I pulled into the driveway and studied the front of the house. It looked the same as when I left. I took my phone and a cup of coffee, went outside to the patio, snatching up a towel on the way, and claimed a chaise.
It was mid-morning, and I hadn’t heard from anyone. I finally sucked up some courage and called Fab. It went straight to voicemail. Then I called Mother, and her phone also went to voicemail. That neither woman had called didn’t bode well, but how exactly, I was unsure. Bad news traveled fast. I was sure I’d have received that call already. I’d given previous thought to all the ways the plan could go wrong and gone along anyway. I refused to think Fab would stop being my friend. I’d figure out where she was living and go steal her shoes.
I jumped when my phone rang. Spoon’s picture popped up, which sent a shudder down my spine. Now what? My relief when the call went to voicemail was short-lived when it rang again. He was persistent today. I waited for a text message, and it never came, so I told myself that his call couldn’t be that important.
Closing my eyes, hoping to ward off a headache, I drifted off to sleep. A loud banging noise on the front door jerked me into a sitting position, unsure of the time. The banging continued; whoever it was was insistent. I crept into the house and moved towards the door, stopping at the entry bench to remove my Glock from its holster, then tiptoed to the peephole. The smartass had put something over the hole, probably their finger. I’d never liked “who’s there?” – I wanted to know without having to ask.
“Open the damn door, Madison Westin,” a male voice bellowed. “Don’t get crazy and shoot me; left my weapon in the truck.”
Recognizing the voice, I yelled, “That was stupid.” And opened the door.
“Would you really have shot me?” Billy eyed the handgun at my side.
“I still might if you damaged my door.”
“Boss wants to talk to you.” He pushed past me and headed into the kitchen. “You were ignoring his calls.”
I held up my hand to ward him off as he pulled his phone from his pocket. “Tell Spoon you couldn’t find me.”
Billy closed the space between us, a glint in his eye. “He signs my paycheck. Lying to his face would get me fired. I have fudged the truth for you in the past, and I know he knows when I do it. He gets that secretive smile of his.”
“Want something to drink?” I pointed to the refrigerator. “Help yourself.”
“Humidity stinks.” He fished out one of the sodas that I stocked for Liam and pulled out a stool, then turned his attention to his phone, pushing a few buttons and then thrusting it at me. “Stop being stubborn and speak to him.”
Squeezing my eyes closed, I took a breath. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. Who was I kidding? Spoon had gone to way too much trouble to get in touch. “Hi,” I managed to say calmly.
“Hi yourself. I won’t mention all the calls you ignored.” A deep noise rumbled in his throat.
I mumbled under my breath.
“Family dinner at our house tonight. Your mother would be disappointed if you were the only one to not show up.”
Family dinner? This was a trap. “Put Mother on, please. I’m not feeling well; I’ll explain it to her.”
Billy groaned.
“Suck it up, sweet cakes. I’m redeeming one of those IOUs you like to toss around.”
“Wasn’t it you who said that all the favors you’ve done for me are out of the goodness of that big heart of yours? No IOUs involved.”
He growled out a laugh. “Be here no later than six. Earlier works. I’ll reserve the couch for you so you can stretch out.”
“Can I speak to Mother?”
“Madeline’s tied up right now.”
I was sure that it was an innocuous comment, but it made me squirm all the same. What the two of them did in their personal life wasn’t any of my business, and I didn’t want to hear about it. If he put a toe over the line, he knew he was a dead man without my having to threaten him.
“I’ll try to make it.”
“Do you need Billy to drive you?”
“No,” I muttered, which he accepted and hung up, a cheerful note in his voice.
I handed Billy back his phone. “I have a question to ask, but I need your pinkie promise that you won’t mention it to another soul. If you can’t, say so. Don’t screw me.”
“This isn’t some deal where you confess to where the body is buried, is it?”
I shook my head.
He held out his little finger; I wrapped mine around it.
“What does Spoon know about what happened yesterday?” I asked.
“About the part you played in locking your best friend in a closet and leaving her to die?”
“You’ve got the details wrong, and in case you didn’t know, you’re not funny.”
“Well, damn.” He smirked. “I suspect that the boss knew quite a bit before your escapade went down. Any pesky details he was unaware of got revealed when Madeline came by the shop and narced on herself in full, glorious detail.”
“Mother’s dead. That’s why he wouldn’t put her on the phone.”
“Pretty much. Lordee, you’re dramatic.” He rolled his eyes. “The boss shook his finger and expressed some disappointment that didn’t sound sincere to my trained ear. Madeline giggled, and the boss couldn’t get her out the door fast enough. He called a little while later to tell me he was taking the rest of the day off. Would you like me to speculate?”
“Please don’t.” I rubbed my temples.
Chapter Seventeen
I arrived at Mother and Spoon’s early, giving me time to call Fab again. I found a place to park that wasn’t in the direct line of sight from one of Mother’s windows. I laid my head back against the seat, punched in Fab’s number once more, and once more got voicemail.
