Creole ran his hand slowly down my back to my waist. “Where’s your gun?”
“Thigh holster.”
“Why is Mother kissing that criminal?” Brad pointed to Mother’s boyfriend, Spoon.
“He’s a reformed criminal,” I said, patting Brad’s shoulder, “How could you not know? She’s been sneaking around with him for forever. She’s terrible at it.” My brother is a straight-up nice guy with sun-bleached hair from long hours spent out in the Gulf waters as a commercial fisherman. No one ever says a bad word about him.
Spoon and Mother shared the love of a good cigar. They started out as smoking buddies. Brad couldn’t help but notice Mother looked happier since her hook-up with a younger, edgier man.
“There’s a nice doctor and CPA in town, they’re both single,” Brad fumed. “She’s not going to date him anymore.”
“I dare you to go over there and get the ‘I’m a grown woman’ speech,” I taunted. If only Brad would stop being so hard-headed and get to know Spoon. Well, he still wouldn’t approve, but he’d stop with the wishful thinking that Mother would hook up with a nice older gentleman.
Brad pushed his chin forward and started in their direction.
“Toss back a beer with Spoon and you might be surprised,” I called after him.
Zach and Creole answered their phones at the same time. Work probably beckoned the both of them. Creole turned a short-term assignment with the Miami Police Department into a permanent one. He mingled with drug dealers and other lowlifes, climbing the ladder of dirty dealings to the man at the top. They were both now staring at me. I groaned inwardly. Now what?
Zach walked over to me. “The fire is out.”
“My house?” I ran for the front door. “What about Jazz?”
Zach caught me in his arms. “Cat’s fine, it’s not your house. Cottage ten caught fire and burned down. The good news is the front steps are still intact, and thankfully, there’s no damage to the rest of the property.”
I sighed with relief, “Good thing it was empty.” Brad moved to my side and heard the conversation.
“Go check on the property,” Brad said as he hugged me. “Get back as soon as you can. Julie and I will make sure everything goes fine here.”
* * *
I took the shortcut to The Cottages. There was no reason to drive along the beach, since there was nothing to see at night except for total darkness. I saw Fab and Didier sneak out of the party earlier for some more of their jungle sex as she liked to call it. Late one night, I’d gone down to the kitchen for a snack and heard them giggling, Didier making animal noises. My cheeks turned bright red and I raced back upstairs.
As it turned out, Brad and Julie were the only ones to stay behind and clean up after Mother’s party. Brad called to tell me he’d bring the birthday cake to my house. My mouth watered at the thought of eating a piece of the strawberry perfection: white cake, hollowed out, filled with sliced strawberries, and iced with whipped cream.
Liam rode with me and set my radio stations, got the time right on the clock, and was currently setting my home address on the GPS.
“Wow look at that!” Liam said in awe. “Glad it wasn’t our cottage. Mom and I like living here.”
I parked the Hummer on the street in front of the office. Cottage ten was now a burned-out hollow shell. “How does an empty cottage burn down?”
Liam shrugged and jumped out before I shut off the engine.
Tomorrow it would be a tourist attraction. It sat closest to the street, separated by the barbeque area. Thank goodness an individual parking space separated each cottage or the fire could have leapfrogged down the driveway.
“Hey, Kev, what the heck happened?” I asked Kevin Cory, a local sheriff who’d been assigned to this area as long as I owned the place.
Kevin and Liam high-fived and did some sort of knuckle-bump ritual. Kevin and Julie were brother and sister. Kevin wasn’t happy that Julie decided to date Brad, until they met and he learned crazy only ran on the female side of the Westin family.
Kevin pointed to the still-smoldering rubble. A fire truck sat curbside. “Who was living in there? It surprised me we didn’t find a dead body or two; wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Somebody died in there?” Liam asked with fascination.
I spoke up quickly, never wanting the dead body subject to come up again. Hey, I didn’t murder the man, but that didn’t make for an interesting story. “It had been out of rotation for plumbing repairs, an insidious leak that turned into a remodel when the floor had to be ripped up.”
