It surprised me that the door stood wide open. You usually had to ring the doorbell when there weren’t any send-offs in progress.
Raul came rushing forward. “You’re in time for left over funeral food,” he said to me. “I heard you call it that once.”
The entry was decorated in red brocade, with plastic slipcovered furniture and a large gold-gilded mirror that hung over a round table that displayed the food. I helped myself to a sandwich triangle and thought briefly about stuffing a couple in my pocket like people do at real funerals. Fab reached around me, picked one up, and sniffed it before she bit in.
I noticed the look on her face. “Swallow. Don’t you dare spit it out.”
She pushed the rest of the sandwich in her mouth. “Just kidding.”
Raul laughed. “I’ve missed you,” he said, and hugged Fab. “Stop by sometime, I miss playing cards with you, even if you do cheat.”
“I can get you an invitation to a private game at Jake’s. Not a criminal in the group.” She opened a drawer and withdrew a note pad, scribbled something, and handed it to him.
I settled back in a chair, careful to make sure I sat on my skirt; otherwise, the backs of my legs stuck to the plastic and made an unfortunate sucking noise when I stood.
“You’re so snoopy,” I said to her. “Did you ransack the place when you stayed here?”
I met Dickie at my aunt’s funeral, with no expectation of ever seeing him again. Then we became friends––the kind who will hide you when the police are looking to have a chat.
“Where’s Dickie?” I asked.
“He’s got a headache; still shaken up over a… well… misunderstanding.” Raul grimaced.
Chances were high that his story had something to do with a dead person, but a girl could hope.
Fab had the attention span of a child. She moved about the large foyer looking into all of the viewing rooms, at two of them she jumped back from the door. Oops, must be occupied. She never ventured out of hearing range.
“Anything we can help you with?” Raul waved Fab to a chair. “Dickie went on a body run, brought it back, and was excited to get started on the preparations. You know him, he always looks forward to a new job. A new challenge. He’d done his preliminary work and was setting up the embalming process when the deceased, Mr. Simmons, started talking to him. Poor Dickie fainted. I ran for the smelling salts, which brought him around, but he refused to go to the emergency room. Luckily, he’s only got a goose egg on his head.”
Fab and I exchanged looks.
“So what happens when the dead don’t stay dead?” Fab asked, moving closer, the conversation finally grabbing her full attention.
“Mr. Simmons wanted to call his family. We were trying to talk him out of it, as hearing such news over the phone might be too much of a shock. The bell rang and his wife and kids had come to reaffirm arrangements that he’d made in advance.”
Fab patted Raul’s shoulder, and whispered something that made him smile. They had become good friends when she stayed here.
“How is the Simmons family?” I asked.
“After the shock wore off, and the tears dried, we wanted to take Mr. Simmons back to the hospital but they refused. They wanted to take him to a different one that wouldn’t declare him dead when he wasn’t. Can’t blame them. I did insist we call the sheriff and report him alive.” Raul looked frazzled.
“Don’t worry about Dickie, he’ll be back to his old self,” Fab reassured.
“He needs a few days away from dwelling on dead people, we both do,” he said, and half-laughed.
Fab turned to me. “The Cottages,” she mouthed.
“I have a great idea,” I said, and almost laughed at the dirty look Fab gave me.
“Be our guest at The Cottages. Choose whatever days you wish and call Mac. We’re beachfront, you can barbeque out by the pool. We just got beach cruisers for the guests. And you’ll be close by if an emergency comes up.”
Raul looked uncertain. “I’ll talk to Dickie.”
“Talk to me about what?” Dickie appeared in the doorway. His suit pants and white dress shirt looked slept in, his brown hair disheveled. Their Dobermans, Necco and Astro, were by his side. Both dogs were rescued when their first owner got murdered.
“You and Raul come to The Cottages for a few days’ get-a-way,” Fab said. “You can walk to anything you want to do.”
Whoever thought Fab would become good friends with the local funeral director? Dickie no longer jumped when Fab came around. Since becoming friends with his partner, she made an effort not to scare him.
