The guys stood and cleared the table. I settled in the chaise next to Fab, who scooted the sleeping Mila over and rearranged the cats, which garnered a meow, but neither jumped down. She waited until the men were all in the kitchen and out of hearing range to say, “I’ve got a job tomorrow, and I’d like company for the drive to Miami.”
Since I hadn’t been anywhere except the sheriff’s department in the last couple of days, I didn’t moan about the long drive. “Is this a tennis shoe job?” Code for trouble, for which we needed to be prepared to run. “I’m going to need details because it will be impossible to sneak past Creole. He’s been working from home, as you know.”
“Hmm…this job could be classified as a welfare check on my client’s house. He’s out of town and wants to make sure that the staff isn’t partying it up.”
“There must be a catch,” I said to her annoyance.
“Didier said the same thing.” Fab pouted. “Do I need to remind you that the uber-rich are particular in their needs?”
“Good one.” I half-laughed. “I’m in. You tell Creole.”
“Tell me what?” Creole demanded from the doorway.
“It’s probably about Fab’s latest job,” Didier said, moving around him and sitting beside her.
Brad handed out beers and water and sat back down at the table with Help.
Fab repeated her story.
“How do I get that kind of cushy gig?” Help asked, downing his beer.
“I should do a ride-along,” Brad offered. “Give you tips for where you’re going wrong.”
I did a double take to make sure that Brad’s hair hadn’t caught fire from the look Fab sent his way. She continued to glare at him.
Creole and Didier entertained Help and Brad with a few stories about gigs that had ended up with us in cuffs, which my brother was beyond annoyed to be hearing for the first time. I needed to remind him that some of those stories dated back to the days when he was a commercial fisherman and wasn’t always in port.
Help wanted to know if we’d ever been hauled off to jail. Creole was the one to tell the story of the time Chief Harder had picked me up from an out-of-the-way jail and given me a ride home after I was falsely accused of kidnapping by a kid who thought he was a comedian. They had a good laugh over that one.
“I want to thank you for the invite,” Help said, standing. He fished his phone out of his pocket and handed it to Fab. “Put in your number, and we’ll discuss your idea.”
I stood and walked inside with him, where I pulled out a drawer in the coffee table and extracted a large manila envelope, handing it to him. “These are the reports I talked about.”
“Word has it that you discovered my true identity,” Help said.
“I did, and your secret is safe with me.” I locked my lips. “Georgia boy, born and bred. Good family. Did well in school, excelled in sports. Soon to be a retired, decorated law enforcement officer. It’s a pleasure to know you.”
“And you.” He kissed my cheek.
Chapter Nine
Fab arrived bright and early the next morning and, to her annoyance, had to park, come inside, and present herself to Creole for a grilling. He’d already informed me that I wouldn’t be setting my toes outside the house until he knew what Fab’s case entailed.
Creole had questioned her like a perp with a long rap sheet he had under his personal microscope, wanting details of this new job. He hung over her shoulder as she checked her phone and wrote down the client’s name and address. Out of patience, Fab had flounced out of the house.
“A gangster-mobile,” I said, my voice full of awe, as I followed Fab out to the driveway and circled the black Escalade with limo-tinted windows. I didn’t touch, not wanting to leave fingerprints. Fab would flip, and we’d have to stop and have it re-detailed.
Creole held the door while I slid into the passenger seat, then leaned in and kissed me.
“Stay out of trouble,” I said, and winked at him.
“Same to you.” He narrowed his eyes. “Any problems, deviation in plans, anything, you call. Got it?” He crossed his arms and glared at Fab.
I nodded, and he closed the door. Fab hit the locks and gunned the engine, roaring down the block and out to the main highway.
“Your husband is lucky I didn’t shoot him for being annoying,” Fab grumbled as she flew down the highway, hopping on the turnpike going north.
Lifting the coffee cup from the holder, I was pleased to find it was still hot and smelled delicious. “Thank you. This is a nice surprise.” I took a sip and leaned back with a satisfied sigh.