Kevin loved to lecture, my guess, about what a poor adult role model I made. He looked at Liam and changed his mind. “Well, someone lived in there. The fire chief stopped by on his way home from dinner, his investigator suspects it was a meth lab.”
That should rule me out as a suspect, I thought; I’ve never done drugs and had a no tolerance policy. “Did you talk to the rest of the tenants and guests?”
The Cottages is a ten-unit property that I inherited from my Aunt Elizabeth, Mother’s only sibling, and to say the regular tenants were eccentric was putting it nicely. The tourist guests, mostly from the UK and Scotland, were repeat customers, along with their referrals who came and went and gave the property a sense of normalcy. Despite the turnstile of trouble the property attracted, the out-of-towners never seemed fazed by the occasional shooting, brawl, or dead body.
Kevin’s blue eyes sparkled with anger. “Not a single damn one of your so-called tenants would answer the door,” he seethed, brushing his blondish-brown hair from his eyes; he wore it longer than most sheriffs did. “I know they’re home. A couple of them had the audacity to turn off their lights after I knocked. And now look, they’re staring out their windows bold as brass.”
I couldn’t help myself. I laughed. “What about Joseph?” Joseph, a Vietnam vet, had lived at The Cottages the longest and one of my aunt’s first tenants.
“That piece of shit yelled, ‘Go away,’ and turned off his light. I’m calling his probation officer in the morning.”
“I’ll save you a dime, Joseph’s off probation.” That was the only good thing about his last girlfriend, his first grade teacher. She kept him out of trouble long enough to finally close the drunk driving case. Closing that case also wiped out a grand theft auto charge, a car stolen from a friend of course, drunk in public, and peeing in the alley files.
Kevin motioned to Zach, who walked up. “I’ll let you know when we’re done with the cleanup,” Kevin said. “I’ll take Liam with me.”
Zach spoke up. “Actually, Julie is at Madison’s with Madeline’s birthday cake. Liam’s expected there.” Zach and Kevin were good friends, so Kevin wouldn’t say “hell no” like he would if it were my suggestion.
I squeezed Zach’s butt cheek in a silent thank you, knowing the last thing Liam wanted was to be left out of the fun. “Kevin, you’re more than welcome to come for cake.”
CHAPTER 3
The advantage to having my bedroom on the second floor overlooking the back yard, I didn’t have to hang window coverings. The early morning sun streamed through the windows, signaling another warm day. Once I turned over, Jazz stuck his face in mine and meowed at the top of his lungs. Cat-speak for, “Get up and feed me.”
If our roles were reversed and I had celebrated being over one hundred years old, would I rule the house, or still be his servant?
Zach had left early. We seldom shared leisurely mornings in bed. He did make a point of telling me for his birthday he’d like me to get rid of Fab as a roommate. I gave him my usual vague response that didn’t commit me to an answer either way. If he had his way, my open door policy would change to “don’t come by uninvited.”
I scooped up the large black ball of fluff and headed downstairs. Halfway down, I noticed a nice-looking man with disheveled brown hair sitting at my kitchen island. “Who are you?”
“Bonjour, mon cherie.” He looked me over in clinical detail.
&nbs
p; I felt naked standing in my Dolphins football jersey that hung mid-thigh. He must be another friend of Fab’s––none of mine spoke French; a few had a hard time with English.
He raised a gun up off his lap and pointed it at me. “Take a seat.”
Two days in a row I’d stared down the barrel of a gun; I needed to give my Karma a shining. “What do you want?” I stood rooted in place.
“Sit.” He pointed to a barstool pulled away from the island. “Or my first shot will kill the cat.”
Jazz howled, pacing in front of his food bowl. He had food, but demanded I refresh it in the morning.
“Shut that damn thing up.”
My voice pleaded, “I just need to give him some food and water and he’ll go to sleep.” There was a gun in the drawer, but shooting the intruder before he shot me seemed highly unlikely. I hurriedly took care of Jazz and then sat on the stool.
