Deborah Brown - Madison Westin 06 - Revenge in Paradise (15 page)

“Sigga and I are what’s known as a ‘hot item.’” He laughed. “For some reason she looked past my ugly mug to the sweetness inside.”

Fab made a gagging noise. Both men glared at her.

I didn’t see any girl lunch invites coming my way from Ana Sigga, the hard-nosed district attorney, since Fab was my best friend. She had caught her ex-husband and Fab in flagrant delicto,
doing the nasty
, having failed to mention he was married.

“You’re so shameful, digging for a compliment about how smoking hot you are, scar and all.”

Slice had a scar that ran along his right cheek from his eyebrow and disappeared under the collar of his shirt. Details unknown. He didn’t generally entertain questions.

“You might need a reminder, Madison. If you need anything, call anytime.” Zach’s eyes darkened. “A word of warning, you need a better boyfriend. His job is damned dangerous and will end up hurting you.”

My jaw clenched hard and I had to consciously make the effort not to grind my teeth. “Like you did,” is what I wanted to shout. He bottled his feelings of discontentment until he’d had enough. No warning, just over.

Fab shot to her feet and got in Zach’s face. “Eff you, asshole,” she hissed, and hauled me out of my seat to the Hummer before anyone could spit out another word.

“It wasn’t so much what he said as the look of disgust on his face,” I told Fab when we got into the SUV.

“I don’t get Zach. He and Creole grew up together, they were best friends.”

“Zach had been convinced for too long that Creole was a drug-dealing dirt bag and when he found out he worked undercover, originally for the DEA and now for the Miami Police Department, he didn’t want to believe he’d been wrong. Creole gave him the cold shoulder after he assumed and never asked about his life. Their relationship got worse when Creole told him he wanted me and would wait patiently for him to screw up.”

“Any regrets?” Fab asked.

“I mourned our relationship, the what-ifs. In the end, Zach only wanted to change me. Turns out, he chose a fixer. Since Creole, I only think about him in those rare times when I run into him. Creole has made good on his promise to erase him from my thoughts.”

“Didier and I are team Creole. We like him, think he has integrity, and he gets along with everyone, he’s not a stirrer of trouble. Did I mention, Didier being a ten, Creole’s a nine?”

“Nine? You’re crazy!”

“You know who else really likes him––walks between his legs, swishing his tail against his skin? He knows Jazz isn’t allowed on the counter, so he holds him and Jazz eats out of his hand. So sweet.”

Fab’s phone rang. She hit the speaker button.

“Where is she?” Brick demanded.

Finally, she’d gotten into the habit of letting me listen in on phone calls without my having to make threats.

“I’m right here,” I sighed. “Remember, you’ve been cut off. We don’t work for you anymore.”

He paused and said firmly, trying to contain his temper, “Be in my office tomorrow. I’ve got a delivery job.”

I liked the last delivery job––easy, no drama, and great pay. “Where to?”

“Pensacola.”

“Forget it, it’s too far. Find someone else,” I said. I reached out and hit the disconnect button.

Fab wagged her finger. “He’ll call back. He can get away with hanging up on anyone he pleases, but doing it to him? I bet he threw the phone across the room.”

As if on cue, her phone started to ring.

“Don’t answer,” I said.

Fab answered before I could finish my sentence. She held the phone from her ear while he yelled. “I’ll do it,” she told him.

“You tell her tomorrow,” he continued to yell. “It’s a one-day damned job.” And then he hung up.

“I’ll blame it on the boyfriend, tell him he said no. Brick won’t confront Creole.”

“I love that. I’ll be using that trick.” Fab looked momentarily lost in thought. “I’ll go to Pensacola, no big deal.”

“Let him send Bitsy. He’s always bragging on her man skills. She can flash her double Ds and get a signature at the same time.”

Fab pulled up to the guard gate at Dane Thorson’s condo complex. Harold stepped out of the booth and raised the arm when he recognized Fab. She rolled down the window and he pointed where to park. He said he’d be a few minutes since he was waiting for shift change.

Fab watched her rearview mirror and when Harold started in our direction, lunch box firmly under his arm, she jumped out.