“It would be a nice way to repay you for the favors you do us,” I said.
“Anyone show for Edsel Ass’s funeral?” Fab asked.
“I believe Winer was his last name.” Raul smirked at her.
Dickie took a seat on the bench next to Raul.
“We figured this would be a freebie send-off.” Raul snorted. “We donate our services to the indigent. It surprised both of us when his sister, Nina Winer, showed up—a tall blonde, awkward, unkempt—and wanted our cheapest plan. ‘Something to keep the bugs out,’ she mumbled.”
“Even cutting corners I do a good job,” Dickie argued.
“Nina told me she’d be the only one in attendance, and to keep the service short. A few words might keep him from going straight to hell but she doubted it,” Raul said. “From what we heard, she was probably right, but we never mention that word.”
“That’s some sibling love.” I hadn’t thought about funeral arrangements, but I hoped if left to Brad he wouldn’t be thinking about my final resting place being hell.
“She mentioned a crack-head brother who was in jail and she refused to post bail again. According to her, Edsel’s only friends were cellmates from prison,” Raul said.
Fab held up a sandwich. I mouthed, “No,” not feeling comfortable eating in front of people. Food in hand, her arm went back. I covered my face and ducked. I looked up laughing. “She’s threatening a food toss.”
They smiled indulgently, thinking her antics amusing. I shook my head. Necco and Astro sat at her side, knowing their best chance for a sandwich stood in front of them.
“The brother and his wife did show up. I heard part of the conversation he had with Nina and he fessed up to begging for money from a family friend. He originally planned to go to rehab but changed his mind, thinks he can handle his problem at home. Nina looked ready to explode then spit flew. ‘Great, another one of my friends who’ll never speak to me again,’ she said, and then she stomped out the door.
“Two homeless men showed up to pay their last respects, said they knew him from prison; one indicated they were cellmates for a short period. They were looking for food and liquor and they seemed disappointed to find out we didn’t serve alcohol.” Raul shook his head. “We would prefer to serve only non-alcoholic because in the past fights have broken out. It’s not good for business if we have to call the sheriff.”
“Almost forgot,” Dickie said. “There was that odd woman who showed up to visit Mrs. Murray and I found her leaning into Edsel’s coffin.”
“What did she look like?” Fab asked.
“Hard to tell. She had several layers of clothing on, a weird knit cap, and dark glasses. I wouldn’t have let her in, but she walked in behind another couple to make final plans for their loved one and I didn’t want a scene,” Dickie said.
“Did you ask her what she was doing?” Mac had told me it turned out that Edsel had several girlfriends, maybe it was one of them. “Did you get her name?” I asked. A mysterious woman, remembering Jami’s mention of the word, “we.” Or another woman wanting to make sure he was dead so that she didn’t have to worry when he might show up again.
“That was something else I didn’t like. I asked her name twice and the first time she ignored me and the second time she mumbled something unintelligible. She did say, when she walked by the door and saw Edsel, that he reminded her of her father and felt the need to
say a little prayer. Apparently, I interrupted her and she hurried out. I checked and she didn’t do anything unseemly. He had nothing to steal,” Dickie said.
“Anything unusual when you picked up his body?” I asked.
“Since one side of his head got bashed in, I had to arrange it just right on the pillow. Other than that, there was no other trauma to his body. Some nasty scars, which I assumed to be from old fights. Our coroner friend told us they got his killer locked up; pretty cut-and-dried, with fingerprints, shoe prints, hair, and fiber. The motive as of now: He beat her up and she retaliated a few nights later by killing him,” Raul said.
I still don’t think she did it, evidence or not. Crum believed her, too. In Florida, you needed to convince six jurors; I didn’t know four more people who believed her to be innocent.
Fab had taken her place by the front door, indicating it was time to go. I stood up. “I expect to hear from Mac that you called and reserved a cottage.”
“Thanks for the info,” Fab said as she hugged Raul.