“Just tell me what you want,” I said.
“That’s easy. I want Fabiana Merceau.” His gray eyes were hard as steel.
“Fab doesn’t leave notes as to where she’s going. Why don’t you check back later?”
He unleashed a tirade in French and then said in English, “You uneducated American. Get her here. Now.”
“So you can kill her?” My stomach muscles clenched.
“Killing my dear Fabiana would not get me what I want. Now call her.” He punctuated this by pointing his gun at Jazz.
“This I can promise you, you’ll never get whatever it is you want by shooting me or the cat.” I reminded myself to remain calm and picked up my phone. Why had we never talked about a code word? How was I going to warn her?
Fab picked up on the second ring. “Cherie,” I blurted. “Can you come back to the house?”
“What’s up?” Fab asked. “Why do you sound weirder than usual?”
“Don’t speed in my car.” I hung up, hoping that because the conversation made no sense that would be code enough.
“Who are you anyway?” I asked.
“Shut up or I will shoot you and Fabiana will have to get over it,” he sneered.
* * *
Fab walked through the French doors from the pool area, her Ruger LC-9 handgun pointed at our mystery man. “When did you get out?” She asked, clearly not pleased to see him. “Put your gun down, this has nothing to do with Madison.”
The energy intense and electric; as I looked between the two of them, sparks from their eyes flew back and forth. This must be the ex-husband, Gabriel, I thought. Looks wise, he had a lot in common with Didier. Fab clearly had a type: tall, dark-haired, and with that delicious accent. Didier was sweet and flirted shamelessly, his blue eyes sparkled; this one’s eyes were cold and calculating. The hair on the back of my neck told me he would bring Fab down.
Gabriel put his gun in his front waistband. “You’re going to give me back what is mine and if you don’t I’ll blow up your life and everyone in it.”
The tone of his voice sent shivers up my spine. His words shocked me; I’d never had someone who loved me speak to me with such venom.
Fab holstered her gun. “I don’t have anything that belongs to you. I sold my ring and two other pieces of jewelry and fled France.”
Gabriel beat his fist on the counter. “The painting.” He kicked his stool over, clearing the space between them, and grabbed her face, smashing his lips to hers.
Fab gave him a hard shove with both hands. “Don’t you remember I never had possession of the painting?”
Gabriel dug his fingers into both sides of her cheeks and squeezed. “You forget how well I know every inch of your sexy body and larcenous mind. You’re a liar. Convince me as though your life depends on it that you had nothing to do with the fake that was left in place of the real painting. Even if you can, I’ll still need another priceless work of art.”
“You’re hurting me.” Fab shrugged out of his grasp. “Wait while I pull a masterpiece out of my back pocket.”
Gabriel had lost all interest in me; he was locked in an intense standoff with “his” Fabiana. I slid over to the kitchen drawer and removed my Glock. “Step back, Gabriel.” I cocked my 9mm.
Gabriel turned. “You won’t shoot me.” He spoke to me like a mere irritation.
“Yes, she will.” Fab walked to the front door and held it open. “Leave here and don’t come back. If I even see you in the neighborhood, I may have to shoot you.”
Gabriel pinned Fab to the front door with his body. “Meet me in one hour at that dreadful café the two of you frequent. We’ll catch up on how I did prison time and you’re living in this dreadful hole.” Gabriel shot hate sparks in my direction. He ran his finger down Fab’s cheek, kissed her, and then disappeared down the driveway.
I exhaled when the door slammed shut. “Wow, we have terrible taste in ex-husbands.”
“Jax would never shoot you. Gabriel wears vengeance like an honor badge.” Fab rushed over. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
“You have options. I know people who could make him disappear.” I mentally ran down the list of my friends and knew two who could expedite him to a mere memory in twenty-four hours.
Fab wagged her finger at me. “I’m going to take care of this and you’re going to stay out of it.”
A bad feeling settled over me. “You know where the painting is, don’t you?”
Fab shook her head. “I hate it when you just seem to know stuff.”
