* * *
Fab eased up in front of Miss January’s cottage. I shook her shoulder, and she mumbled something indecipherable, barely moving.
Fab got out and came around to jerk open the passenger door. “I’ll grab her ankles and drag her out.”
I fisted my hands in an enormous amount of fabric from her overly large tent dress so she wouldn’t fall out.
“Where did you find her?” Mac yelled as she wandered over, not one to watch from a discreet distance. “Don’t let go of her. We’ll slide her across, and from there, it’s only a few steps up and we can dump her on the couch.”
Mac slipped her arms under Miss January and hoisted her to her feet, walking her up the steps like an oversized rag doll, and got her to the bedroom in one piece. I removed her shoes, and Mac covered her with a blanket. Score was hogging the couch, snoring. Kitty lay on the floor at an odd angle. Score had no patience for the dead animal and had to be threatened to make sure that the cat didn’t disappear. I used his shirt, which was lying on the floor near the cat, to pick up Kitty and climbed on a chair to put her on the top of the bookcase.
Kitty had been dead for an unknown number of years, certainly ever since I inherited The Cottages. I’d had to have her re-stuffed twice. It was still unclear to me whether Miss January knew that the cat had moved on to its next life, and it was a question I avoided, pretending all was normal.
Back out in the driveway, I turned my face to the sun and soaked up the warm rays. “I know that the doctors long ago wrote off Miss January and Joseph for dead, but I realized today, when I saw her hanging precariously from the back of that truck, that I’m not prepared for their demise.” Both of them had terminal cancer but kept chugging along. I admired their tenacity, that they flipped life the bird and did as they pleased, self-medicating with liquor and cigarettes, and in Joseph’s case, medical weed in a state where it wasn’t legal. I’d pointed that out once, and he flounced into his cottage and slammed the door.
Mac patted me on the back. “You have more patience for unusual crap than anyone. Ever. I’d hug you, if it weren’t for your no-touch policy.”
“Thanks for the… compliment?” My phobia had more to do with handshaking. I thought Miss Manners should review her policy and change it. A hand stuck in my face had me wondering where the heck it had been previously. “When she wakes up, you need to have a talk with her; disappearing episodes will not be tolerated. Ground her or something. You be the tough one, and I can be the nice one.”
“And if she tells me to piss up a rope? Reminds me she’s an adult and can do what she wants?”
Fab burst out laughing. “That I’d like to see.”
A bright-red short bus pulled into the driveway, bringing the conversation to a halt. The driver cut the engine, and the doors opened.
“Welcome!” Mac waved. “This bunch is here for two weeks,” she informed me. “We’re being invaded by your lawyer’s extended family members again. First timers.”
“How many family members does Cruz have?” There must nine hundred people in his family, and it seemed like we’d entertained at least half of them.
Cruz Campion—lawyer extraordinaire, or so he boasted—and I had made a deal. In exchange for free legal advice and occasional representation, I’d agreed to entertain his out-of-town relations. I hadn’t known at the time how many of them there were.
“The Cottages is the hottest ticket in the Cruz family.” Mac gestured for me to follow. “Every one of them can afford to go someplace better.”
I pulled a face, and Mac rolled her eyes in return.
“They come for the entertainment, and we better deliver.” Mac puffed up her chest in her white button-down, which strained at the seams, and smoothed her gaucho skirt.
I wanted to ask if her feet were swimming in sweat in the fur-lined black ankle boots but decided it was one of those things I didn’t need to know.
“They talk amongst themselves. Compare notes,” Mac said. “If one group gets a shooting or fight, the next expects the same, or something else a classy joint wouldn’t offer.”
Fab had lagged behind, but something must have changed her mind because she ran to catch up. “They’re not satisfied with the tours you set up, the reservations at restaurants where they never have to wait? Surely you don’t have problems every time they visit?”
“Perti-near.” Mac’s folksy way of saying “yes” made me smile.