Dickie and I waved. He knew I didn’t bump body parts with anyone, the few exceptions being family and Creole.
Chapter 24
I grabbed one of my retro shell buckets and walked the beach in the early morning. Looking across the white sand, I noticed that I almost had it to myself. I splashed through the water, drenching myself before finally sitting down alongside a large pile of shells that had washed up. I picked through them, letting the warm bathtub-like water wash over my ankles.
After filling my bucket, I kicked my way back home through the water, diving into the pool to wash off remnants of my sandy outing. I finished my swim and stretched out on a chaise. Jazz jumped up with his “pet me” meow, and lay by my side.
I texted Creole: Don’t forget family dinner at Jake’s.
My phone rang back immediately. “Why in the hell do I have to hear from someone else that you were out of town, held hostage, and returned with bruises?” Creole barked.
I squeezed my eyes shut. I never meant for him to find out from anyone other than me. “I planned to tell you that night but Mother stole all the drama, you left early, and I haven’t seen you since.”
“What happened to total honesty in our relationship?” he demanded.
“Who in the hell told you?”
“Is that all that matters to you?” His voice was clipped and angry, showing no signs of slowing down.
This was our first fight and it was not even face to face. “Listen to me, I’m not hiding anything. It wasn’t my intention not to tell you.” I stood up and paced the patio.
“Tell me now.”
“Do you believe that I planned to tell you every detail?” If only he were standing in front of me, he’d see I hadn’t meant to jerk him around.
The silence lasted so long, I thought he’d hung up. I looked at the phone to see if we were still connected.
Finally, he said, “Are you going to tell me what happened?”
I pressed my cheek against the wall and took breaths to stave off my mounting frustration. “If you need more information, go back and ask whoever told you. I’ll make an excuse as to why you’re not showing up to dinner,” I said, and hung up, tears rolling down my cheek.
Who would tell him by accident, or otherwise, and not give me a heads up? This relationship had zero chance if he thought I was a liar. My phone beeped.
Oh, I’ll be there, Creole messaged.
Maybe Brick told Harder and that’s how he found out. I felt ambushed. I had plans to steal away with him down to the beach after dinner; it would be another low tide tonight so we could walk in the water.
I needed a nap before going to Jake’s. I picked up Jazz and snuggled. He could always be depended on for a sleep partner. It wasn’t often I found myself with an empty house, so I lay on the couch, Jazz resuming his nap. Listening to the whirring of the ceiling fans, I wondered if Creole carried a grudge, or worse: saved up old offenses and threw them in someone’s face. Tonight I’d know if we could get back on track or if this would be a deal breaker. The liar issue was huge for me. I wouldn’t be able to overlook him not taking my word over someone else’s. My word, my promises, meant something to me. Damn him! At least I’d have given him a chance to explain.
The front door opened and I groaned in Jazz’s neck, using the beach towel to dry my tears and blow my nose. So much for peace and quiet. Fab’s giggles floated back to me as she and Didier headed into the kitchen. Before I could call out, I heard snippets of their conversation, “Panama Beach,” and turned on my side, burrowing back against the cushions, listening intently. I just ripped off a trick of Fab’s. How would she take being eavesdropped on?
Silence, then Didier said, “I felt bad when I joked with Creole over the car fiasco. Shocked me he didn’t know anything. I was certain Madison would’ve told him.”
“Don’t worry about it, they’ll work it out,” Fab said, brushing it off.
I heard them kissing, my stomach in knots. I slid off the couch, taking Jazz, and scurried upstairs. I understood something slipping out, but not giving me a heads up? That, I didn’t get.
* * *
I woke up with a headache and swallowed two aspirin before stepping under the showerhead and attempting to force my bad mood down the drain. I chose mango body wash, a fragrance that I enjoyed.