“Give it back to him with the understanding he leaves town tomorrow.” My hand shook when I pulled a coffee mug off the shelf.
“I’d have to steal it again.” Fab covered her face with her hands.
My phone rang. Mac’s name popped up on the screen. “More bad news?” I asked.
Mac Lane managed The Cottages and, for the most part, stayed one step ahead of the crazies.
“Koozie got arrested,” Mac blurted. “He set cottage ten on fire using his cooking-meth-for-dummies manual. When one of his cooking pots exploded, he freaked and ran out the door. He didn’t bother to call the fire department or anyone else, for that matter. Kevin’s partner, Johnson, stopped by on an official visit and to chat it up with you.”
“Blow Johnson off until later. Can you start with estimates for cleanup, et cetera? Once I get the okay from the insurance company, I’m going to have the rubble hauled away.” One problem at a time today, I thought.
Officer Johnson and I had an avid dislike for one another. “He started it,” I told his partner Kevin when asked to be nicer. Johnson liked to snap his fingers and didn’t like that I wasn’t a jumper.
“On it already,” Mac smacked her gum. “Several folks have stopped by offering services. I have business cards in two piles: second look and no way.”
I hung up the phone. “Start from the beginning,” I told Fab. “Try not to minimize the pertinent details.” My heart pounded hard. I hoped Gabriel wouldn’t be the end of our friendship.
“Gabriel and I made headlines as sexy cat burglars. Lucky for me, a security camera caught only the back of me in skintight black pants and a long-sleeve top. We were selective, had high thieving standards. We stole from rich people. Let’s face it, they have the coolest stuff. My job was to gain entry. Rich people leave their windows open a lot, so I’d cut the screen and crawl right in. Most times we were invited guests—my parent’s friends and those of their social ilk.”
I couldn’t imagine stealing from my parents’ friends. I’m sure I embarrassed Mother plenty of times, but this took it to a whole new level.
“The Evards, tennis partners of my parents, bragged about their newest ‘little getaway’ to Monte Carlo. What a perfect time to loot their mansion! The entire alarm system appeared to be as old as the house; dismantling it was child’s play. Unbeknownst to us, behind every painting was a back-up system that sounded an alarm if moved. While Gabriel ransacked the downstairs, I swept the master bedroom, pawing through Madame’s jewels, helping myself. Gabriel had the painting off the wall, admiring it, when the gua
rds burst in. He managed to hang on to the painting, jump out the window, and lead them on a chase. He had a slight lead; apparently the guards weren’t window jumpers and chose to go out the French doors. They struggled to get them unlocked, and then the pursuit was on.
“The master bedroom doors stood open to the garden below. I heard the commotion, dumped a handful of trinkets into my pockets, and slipped out through the library at the opposite side of the house.”
“What happened to the painting?” I asked.
“They had Gabriel in custody within an hour, no painting. He managed to make it back to town before getting caught. Instead of using the painting to broker a deal, he kept quiet and gambled, trying to convince the court the guards chased the wrong man. After all, he didn’t have it in his possession.” Fab checked her watch. “I can’t be late.”
“My Glock and I will go as backup,” I said. “Give me five minutes to change.”
“You go take care of The Cottages and we’ll meet here later.” Fab grabbed her keys.
“I don’t like this,” I grumbled. “You tell Monsieur Bastard if I don’t see you tonight I’ll unleash every law enforcement agency I can on him.”
“Promise me, you won’t breathe a word of this to anyone.”
“I can’t keep that promise,” I sighed. “You need to think very carefully before you agree to something that will have you in prison stripes for a very long time.”
Fab waved and raced to the door, I was hot on her heels.
I yelled, “Tonight, Fabiana!”
CHAPTER 4
It took every ounce of self-control not to drive by our favorite place for breakfast, The Bakery Café, on the pretext of needing a latte or some other lame excuse. Fab was in more danger than when she faced down the drug dealer pointing a gun in her face, and besides I knew Gabriel would spot the inconspicuous Hummer in a second.
Murder in Paradise (Paradise Series) Page 2