I took up the mirror vigil. Fab scoped out the property, moving him out of the sight of security cameras behind his car. When she kissed his cheek, I knew the meeting was at an end.

“Another serial slug,” she said, slamming the door. “Harold really came through. I had a little chat with him about under charging and paid him accordingly. The story he told he got from Dane’s neighbor, an older woman, who never minds her own business. Keeps a chair at the peephole and uses a glass on the wall when either of her neighbors fight. Harold invited her to lunch and pumped her for information, and got the low-down on all the neighbors on the floor. Turns out he likes her, so I encouraged him to ask her to go for a walk on the beach and another lunch.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, tension gathering behind my eyes. “Surely you didn’t pay to hear about his love life?”

“Where’s your sense of romance?” Fab teased.

“What did you get?” Since a nap didn’t appear to be in my near future, I grabbed the aspirin bottle out of the console.

“If Dane planned to move to the Bahamas, he didn’t tell anyone, didn’t even hand in a notice to vacate. He did ask the nosey neighbor to look after his girlfriend’s cat while they flew to Norway to meet his mother and get married. Then, when they got back, they remarried at the local courthouse to make it all legal.”

“Why not break up with Lizzie? Do you suppose there are other fiancés out there? He’ll end up dead and we’ll be the suspects.”

“I’ve got a new goal––stay out of jail for the rest of the year.” Fab smirked.

I stared at her and we burst out laughing.

“Saturdays, our boy can be found at the track––dogs, horses––he loves to gamble. Snoopy neighbor lady was surprised he married the tall, dark-haired ice queen who looked closer to his age than the blonde with the riot of curls, Lizzie, who I presume was half his age and looked at him like he was a prince. She liked the blonde because she always had a friendly word and helped carry her groceries a few times. Her impression was that the one he married had money.”

“Mac reported no criminal history and not much of a credit file,” I told her. “He only has one credit card, not even a car loan, and yet he’s got a new BMW registered to him. Do you suppose he paid cash or the new wife bought it? I’m sure Harder already perused his criminal record.”

I fished through my purse, which always had a ton of junk in it no matter how many times I upended the contents on the floor and forced myself to clean it out; whatever I wanted was always on the bottom. My fingers glazed the spiral notepad and I grabbed hold before it could disappear.

Pen in hand, I snatched up my phone. A friendly voice answered at the Ocean Club in the Bahamas, and I asked to be transferred to Human Resources.

A harried-sounding man answered.

“I’m calling to speak to an employee by the name of Dane Thorson.”

“We don’t have an employee by that name.”

I spoke quickly before he could disconnect. “I’m sorry to bother you but he left this number for contact and I’m calling on behalf of his mother, who is trying to get him a message. She doesn’t speak English.”

The man sighed heavily into the phone. “He interviewed and accepted a job, and the day he was supposed to show up for work, he telephoned, and his words were slurred and foul. He sounded drunk and told us to stick the job. I’ve worked in this industry for over twenty years and have never been more fooled by a man’s character.”

“Any idea where he went?”

“I did a review of his entire application, double-checked references to see what I missed, and nothing changed except that he quit his current place of employment. As I recall, the emergency contact number he gave us belonged to a son in California. You might try him.”

“Thank you, I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me.”

“I hope this is the last I hear of Thorson. Good luck,” he said before disconnecting.

“They speak English in Norway,” Fab said smugly.

“He probably doesn’t know that, I sure as heck didn’t,” I said as I made a couple of notes. “Now we know he burned the Ocean Club and couldn’t bother to be professional. He’s got a current wife, ex-wife—or baby mama—and a son. Sucks to have a broken heart, but Lizzie is way better off.”

“We’re here! I’ll run upstairs and take a look around.” Fab was already out of the SUV.

“He’s married, that’s all we need to tell Harder. Case over.” Neither one of us needed a breaking and entering charge.

Fab shut the door and sprinted across the driveway as the underground gate opened. That woman never listened. I tried to follow, but the gate closed before I could sneak in. The door to the lobby locked, and no one was in sight. For several hundred units, it was a quiet property, not even a single person at the pool on this near-perfect day––warm, clear, baby blue skies. Unlike my friends, I didn’t carry a lock pick in my pocket; I left it in my purse.

