Initiation in Paradise

by Deborah Brown

I looked at her jeans and my jean skirt. “Should I put on tennis shoes?”

  “You look fine.” Fab eyed my sandals and looped her arm around mine, leading me out the door and hitting the locks for the Hummer. “You know, that pickup of yours looks junky but runs like a charm.”

  “It’s a great backup.”

  Fab cruised down the highway, and true to her word, she’d only gone a couple of miles when she turned into the driveway of the faded, run-down pink-and-green adult motel that Creole had been in negotiations to purchase.

  “I’ve been wanting to see this place ever since Creole announced he had a contract on it.” Fab parked in front.

  “Except the deal fell through, and last I heard, it’s back to pending approval,” I said in frustration. “When you’ve got a live one on the line, cash in hand and willing to meet code requirements, you’d think the lender could cobble the paperwork together in an efficient fashion.”

  “According to Didier, the hang-up was the city. They wanted the property so they could work a deal with a contractor to build condos. That’s the reason the deal fell through the first time. But said builder wants a high-rise and the area isn’t zoned for that, so that deal fell through. Hence the reason your offer is getting a second look.”

  “You give good updates. I’m happy the city’s deal went south. We have enough condos around here.”

  Instead of jumping out, Fab put her arms on the steering wheel and stared at the building. “Why do you want this place? You couldn’t set your sights on something five-star on the beach?”

  “That’s totally unaffordable,” I sniffed. “The occasional motel that does come up for sale goes to a big investor who can outbid everyone else and knows they can recoup their money by slapping on the name of a well-known chain. Even a view of the road garners a hefty price tag.”

  “When you took over The Cottages, they were barely breaking even,” Fab mused. “You want to do it again?”

  “Some months, not even that. Now they’re a cash cow. This place could be doing the same thing.”

  “Hmm…” Translation: she wasn’t so sure of that. “This used to be pay-by-the-hour accommodations.”

  “It didn’t start out that way. It’s got an interesting history. The original owner built it as a medium-price motel. After his death, an unscrupulous partner with dollar signs in his eyes installed the jiggly beds and mirrors on the ceilings.”

  Fab got out and opened the back door, taking out her camera and snapping photos as we walked past the broken-down fence that kept out no one, since the security fencing had a hole cut in the center.

  We started on the office side and peeked in all the windows, room after room, empty and dirty. We circled the pool—which was badly in need of re-plastering, if it could be saved at all—to the other side. I headed to the corner room in the front. “This is the room that’s said to be haunted.” I turned the knob and was disappointed to find that it was locked, although it didn’t surprise me.

  “That’s nonsense.”

  “I hope not. It’s rumored that Isabella Sloan’s unsettled—sometimes a gracious hostess and other times tossing things around the room.” I cupped my hands to the window and peered inside. “First, her husband died suddenly; then, the partner swindled her out of her half of the property and, to make matters worse, left her penniless. She arrived one night in the rain, checked in, and refused to leave. Not long afterwards, her body washed up on the beach. It was ruled a homicide, but no one was ever charged. The story is her antics made it impossible for them to get guests to stay the night in the room.”

  Fab had taken out her lockpick and opened the door.

  “We could charge extra to be scared during the night instead of getting a good night’s sleep.” I followed her into the large, dusty, cobweb-filled room.

  “This place needs a lot of work. Must be the reason the asking price is low.” Fab walked across the room, poking her head in the bathroom. “Let me guess, you’re going to befriend ghost woman?” She eyed the king-sized bed, which dipped precariously to one side.

  “Since her antics appear to be confined to this one room, I’m thinking of renting it to hardy souls only, ones who’ve signed a release.”

  “So if they keel over from a heart attack, they can’t sue.”

  “No suing,” I agreed. “All this speculation is a moot point, since the deal’s already fallen through once and who knows if it’ll go through this time.”

  “If you want it, I hope you get it,” Fab said as we walked outside and she locked the door.

  “Now that you’ve seen the property, what do you think?” I asked as Fab took pictures of the exterior and stared across the street at the small strip of beach that could be seen.

  Fab shot me a thumbs up.

  Chapter Forty

  “Surprise number two!” Fab yelled, driving back down the Overseas.

  “One is enough. Maybe next week.” I tried not to laugh at her frown and turned to look out the window, grinning at my reflection. “Can you take me home? I need a nap. I’m feeling fragile.” I added a touch of poutiness to my tone.