I favored black for nights out and tonight was no exception. Rooting through my closet, I came up with a flirty, very short black skirt and black slides that would show off my tanned legs. To go with that, I chose an off-the-shoulder long-sleeve top and some sexy underwear I’d stopped and bought the other day as a surprise for Creole: a black lace bikini and a matching midriff camisole with a shelf bra. I accessorized with gold jewelry—a wide cuff bracelet I recently found in a quirky resale store, and earrings.
I’d become friends with Shelly, the spiral-curly blonde who owned “Fishy Treasures.” When she got something in she knew I’d like, she called. Her instincts were always right on.
The top of the armoire was where I kept my shell purses displayed. Stepping up on a small chair, I grabbed a favorite, a black pica clutch, another fun find in an out-of-the-way store.
I kissed Jazz and left him sleeping in the middle of the bed. Fab had tied the “do not disturb” ribbon on her door. I’d be early to Jake’s, but I planned to spend the extra time with a pitcher of margaritas.
* * *
I parked to the side of the building and wandered in through the kitchen door of Jake’s, waving to the cook, who managed to do his job and talk on the phone. Currently he was making animal sounds to his four-year-old. Phil, the bartender, didn’t look happy. She frowned at me instead of her usual laughing hello.
“Pitcher of margaritas and one glass with salt.” I banged my hand on the bar. “Why the pissed-off face?”
“I told those two to stay off the deck.” She pointed over to the two men at the corner table. “They opened the door and plunked their asses down anyway. I’ve ignored all requests for service.”
I walked over to the jukebox and turned it on; the owner didn’t have to stuff it with quarters. I bypassed Jimmy Buffet in favor of a random selection.
“Who’s this for?” Phil asked, setting the pitcher on the bar.
“It’s all mine and I’m not in the mood to share a sip.”
Phil watched me down the glass and refill it the top. “You have a designated driver?”
“I can sleep it off on top of the pool table,” I said, and laughed. I remember the night I spent on the men’s room floor, an attraction for college boys stopping to stare on their way to the urinal.
I turned and glared at the two poachers. How dare they sit at my favorite table? It needed a permanent Reserved sign. Remove the chairs like at the burger stand, I giggled. The two men had the audacity to yell, “Hey,” and wave their menus in the air. I rubbed my hands together; I’d enjoy evicting them. Besides, the time had come to set up for the party and they needed to get out.
“The deck is closed,” I said, and waved to the sign on the floor. “If you want service you’ll have to come inside.” I pressed my lips together in a line, barely restraining my hands from going to my hips.
“Look, sister, that’s not until later. We have plenty of time.” He looked at my legs, coming back to focus on my chest.
His menu brushed my hair; I jerked it out of his hand. “Get out now or I’ll shoot you both.”
He kicked back his chair, stepping forward. “You bitch.”
“There’s the door.” I pointed.
Phil stepped into the doorway, the sound of the bar’s Mossberg shotgun being racked. “Need any help?”
Both men’s eyes widened, moving around Phil and I, eyes rested on the rifle. They left without a word and several of the regulars clapped.
My heels clicked across the wooden floor; I grabbed the pitcher off the bar and went back to the deck.
“That was fun.” Phil smiled. “I told Daddy about the last guy who caused trouble. My parents want to come for dinner.”
“Maybe we should arrange entertainment…or not.” We both laughed. “Dinner is on the house.”
I grabbed the Closed for Private Party sign and taped it back on the door. Everything I had requested was sitting on a side table. I went to work rearranging the round tables down the center of the floor, for seating on both sides. I drank and set the table, first with the tablecloths, a contribution from my aunt that I brought from home for the occasion. Next were the place settings, each in a different color of Fiestaware that I had scored from a factory outlet. I put out glass votives from my own collection, which ran down the middle of the tables. I was obsessed with outdoor lighting and had a tendency to overdo; I flipped the switch and white Christmas lights lit up the deck and along the roof eaves year round.
The sounds of “Beer for my Horses” drifted out the door; three women who’d been drinking made the country music selection, thumbs stuck in the tops of their jean shorts, gyrating around the dance floor and singing along.
Deborah Brown - Madison Westin 06 - Revenge in Paradise Page 16