Initiation in Paradise

by Deborah Brown

  “So she beat up a cop?” Fab asked with a smirk.

  “I’m fairly certain the officer had her subdued quickly, in case you were worried.” Harder smirked back at her. “Sound like something you’d do, Ms. Merceau?”

  “Even I know that would be a stupid move,” Fab said. “Since it wasn’t her first time in cuffs, she should’ve known that.”

  “Hi everyone,” Mother said, having approached the table unnoticed. “You don’t mind if we join you, do you?”

  There were several sets of deer-in-the-headlights looks. Who would dare say no?

  Spoon stood next to her, appearing chagrined. He attempted to stop her from sitting but was outmaneuvered. True to form, Mother had stopped at the bar and ordered drinks on the way in, and they appeared as the couple sat down.

  “Hi Mother,” I said, and introduced Harder to Jimmy Spoon.

  Harder nodded, amused. “We’ve met.”

  “It’s been a while,” Spoon said, and met his stare directly.

  “I’d like to be reassured that this get-together isn’t official police business involving my daughter,” Mother said.

  I looked at my mother and rolled my eyes, which I knew she hated. But it didn’t faze her. She ignored me.

  “I’m not here to haul her off in cuffs. This time.” Harder winked at me.

  “Harder has friends in the Cove, and we’re in that group and go out to dinner on occasion.” Creole shot Spoon a look that said, Control your woman.

  The big man shrugged, telegraphing, You’re on your own.

  “What brings you two out on a weeknight?” Fab asked.

  I bit my lip to keep from laughing.

  Mother ignored her too. “I’m happy that we ran into you; I don’t see you as much I’d like,” she said to me and ran her eyes around the table. “I planned to call tomorrow and get the story on how it was that you were involved in rescuing a dog. Did you hear about this?” she directed at Harder.

  “As a matter of fact, I did. Madison was extremely helpful in rehoming the dog for a woman who was no longer able to care for it herself,” Harder said smoothly.

  “Does Billy report every phone call he has to you?” I sniped at Spoon.

  “It wasn’t like that.”

  “I’ll bet,” I mumbled, calming slightly. “It turned out that Billy had a friend who was eager to give the dog a home, since he’d just lost his own. But I’m certain you’re aware of all the details.”

  “It was Xander who was singing Billy’s praises, happy not to disappoint you,” Mother said. “Billy was vague on the details, which led me to believe there was more to the story.”

  “Your daughter has a soft spot for animals.” Didier smiled at me. “It’s not the first one she’s rescued.”

  I wanted to jump up and kiss his cheek.

  “You have anything to add?” Mother stared at Fab, one of those Mom looks that make the timid squirm. Never one to be intimidated, Fab stared back until Mother looked away.

  “We were just getting ready to order dinner,” Creole said.

  “Thanks for inviting me,” Harder said. “As always, I’m enjoying myself.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  My phone rang early the next morning. Never a good sign. Doodad’s picture popped up on the screen. “Anyone die?” I asked when I answered. Lying next to me, Creole groaned and tugged a pillow over his head.

  “I wouldn’t be calling if—”

  “Just tell me.”

  “My tooth broke, and I’m hoping to get in to the dentist first thing. No one is answering their phone, and I need someone to open.”

  “That would be me. As long as no one wants a fancy mixed drink.”

  “No worries there. It’ll be the ‘morning beer for late breakfast’ crowd. I’ll relieve you as soon as I’m done.”

  “I’m ordering you to take the day off. You’re not to worry. I’ll get someone to fill in.” I rolled over to get out of bed and was pulled back to lie staring at the ceiling.

  “I think I’m indispensable.” Doodad half-laughed. “I’ll be by after my appointment to check on you.”

  We hung up.

  Creole pulled a corner of the pillow up. “You’re going to bartend?” he asked in disbelief.

  “I am.” I glowered at him. “I’ve filled in a few times, and the place is still standing.”

  “No flirting for tips.”

  I laughed.