  “Okay.”

  Now that surprised me.

  We were only a few blocks from our turn-off and rode in silence the rest of the way. She drove through the security gate, but instead of turning right, towards my house, she went left, down to the other end of the street, turning into her driveway and parking in the front.

  “Get out,” Fab ordered. “You try and make a run for it, I’ll drag you back.” She got out and waited for me, not taking her eyes off me until we were inside.

  “If this is your second surprise, it better include food.” I looked around, waiting for something to jump out at me.

  “Tequila.” Fab unhooked my purse off my shoulder and tossed it on a table in the entry.

  I followed her into the kitchen, where she had a tray, glasses, and liquor set up on the counter. “You should’ve started with the best part first.” I slid onto a stool. “I’ll take a pitcher.” I licked my lips.

  “Before I can unveil the whole surprise, you need to go into the bedroom you’ve yet to move into.” She sighed.

  “Can you stay on point?”

  “Change into the outfit that’s laid out on the bed. No, I didn’t go shopping,” she responded to my questioning look. “It’s something of yours that you left the last time you were here.” She waved her hand towards the hall and turned towards her room. Over her shoulder, she said, “Ten minutes.”

  It didn’t take long for me to change into the hot-pink tankini and sheer white cover-up dress. I smiled down at the flip-flops—new and designer and, of course, matching my bathing suit. I cut the time limit close, making my way back to the kitchen, no longer worried about a surprise now that I knew it included a bathing suit and tequila.

  Fab reached into the refrigerator and brought out a chilled pitcher of margaritas, one of vodka martinis, and a bowl of olives.

  “The next part is the best,” Fab said. “It’s fitting that we should be the first to christen it. It will make up for… You weren’t supposed to leave the parking lot.”

  “Stop it right now,” I grumbled. “Where would I be if not for you and the GPS units? If you hadn’t been there to lead the parade? I could list all the what-ifs of how it could have gone wrong and left me at the mercy of a certifiable woman. Crazy isn’t strong enough.” I scrunched up my nose.

  Fab loaded up the tray and handed it to me, then pulled out a bucket, filling it with ice. “Follow me.” She led me out the back, past the pool, and down to the beach.

  “When did you get that?” I gasped.

  Floating on the water was a blue-and-white portable dock, and on the shore, four oversized inflatable chairs.

  “After seeing the one at your wedding, I told Didier that I wanted one, and he made it happen. It’s not as big, but still has plenty of room, and this one’s inflatable, so it can be stored easily.”

  “You have the funnest house on t
he block.”

  We both laughed.

  She set the bucket on the dock and took the tray from me, putting the pitchers in the bucket to keep them cold and raising an umbrella I hadn’t noticed before to shade the drinks.

  I untied two of the chairs from a stake driven into the sand and pushed them into the water. She opened the door to a small cabinet that held towels and tossed me a sunhat.

  “The dinner invitation is for tonight, and we’re doing it here,” Fab said. “Your beach idea was a good one. I called Cook and asked him to prepare us something yummy, then called Didier and told him he needed to pick it up.” She filled our glasses and handed me one. “Best friends,” she toasted.

  “Is this going to be like a dinner at Mother’s, where everything erupts into bedlam?” I looked at Fab over the rim of my glass. “I could start it after I find out what all of you are keeping from me. I know that there’s at least one more surprise to pop.”

  “I’ve been sworn to secrecy.” Fab zipped her lips.

  “Who knows you better than me? Besides Didier,” I answered for her. “I think I know, but don’t want to get you in trouble; then you’ll have two irate husbands coming down on you.”

  Fab grimaced.

  We’d finished half our pitchers when someone played with the doorbell, the chimes audible all the way out on the beach.

  “Those are loud.” I made a face.

  “Who would do something so juvenile?” Fab craned her head towards the house. “We’re both accounted for. I suspect the door is going to answer itself.” She grabbed another olive.

  “Honey, I’m home,” Didier bellowed from the doorway.

  “Me too.” Creole waved.

  It wasn’t long before the two men, dressed in bathing trunks, walked down to the beach. Didier had a bucket in his arms that matched the one Fab had brought down earlier.

  “Nice.” Creole whistled, untying the remaining chairs and wading out into the water with them in tow.

  I leaned toward him for a kiss. “I’d say we need one, but why? We’ll just use theirs. With all the fun toys, Fab’s getting more like her father every day.”

