“Don’t want to hear the details.” Fab pulled through the coffee drive-thru, placing an order for our favorites.
She then took the highway north, hooking up with the Interstate and taking the exit for Miami Beach. She pulled up in front of an upscale, ocean-front restaurant, relinquishing the SUV to the valet.
“The client chose the restaurant,” Fab said, as though I was about to challenge the choice.
To my annoyance, we were led to a table tucked away not only inside but in the corner. The client apparently had no appreciation for fresh air and a great view.
Fab made the introductions.
Betsy Ridgely wore her net worth on her fingers and around her wrists, and judging from the size of the stones, it was considerable. The fortyish blonde gave me a once-over, and from the judgement on her face, I fell short of her standards. She flicked her hand, and the server appeared and poured us each a glass of wine.
“I don’t think this job requires an extra person, and it’s a matter of the utmost secrecy,” Betsy said. “Unless you think it absolutely necessary,” she added with a note of reluctance.
“You were vague about the details of this job on the phone. I’ll need more information so I can plan an overall strategy,” Fab said in the same irritating tone the woman had used. It didn’t faze her; instead, it identified the two as kindred spirits.
No details, and yet you’re meeting with her anyway.
“I want you to coach me on how to retrieve some personal items that were stolen from me and be backup during the retrieval process.”
I squinted at the woman over my wine glass, not liking the direction of this conversation.
“What are the items?” Fab asked.
“There are several pieces of jewelry and two paintings; all of them heirlooms that have been in my family for years, handed down to me by my mother.”
Another flick of Betsy’s hand and the waiter was back, offering more wine. Fab and I shook our heads.
“Where are the items now?” Fab asked.
“A condo just down the street.” She waved dismissively toward the beach.
“Why don’t you start at the beginning?” I snapped, trying to control my annoyance and coming up short.
Betsy turned to me and gave me another once-over, frowning, as though to say, How dare you speak?
I gritted my teeth and flashed a benign smile.
“That’s a good idea,” Fab said. “It will give me a better idea of the big picture.”
“My husband, the bastard.” Betsy sighed and drained half her wine. “You’d think I could get a little peace now that he’s dead. But no. While I was married to the man, he was rarely discreet, in the last year of his life, he took a mistress and gave her my personal items. I want them back.” She slammed her glass back down.
“Did you file a police report?” Fab asked.
“What a waste of time. They investigated, and she fed them lies about the items being gifts. They told me my only option was civil court; a judge would have to make a determination of who the rightful owner was.” Betsy’s face filled with anger. “Another slap in the face, my husband also bought the condo down the street with my money and put her name on the deed, and there’s nothing I can do about that, either.”
“Are you ready to order?” the server asked. Wine bottle in hand, he refilled Betsy’s glass.
I pushed aside my wine glass in favor of water; this conversation needed a clear head. I noticed that Fab hadn’t touched hers either after the first couple of sips.
“I’ll let you know when we’re ready.” Betsy waved him away.
“You want me to do what exactly?”
“Get me inside,” Betsy said with a sneaky smile. “While I’m retrieving the items—since I know what I’m looking for—you stand guard. We’ll set up a contact system, in case I’m about to be interrupted. Wouldn’t want that.” She laughed nervously.
“Have you lost your mind?” I ground out the words.
“I knew that she was going to be a problem.” Betsy shook her head, disgust on her face.
“I’ve got a couple of questions of my own,” I said. The woman turned her attention to Fab with a dismissive sniff. “You do realize that what you’re suggesting could get you prison time, and a lot of it, depending on the value of the items? Is that a risk you’re willing to take? You’d be putting your freedom on the line.”
“You’re so dramatic.” Betsy let out a big sigh, keeping her face turned away.
“In case you’re unaware, rich people are put in jail all the time,” I said, matching her affected tone. “This stupid scheme of yours is guaranteed to get you a prison sentence. Since you’re not up on your burglary skills, that’s almost certainly where you’ll end up. And even if you get away with it, you couldn’t ever wear the jewelry in public. The other woman would have you arrested, and based on the police report you filed, it wouldn’t be hard for to her to prove her case.”
“That bitch took enough from me. No more,” Betsy fumed.
“Guess what? That bitch is going to get the last laugh: you decked out in prison garb,” I said, conveying my opinion that she was a dimwit.
“If they’re as valuable as you say, surely the items were insured,” Fab said. “Did you file an insurance claim?”
“I contacted them first, certain they would investigate rather than pay a claim they didn’t have to. That was another surprise from the bastard. He cancelled the coverage.”
“Let’s say you’re successful and retrieve your items. Are you prepared to have the cops breathing down your neck?” Fab asked. “You’ll be their first suspect. Plus, if this woman has insured them, the insurance company will investigate relentlessly.”
“No one cares that my husband steals my possessions and gives them to his lover,” Betsy said angrily. “Nothing would happen to you,” she said to Fab. “The risk is on me.”
“You’re misinformed,” I hissed. “Fab would be up to her neck in felonies. The two of you would probably be tried and sentenced together. Being a lookout doesn’t get you a lesser sentence.”
