“Who do we know that has animal rapport?” I mused.
“You. I know you.” She slapped the table. “Toady.” She picked up her phone.
I slapped her hand down. “Hold on. Let’s think this through. Toady is a good choice, except he won’t show well should the neighbors see him. Plus, Bostwick will be shocked if he comes home early, but I’m thinking you’ll never take another call from him anyway.”
“The heck with Bostwick.”
“Then walk. Leave the animal to fend for itself and tell Bostwick to get his behind back here.”
“Even if I was willing to do that, you wouldn’t let me. King doesn’t deserve to starve to death because of his selfish owner. So what’s Plan B?” Fab laid her head on the table.
I picked up my phone and, although surprised, was pleased to see that Fab had gotten Xander to enter my contacts. He’d run a trace on my old phone and didn’t get a signal—probably died in the wilderness. “Interested in a side job that pays really well?” I asked our assistant when he answered, then put him on speaker.
“Oh heck yeah,” Xander said excitedly. “What’s the catch?”
“There’s a raft-load of them, but I’ll start with the good one first. Mansion-sitting in Miami for ten days.”
“Sounds like I need to ask for hardship pay,” Xander joked.
“The most important question is do you have animal rapport?”
“I don’t know jack about animals. I wasn’t allowed to have any growing up.”
“How about learning on the job?” I asked hopefully.
“Okay…” he said hesitantly.
I gave him the details and had him look up capybara while I waited so he could see what the job would entail.
“It says here, these cap-things eat their own poop. So no cleanup there.”
I lowered my head and laughed.
Fab cuffed me. “Grow up, you two.”
“You could open the door and let him back into the wild,” Xander suggested.
“That’s not helpful,” Fab snapped. “You think you can do the job or not?”
“If you two show me what to do, I’m sure I can handle it.”
Fab and I exchanged us? looks.
“Toady’s here, waiting on Frenchie,” Xander informed us.
Fab held out her hand, which I pushed away.
“Toady, huh?” My mind was spinning with thoughts of Plan C. “I was wondering how I was going to get you out here, and he might be the answer to that problem. Plus, he’s got wild animal rapport. He’d be perfect to coach you in the care of King.” I raised an eyebrow at Fab, who nodded. At this point, she’d do anything to keep from being stuck here. “Put him on.” I handed the phone to Fab.
Fab explained her predicament.
“What a hole and a half,” Toady said angrily. “Don’t you worry, Frenchie. Give me a couple of hours to get VP out there. He’ll need to stop by his place, get some clothes, and tell his roommate he’ll be out of town for a few days and that he didn’t flake and skip.”
I knew there was never a chance Toady would refuse Fab help. She ended the call and handed me the phone. I texted the address to Xander and Toady.
King stood, stretched, and headed to the back door. I craned my neck and watched him go, then got up and chased after him, opening the door to the backyard. “Is the front gate closed?” I yelled over my shoulder. The last thing I wanted was for King to go on the run and the two of us have to chase him down.
“Yes,” Fab called back.
I leaned against the doorframe and waited on King, who wasn’t in a hurry to come back inside. After scratching around, he laid down on the lawn and rolled around.
Fab rested her head on her arms and kept her eyes closed. I knew she wasn’t asleep. It was only an attempt at avoidance and hoping that nothing else would go wrong.
I went in search of the fish and found a tank built into the wall of a game room. More instructions taped to the front. I left them there, flinching as I read that when it came to feeding time, it would be with the smaller fish from the tank below. I balked when it came to feeding big fish with smaller ones. Good thing it wasn’t my job, or I’d go to the pet store and get the flakes in a can I remembered from my goldfish-owning days as a kid.
Fab had moved into the living room and stretched out on one of the sofas, clutching a pillow to her middle. I followed suit and took out my phone, texting Creole that it would be a while.
Both of us jumped when the house phone rang. The caller ID said, “gatehouse.”
