“We don’t know and don’t care. Doug will never be a client in the future.” I changed the subject, asking, “Why not call your pal, Tucker Davis, about Ivers’ will?”
“Tucker took exception to the fact I didn’t like being screwed on one of his business deals. I obviously can’t make the reading. Listen up; I want to know who’s there. Who’s acting weird? If you’re going you must be mentioned in the will, so ask for a copy, you’re entitled.”
Fab rounded the corner fast, making me rock in my seat. She had stuck to the back streets, getting ahead of construction, having to U-turn and double back a few blocks, but at least we’d almost be on time.
“And I get what?” I asked.
“Satisfaction for doing something nice,” Harder said, and chuckled.
“That’s not enough. Does this have anything to do with Ivers’ autopsy?”
“You know I can’t discuss an open case. Get me what I want and I’ll be nice to you sometime.” Harder hung up.
“You do realize he said open case? That means Ivers’ death might not have been natural,” Fab said.
* * *
Tucker Davis, scurvy attorney-at-law, had taken an old cottage-style house—a corner lot located just after you breezed past the welcome-to-town sign—and turned it into office space. The outside had been the recipient of a fresh coat of yellow paint. Personally, I liked the previous blue color. My favorite addition was the old wooden rowboat that held his sign. I’d like to stage an intervention for the boat and drag it home and display it in my front yard, junking the sign.
Fab pulled into the small parking lot, and, unable to maneuver the SUV into the last space, parked on the lawn. She caught me rolling my eyes.
“Try and behave yourself,” Fab said, as she shook her finger at me.
“We’ll see who pulls their gun first.” I smirked.
The front door chimed when opened. That was new and it made me wonder if someone had snuck in besides me. The ultra-modern interior didn’t fit the charm of the outside. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Ann standing at the reception desk so I helped myself to a fistful of candy from the coffee table. Arms across her chest and a scowl on her face, she glared as I dropped my loot into my purse. “You’re late,” she said. She tapped her watch as her dark eyes bore into us.
“Two minutes is not late,” Fab told her, baring her teeth.
Ann wouldn’t mess with Fab since her reputation as an unstable wild card preceded her; most people didn’t know the hype was exaggerated, unless provoked. She stepped back and opened the door and we both had to squeeze by her as she blocked most of the opening, having packed a few pounds on her middle-aged frame.
“Follow me and try not to interrupt when you go into Mr. Davis’s office,” she snarled.
Besides Tucker, seven people were crammed into his office. His desk took up three-quarters of the space, which left a tiny, uncomfortable area for the rest of us. Fab spotted Tolbert and slid into the chair next to him. Feeling claustrophobic, I stood by the window, leaning against the low sill. I recognized Violet Ivers and if I hadn’t seen a picture, I’d have guessed her to be Gus’s daughter by her big, howling sobs. Three other men whom I didn’t recognize filled the chairs. Tucker acknowledged me with his hard, cold brown eyes.
Why in the world did the old people in Tarpon Cove choose a weasel like Tucker to draw up their wills when he built his practice on criminal law by getting guilty defendants off? His court record was near perfect, he rarely lost a case. Juries bonded with him despite the fact that his clients were low-life scum. The joke around town was that if you had Tucker for a criminal lawyer, you did it and have the money for his exorbitant fees.
I leaned across to the candy bowl sitting on Tucker’s desk and helped myself to another handful, knowing it would irritate him. I threw it in my purse, joining the other candy to be eaten on the way home. He didn’t say a word, but glared and moved the bowl to the cabinet behind his desk. Aging had been unkind to him, his brown hair turning gray in odd clumps and turning his complexion sallow. One thing he had in common with his assistant, Ann, they both looked like they had something permanently stuck in an unpleasant place.
Tucker pulled a thick file of paperwork out of a side drawer and announced to everyone that as executor he’d be handling the distribution of the Ivers estate according to the deceased’s wishes. He cleared his throat and started reading, boring everyone to tears with legalese. I wanted to yell, “Hurry up, already!”