“I knew you’d want something to drink.”
Not wanting her to go back to complaining about Creole’s high-handedness, I derailed her, changing the tenor of the conversation by oohing over my new ride. “Maybe I should drive.”
Fat chance, she communicated without voicing the words.
I sniffed the air and leaned over, looking at the odometer. “It smells new, but it isn’t. I wasn’t expecting anything so nice.”
“I didn’t have a specific request. Gunz made the choice. If you think I’m particular about my rides, he’s even worse.”
“So where are we going?” I asked as we flew up the Overseas. “When you were questioned by Creole, I noticed you were a bit vague on the details. He noticed too, but got tired of grilling you, so he relented when you forked over the address.”
“Star Island.”
“You’re reaping the rewards of me being cooped up. I’m not going to complain, but you’ll need to feed me and keep me in drink.” I slurped the last of my coffee. Fab had ordered the extra-large caramel, whipped but no cherries. I didn’t ask because I knew they didn’t stock them, and she didn’t think I was the least bit funny. (“No one puts cherries in their coffee.”) I knew that but liked to prank her. “Reassure me that you have codes and keys and there will be no breaking and entering.”
“I promise. No crimes. At least, not today. I’ve got the code and will get the key when we get there. Apparently, this job is a little more involved than Mr. Bostwick originally let on, and he went into more detail when he called this morning. The housekeeper will be there, but she won’t be staying, as she has a family emergency or something. Don’t let me forget—Mr. Bostwick wants a call while I’m still at the property.”
Fab flew up the Interstate to the Causeway, making record time thanks to light traffic, then over to Star Island. She pulled up to a security gate and, true to her word, entered a code, and the gates opened.
I looked in the side mirror and didn’t see any flashing lights. So far so good.
Fab drove up the long brick driveway, circled the fountain, and pulled up opposite a yellow Mediterranean two-story mansion, complete with a six-car garage with living quarters on the second level.
If I had to guess, I’d say it was a paltry twenty thousand square feet, give or take a few feet. “How much do you suppose this is worth?” I peered up at the arched windows and counted. Fourteen, to be exact.
“I’d guesstimate forty-five million.”
“Is this one of the cheaper casas on the island?” I asked, and stared out at the tropical landscaping; not a weed or dead flower in sight.
“If you’re looking for a bargain, this wouldn’t be the area,” Fab said in her snooty tone, then laughed at herself. “Out.” She pointed. “Be on your best behavior and don’t touch anything.”
“Like I’d leave my fingerprints behind.” I got out and looked down at my tennis shoe-clad feet. Knowing Fab’s jobs, I’d come prepared and now wished I had on the cute sandals I’d stuffed in my bag. But the job wasn’t over yet, so maybe I’d made the right choice after all.
I followed Fab up the four steps to the front door. She rang the bell. Another surprise. I’d been certain that a lockpick would be involved, even though she’d promised Didier and Creole that wouldn’t be the case.
The door flew open and a harried middle-aged woman stood on the threshold, one hand grip
ping a leash, from the end of which a rodent masquerading as a German Shepard stared with squinty eyes at the two of us. It resembled a guinea pig on steroids.
Already behind Fab, I stepped back, ready to make a run for it and also to ensure I didn’t take a tumble down the steps.
“Mrs. Merceau? I’m Marlin, the head housekeeper.” Fab nodded, engaged in a stare-down with the rodent. The woman didn’t bother with a handshake and instead, thrust the leash at her. “King needs to go for a walk.” Her tone of authority matched anything Fab could dish out. She produced plastic bags from the pocket of her black A-line tent-style dress and shoved them at Fab.
Fab side-stepped her, shaking off the leash. “What’s going on?” she demanded.
Marlin appeared confused. “Your responsibilities include walking King. It’s quite the mess if it gets on the floor, and you have to clean it up.”
The rodent squatted.
“For heaven’s sake,” Marlin screeched and dragged the animal over to the planter that wrapped around the fountain. “Mr. Bostwick doesn’t like King using this area. He insists that King be walked and do his business where it can be bagged and thrown in the trash.”