Fab sat up. “I have no clue how to open the gate,” she said, looking out the window. She slid her shoes back on and went out the front to meet Toady at the gate. True to his word, it’d taken the man two hours to arrive at the house.
I opened the back door and spotted King asleep where I’d last seen him. “Hey King. Want to come in?”
He jumped up and beelined for the door. I stood back until he passed me. He prowled around the room, sniffing the furniture, before heading into the front entry, where Toady and Xander were standing.
Both men waved, but the focus was on King, who skidded to a halt and checked out the newest visitors, then made his way slowly over to Toady, who held out his hand. The rodent sniffed him and rubbed his furry face on his jeans. Toady gave Xander a quick lesson in how to befriend the animal, and it wasn’t long before King snorted his approval.
“Let’s take King out back,” Toady suggested. Once back on the lawn, King ran around in circles.
I pulled Xander aside and motioned for him to follow me back inside, where I showed him the checklists in the kitchen and game room. After we were done, Fab and Toady came back inside, and Fab went over her own list of instructions.
“Don’t worry about Xander,” Toady said. “I’m not leaving until he’s comfortable being left alone here. I can also check on him every day.”
“Just make sure King doesn’t croak.” Fab thanked them both and told them to make themselves at home, and if they needed anything to call, no matter what time.
“He’s got a playmate arriving in the next day or two,” I said, a note of apology in my tone.
“I only learned that tidbit after we got here,” Fab said in exasperation and told them what she knew about the new rodent, which was very little.
I made the call-me sign to Xander, and he nodded.
“Don’t worry about Xander; he’ll do fine. No need to worry about King either,” Toady reassured us.
We walked out the front, and Fab breathed in a lungful of fresh air. “Could Bostwick have hired someone more ill-equipped to handle an animal than me? He didn’t so much size me up as being good with animals as being able to handle this crisis, and in that, I guess he was right. But how I’d like to fill his backside with bullets.”
“Not until after you get paid,” I said.
“If Bostwick thinks he’s going to stiff me, he’d better think again. I’ll send Toady to collect.”
Chapter Eleven
It took a couple of days to set up the employee meeting at Jake’s and accommodate everyone’s schedule so no one could complain about other commitments. I was anxious to meet the new hires. It took grit to work at the bar, what with the divergent personalities that came through the door, and the patrons were quick to exploit anyone who couldn’t hold their ground. As it turned out, both new bartenders quit before the meet and greet. However, the vacancies were quickly filled by members of Cook’s family, which is where I’d have started in the first place.
Fab had dumped the Bostwick drama in my lap, shuddering at the mere mention of his name. When I told Creole about it, he’d laughed his head off. Toady turned out to be the saving grace, assuring me that he wouldn’t let the kid get in over his head. In return, I assured him that his usual fees would be paid and brushed aside his offer to take a pay cut for the job, reminding him that Bostwick would be paying.
At my direction, the front door of the bar was locked and the usual suspects gathered out on th
e deck. I ordered a bucket of cold drinks and turned on the ceiling fans and lights in the outside space.
“Grab a chair,” I directed.
To my surprise, Cook had decided to attend. He came out with a tray in hand, followed by three of his relations in their thirties, and set a draft beer and a side of bacon in front of me. I stared at it, not sure what to say. “Yum.” I looked at Fab, who sat opposite me. She shrugged.
“It’s a hot seller. Who doesn’t like bacon?” Kelpie harrumphed, not happy with my lackluster response.
Yeah, who?
“A better idea would’ve been to wrap it around the outside of the glass. But…” Kelpie engaged in a stare-down with Cook. “We don’t have the right kind of glasses, and it’s too much work.”
Cook mumbled under his breath—something about crazy—and she mimicked him.
Welcome back!
I was afraid to ask if they’d come up with any more bright ideas while I was gone, and had to remind myself what this meeting was about. I went down a short list of issues and barely got any feedback. “Anything else I should know about?”
“Live music starts this weekend,” Doodad announced. “Got to compete with the other bars in town. We’ve got the next two weeks booked, so be on the lookout.”