Violet had calmed somewhat and squirmed around in her chair, hiccupping. One would guess her to be a middle-aged woman, but she was dressed like a six-year-old in a full dress that tied in a bow behind her back, completing the look with Mary Jane shoes and loose blonde curls.
“I have an envelope here for each one of you from Gus,” Tucker said, acknowledging us individually as he held them up flopping them back and forth. “But I’ll be keeping these in my control until the estate is finalized.” He tossed them onto the corner of his desk.
“Tolbert, Ivers left you that parcel of land that joins your properties at the back and a check for that so-called church of yours.” Tucker eyed him in a disrespectful way.
Fab glared at Tucker; I thought she’d pistol whip him. He noticed and glared back at her. “You got a problem with me, girlie, you can leave, and I’ll mail you a copy of the will.”
I spoke up. “Fab’s staying. She’s my ride home.” I gave Tucker my best I-dare-you- face, letting him know I’d make a scene in his office and not care who witnessed.
“Charlie, Bob, and John, Ivers left you sizeable bequests.” Tucker stopped to take a drink of water. He passed each man a piece of paper, presumably with an amount written down as they all smiled and nodded, pleased with what they saw.
John, apparently an Ivers, made me wonder where he fit in the family gene pool. The familial connection surprised me since neither he nor Violet looked at the other. Interesting, too, that Tucker knew everyone in the room; they must be locals after all.
Ann walked in with a tray of cold drinks, serving the others, and ignoring Fab and I.
Fab spoke up. “Annie, I’ll take a bottle of water. Madison wants one, too.”
I tried not to laugh and shook my head in agreement.
“I’m not sure why, Miss Merceau,” Tucker said, glancing her way, “but Gus left you his antique gun collection. I would hope it’s not because you coerced him in anyway, but one never knows how low you’d draw the line.”
Tucker wiped the look of joy off Fab’s face with his ugly insinuations. She jumped up and I jerked on the back of her shirt, holding tight until she sat back down. Tolbert laced his fingers in hers and squeezed. I flipped Tucker the finger, mouthing the words at the same time.
His eyes snapped with anger, clenching his hand into a fist. “Miss Westin, I realize you were part owners with Gus in the car wash but for whatever reason he left you the rest of the block.”
I cut him off. “If you think this is the best time to fling dirt, I’m happy to play.”
“I wouldn’t put it past you to pressure an old man in an unseemly way.” Tucker smiled.
To hell with being embarrassed. “Like you did to my aunt? It mystifies me why you are not in jail.”
Everyone sat stunned, mostly looking down at their feet—except Violet, who glared openly.
Gus and I had a business relationship, but I never expected anything from him and, quite frankly, not even the other half of Clean Bubbles. We had a signed agreement, but never finalized all of the details because he continually dragged his feet, calling for meetings where we ended up talking for a couple of hours and he’d flirt outrageously with Fab.
Tucker shuffled through more papers, making a few notes before looking up. “The rest of the estate goes to Violet Ivers. We’ll discuss everything when everyone has left.” He smiled at her.
“Who are those two?” Violet shrieked, pointing at me and Fab. “Why would Daddy leave them spit?” Her voic
e high pitched and whiney like that of a spoiled child. She’d been sitting demurely, hands in her lap, her pasty face splotched red from her hysterics.
Tucker patted her hand, passing the tissue box, and then broke the awkward silence. “I wondered the same thing. Don’t you worry, my dear Violet. I’ll do a thorough investigation before the estate is settled.”
“You don’t think they influenced Daddy in an unseemly way, do you?” Violet raked her eyes over Fab.
Fab leaned forward. “Mind your manners, bitch. I bite.”
Violet hissed and jerked back. “You’re uncouth.” Apparently her childish tone was permanent. “I don’t want her grubby hands on anything Daddy worked his life for; that’s not right.”
Tolbert pulled Fab back into her chair and put his arm around her shoulder. Fab unleashed a tirade in French.
The men, hoping for a roll-on-the-floor girl fight, had their eyes glued to the two women. I momentarily thought about brandishing my Glock and shooting into the ceiling, but knew Tucker would have me arrested.