Betsy continued as though I hadn’t spoken. “This job will be in and out,” she said to Fab. “I’ve got it all planned; even bought a key from the housekeeper.”
“There’s another person who’s set herself up to be charged with a crime,” I said in a huff.
“Will you at least think about it?” Betsy asked Fab. “I happen to know that the bitch was invited to a pool party out on Fisher Island this weekend. I also received an invitation but can’t bear to show up and have my jewelry flaunted in my face.”
“We shouldn’t even be listening to this,” I said to Fab. “Knowing about a crime and not reporting it could get us in trouble.”
“Why don’t you go sit in the car while the two of us discuss this case?” Betsy ordered with a flick of her finger.
“You can—”
Fab nudged me under the table.
“This is not a job for the inexperienced,” Fab said in a placating tone. “It seems exciting on the surface, but it can go wrong in any number of ways in a hot second. Madison is right about the potential charges that could be levied against us all.”
“You came highly recommended as someone who could get the job done. Have you gone squeamish?”
Calm-and-cool Fab had gotten on my nerves. I wanted her to yell, Hell no! in the woman’s face and get as far away as possible.
“You need to rethink this,” I said, trying for reasonable and not sure how I sounded. “The consequences are steep, more so if your quick in and out goes horribly wrong. Worst case scenario, you could end up dead, or this other woman could, and then you’d never see daylight except from an exercise yard.”
“She’s a nuisance.” Betsy quirked her head in my direction.
I slammed my hand on the table, hiding my flinch. My water glass wobbled, the silverware rattled, and the commotion got the attention of the other table. “I may be the only clear thinker here. F
ab is not doing this job. And if you have any intelligence, you’ll drop this hare-brained scheme.”
“I’ve had enough of you,” Betsy said.
“I feel the same way about you,” I shot back.
“Would you wait for me at the front?” Fab asked me.
“I’m not going anywhere without you.” I pushed back my chair. To Betsy, I said, “Fab. Is. Not. Doing. This. Job. If I hear that you’ve even contacted her again, I’ve got police contacts and I’ll turn you in.”
Betsy hissed and spit flew.
I stood, bent slightly, and in a venom-laced tone, said, “I better never hear your name again.”
The woman smirked, and it was all I could do to keep from cold-cocking her, give the onlookers from the nearby tables a show as she tumbled backward out of her chair.
Fab grabbed my arm. “I’ll be in touch,” she said to Betsy and shoved me forward.
I yelled over my shoulder, “No, she won’t.”
A dozen pairs of eyes watched Fab drag me out.
We stood on the sidewalk and didn’t say a word until the valet brought the car and we were inside, driving down Ocean Boulevard.
“Are you pregnant?” I asked in an angry tone.
“No.” Fab appeared confused.
“That’s good. At least, your first child won’t be born in prison, which is what would happen if you were stupid to take this job. What the hell?” My anger and frustration roared out. “You don’t need the money.”
“I’ll admit that I love the rush of adrenaline coursing through me on one of these jobs. The fear of what might happen is exciting.”
“If Didier could hear you, he’d be devastated.” I turned away and pretended that I was walking on the beach, which was hard to do sitting next to the sulky French woman.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
We didn’t say a word to one another on the drive back home. I knew that Fab wouldn’t give a second thought to all the trouble the meeting with Betsy Ridgely could put us in. She’d gotten out of so many bad situations that there was a part of her that thought she was invincible. I also knew that she’d calmed down a lot since meeting Didier, but she needed to do more.
Fab pulled off the highway in Florida City to get gas, and we both got out. She went to pump the gas while I walked around the car, stretching my legs. I thought about going inside the convenience store for something junky to snack on and talked myself out of it.
“Get in the car,” Fab ordered.
“But—”
“Now.”
I got back in, slammed the door, and glared at her. “Okay, Mother. This better be good. We didn’t even get gas.”
“The guy in the next lane over…” Fab tapped the side of the steering wheel. “…the one pulling out, I recognize him from the photos Harder showed us. He’s one of the brothers the cops would like to speak to.” She pulled out right behind him and followed him back to the highway.
“We’re not following him,” I said.
“We might as well. We’re going in the same direction.” Duh in her tone.
“I’m warning you now, so you better be listening: if you turn off this road to veer towards Card Sound, I’m getting out. Do you hear me?”
“The guy in the car ahead of us can hear you.”
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and snapped a couple of pictures, uncertain of the quality, then hit the speed dial.
“Who are you calling?” Fab slapped at my arm.
“Do I dare ask how your day’s going?” Creole asked when he answered.
“Maybe later.” His loud groan didn’t go unnoticed. “Fab stopped for gas and recognized one of the brothers from the photos Harder showed us, and we’re… hmm… following him.”
“Where are you?” Creole snapped.
“We just left Florida City and are on Highway One, headed south back to the Cove. We don’t have a lot of time before we have to decide which way to turn, and depending on… I might be getting out.”
Fab shook her head in frustration.