Doodad—aka Charles Wingate III, a veteran of the Civil War…the history of it, anyway—had been a great find. I’d found him spouting facts to tourists for a few bucks and hired him to bartend. Not long after, he’d pitched himself for the manager job.
“Maybe we just need a better jukebox; one that sounds like live music.” No one laughed; they thought I’d lost my mind. “Who did you hire?”
All eyes shot to Fab.
That caught me by surprise. It was her idea and she hadn’t shared?
“I hired The Cloggers,” Fab said, a dare-you-to-disagree look on her face.
I shook my head. “As in Dutch shoes dancing around the floor?” No response. “Not a one of you remembered that this is a tropical bar?”
“They demonstrated it for us, and it can be done to Jimmy Buffet,” Fab said.
Kelpie hummed Margaritaville off-key and stomped her feet.
“For the following week, we booked Rednecks,” Doodad said with a smirk. “Both groups put on a floor show in addition to the music.”
“There must have been tequila in my morning coffee and I didn’t notice it.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “We have two weeks of questionable entertainment, and if we still have customers afterwards, then what?”
“Hold your water, Bossaroo,” Kelpie said. “Once word gets out, the entertainers will come to us.”
“I’m going to go out on a limb and assume you’ve checked these groups out and the police haven’t been called to their prior gigs,” I said.
Once again, all eyes shot to Fab.
“They can’t be held responsible for what other people do,” Fab snapped. I groaned. “We all agreed that a gunfight would bring in the crowds.” At my look of horror, she added, “But I reluctantly squashed that idea and went with the next best thing.” She pointed inside and up at the ceiling.
“I almost forgot.” I craned my head for a better look at the brightly painted red spots where, presumably, bullets had entered. “Did it occur to anyone that people might come in wanting to shoot up the ceiling, just so they could get their mark of infamy? What if someone dies?”
“Don’t borrow trouble, as my granny says,” Kelpie said with an eyeroll.
“The ceiling is getting re-painted.” I continued, despite Kelpie’s groan, “Last chance for any updates.”
“We now have daily specials,” Cook said. “Hence the chalkboard.” He pointed over his shoulder. “That was Prissy’s idea.” He glared at Kelpie. “She ‘didn’t want to repeat them every ten seconds’ were her words.”
“Another idea of yours?” I asked Fab. “You were busy being me.”
“How do you expect to raise revenue without the occasional gimmick?” Fab asked, “duh” in her tone.
“I’ve done my part,” Cook said with a sneaky smile that suggested he’d been hanging around Fab too long. “We now serve fried iguana with fresh vegetables.”
Lizard? That took a moment to sink in, and then I made a barfing noise.
Disapproving eyes turned on me.
“It tastes like chicken,” Cook defended.
“That’s a tired excuse, and one that people use when they don’t know what the heck else to say,” I said. “You have a purveyor for lizard?”
“Got a trapper that sells them direct. I buy frozen.”
“It’s the hottest delicacy right now,” Fab said, as though I should know.
“That’s swell.” Note to self: make sure I know what I’m ordering.
Doodad cleared his throat. “There is one last item. I don’t want you hearing it from Kevin after he’s put his ‘sky is falling’ slant on it. We had a male customer slump over in his chair and fall to the floor.”
“Good thing he wasn’t sitting on a barstool,” Kelpie said.
Doodad poked her in the back. “He had to be rushed to the hospital and have his stomach pumped. Wife put some concoction in his drink that was supposed to kill him, which it didn’t. Heard she confessed and they’re getting a divorce.”
“Don’t forget the happy ending,” Kelpie said.
“Yeah, hum, we put it out that the guy died, which he didn’t,” he assured me.
“That’s happy how?” I asked.
“Cha-ching.” Kelpie shook her torso.