Fab and I exchanged looks, both in the same state of, what’s going on here?
“What exactly is that animal?” I asked.
“It’s a capybara. I was rather shocked at first, and I’ll admit it took some getting used to, since I figured that when the Bostwicks mentioned getting a pet, it would be a cat or dog. But then it was explained to me that wealthy people enjoy more exotic animals.”
Fab followed Marlin halfway to the planter. “I’m here to check on the house and leave.”
“You can’t leave King by himself—ever,” the maid said, horrified. “Mr. Bostwick left written instructions for you in the kitchen, and they detail everything that you’ll need to do, hourly and daily.”
“This is a house-sitting gig?” I asked. “Mr. Bostwick expects Mrs. Merceau to stay here with King until he returns?”
“Uh, yes.” Marlin shook her head slightly, conveying we were both dimwits. “Knowing Mr. Bostwick and how exacting he can be, I’m certain he expressed his wishes in precise terms.”
I looked at the horror on Fab’s face, the housekeeper sizing her up as not up to Mr. Bostwick’s usual standards, and King uprooting a couple of plants to cover his business, and burst out laughing. Fab’s glare only made me laugh harder. The only rational thought I had was getting pictures.
It wasn’t until Fab grabbed the back of my shirt and gave me a hard shake that I knew she’d come up behind me. “You are the worst friend,” she hissed. “What. Am I. Going to do?” Steam rolling out of her ears, she hadn’t seen the humor yet. If ever.
I took a couple of deep breaths to get ahold of myself and approached Marlin. “I’m Madison,” I introduced myself. “We seem to have a slight problem in that Mr. Bostwick wasn’t forthcoming on the details of the job.”
“Are you saying he lied?”
“I’m suggesting more of a miscommunication. So maybe you could explain what the job entails.” I smiled at her.
“Have you never house-sat before?” Marlin’s tone of snootiness rivaled Fab’s. “I cannot give up my vacation time. My niece is getting married in New York, and I requested the time off months ago. It’s not like I can reschedule.”
“We’re going to work this out so that everyone’s happy,” I reassured her. How I wasn’t sure. “Just show me what’s expected.” I motioned for Fab to follow. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and followed, slow as a snail, as I scurried to catch up to Marlin, who’d hightailed it into the kitchen, which was the size of my house. I paused briefly to admire not only the square footage but the high-end finishes, stainless appliances, and view of the pool. There was an island in the middle of the room that seated no one, since it contained a cooktop, grill, and double sinks. On it lay a two-page single-spaced checklist. The first column itemized the tasks—which included feeding, walking, and cleaning up after the dog rodent—in order of importance. In addition, there was a fish tank somewhere in the house, along with the responsibility of keeping the indoor plants alive, plus supervision of the gardeners and pool crew, and at the bottom, “Clean up after yourself.” The other columns gave the time for expected completion of each task and room for notes, each item to be checked off and initialed.
Marlin laid a set of keys down in front of me. “Do you have any questions? I can’t be late for my flight.” Without waiting for an answer, she ran to the corner, grabbed her suitcase, and rolled it out the side door.
“Get back here,” Fab roared and started after her.
I grabbed her shirt and brought her to a stop before she could get out the door, then walked her back to the island. “What are you going to do? Shoot her? You’d still have to take care of the rodent.”
“I was going to bribe her.” She whined at the sound of the engine roaring out of the driveway. “You’ve seen one family wedding, you’ve seen them all.”
“Did you call Mr. Bostwick?” I wanted to laugh, but had to stay calm in the face of Fab’s agitation.
“Bostwick had the effrontery to admit to tricking me,” Fab sputtered. “He blathered on about not being able to find anyone suitable to care for King and then he thought of me. Me? Why the heck me?” The utter seriousness of the situation hardened her eyes. “He has faith I’ll do a good job.”
What rubbish!