  * * *

  Dressed in my work uniform, a jean skirt and t-shirt, I carried my tennis shoes into the kitchen and sat at the island, finishing the cup of coffee that Creole had waiting. The phone rang again; this time, it was Fab. “I was getting ready to call you,” I told her and shared that I’d be working at Jake’s.

  Creole leaned against the doorjamb and listened in, to my side of the conversation anyway.

  “Ick,” Fab said. “I’d be terrible at that.”

  “I guess this means you won’t be coming along for moral support.”

  “Sorry.” Her tone conveyed that she was relieved. “Didier and I are going to lunch. That’s what I called to tell you.”

  “I’m surprised you’re not in trouble with your husband for chasing Addy all over town.”

  Creole grinned.

  “I had to promise on the life of my firstborn, Didier Jr., that I wouldn’t do it again and would, after reporting it to 911, stay out of it.”

  Maybe. Probably not. “Fab Jr. is now your second child?”

  “Something tells me she’s going to need a big brother to keep her out of trouble,” Creole said.

  “I won’t worry about you, since you’re going to be with Didier and I’m certain he can keep you out of trouble. If not, then no one can,” I said. “When I told Creole, I blamed it all on you, since you were driving.”

  “I would’ve done the same thing.” Fab laughed.

  We hung up.

  Creole closed the space between us and wrapped his arms around me. “You have a good day at the office.”

  * * *

  I blew into the driveway at Jake’s and slowed, checking out each business that shared the block. It didn’t surprise me that none of them showed signs of life, since not a one of them kept regular business hours. I parked behind Jake’s and entered through the open kitchen door.

  Cook waved and came out of his office. “The nephew that bartends for the gamblers is going to relieve you. He’s on his way back from Lauderdale, so it’ll be a couple of hours.” Doodad, who saw to every detail, had obviously called ahead.

  “Thank you. I’m thinking it won’t kill Doodad to take the day off. He works too much as it is. I’ve been telling him to hire a couple of extra people, but he ignores me.”

  “He tells me competent weirdos are hard to find.”

  I laughed and continued down the hall to the bar, storing my bag under the counter. I crossed the room and opened the doors to the deck, letting in the fresh air, and turned on the ceiling fans, inside and out. It was easy to open, since the bar had been re-stocked the night before. Checking my watch, I unlocked the front door five minutes early, poking my head out to see if anyone was waiting. The parking lot was still empty. I propped open the door and, going back inside, turned on the jukebox.

  It wasn’t long before the first customer lumbered in—pure white hair and a beard to match, wrinkles lining his face to mark his age—and headed straight to the bar, sliding onto a stool. He did a double take, seeing me behind the bar. “Where’s Kelpie?” He looked around.

  I’d seen him in here before, but his name escaped me. “Day off.” I pasted on a smile.

  He was visibly disappointed with my answer. “I’ll take whatever you’ve got on tap.”

  We had several brands, but rather than asking, since it seemed like I was supposed to know, I guessed. The worst that could happen was he’d spit it out and I’d graciously offer a refill, as long as no liquid landed on me.

  I filled a glass and set it down in front of him, forgoing my first choice
of slinging it down the bartop. I bit back a laugh at how that would be the talk of the bar when it hit the floor and glass and beer flew everywhere.

  “How’s your day going?” I asked.

  He grunted, clearly not over the fact that I wasn’t Kelpie.

  The regulars filed through the door, and it wasn’t long before all the seats at the bar had been claimed. A few did double takes, and the first guy spread the word that it was Kelpie’s day off. I’d have to talk to Doodad about cloning her, since she was clearly a hit. I did a good job not spilling anything all over anyone. The men thought they were funny, trading outrageous stories of their prowess, most of which were difficult to believe. A couple of women took the last two seats at the end and played the two bartop poker machines that were good for points only.

  Suddenly, the front door crashed open and a chicken bounded through, bunching the crotch of the costume in its hand. “Where’s the bathroom?” The male voice came out a bit garbled. “I’m about to go on the floor.”