Tucker cleared his throat. “You know, Miss Westin and Merceau, this is the kind of disruptive crap I expect from your ilk. If I weren’t bound by propriety, you would’ve never been allowed to set foot in my office.” He took a breath. “This meeting is over. All of you will get a copy of the will once I’ve opened probate. My advice is not to foolishly spend money you don’t have, as I’m advising my client, Miss Ivers, to contest.”
“When and where is the memorial service?” I asked Violet, trying to hide my loathing.
Her hands clenched. “You’re certainly not invited; in fact, none of you are.” She covered her face and burst into tears.
Tolbert gasped at Violet’s words in shock. “But, Violet. I’d like to have a memorial service.”
“I said no,” she sobbed. “You’re not invited, either.”
The sadness that rolled across Tolbert’s face squeezed my heart. I just wanted to console him…after dragging Violet from her chair by her hair and slapping her senseless.
Fab jumped up and every man watched her wiggle her way out of the office in her tight black skirt, five-inch heels, and chest-hugging pullover top. “Hey, Annie, where’s our water?” she yelled in the hallway.
Chapter 12
Strong hands caressed my body. Nimble fingers trailed along my sides, tracing patterns along my arms before sliding up my cheek and softly around my lips. I stirred, and stretched like a lazy cat, smiling, not wanting to leave the warmth of the dream. My eyes opened slowly, taking several seconds to adjust to the predawn light filtering in through my windows. I see the figure lying next to my body and jump, but before I could scream, a hand clamped over my mouth.
“Shh, it’s me,” Creole whispered in my ear, nibbling on the lobe. A sliver of light from the full moon shined across his face through the window.
I hissed, “You’ve got a lot of damned nerve! This is my bedroom, get out.”
“No, I’m being a gentleman.” He kissed the corner of my mouth. “Besides, I came by to check on you.” He wrapped his hands in my shirt and lifted me off the pillow, giving me a slight shake. “I heard about Key West. Where was your Glock?”
“We were back on the Overseas Highway before the bullets flew.” I was extremely grateful Fab and I didn’t end up in the middle of a drug war. Creole’s lips were now a tight hard line. “I had it holstered to the small of my back. And if it gives you peace of mind, I’m not leaving it at home anymore.”
He pushed me back against the pillows, pulling the sheet down a little. “Whose is this?” He fingered the white men’s dress shirt I slept in these days. He threw one of his long legs across my lower body in case I thought about taking flight.
“Mine.” I had donated all old shirts once worn by the ex-boyfriend.
“When are you starting range practice again?” He pulled me hard against his side so that my head rested on his shoulder.
“I booked time with my instructor for next week.”
He wrapped his fingers in my hair, pulling my face up to look at him. He pressed his mouth over mine. “I just worry about you,” he said against my lips.
It felt so good to be trapped like this, powerlessly and breathlessly waiting for his next move. I didn’t have to wait long. His mouth slammed against mine, and his tongue slid into my mouth. He tasted so good. I surrendered willingly.
When he broke the kiss, I moaned. His head tipped, and then moved down again. “I want you,” he growled in my ear. He pulled me back across him and I turned to face him, my head in the middle of his chest. “But not like this. Our first time is not going to be ambush sex.”
I looked up at him. “You’ve given this forgone conclusion some thought, have you?” One more kiss and I could be naked in a hot second.
He held my face in his hand. “I want a real date. During-dinner foreplay,” he said, and bit my lip. “Something intimate, for two, and then I’ll fuck you breathless.” He kissed me again. “It’s going to take hours, not some stupid quickie, although I wouldn’t be adverse to that in the future.”
I struggled to breathe.
He rolled me over and on to my side, wrapping his arms around me and drawing me into the protective curve of his shoulder. I ran all the what-ifs through my mind and how it might affect our family if we got together only to break up.
“Shh.” He patted my head. “You’re thinking too much.” He hooked his leg across my hip, pulling me closer, if that was possible.
After a while I snuggled against him and fell back asleep.
