Gently closing Lucille’s trunk, he gave an exasperated sigh and ticked off items on his fingers. “There are beaches, there are men, and there’s alcohol. It’s called vacation wear; you should get some.”
“Okay, okay. Let’s get going. We have to get to Laguna Beach as soon as possible. There are lives at stake.”
Frankie paused by the driver door. “This is vacation. What do you mean, there are lives at stake?”
“I’ll tell you on the way,” I said, opening the passenger door.
“Hey! This is my seat,” Muffin barked. “Get in the back.”
I shot a glance at Frankie above the car. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”
“We’re speaking now.”
Shutting Muffin’s door, I whispered, “Why is she in the car?”
“Put your fangs back in. We have an open spot since Mya isn’t coming. Muffin might as well use the hotel room we booked. Personally, I’m going to stay at Ian’s. I bet it has a veranda.”
“Do you know what a veranda is?”
“No, but I’m going to use it.”
I narrowed my eyes at Frankie. “I don’t buy it. You’re not telling me something.”
He jerked his head to the side, motioning for me to follow him a few yards away. “She’s like a stray animal that keeps coming back,” he said. “What better way to get rid of a stray than to introduce it to a new environment . . . new suckers . . .” he let his hands spread open as if to say anything was possible.
“You’re planning on stranding her there,” I stated, seeing the picture very clearly. “As much of a thorn as she is, we can’t strand her.”
“Talk to me after we ride five hours with her,” he said.
“We won’t have to ride an unbearable five hours if you’d tell her to get out of the car.”
“What’s taking so long?” Muffin yelled from her window. “I’m already getting saddle sore.”
“You’re not going,” I said.
“Yes, I am. I even have the map ready.”
“That’s a Disneyland map.”
“That’s where I’m going.”
“You’re not going.”
“Then make me get out of the car.”
I cursed. “We’re wasting time!” I stomped to the car and plopped into the backseat. When Frankie slid into the driver’s seat, I said with a voice clawing its way back to calm, “It’s imperative that we get to Laguna Beach quickly.”
“We’ll be there in five hours,” Frankie said, pulling out of the lot and heading to the freeway. “Since we have so much time, you might as well tell the story.”
“Before you do that,” Muffin interrupted, “where’s the road-trip basket?”
I was about to ask what a road-trip basket was when a billboard caught my attention. A mechanical arm moved up and down, spanking Charming on his protruding bum. The caption read: Fairytale Chapel got spanked by All Celebrities Chapel.
I chuckled. “Frankie, did you put up that billboard?”
He smiled. “It’s great, isn’t it? They charged me an arm and a leg for the quick turnaround. It was worth every penny!”
“I thought you ended things amicably with Mark. Won’t he get mad and start the feud again?”
“After his two weeks of servitude, he can be as furious as he wants. I won the challenge.”
“Does he know that, or are you just saying you won?”
“He programmed every single phone number, email address, and social website account he has into my phone and told me to call him. I think that counts as a victory.”
“When will he become your servant?”
“After vacation. I can’t have a man tagging along with me on vacation. He’ll slow me down and give off the wrong signals.”
“Did we bring a road-trip basket or not?” Muffin interrupted, clearly agitated about the lack of a basket.
“What road-trip basket?” Frankie asked.
“The one with the snacks, drinks, and little games in it.”
“We’ll grab something along the way.”
“Stop the car at the next store,” she insisted. “I’ll grab a few things.”
“Let’s get some miles under us first,” I urged. “Then it will feel good to stretch and grab a bite to eat.”
“Some miles?” she barked. “Do you know what’s out there? Desert! A whole lot of sand and nothing else. When I’m hungry, I don’t want to be forced to gnaw on some prickly cactus like a damn turtle.”
“You could gnaw on the turtle instead,” Frankie offered.
Someone shoot me.
Chapter 18
“Let me drive!” Muffin insisted for the tenth time. “We’ll be on the beach in an hour.”
“That’s impossible,” Frankie said. “And no one drives Lucille except me. You can’t come between a man and his automobile.”
Muffin stared pointedly at his oversized sunglasses blinged with little rhinestones. “You’re using that word loosely,” she muttered and crossed her arms. “Hey, Nutterbutter, toss me a bag of chips from the basket.”
Speaking of using words loosely, I dug through the giant box—not basket—of snacks to find her chips. The box was so big it took up nearly the entire back seat, leaving a nook to wedge myself in.
I didn’t complain. It would only slow us down, and the clock was ticking. Instead, I left a message for Remy to call me back. I also called Caleb to cease the remodeling work. Thankfully, he was playing at a table and the call went straight to voicemail.
I handed Muffin a bag of chips.
“Give me some of those double-stuffed cookies too.”
My taste buds withered. “You want chips and cookies at the same time?”
“Sometimes the salty is too salty and the sweet is too sweet. My nutritionist said I should eat balanced meals. The bear needs grub.”
“The bear?”
“That’s my stomach. If I don’t keep him fed he can be quite ornery.”
“The thought of eating both chips and cookies makes my stomach hurt.”