  I almost told him to hit the road, but thought better of that, not wanting a big mess to contend with or to have to clear out the bar.

  “That way.” I pointed down the hall.

  The men at the bar, who had gone silent, now laughed, making chicken noises and watching as he loped away.

  The bathroom door had barely closed when it reopened and another man rushed out and ran back to his stool. “The chicken is puking,” he announced, clearly happy to be the first with the news.

  It took me a minute to comprehend what he’d said. I stared at the man who broke the news and then at the bathroom door. I took a deep breath. If my past had taught me anything, it was that I could handle anything. Hopefully.

  “Would one of you men check on…him and see if he needs help?” I asked, just stopping myself from calling him the puker. Not getting a response, I took another deep breath and walked down the hall, pausing in front of the men’s room door. Hearing moans, I pushed the door open a crack. “Do you need me to call 911?”

  The response I got was a gunshot. Followed by a scream.

  I backed up until I hit the wall.

  The white-haired man jumped up from the bar. “What the devil?” He beelined down the hall. “Call 911.” He rushed inside the bathroom and came back out after a moment. “The bullet wasn’t fatal, but he’s bleeding and needs medical attention.”

  I already had my phone out and had begun to back up towards the bar. I noticed that half the stools were empty and a few customers were rushing for the exit, knowing the cops were about to show. The ones that were left had their phones out.

  Sirens could be heard in the distance, and I ran to the front door and propped it open. Two cop cars rolled into the driveway. Kevin got out of the first car. I told him what happened as we rushed back inside.

  “Did you say chicken suit?” Kevin demanded.

  I nodded.

  “You just made my job easier. I was looking for him; he tried to rob the liquor store. Except the clerk wasn’t having it and pulled a shotgun. The clerk reported that the robber fished around in his costume and then ran.”

  The white-haired man standing outside the bathroom door called, “The chicken needs medical help—he shot himself in the groin. By accident, I believe.”

  The cop behind Kevin snickered.

  I slipped around him and went back to the bar for cover. The paramedics were the next to show up and rolled a stretcher by me.

  Cook came rumbling down the hall, scanning the bar. “If you’d kept the cops out of it, we could’ve done a brisk lunch.”

  “There’s two left.” I pointed to the deck, at the men who’d taken their beer outside to finish it. “You tell the chicken, next time don’t shoot his man-goods off. Then I won’t need to involve law enforcement.”

  Cook did a double take, flinched, and mumbled to himself, going back to his domain.

  “Big tip for anyone you can get to clean the bathroom,” I yelled at his back, then shuddered and successfully prevented myself from conjuring up the scene.

  It took a while, but the paramedics eventually rolled the man out of the bathroom and out of the building.

  Kevin reappeared; his partner had gone out the back. I handed him his usual soda, and he tipped his can to me. “Thanks for the help in catching the fugitive. Some guys just don’t have a head for crime.”

  “Too bad they can’t figure that out before they get arrested. I imagine it’ll be a while before he’s out of jail and looking for more excitement.”

  Kevin ignored that. “Anything else I should know about?”

  “I’m always asking that same question at my businesses, and it usually comes with an answer I don’t like.”

  He grunted and handed me his empty can. I threw it out and handed him another, and he waved and went out the front.

  The relief bartender had finally showed. “It seems quiet today,” he said, trading places with me.

  “I’m sure it’ll pick up.” I grabbed my purse, happy to get out of there. I stopped at the office and pulled a cone with an “out of order sign” over in front of the men’s room.

  I didn’t make it out the door before my phone rang.

  “My truck won’t start,” Mac said in a frantic tone. “Desperately need a ride. You can’t let me down.”

  Having forgotten I parked in the back, I circled around and got in my SUV. “I’m on my way,” I reassured her. I’d already hung up when I realized that I should have asked a few questions. I crossed my fingers, hoping that the oversight wouldn’t come back to haunt me, as if that it would do any good.