It took longer than I thought it would before the six adults and three kids disembarked from the bus.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got the entertainment covered,” Mac said. “I’ve got a couple of drunks on standby to stage a good fight. Hopefully, they don’t beat the spit out of one another and end up getting the police called. Though that could be a perk—I’d get a twofer.”
Before I could tell her “no way,” she went to greet the guests and help sort out the luggage.
The stack of luggage grew higher on the other side the driveway. “We need someone to schlep bags. Need my help?” I asked.
“Show time.” Mac rubbed her hands together. “I’ll check them in; you escort them to their door. I don’t have to tell you to say something friendly, like I would her.” She squinted at Fab. “I’m a great baggage schlepper, and it pays good. Besides, I’ve got it covered.” Mac flexed her muscles.
A scraping noise behind me caught my attention. I turned and saw Joseph, a cigarette dangling from his lips, dragging a beach chair with one hand, his other arm wrapped around his girlfriend, Svetlana’s, waist.
“I’ll run and tell him to get his ass back inside,” Fab said.
Mac grabbed her arm. “No, you won’t. I already paid for his help, and I won’t get my money back. Before he’d shake, he made ‘no refunds’ part of the deal.”
Joseph unfolded his chair in his parking space, plopped Svet down, and crossed her legs. “Got to keep an eye on my girl,” he said and nodded as his cigarette bobbed up and down. He headed to the shed and came back out with the industrial-weight wagon for the luggage.
Mac nodded to Joseph, giving him a thumbs up. She spoke to each guest and motioned for me to follow. Fab had already disappeared inside the office and claimed her seat on the couch.
“I’ll give you the key; you call out the number to Joseph and show the people where they’re staying,” Mac instructed. “The luggage will be right behind you.”
Mac impressed me with her organization—she had the paperwork prepared and ready to sign and quickly ran their credit cards. I escorted each family group, introducing myself and saying something nice about Cruz as I tried to figure out where they fit in the familial food chain.
Chapter 14
The morning sun streamed through my bedroom window. I stood by the window, finishing my cup of coffee as I looked down at the crystal-blue pool. When I moved in after my aunt’s death, the pool had been surrounded by a slab of concrete lined in identical terra cotta flowerpots and chaise lounges topped with faded cushions. The concrete had endured a facelift, and I surrounded the entire area with more flowers in an array of colorful pots and seashell mulch. Most people thought I was nuts when I said the shells kept the bugs from procreating, but I was right. With family entertainment on my mind, I’d added a cooking space with storage, comfortable chairs, chaises, and an oblong table that sat twelve. I was proud of the way the backyard had turned out.
Fab and I had no plans for the day, and I intended to indulge myself by sitting by the pool with another cup of coffee and a book. I upended a shopping bag on my bed, and a hot-pink two-piece fell out. In the store, it had been so bright that I blinked when I saw it hanging on the rack. The saleswoman had insisted I try it on—something about my coloring and the suit were a good match, flattering style, la, la—I tuned her out, thinking she said the same thing to every customer. Under pressure, I disappeared into the dressing room, having already decided on a tangerine suit. Instead, I left the store with both suits and two cover-ups.
I grabbed a
book and my phone, slid down the stairs, and followed Fab and Didier’s voices into the kitchen. “Good morning.” I reached for my coffee mix to make a second cup of my favorite vanilla-flavored brew.
Fab grunted and Didier ignored me. No more sexy “bonjours” from him since my “date” with Ross. A girl could have a plan go south on her once in a while; I was already rethinking this one and needed a fast exit plan. I made a mental note to cancel the next date.
I put my coffee mixture into the microwave, a long-running joke since the other two drank designer brew out of the coffee maker only the two of them knew how to work. Even Creole had his own pot. Fab had told him in no uncertain terms that he was not to comingle his pedestrian brand with theirs. I’d teased her about coffee not walking and gotten a glare for my efforts.