A tap on the window. I squealed, and my smile at seeing Creole grinning at me was short-lived, knowing I’d once again left him in the dark. I had no intention of letting him find that out from anyone other than me. I opened the door, and he reached in to hit the unlock button, then drew me into his arms. My legs wrapped around his waist, he lifted me out, opened the back passenger door, and slid me across the seat, climbing in after me.
“We have time for a make-out session,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Word has it you’ve been very naughty.”
I groaned and tapped my head against his chest. “I wanted to be the one to tell you.”
“Listen to me.” He caught my chin in his hand and held my face still. With his thumb, he gently traced my lips. “You weren’t hurt; no bullets, or did I miss that part?”
I shook my head.
“Blame it all on your mother.”
“So mean.”
He caught my mouth in a kiss, and anticipation shot up to my lips. It was a kiss without finesse, demanding; I leaned in closer and kissed him back.
“What I want to know is: did it work?”
“I don’t know anything,” I said, annoyed. “You know anything? I take it you’re here for the family dinner. Did Spoon demand your appearance like he did mine?”
“Spoon doesn’t demand, he asks. He isn’t quite sure if I’d arrest him or not, or pull a Kevin and hassle him on jaywalking or some punkass thing.” Creole chuckled.
“I have a great idea.”
“I bet it’s not, but I want to hear it anyway. I’m certain it’s something that will get us both into trouble with your mother. She can be scarier than her husband.”
“Don’t tell her, even though she’d love to hear it. Let’s go to your house, get naked, and you can tell me how your day went.”
“Oh no, young lady.” He tweaked my nose. “We’re not missing out on the fun. After dinner, I’ll sneak us out of there, and beach house here we come.”
“Let’s hope Mother didn’t forget to order dessert. But Liam will have reminded her,” I said with confidence.
“In your family?” Creole snorted. “Sorry folks, no dessert? That would start a revol
ution.”
“Didier’s here.” I perused the parking lot. “Fab’s car is still in the driveway at home. Fingers crossed, they’re here together. Unless Fab jacked his car and left him on the roadside somewhere.”
“Your brother or I would’ve gotten that call already. Brad’s car is over there.” Creole pointed in the opposite direction from Didier’s car.
He pushed me back on the seat, tickling my foot.
“Nooo,” I squealed.
He climbed out of the car, reaching over the seat and taking the keys out of the ignition. Then he grabbed my ankle, dragging me across the seat to the door, and picked me up, setting me on the pavement.
We strode toward the lobby. At the secured door, I withdrew my lockpick. I could feel Creole’s frown before he said anything. “There’s something to be said for the element of surprise,” I told him.
Having the elevator to ourselves, we made the most of it, kissing until we arrived on the third floor.
“It annoys Spoon when you pick the lock,” Creole reminded me.
“I know,” I said with a devilish smile and slid the lockpick in place, shoving the door open.
Fab looked up first. I returned her scowl with a wave. Didier sat next to her, his arm draped across her shoulders. She whispered in his ear, and he didn’t look in our direction.
“Looks like we’re all here,” Fab said loudly, pointing to Creole and me.
Liam waved from the corner before his attention returned to his phone.
Spoon handed me a margarita and Creole a beer. “The doorbell works, you know.”
“What fun would that be?” I asked.
I walked over to Fab. “Kiss?” She turned away. “Fight?” I held up one fist and gulped my drink with the other.
“I’ll take the kiss.” Didier’s eyes bored into mine, letting me know all hadn’t been forgiven – yet.
“Always the gentleman.” I brushed his cheek.
“Did I hear fight?” Brad air-boxed. “Five bucks on Fab.”
That broke the tension.
“Bro, you’ve got to support your sister, even if you lose money,” I said in faux disgust.
“Between me and Didier, who’s your money on?” Brad flexed his muscles.
“Creole beats all of you, including you, big guy.” I winked at Spoon.
Didier stood. “We have an announcement.” He pulled Fab to stand beside him.
She didn’t look happy, which made me tense.
“We’ve decided to work on our relationship,” Didier said.
“Oh good.” I clapped. “I missed you cooking breakfast. Shirtless was an added benefit.”
“I never noticed.” Mother blushed bright red. She was one of his biggest fans, and everyone in the room knew it.
“We’re back together, and we’re working on our relationship, but I won’t be moving back in,” Didier announced.
“Don’t worry.” Fab smiled; one of her scary versions that worried most people. “You’ll be seeing him every day. He’ll have to come by the house if he wants a change of clothes.”
“Cherie, what have you done?”
The duo had captured everyone’s attention; no one said a word.
“All of your clothes are hanging in the closet. I even dropped off your dry cleaning.”
“I packed them up and took them to the hotel,” Didier said.
“And I moved them back.”
I wondered if he still had a hotel room. Up to her old tricks—right after they met, she’d packed his belongings and checked him out of his hotel.
Didier lifted her chin to face him. “You did what?”
“Seriously, you’re surprised?” Fab said without an ounce of remorse.
He spoke to her in French in low, clipped tones; she just smiled at him.
“Your first breakfast back,” I said, “I have a new recipe for a breakfast smoothie.”
“Will you be joining me in a glass?” Didier asked.
“Of course not.”