“Just great,” I mumbled. My phone had no signal. I sent Fab a text, not knowing if it would go through. I hustled back to the gate, unsure whether or not to loiter inconspicuously waiting for a car to go in or come out.

I returned to the SUV, angry with the fact that there was no Fab in sight.

Damn that woman!

My phone meowed, signaling a message, which was a one-word text from Fab:
Help
. I pocketed my lock pick, this time making it through the gate right before it closed. Last time we were here, I tried using my fake keycard on the front lobby door and it didn’t work. I needed to remind Fab to get us updated cards. This turned out to be my fastest time. After popping the lock, I waited for the elevator.

“I’m looking for my cat,” I practiced, for whoever answered the door. “That’s lame.” Thank goodness there was no one around while I talked to myself.

I pondered potential stories. Hurricane in the garage? Boogie man in the hall? If Dane had half a brain, he’d be suspicious and call security. I looked around and my eyes rested on the fire alarm; I used that trick in the past and it worked. The big drawback is that it scared people and there was at least one older person on this floor. I twisted my fingers in my shirt and, since the handle was missing, used my fist to break the glass, which hurt like the devil. Expecting shrill sounds to fill the hallway, I got nothing.

Two men in tennis gear emerged into the hallway. Having nowhere to go, I got in the elevator with them, stood in the back corner, and hoped not to be noticed. A silent, short ride down, the doors opened and they went out the lobby door.

I stared out to the parking lot, mulling my options. Most came with the risk of someone calling the police. Harder would kill us.

Fab sprinted out of the garage. Almost in front of me, she slid behind the wheel.

“Where in the hell have you been?” I was out of breath so I couldn’t yell. “I briefly considered calling the police, after rejecting the idea of shooting Dane Thorson.”

“Hiding in the entry closet, which nearly had me gagging at the overpowering stink of moth balls. Figured it was the safest place, full of winter coats. Can’t remember the last time I wore a coat. I hid behind a full-length leather coat, which was nice but it also stunk like mildew.”

Fab took a long drink of water. “I knocked and got no answer, figured the coast was clear, so it surprised me when I heard the shower running. I thought I had time to search the living room. Then he called out, ‘Baby,’ and I was certain he didn’t mean me––I barely got in the closet when I heard him outside the door. He made a few business calls, boring stuff, problems with a food delivery. He rattled around in the kitchen and got another call. He unleashed a long string of colorful words, and then ended the call with, ‘I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.’”

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” I said in exasperation.

“I couldn’t help but remember the last time I tried to bluff my way out of some guy’s house and damn near ended up dead.” She grimaced and took a side street over to Collins Avenue that ran along the ocean.

Fab honked at two men beating on one another. “Why are we here?” She slid around them. They staggered out of the way at the last second, both with blood streaming from their noses, Fab giving them little choice. One swayed and crumpled to the ground, the other man kicked him in the ribs and stumbled to a battered pickup where he lurched over the side and fell face down in the truck bed.

Dawg’s, a dingy rat-hole bar that catered to lowlifes, sat in a dark corner under the Intercoastal Bridge. The only part of the neon sign that worked was the arrow; no other lights except the lone bulb that burned above an old ship captain’s door. An old screen door, the screen removed, banged intermittently with the wind, the inside track trimmed with large multi-colored Christmas lights. If you weren’t a local and you were drinking here, you were probably lost.

“Edsel drank here. You know local bars are a great source for gossip. Maybe we’ll run into an old friend of his or someone willing to claim a relationship,” I said.

“You do the talking. Me and my Walther have your back. I will shoot our way out of here if I have to.” Fab looked down at her jeans. “I’ll bet you we’re overdressed.”

I held out my hand. “Hand me your knife. I’ll hack them off so your butt cheeks show.”

“I’ll tell everyone, look what she did to my expensive jeans,” she sniffed and dabbed her eye.

I laughed at her and lifted my skirt. “Surprise. I’ve got my Glock,” I said and undid the strap.

Fab caught the screen door mid-bang. I nudged her so that she wouldn’t jerk it off the hinges. The jukebox blared an annoying tune and several heads turned and stared as we walked in. One scruffy-looking man stared at Fab and smacked his lips.