* * *
“I have to leave,” Creole whispered and pulled me to the end of bed. He buried his hand in the hair at the back of my neck, rolling me over, kissing me. Softly at first, his tongue skimmed my lips, forcing them open for a ruthless kiss.
One more, this time gently, he put his lips to mine before leaving the bedroom, my mouth still tingling from his previous kiss. I looked at myself reflected in the mirror, lips reddened and swollen, face flushed, and my hair a wild mess.
I whispered at the top of the stairs, “What are we going to say?”
He looked amused. “About what?” He half dragged me into the kitchen, enjoying my discomfort.
Both Fab and Didier stared as we entered the room; they didn’t hide their shocked looks. We exchanged good mornings and lapsed into an awkward silence. Why was I the only one to look as if I had enjoyed a night of mind-numbing sex? They’d never believe that we had only slept together—I almost didn’t.
Didier recovered first. “If you like it strong, coffee is ready,” he said to Creole, pointing to the fresh pot.
I grabbed mugs from the cupboard. “Don’t forget, barbeque here later.” I looked at Fab. “Are you weaseling out?”
“We’ll be there,” Didier answered for her.
Fab glared at me and had me wondering who she was madder at Creole, for sneaking in past her radar, or me, since she didn’t have the details of last night yet. I liked Creole a lot, now all I needed to do was swallow my fear and agree to a “first date.”
Creole put his arm across my chest, holding me close while he laughed with Didier. One might wonder what a male model and drug enforcement agent had in common, and as it turns out, they both bike to stay in shape. Creole told him about a private beach he’d take him to where they could ride on the sand.
“I have to leave.” Creole wiggled his finger. He took my mug and his and put them in the sink.
I blushed deep red, afraid to close the few steps between us, but my feet had a mind of their own. Please don’t make a scene, I pleaded with my eyes. When I got close enough, his hand snaked out and jerked me into his arms. “Don’t forget your Glock.” He seared my lips with a thorough kiss and squeezed both butt cheeks so hard I squeaked.
To my credit, my knees didn’t cave. I stood at the kitchen window watching him leave. Before getting in his truck, he waved.
“What the hell just happened?” Fab yelled.
Didier smiled
his approval at me.
I covered my face. “It’s not what you think.” I laughed, sounding a little unhinged, and ran past them upstairs to my bedroom to relive every moment.
Chapter 13
My brother, Brad Westin, had docked his boat; he’s one of the hardest working commercial fishermen, which meant fresh catch for the barbeque today. I whined his ear off on the phone about Mother fixing me up and my yelling and having a public episode.
“Damn, I miss all the good stuff,” he said. “She’d stop if you’d get a boyfriend.”
“I should go rent a guy who’s a total skeeve and scare the heck out of her. Tell her I’m pregnant and expecting a little skeeve.”
“How about we dish up some payback?” Brad’s voice was full of excitement. “I’m going to tell her to leave Spoon with the babysitter, that it’s just the three of us.” Spoon was twelve years younger than Mother, but her genes had been kind so they looked similar in age. Brad and I expressed relief that he wasn’t younger than us. He outlined his idea to ambush Mother with a fix-up.
“Who are you going to get at the last minute?” I asked.
“I’ve been planning this for a while. I played poker with our CPA and some of his cronies, thinking I could fleece them, and barely walked away with money for a soda. I ran the scheme past the boys and Doc Rivers jumped to be bait, saying it sounded like fun. I’ll call him.”
Brad’s plans surprised me. Mother hadn’t meddled in his life since he hooked up with Julie, but she drove him crazy before, like she’s doing to me now. I liked Doc Rivers, a retired doctor who made house calls and was friend to both my late Aunt Elizabeth and Zach. “Doc is perfect as long as he knows it’s a fake setup. What about when Spoon finds out?”
“What’s he going to do?” Brad’s laugh was evil. “I called the cook at Jake’s and gave him a list of what we’d need for dinner, all you need to do is pick it up. Julie is bringing the dessert after Liam decides which one.”
Greed in Paradise (Paradise Series) Page 6