  “I’m thinking we need to have a beach barbeque and invite the family,” Didier said.

  “We’re in.” I pointed at Creole and myself.

  Didier passed Creole a beer, and they each claimed a chair.

  “Let me guess,” Didier said, eyeing Fab, “you didn’t let all the details slip, but enough to leave Madison wondering what the heck? I’m disclosing upfront that I have money on your answer.”

  “Reluctantly.” Creole downed half his beer. “We both wanted to bet the same, but he called it first. Five bucks on a losing bet was the highest I’d go.”

  Fab shook her head. “I didn’t say anything.”

  Creole and Didier turned to me.

  “Not in so many words, but I got the gist, or so I think.”

  Fab flourished her hand at Didier.

  “I’d stand for the presentation, but then I’d have to float.” Didier cleared his throat. “Creole has subjected me to several conversations concerning the motel you’re interested in.”

  “You eavesdropped,” Creole corrected.

  “Didier learned that from Fab.” I laughed.

  Fab shot me a dirty look without heat.

  “Creole spoke so loud, I couldn’t help but overhear,” Didier defended himself. “He also availed himself of my invaluable advice, which required sharing more details.”

  “Yeah, that’s because he couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation. I don’t put my calls on speaker.”

  I shook my finger at him.

  “Can I finish?” Didier waited for Creole’s nod. “Since it’s about to close for real this time, my lovely wife and I would like to insinuate ourselves into the motel deal and partner with the two of you.”

  “Won’t that ruin your image? The hot, sexy, French couple partnering on an adult motel?” I asked.

  “Upscale porn,” Didier countered.

  I looked at Creole, and he was laughing. I tugged his chair next to mine and whispered, “Yay or nay?”

  “I can’t hear,” Fab grouched.

  “The big guy says it’s my call. Hmm…” I tapped my cheek and laughed when Fab flung water on me. “Why the heck not? But we have to make a pact that this venture won’t end our friendship.”

  Creole stuck his hand out, and the rest of us piled on.

  “After checking out the property again today…” I said. Didier shook his head. “That was my clue that Fab had an interest. Anyway…what about a theme motel? One room can be tropical porn and the rest in a beach theme of some sort. Fab’s got a connection with that designer dude she found for the funeral guys, and he could come up with a few ideas that would make us shine.”

  “You did what?” Didier asked Fab with undisguised interest.

  “Don’t skimp on the details,” I said.

  Fab told them all about the latest offerings at the funeral home and finished up with details about the museum that even I hadn’t heard, including that it would soon be open to the public.

  Both guys made choking noises.

  I covered my face and laughed.

  “He’s that set designer from South Beach,” Fab reminded Didier. “The funeral guys are ecstatic and can’t say enough nice things about his ideas.”

  “Don’t you mean Digger Dudes?” I asked.

  Creole tapped me on the leg and grinned.

  “Stop,” Fab admonished. “It will slip out in front of them, and don’t think I won’t blame you.”

  Didier lifted his glass. “To our partnership.”

  Books by Deborah Brown

  PARADISE SERIES NOVELS

  Crazy in Paradise

  Deception in Paradise

  Trouble in Paradise

  Murder in Paradise

  Greed in Paradise

  Revenge in Paradise

  Kidnapped in Paradise

  Swindled in Paradise

  Executed in Paradise

  Hurricane in Paradise

  Lottery in Paradise

  Ambushed in Paradise

  Blownup in Paradise

  Psycho in Paradise

  Overdose in Paradise

  Initiation in Paradise

  Zuma Seals Series:

  Malibu Hills Murder

  Mission Paradise

  One For The Team

  Starfish Island – A standalone romance

  Deborah’s books are available on Amazon

  amazon.com/Deborah-Brown/e/B0059MAIKQ

  About the Author

  Deborah Brown is an Amazon bestselling author of the Paradise series. She lives on the Gulf of Mexico, with her ungrateful animals, where Mother Nature takes out her bad attitude in the form of hurricanes.

  For a free short story, sign up for my newsletter. It will also keep you up-to-date with new releases and special promotions. www.deborahbrownbooks.com

  Follow on FaceBook: facebook.com/DeborahBrownAuthor

  You can contact her at Wildcurls@hotmail.com

  Deborah’s books are available on Amazon:

  amazon.com/Deborah-Brown/e/B0059MAIKQ