“You got a tag number?”
“I snapped pictures a little ways back and just forwarded them to you.”
“Good job. Call 911 and answer all their questions. Remember: they’ll have to verify he’s wanted before they’ll do anything. Prevents them from being used to pull over an innocent man as part of someone’s feud.”
“I’m calling now.”
“Should I stay on the line?” Creole asked.
“We’ll see you at home.” I hung up and repeated what Creole had said. Fab nodded, showing she heard, but continued to stare intently at the highway, slowing to stay a couple of car lengths behind the other car.
“Why am I the one calling in the emergency…again?” I said.
“At least no one’s dead this time.”
When the woman at the dispatch center answered, I told her about spotting the man at the gas station and where it was located, and that I knew him to be wanted for questioning re: murders in Card Sound. I gave a description of the car and said it was headed south on Highway One. She asked for my name and number, and I gave them to her. She promised to look into it and hung up.
I called Creole back and updated him.
“Are you coming home?” he asked.
“Let’s hope so.” I sighed and hung up. “Creole didn’t say it in so many words, but it’s probably his hope that we don’t get caught up in the middle of anything.” I stared at the road, noticing that Fab had slowed. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to hang back, wait for the cops to show up, and watch how they handle the arrest. If I stay right on his bumper, we’ll miss all the action.”
“And that would be bad why?” I asked in frustration. “We both know how this is going to end: one more of those brothers in custody.”
“Get ready to shoot some video,” Fab ordered.
It didn’t take long for two cop cars to fly by us. Fab slowed even more.
They pulled in between us and the car in question and put on their flashing lights. I was about to tell her we would need to get over to stay out of the way when the chase was on.
“This isn’t going to end well,” I said. “I’d really like it if we could get home unscathed. I don’t want to be one of those bystanders you read about that ends up dead.”
“This is going to shock you, but I agree,” Fab said.
I clutched my chest. Fab ignored my antics.
Two more police cars arrived. The dispatcher had done her job and verified I wasn’t a crank caller.
“This is going to get ugly if it goes much farther.” I scooted forward in my seat, trying to visualize the layout of the road ahead. “He’s going to run up on a traffic signal and possibly crash into other drivers that aren’t paying attention and aren’t aware of the police pursuit.”
The two latest cop cars got in between us and the ongoing pursuit and slowed us all down, bringing us to a complete stop. At least we had a front-row seat.
“Something’s happening.” Fab jabbed her finger at the windshield.
I powered down the window and held up my phone.
The driver had pulled to the side of the road and bounded out of his car. He jumped over a short retaining wall and into the water not far below.
I’d estimate it to be a three- to four-foot drop. Not well thought out, since there was nowhere to swim to except a marshy area that would loop around and take him over to a side road. He’d be lucky to get that far.
“I wonder if runner dude knows he just jumped into Crocodile Lake?” I shuddered.
“If not, he might figure it out in an unpleasant way.” Fab snapped her jaws together. “It’s going to take a while to fish him out, dead or alive.”
One of the cops was directing traffic, and we crept by at a slow crawl.
“May as well go home. Creole can get us an update.” Fab had her eyes pinned to the water. “Do you think he can get pictures?”
“Don’t ask. He’s not going to find th
at amusing.”
Fab hit the gas and, to my surprise, stayed right at the speed limit. “Wonder where my husband is?”
“Probably waiting on you to get home, since I’m certain Creole got hot on the phone with an update. You know that they have a dude pact to keep each other informed of our antics. If you have any complaints about their reporting system, take it up with them.”
Chapter Thirty
It wasn’t until Fab drove through the security gates and onto the private street where we lived that I broke the silence. It had given me time to plot. Being a best friend is serious business.
“I’ve got a surprise,” I said.
Fab looked sideways at me as she cruised up to my door and came to a stop.
“I’m going to need the car for later.” I knew from past experience that she planned to take my car home and leave me with her Porsche, which she knew I hated to drive. “I’m taking Creole to dinner.” To my surprise, she parked and got out without a word of complaint.
“A surprise, huh?” She attempted her mind-reading trick, but I blocked her.
“Wait right there.” I jumped out and, before closing the door, said, “Don’t get in your car yet.” I unlocked the gate and ran inside, holding up a finger to Creole, who stared from the couch. I reached in the kitchen drawer, hooking a pair of handcuffs on my finger and attaching one end to my left wrist, then dashed back outside with my arm hidden behind my back.
Catching Fab off guard, I launched myself at her, hugging her, and managed to slap the other cuff on her before she realized what I was doing.
Fab shrieked and yanked on the cuff. “Get this off.” Her arm shot in the air, dragging mine straight up.
“Ouch,” I yelped. “You break my wrist, and I’ll be moving in with you while you nurse me back to health. Be warned: I’ll be the whiniest patient ever.”
“Explain yourself,” Fab fumed. “Before I give you a one-arm beat-down.”
Creole, who’d followed me out of the house, leaned against the fence and chuckled.
“This is for your own good,” I said.
Fab jerked her lockpick out of her back pocket.
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