“As you know,” I said, “I got married, and the husband hates these kinds of antics, although he might try the beer. Anyway… I’m not going to forbid these activities outright, just keep them toned down and stop short of the cops being called in.” I banged my glass of beer on the table, almost spilling it. “Meeting adjourned.”
Kelpie was the only who didn’t go back to work. “Do you have a minute?” she asked. “Can we talk in private? It’s not about me.” She eyed Fab, who was staring back at her.
“Ignore her.” I nodded towards Fab. “She’ll find out anyway; she’ll skulk around until she ferrets it out.”
Kelpie got up, closed the door, and reclaimed her seat. “As you know, Doodad’s house was blown down by a hurricane and he’s been living in what amounts to a storage shed. I was thinking you could help him.”
“That was a long time ago,” I said, thinking back to the last major one that blew through, leaving a lot of damage in its wake. “I’d have thought the insurance company would’ve paid off by now. I know he had insurance because I asked.”
“Insurance danced him around, insisting that the claim didn’t match their description of the property, and eventually told him to flip off and they’d see him in court.”
“I’m supposed to pretend I got this information how? Since I’m making the leap that you don’t want to be outed?”
“You’ll think of something,” Kelpie said with assurance.
Fab laughed.
“I suppose I will. Give me a couple of days.”
Chapter Twelve
It took several days of back-and-forth phone calls between Help, Fab, and her security guy—who, as it turned out, had a name: Monty Round—to get the job in Card Sound green-lighted. Now Monty was ready to check out the area and make his recommendations.
I wanted to beg off but didn’t. When I’d announced our plans to Creole the previous night, he’d flipped, grabbed his phone, and stomped outside, growling, “Oh hell no.”
I’d hoped that, by the end of the conversation, Fab and I would have bodyguards that had orders not to leave our side.
The next morning, Fab didn’t endear herself to Creole by sitting outside the house, honking frantically. Creole grumbled under his breath as he stomped across the room. Hand on the knob, he turned and grouched, “You need to confiscate the car keys from her, and in the future, you determine who drives. Have you even driven it yet?”
I flashed him an are you
crazy? look.
He started outside, then stopped and turned around, closing the distance between us. “You ready?” At my nod, he picked up my bag and slid it over my shoulder, then led me out.
“You draw the short card and get guard duty?” I asked.
“I volunteered.” He rewarded me with a sinister grin.
Fab was designated driver, no matter who was in the car. Occasionally, Fab and Creole argued over the point, but most times, like Didier, he didn’t care. He did reserve the right to annoy her on occasion.
Creole twirled his finger for her to roll down the window, and when she did, he said, “Stick to the speed limit.” He opened the back door, helped me in, and slid in after me.
“Good morning,” I said cheerfully to Fab and Didier.
Whatever Fab said, Didier looked at her and laughed. Once she cleared the security gate, she squealed the tires all the way to the main highway.
“Keep it up,” Creole yelled, “and I’ll be the one driving.”
Fab actually eased off the gas.
Didier’s eyes shone with amusement; he was enjoying the show. “We’re meeting Monty at the Bakery Café. He’s swinging by after he finishes up another job. I suggest we grab some breakfast.”
“Sounds good,” Creole said.
The rest of the drive was uneventful. Fab pulled into the parking lot, looped around, and exited to the street, parking in front.
“You checking faces against wanted posters?” Creole asked, getting out. He reached in and scooped me up, kissing me before setting me on my feet. He felt up my back, finding my gun. “I told Didier not to forget his firearm. I didn’t tell you, figuring you wouldn’t leave it behind.”
Fab waved to our favorite waiter and pointed to the end table…as though he didn’t know.
“Too bad there isn’t some nice couple occupying our spot so Fab can demand they move or risk a bullet in the backside,” I said, which got laughs from the guys and earned me a glare from Fab.
The waiter took our order and started back down the sidewalk, where Brad intercepted him, adding his own order. “Put it on their check.” He pointed with a cheeky grin, then closed the distance and jerked a chair across the concrete. “Look what we have here, and once again, no invite.”
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