“That’s because your stomach is more like a sloth compared to my mighty bear. Maybe if you gave it a voracious nickname you’d gain a pound or two,” she said.
“She could name her stomach the blue whale,” Frankie offered.
“Why the blue whale?” I asked.
“Seriously, don’t you know anything about the animal kingdom? The blue whale can eat four tons of krill every day. That’s the mightiest appetite ever.”
“Too mighty for me,” I said. “I’d rather not resemble a blue whale.”
“Are you saying I resemble a bear?” Muffin asked, twisting in her seat to take a swat at me. Luckily, her hand caught on a bag of chocolate-covered pretzels. “And here’s dessert,” she said, bringing the bag to the front, completely forgetting about me.
I pressed my forehead onto the side window and breathed deeply. Only three more hours. We’ll arrive at Ian’s house and find the necklace. All will be well.
Perhaps Mrs. Miller and Remy found Greyson at his new hotel. I wonder what it looks like. In fact, I wonder why it’s not in Las Vegas. Perhaps he bought everything he could in Vegas and now he’s spreading to new locations. Luckily, Ian’s house, Greyson’s hotel, and my vacation are all approximately within an hour of each other.
Luck . . . or fate?
* * *
“We have to stop,” Frankie argued as he pulled into the hotel parking lot. “We have to check in before they give our rooms away.”
“We’ve stopped a hundred times!” I barked. “The five-hour trip took us over ten hours. We’ll get a different hotel or stay at Ian’s.”
“That was Muffin’s fault. Lucille was making good time. Anyway, did you ever think that the mystery address might just lead us to a storage locker or some fleabag trailer park with broken-down trucks and gutted cars? Then where would we be? No place to sleep! This is a brand-new hotel. Look at it! It’s shiny. I bet the linens haven’t even been stained yet. We’ll check i
n and let Muffin get her land legs.”
Muffin groaned and rolled out of the car. “I’m never riding in a car again.”
Frankie grinned. “See? Everything’s working out.”
“Just hurry,” I pleaded.
He popped the trunk and lifted out his colorful suitcase.
“Can’t we take our bags to the rooms later?”
“We’ll deposit our bags and Muffin. Do you really want her tagging along?”
“We could have left her home like I suggested and been here five hours ago.”
“When we return home, I’ll take your advice. People can be so careless as to what they leave behind,” Frankie said mockingly. “It’s such a shame.”
I snatched my bag from the trunk before he gently closed it.
“Get a luggage cart,” Muffin ordered as she sprawled across the parking lot.
“You don’t have luggage,” I said.
“It’s for me. If I move, I’ll throw up.”
“You already threw up the cookies and chips hours ago.”
“But then there were the ding-dongs and cheese curls.”
My stomach flipped. “I’ll get the cart, but you have to help push,” I told Frankie.
Between the two of us pushing, we were able to wheel Muffin through the hotel. I had a fine sweat glistening on my brow by the time we delivered her and the road-trip basket to her room. Her face blanched to a pale green when she eyed the box.
“I’m firing that damn nutritionist,” she said with a drawn-out belch.
Frankie and I backed out of the room and found our own rooms just one and two doors away.
“You can have this one,” he said, giving me the room next to Muffin’s.
“You brought her. You take this room,” I argued.
“I brought her along for a humane reason. I should get the room farthest away from her.”
“How is it humane to leave her here?” I questioned.
“It was either that or hire an exterminator to get rid of her infestation at the apartment.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re taking the room next to her.”
“Do you know how loud she snores? I can hear it all the way into my apartment. This is my vacation. I need time to rest and get my groove back.”
I snatched the key from his hand. “We don’t have time for this. Meet me right here in one minute.”
“I need a potty break.”
“Fine. Two minutes or I’ll tear down the door and come in after you. Or,” I said with a thin smile, “give me the car keys and I’ll go by myself.” The short drive alone would be heaven.
“Please,” he scoffed. “You couldn’t even figure out the postcards by yourself. How are you going to find Ian’s hideout?”
“GPS.”
“I’ll be out in two minutes.”
* * *
“Are we going the right way?” I asked, scanning the darkness.
“Maybe there’s a nearby cove that he stashed his stuff in,” Frankie said, glancing out at the ocean as we weaved along the coast.
“A cove doesn’t have a postal address,” I said. “It has to be a house or building.”
“According to the GPS, we’re really close.”
Then, we saw it.
“Sweet baby pickles!” Frankie gasped.
“Is that it?” I asked in sheer awe.
Frankie glanced at his GPS. “We’ve arrived.” He pulled Lucille in front of a large black iron gate. “How do we get in?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have a code.” I cursed.
“Where are the postcards?”
“I have them in my purse. I took a picture of it before we left.”
“Good thinking,” he said.
“It’s just an address,” I said, showing him the picture. “There’s no code.”
“Do you think you can jump the gate?” he asked.
“No. You’re taller; you try.”
“I’m on vacation,” he said.
“So?”
“I only brought sandals and one pair of my best Italian leathers,” he said as if I should’ve known. “Let me see that address.”