“Then the… man… said I could use him as a reference if I wanted to expand my services. I refrained from asking him if he was senile and instead tried to impress upon him that I only had cat rapport. He didn’t need to know that it was only with your cats, since he doesn’t know you.”
“How did you leave it?”
She glared at the weasel lying on the kitchen floor eyeing us suspiciously. “He didn’t listen to a word and overrode me, saying that with the fees I charge, I could get off my high horse and do a damn good job. And he had the nerve to say he expected a reduced rate.”
“Did you mention that you have a husband and you’re newlyweds?” Of sorts. I wasn’t certain how long one could classify one’s self as such, but the two were deep in wedded bliss, and Didier wasn’t going to stand for even one night away from his wife.
“Oh yeah. He gave permission for Didier to spend the night. But we’re to stay clear of the master.” Fab banged her head on my shoulder. “What do I do?”
“First, let’s poke around in the refrigerator and find something cold to drink. I’d prefer alcohol, but I think we need to keep a clear head.”
We opted for bottled water, since that was our only choice, took it into the adjoining dining room, and sat at a glass table that could easily seat twelve. It only had four chairs—where the rest were was a mystery.
Chapter Ten
Before leaving the kitchen, I had grabbed the list and shoved it across the table for Fab to peruse. “The way I see it, the biggest obstacle is that.” I pointed to King, who had followed us and now lay in the doorway, blocking the entry and eyeing us in a way that suggested neither of us lived up to his expectations as caregivers. “Most of this list is manageable.” Fab shoved it back at me with barely a glance. “The other hurdle is that of Mr. Bostwick expecting you to spend the night for…how long?”
“Ten days.”
“I shook my head. “There are also fish on this list, which will need to be fed. I’m thinking that’s nothing more than sprinkling food in the tank. It’s not like they need to be walked or anything.”
“My first inclination is to run out the door, just like the housekeeper, except that…” Fab flicked her finger at King. “…would die and so would the fish and plants. I wouldn’t do that to the animals. Heaven forbid, anything were to happen to the rodent. Bostwick would come after me. Of that I’m certain, and he has the resources to do it.”
“A real animal lover doesn’t leave town without knowing said animals are going to be taken care of. This job pay your usual fee?
” I ask.
Fab’s faced flushed with anger. “Thinking this was just a trip over and back, I let him pay in advance. Which he did willingly, knowing full well he was screwing me. He must have had a good laugh at my stupidity. That occurred to me halfway through the call, and I brought up the increase in my fees and said that if the additional payment didn’t arrive by messenger in the morning, I’d walk away.” She whooshed out a sigh. “I reiterated the total because, frankly, I don’t trust him, but I stopped short of saying that to him.”
“Take a deep breath. I’ve got an idea…maybe.” I retrieved my new phone out of the pocket of my skirt. Fab had purchased twins while I was at home recuperating. Thankfully, it was almost identical to my old one and the learning curve was minimal. I scrolled through a pet care website, looking for information on what we were dealing with. “The capybara is classified as a rodent and pretty much gets the same care as a dog. They make for good house pets and a great way for one rich person to impress another. Since they’re socializers, they shouldn’t be raised as only pets.”
Fab groaned. “Almost forgot, or I just wanted to. Since Bostwick already had me by the shorts, he added to the misery by throwing in that a playmate/new friend is being delivered this week.”
“Bostwick is a gigantic turd.”
“Madison, really.”
“Yes, Mother, I’ll behave. Why doesn’t Bostwick want to be here to welcome the new addition? I would if it were my new pet. What’s so important, something life or death?”
“R&R in Bali, resting up from his harried life as a billionaire on one of those hammocks over the water.” Fab snorted. “We’re to give rodent number two a special welcome.”
“Any more surprises?” I rested my forehead against the table and laughed.
“I hate you.”
“I would too.” I worked to choke back the laughter. “Someday…you’ll look back on this and laugh.”
“If you’re done amusing yourself at my expense, we need to come up with a plan that doesn’t involve me pet-sitting.” She spat out the last two words.
Initiation in Paradise Page 6