  Thanks to green lights and light traffic, I made it to The Cottages quicker than usual. I turned the corner, slowed, and did a triple-take. Mac, Crum, and Joseph stood at the end of the driveway like a scene out of an old gothic movie; Crum and Joseph dressed in ill-fitting suits and Mac in a dress of layered lace.

  Mac ran to the driver’s side, and I rolled down the window. “We need a ride to Tropical Slumber. They’re having the first wedding, and Crum is officiating,” she said in an excited tone.

  Who gets married at a funeral home? Instead of asking, I motioned for them to get in and hit the button to unlock the doors. “How are you getting back?” I asked when they’d piled in, Mac in the front.

  “We’re getting a ride in the hearse,” Mac said, enthusiastic about the idea. “I called Dickie and Raul and told them we were on our way, and they offered to bring us back. I was the one who requested the hearse. I’ve wanted to ride in one for a while but wasn’t sure how to ask. So I just blurted it out.”

  “Hmm.” I nodded, unsure of what to say that wouldn’t dampen her spirits.

  “Listen up, everyone,” Crum boomed from the back seat. “I need to go over the service one more time.”

  To my relief, Joseph and Mac groaned.

  “You’ve got it down pat,” Mac assured him. “Surely, as many times as you’ve gone over it, you must have it memorized.”

  “Did you forget that Dickie said you could put notes on the podium and sneak a peek?” Joseph reminded him.

  I turned to Mac. “What’s your role?”

  “Joseph is an usher, and when he’s done, we’re going to pretend to be a couple,” Mac said with a smile.

  “You getting paid to be a guest?” Like when the guys needed to hire mourners, but I didn’t mention that.

  “This is a freebie,” Mac said. “It’s a young couple, and they couldn’t afford a lot of frills. I’d suggest that you come along, but it’s a formal wedding.” She eyed my jean skirt.

  I smiled lamely, happy that I didn’t have to come up with an excuse.

  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…” Crum said in a loud voice.

  “Isn’t that the way a funeral service starts?” I asked, and stepped on the gas.

  Crum snorted. “I know what I’m doing.”

  I careened around the corner.

  “I’ve heard several people joke that you drive like an o
ld woman; you go to driving school?” Joseph asked.

  “I’m trying to be considerate and make sure you’re not late.” I turned into Tropical Slumber and squealed to a stop at the front door. They piled out.

  Before Mac closed the door, I said, “If your ride home in the hearse gets cancelled—because they have to pick up a dead person—call a taxi and pay for it out of petty cash.”

  “Wouldn’t it be exciting if they had a pick-up?” Mac said with a big grin. “I wonder if there’d be room for all of us to ride along.”

  “I’m sure they’d love the company.” I waved and was happy she didn’t notice that I hit the locks as soon as she closed the door. To my credit, I exited the property with no drama.

  I drove home, thinking about drinking for dinner and starting early.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Fab texted, “On my way,” and minutes later, laid on the horn in front of my house. She had to have been outside the whole time, parking her Porsche and hopping into the SUV. The woman’s attempts at humor fell flat unless I’d had more than one cup of coffee, which wasn’t the case that morning. She’d called last night and said she had a meeting with a new client and to dress nice, offering no other details, which was nothing new. One of these days, I should refuse to budge. I grabbed my tote and slammed out the gate.

  “How did your day go yesterday?” Fab asked when I got in the car.

  “Totally uneventful,” I lied, and made a drinking sign with my fingers.

  “You’re going to withhold the details of the shoot-out and that there was almost a fatality?”

  “You found out on your own, which saves me from repeating events you already know about. Turns out almost is just as good for business as a dead body; Jake’s was packed yesterday once word spread. Here’s something you might not know, and we can’t have that: I called the hospital this morning, and the chicken was booked into the jail ward.”

  “You’re mean.”

  I ignored her. “Happy ending for me. I went home with the intention of getting sauced and was limited to one drink as Creole had other ideas for the evening.”