I handed the phone to him. As he puzzled over the address, I surveyed the gate that blocked our path to the sleek, modern home. The house was two stories and sat like a white guardian on a bluff overlooking the ocean. The windows were wide and expansive. A lighted path illuminated the meticulous landscaping and hand-set stone driveway. If this was Ian’s, he was leading a double life. A vagabond traveler wouldn’t own a multimillion-dollar home.
What secrets are hidden here? I wondered.
“Something’s not right,” Frankie said.
I peeked over. “What’s not right?”
“I don’t know. I can’t put my finger on it. There must be more to this address than just an address.”
“Great. Another riddle.” I calculated the remaining hours in my head. We were down to the remaining thirty-six-hour mark. “I’m going to try to jump the fence.”
Frankie looked up at the towering gate. “I don’t think that’s wise.”
“Can you give me a boost?” I asked, wondering if I’d ever heard him debate whether something was wise. That should have been a red flag.
“Only because lives are depending on it. You owe me a manicure if anything happens to these beauties.”
“Your nails will be fine. Lock your fingers together for me to step into.”
“Let me see the bottom of your shoes.”
“What?”
“You could have stepped in dog poop. I’m telling you right now, Muffin’s car sickness will pale in comparison if I have dog poop on my hands.”
I lifted my shoes to show him they were clean. After a quick inspection, he bent and locked his fingers together.
“Be ready to give me a boost,” I said before I put pressure on his hands.
“Just get up and over already,” he said.
I grabbed the iron bars and pulled myself up. There was still a foot or more before I could grasp the top.
“Give me a boost,” I said.
Frankie’s arms shook as he lifted upward. My fingers clawed at the top, but I couldn’t get a firm grip.
“More!”
“I can’t, woman!” he growled.
“Just an inch!”
He let out a deep-throated groan as he muscled one more inch. I grappled the top with a firm hand. Frankie let go with a satisfactory sigh.
My body hung pencil-straight from the gate. “Give me a push,” I said, as I unsuccessfully attempted to swing my legs up and over.
“Don’t you have any upper-body strength?” he asked, giving me a boost.
“Apparently not. Hey! Watch where you’re touching.”
“Stop being dramatic and get your butt over the gate. You’re the last person I’d want to cop a feel on.”
I swung my leg over and pushed myself up. Sitting on the gate, I glanced down. “It’s a long way down.”
“Just hang your body over the other side and then drop to the ground.”
I clung to the top while I swung my leg over. As soon as I lowered myself to pencil position on the other side, I let go. “That worked better than I thought it would.”
“Is there a gate opener anywhere?” Frankie asked.
Surveying my surroundings, I couldn’t see too much. The lighting was for decoration, not to assist with breaking and entering.
“There must be a sensor somewhere,” I thought out loud. “How would he drive out if the gate controls were only on one side?”
“Dig through the bush over there,” Frankie said.
“Why would it be in a bush?”
“Would you want some gaudy sensor sticking out like a sore thumb when you have this beautifully landscaped house?” Frankie asked, gawking at the house between the bars. “You owe me big time. I expect parties and soirées.”
“I don’t even know what a soirée is.”
“Neither do I, but it must be fashionab
le entertainment.”
As I poked around in the bush, I asked, “Why would I owe you?”
“For setting you up as part owner of this fabulous house.”
“I’m not part owner,” I said, sneaking a peek at the house and feeling a pang of jealousy toward Gwen for having such a house with Ian. Though, her husband did marry another woman. But she could still get this house in a divorce. That almost makes it worth it, I thought.
I shook my head. I think I’m in love with a house, and I haven’t even seen the inside.
“I don’t see anything in this stupid bush,” I said. “Wouldn’t the bush mess with the sensor? One gust of wind and the gate would open and close like on The Addams Family.”
“That’s true. Can you get into the garage? I bet he has an opener on his car.”
“That makes sense,” I said, heading down the driveway. “Damn!”
“What?”
“I need a code for the garage.”
“Are there any open windows?”
“Would you leave your windows open on a house like this?”
“I’d never leave if I had this house. Just look for open windows.”
I tested the front windows and a couple of the side windows. The back windows overlooked a steep bluff. I peeked over, and the sight made me catch my breath. “Sweet baby pickles,” I repeated Frankie’s words in awe.
“What?” Frankie called.
“There are three stories all facing the ocean with nothing to block the view. It’s amazing! Oh, my!” I glanced over to see a swimming pool protruding off the cliff. The pool lights softly illuminated a patio with comfortable lounge chairs. “Frankie, you have to see this pool. The side facing the ocean is clear.”
“An infinity edge?” Frankie jiggled the gate and whimpered. “Take a picture.”
I snapped a shot before heading back to the gate. I slid my phone through so he could see.
“Do you think he needs a pool boy? I could be a kickass pool boy.”
“I think he’s got it managed.” I stared at the house. “How are we going to get inside?”
“Let’s come back when it’s light. We can’t see anything in the dark, and this house begs to be seen in broad daylight.”
Cashing Out Page 15