The kitchen was quiet; three people and no one had anything to say. I kept my back turned, deciding to blurt out the truth about my so-called dating before I was the one to end the relationship between the four of us. But when I turned, Fab looked ready to combust into flames, her face angrier than I’d ever seen it. Didier shuffled through the pages in his black leather portfolio, not looking at her. Whatever they were fighting about must be a doozy. Now wasn’t the time for a confession. Thankfully, Didier’s phone rang at the same moment my coffee was ready; I grabbed it and forced myself to walk, not run, out to the patio.
I sat on the top step of the pool, kicking the water, sipping my coffee, and daydreaming about starting every morning like this; I wondered if I’d enjoy it as much if it happened all the time.
“How dare you!” Fab hollered.
I looked over my shoulder. Seeing her standing in the doorway, I was surprised to realize it was only her and me in the backyard. “What’s wrong?” I stepped out of the pool, reaching for a beach towel and wrapping it around my waist.
“You know my account with Brick is an important one, but you went behind my back and got me fired off a job. More correctly, your boyfriend, who has one foot out the door, threatened him,” she continued at a yell. “Does he know you’re boyfriend shopping?”
Good thing the neighbor’s hard of hearing. Fab had never been really mad at me before, and I didn’t like it.
“I was worried for your safety,” I said, filled with dread and unsure how this would work out.
“In case you haven’t noticed, I can make my own decisions. I’ve been on my own for a damn lot longer than you have!”
“Do you think you could stop yelling?” Oops! That was the wrong thing to say. I should have stressed the safety issue instead.
“No. I. Could. Not.” She paced a few steps and turned back, lowering her voice. “He’s my biggest client. What happens if he decides to stop using me?”
Now wasn’t the time to tell her I thought that would be the best thing that could happen. “You don’t need the money. That worthless ex-husband of yours left you plenty.”
“What do you want me to do? Sit around all day and dangle my feet in the pool?”
“I suppose not.” My friend had a ton of energy and always liked to be on the go, preferably to the next case. “I’ll call Brick and smooth the waters.”
“I’ll do it myself. You stay out of it,” she snapped and flounced back into the house.
I trailed behind her, and when she picked her bag up off the couch, I said, “Don’t leave like this.” I swiped a tear off my face when, without a word or a glance, she slammed out the front door. I ran to the garden window, flinching at the sound of tires squealing out of the driveway and all the way to the corner. She’d taken off in the Porsche; that wasn’t a good sign. Thank goodness the street was clear.
I went back outside to the patio and retrieved my phone, texting Creole, “Didn’t you tell Brick to keep his mouth shut?”
A minute later, it rang. I answered and said a quiet, “Hi.”
“I did,” Creole huffed into the phone. “What happened?”
“The bastard told her, and now she’s livid. She slammed out of here, and I’m not sure she’s going to forgive me.”
“I’m going to make this up to you. Are you crying?”
“No.” I sniffed. “This isn’t your fault; Brick’s the a-hole. Him and his stupid jobs.”
“I’m going to break his nose,” Creole barked.
I huffed a laugh. “Can you take a picture?”
“What are you doing?”
“Sitting here in my new bathing suit that shows off my assets in a flattering way.” I still felt sulky, but it lightened my mood to tease him.
“We need to have a moonlight swim at my house; there, we can leave the bathing suits on the side of the pool.”
“Sneak into my bed later.”
His growly laugh sent tingles up my spine.
I lay back on the chaise, texting Brick, “I quit. And you can tell Fab.” Blocking his number had me smiling at the screen.
Chapter 15
Fab and Didier stayed away for two days. After the first night, I called and found she’d turned off her phone. When I called Didier, he didn’t pick up but texted that he and Fab had gone to Naples for a getaway.
Creole called and asked to meet at Jake’s, which was a first. He had called the bar and reserved the game room. I tried to wheedle the details out of him, but he only fended off my questions with more questions. The only thing he would tell me was that he had the food taken care of but had forgotten to order a salad.
