanted to ask again if there was anything I could do in preparation for Elizabeth Hart’s funeral? Surely, you can understand how her family would want to be involved in any final decisions.”

  “Mrs. Hart wanted Mr. Davis to make those arrangements, and he has. She didn’t indicate that she wanted anyone else involved in the planning. I can assure you he’s seen to all of the details. He worked directly with Mr. Vanderbilt at the funeral home.”

  “I’ll be arriving later today. Would you tell Mr. Davis I’m available to help with anything that needs to be done? He can reach me at Elizabeth’s house.”

  “Does Mr. Davis know you plan to stay in Mrs. Hart’s house?”

  “I don’t need Mr. Davis’ permission. I’ve never stayed anywhere but the Cove Road house, and this trip won’t be any different. If Mr. Davis has a problem with my staying there, he can call me,” I said.

  “Any more messages?” Ann sniffed and, without waiting for a response, hung up on me.

  * * *

  Tarpon Cove is an unsophisticated beach town situated at the top of the Keys off the
Overseas Highway, which begins just north of Key Largo and ends in Key West. Tropical Slumber Funeral Home is located on the main street that runs through town. In a previous life, the building had obviously been a drive-thru fast food restaurant, the kind where you drove through the center of the building to place your order for a hot dog and fries. The new owners hadn’t even bothered to take down the concrete picnic tables that were on the side of the building. But they had replaced the old metal umbrellas with tropical thatched-style ones. A red carpet ran from the parking lot to the front door and continued to the door of the hearse parked behind the building.

  We’d taken our seats on the rock-hard old church pews. I turned to look at my mother. “People are going to hear you laughing,” I whispered. “What’s wrong with you?”

  My mother, Madeline Westin, had aged well; she looked younger than her sixty years, her short blonde hair framing her face. She wore a colorful sundress that showed off her long tanned legs.

  She put her head on my shoulder. “I think Elizabeth is staring at me,” she whispered back.

  Mother was right about one thing: it did appear as though Elizabeth was staring at everyone. They’d propped her up in the casket, and positioned her to sit straight up. She was dressed in a tent-style dress that was bright yellow and flowery, with a wilted corsage pinned to the front; a dress she never would’ve chosen for herself. Yellow was her least favorite color, and here she was surrounded by all white and yellow daisies and carnations, when she loved bold color and exotic blooms.

  I tried to speak to Dickie about the arrangements when I first arrived in town. He told me firmly that he only took instructions from Tucker Davis and he wasn’t allowed to discuss any of the final details. I wondered why the secrecy, but he was so nervous I didn’t ask any more questions. He told me not to worry; he had worked hard to make everything memorable.