Chapter Eighteen
I walked in the front door, dumping my packages on the kitchen island, then did a double take over my shoulder, drew my Glock, and backed up to the entry, peeking around the corner.
“Don’t shoot; I’m not armed.”
My eyes locked on the large man sacked out on the daybed, the overloud sound of raspy breathing whistling from beneath the arm covering his face. His frame filled the daybed, his filthy feet pressed up against the side rail. It surprised me to see a pair of deck shoes on the floor, although they appeared to have been mauled by a dog. His black shorts and shirt didn’t appear all that worn, but they were a good color choice since hygiene appeared to be lacking at the moment.
“Bad place for your firearms.” I pointed to the two guns lying on the table. “Unless you tell me why you chose my house to take a nap in and how the hell you got in, I will shoot you.”
“Fabbie isn’t the only one who can pick locks,” he wheezed.
“You and I both know that you’re not a friend of hers, or mine either.” I reholstered my Glock.
He rolled to his side to get control over a coughing attack. Unsuccessful, he flopped on his back. “You owe me,” he gasped out. “I just need a place to rest for a day or two.”
“Casio, what are you doing here?” The sun streamed into the room, casting shadows on what appeared to be fresh bruises on the left side of his face, which were in the stage of turning from red to purple.
Casio Famosa was Brick’s older brother, a decorated Miami police detective who currently looked like he’d had the stuffing kicked out of him.
“I was in the neighborhood…”
I retrieved my purse from the entry and dug my phone out.
“Who are you calling?” he rasped. “Hang the hell up. Now.”
“I’m calling 911.”
Casio raised his head to shoot me a glare. “No, you aren’t. Tell them your ass dialed or something so law enforcement doesn’t show up.”
“You need to go to the hospital.”
He started shaking his head before I got all the words out. “Who are you calling now?” he demanded.
“I’m making two calls.” I searched my address book, finding the number I wanted.
“Yeah,” a grumpy voice answered on the other end.
“I have a houseguest who’s, uh… not feeling well.”
“Am I the only doctor you know?”
“For these kind of calls, you are.”
“On my way.” He hung up.
“What’s with you men and your inability to end a conversation politely, rather than just hanging up?”
“It’s efficient.”
I called Creole, and it went to voicemail after a few rings. I hung up and texted, We’ve got company. I glanced up at Casio and wagged my finger. “The boyfriend’s going to find out sooner or later, and it would be better if it didn’t come as a surprise. Want something to drink?” I asked over my shoulder, heading to the kitchen.
His hand flopped down, and he held up a bottle of beer. “I helped myself on the way in.”
I returned and sank down into a chair across from him. “So what’s your story?”
“None of your business.” Casio leaned back and closed his eyes.
“You’re an arrogant son of—”
“Yes, I know.” He grinned like a wild man. “We’re friends – mi casa… in this case, your casa.”
“You have a head injury? Saying we’re friends doesn’t make it the truth, nor do a couple of brief encounters qualify. Your brother’s not a friend either, but I do know and dislike him. In case you’re not up on the latest, Fab doesn’t do his dirty work anymore.”
“Heard some glossed-over version that ended up with Fabbie leaving town. When she gets back to the states, I want to facilitate a kiss-and-make-up reunion.” His lips curled up, highly amused with himself.
“Mind your own business. And in case that wasn’t clear enough – stay out of it. Most of Brick’s slimy jobs end u
p in an exchange of bullets. I’ve always wondered why Brick doesn’t avail himself of your services instead.”
A knock on the door saved him from having to answer.
I looked out the peephole. What does he want? I cracked open the door, shoving my head out. “I’d invite you in, but I’m sick and wouldn’t want you to catch anything.” I covered my mouth and coughed several times.
Dr. A lounged against the doorframe.
“Good thing I’m here. Look what I brought.” He held up his doctor’s bag. “Having a hard time coming up with another way to politely tell me to get lost?” He shot me a raffish, lopsided grin. “I’m filling in for my godfather, Doc Rivers. He’s a bit under the weather, or so he says. I’d call it a hangover after drinking and gambling for hours last night. Your mother cleaned him out, by the way.”
I’d assumed that once Mother got married, that would be the end of her running a gambling den. I was wrong. Pleasantly so, as it was good for Jake’s bottom line. The original intent had been to fix up the extra space and turn it into a rental room, and without the gambling, it would have been a flop.
“I know that you have some degenerate inside who’s in need of medical help and wants to avoid having the cops show up.”
I felt like asking for my clothes back—while he spoke, his intense dark eyes had stripped me naked and checked me over from head to toe. “If he was an outright criminal, I wouldn’t have called.” I opened the door, stepped back, and swept out my hand.
“Hey, Casio.” Dr. A dropped his bag on the coffee table. “I suppose I should ask how the other guy fared.”
“Casio got his big ass kicked,” I said in a stage whisper. “Before you ask, no, I didn’t invite him here.” I bounced into the chair. “He broke in and made himself at home.”
“I’ll take him with me when I leave,” Dr. A offered.
Lottery in Paradise (Florida Keys Mystery Series Book 11) Page 10