I yelled and waved to Cook as I swept in the back door, noticing the orders on the wheel. I wrapped a bib apron around my skirt and button-down shirt and reached for a stainless steel bowl, setting it on the sideboard, and grabbed the lettuce mix out of the refrigerator, chopping the greens into a reasonable size. Looking over my choices, I tossed in tomatoes, olives, and other items that I knew Creole liked.
I’d just finished when he slid up behind me, turned me to face him, bent me back towards the counter top, and devoured my lips. “Isn’t it weird that you’re kissing me and dating other guys?”
“That was a silly game. I haven’t told them yet, but it’s over. Next time Fab calls you a name, I’ll hit her from behind and run. Besides, we can smooch it up; no one is here but you and me. Well, Cook, but he’s not paying attention.” I took his hands in mine. “What’s this?” Holding up his right hand, I kissed the white gauze. “Are you not playing nice again?”
“Bruised my knuckles.” He raised them prizefighter style. “But well worth it.”
I frowned at him, not missing the slight wince.
“I brought pizza from our favorite place,” he said, leading me into the game room, where the boxes were already on the table. “Got the fancy vegetable one for Didier and Fab and the grilled shrimp for the two of us.”
“Don’t let Cook find out you snubbed his cooking,” I whispered. “How can you be sure the twosome will show up? They’re out of town.”
“They’re back. They’ll be here in a few minutes. I deliberately cut her off at the signal, blowing by her and making sure she got stuck at a red light.”
“I bet she cursed you in two languages. I’ll set up the room.” I raced back to the kitchen and gathered up dishes and silverware, putting everything on a small cart along with the salad, choosing the dressings that I knew each person liked; it took my mind off waiting to see if Fab was still furious.
To my surprise, the game room had never been a popular draw, but part of that had to do with Mother discouraging its use by other patrons. She justified it by reminding me that she’d single-handedly turned it into a moneymaker, using it for her friends to play poker. I flipped on the ceiling fans and threw open the double doors to the patio. If I’d arrived earlier, I could have gone into the bar and worked out my jitters playing arcade basketball.
Fab’s and Didier’s voices wafted in from the hall ahead of them. Creole followed a few steps behind with a tray holding beer, a mixed drink, and bottled water.
Fab quirked her brow at Creole. “What’s that?” She pointed to the m
artini glass.
“An appletini.”
“I don’t drink those anymore.” Fab sniffed.
“Fabiana,” Didier hissed.
Creole picked up the martini glass, took a couple of steps, and heaved the contents over the railing. “Bar’s over there.” He waved. “Go get what you want.”
No chance of harming the wildlife, as the water that ran by the deck was murky at best, but the mosquitos could get their drunk on.
She flounced over to the soda machine and pulled out a bottle of water, ignoring the one Creole had brought her. She unscrewed the top, took a swig, recapped it, and slammed it down hard on the table. “What are we doing here?” she demanded.
At least, if the damn thing springs a leak, it’s only water.
Didier reached out to Fab, but she skidded out of his reach.
“I thought we’d eat first.” Creole flashed Fab a smirk. “Look.” He lifted the lid on the pizza box. “Your favorite, and a salad lovingly made by Madison.”
“Why don’t we do two things at once?” Fab suggested in a less snarky tone.
Didier glared at her from across the table—men on one side, women on the other.
I leaned across the table and dragged the pizza box closer. I ripped off a slice, slapped it down on a plate, then added a tongful of salad, making sure to get some of the fun stuff and not just a mouthful of lettuce. I set the plate down forcefully in front of Fab, then wiggled my finger at Didier and Creole until they handed me their plates and did the same for them.
“Let’s take a vote,” Creole suggested. Eyebrows went up around the table. “Raise your hand if you like Fab’s suggestion that we get down to business.”
The vote was 4-0, all of our hands shooting into the air, followed by laughter that sliced through the uncomfortable atmosphere that had permeated the room.
Creole sat back in his chair, taking a long swig of his beer. “Try not to interrupt me in mid-sentence; wait until I take a breath and then butt in.” He eyed the backup beers he’d brought for himself and Didier. “Two might not be enough.”
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