Deborah Brown - Madison Westin 06 - Revenge in Paradise (7 page)

“If you pull out a gun, I’m going to shoot you,” Fab said, and whipped out her Walther.

“How’s our favorite little stripper-turned-receptionist?” My voice dripped with insincerity.

In truth, there was nothing little about the curvy blonde, who stuffed her double Ds into a low-cut dress. She sold information on the side; the problem was, she thought nothing of selling the same info to other people—along with the name of the previous buyer—for a hefty tip. She double-crossed us and sent a stiletto-wearing ass-kicking stripper friend of hers after us. One could maybe look the other way if bullets hadn’t been factored into the equation.

Brick turned a blind eye to her devious side dealings, claiming he needed eye candy for his big spenders.

Bitsy sat frozen in place and glared until we started up the curvy staircase to Brick’s office.

“It’s been a long time since the two of us have been here together.” I hit Fab with my hip, starting a game of push and shove as we ran up the stairs.

Brick wanted his jobs done and pronto, and had a tendency to leave out pertinent details upfront that would have us refusing. I’d quit Brick for a while over his desire to use me in an underhanded eviction scheme; he failed to disclose that the building was full of senior citizens. I was back on speed dial after Fab forced a little kiss-and-make-up and we agreed to never mention the incident.

As usual, the man sat behind his enormous desk talking on the phone. When we walked up, he ran his dark eyes leisurely up and down the both of us and waved us into his second-floor spacious office that was equipped with an amazing view of the entire lot and surrounding upscale business district. He finally tossed the most uncomfortable seats ever and replaced them with buttery chocolate-colored leather chairs. He’d gotten himself a larger chair to hold his burly frame, which was a well-over-six-foot boxer physique. He didn’t box for sport, just to stay in shape.

I went straight to his credenza and fingered through the snack bowl, finding two bags of mini Oreos that I loved but would never purchase for myself. I dropped them in my purse and held up a package of peanut butter cookies to Fab; she nodded, and they followed the Oreos––road snacks.

Brick banged his phone down, code for the meeting to start.

“Sit down, you two.” He opened a file on his desk. “I need this car picked up.” He passed a picture and a set of keys to Fab.

“Where is it?” Fab asked.

“Don’t know; GPS isn’t working. I’m assuming the bastard had it disconnected. Once I locate it, you two need to be ready to go. Retrieve the damn thing and bring it back here. You know the drill.”

I helped myself to his notepad and scribbled Jami Richards’ name. “I need a jail visit for tomorrow,” I said as I passed it to him.

Brick had more connections than anyone I knew, including Creole. He owned various businesses and was well respected in the community. In addition to the car lot, he owned pawnshops around the state, recently branched out his bail bond locations, and owned and operated the Gentlemen’s Club, a stripper joint in Alligator Alley. He described it as classy, but I wouldn’t know.

“One more thing: for safety reasons, no more sliding down the banister,” he said, directing his comment to Fab.

I had a fear of falling on my butt.

“Your mother’s here.” Fab nodded to the black Mercedes sitting at the curb. If you didn’t drive a black automobile you didn’t get into this family.

“Didier’s home; you better hustle your sexy behind before Mother snatches him away from you and it will be you and Spoon sitting in the tree…” There are times when I’m so amused by myself. I laughed while Fab gave me a dirty look.

I got out and made kissing noises, staying a strategic distance behind so that she couldn’t smack me. I peered in the kitchen garden window, waving to Mother and Didier who sat at the island.

Fab flung open the door and yelled, “We didn’t get arrested today.”

“Where’s the food?” I sniffed, and kissed Mother’s cheek.

“I’ll call it in when we’re ready,” Mother said. In knee-length shorts and boat shoes, she looked ready for a boat ride.

I went into the living room and retrieved a large manila envelope off the library table that sat in front of the windows. I handed it to Mother. “You need something legal to do.”

She pushed it back. “I’m busy.”

“You’re going to be good at this,” I said, shoving it into her hands. “Open it.”

“You’re opening the poker room?” Her brown eyes sparkled as she thumbed through the paperwork.

“We’re reopening it as a game room. The room can be reserved for private poker parties as long as”—I noticed the pink highlighted page, taking it out of the stack—“there is no cash on the table and no opportunity to win anything,” I read. “Do that, and Jake’s is not violating the no-gambling statute."

Mother turned her nose up. “No one’s going to want to play with no betting,” she said, dropping it onto the footstool, disappointed.

Didier lounged on the couch, Jazz getting his head scratched. Fab sat at the end with Didier’s feet in her lap; she’d never disturb the cat. “I think it’s a great idea,” he said.

“There’s a checklist of everything you need to do to get approved for a license.” I found the paper and handed it to her.

“I’ll think about it,” she said in a huff. “I’m telling you, no one will be interested.”

The front door blew open and my brother filled the entrance. “The prodigal son has returned. I bring fish.” He held up a cooler, and before veering into the kitchen, he dropped a duffel bag onto the floor.

I eyed the bag with suspicion. I didn’t want to think about my brother sleeping on the couch and Creole walking in during the middle of the night or in the morning, small talk for five over coffee.

“We should do a barbeque this weekend,” he called over his shoulder, walking out to the garage where he had recently replaced the refrigerator/freezer. I told him I’d get one.
How hard could it be?
Once he started listing his specs, I’d cut him off. “You do it.”

“Is that how you maintain your pretty face,” Brad said, and motioned to Didier’s water. “I think I’ll have a beer.”

“What’s up with the suitcase?” Fab’s lip quirked in a smile.

“My boat’s docked for maintenance. I need a place to stay for a couple of weeks,” he called from the kitchen.

All eyes turned to me, waiting for my response.

I quickly blinked back my deer-in-the-headlights look. “I’ve got a better idea. Stay here tonight, and tomorrow you can have your very own cottage. You’ll be down the driveway from Julie and Liam.” Liam is Julie’s teenage son, who has his thumb on the pulse of the neighborhood, somehow always knowing who does what, and when. Mother and I are crazy about him.

Brad sat down next to me on the daybed, putting his arm across my shoulders. “That’s okay, I don’t mind staying here.”

“You’ll have to sleep here and if Julie wants to spend the night, you’ll have to smoosh together or she can take the couch. Liam, well…he needs to bring a sleeping bag.” Let that sink in; he wouldn’t have a second of privacy with his girlfriend.

Brad picked up one of the papers Mother had thrown down onto the coffee table. “Hell no,” he exploded. “I refuse to visit my mother in jail. What the hell’s wrong with you?” He glared at me.

“What did you do, miss every other word?” I huffed. “It’s going to be a game room, licensed by the county. It’s what I had planned all along until these two came up with their own plan,” I said, and winked at Fab.

“Have you agreed to this?” he asked Mother.

She shook her head.

He gathered up the paperwork and shoved it back into the envelope. “I’ll read everything tonight.”

I looked up to see Creole standing just inside the French doors. “Mother, make that six for dinner.” I jumped up and ran across the room and he pulled me outside, away from the door, to kiss me.

“Staying the night?” I whispered.

“I can stay for dinner, then I have a team meeting, but I’ll be back later.”

I grabbed his hand. “Hurry, let’s sneak down to the beach before we get sucked in to going back inside. Why are we whispering?”

He bent down and I laughed, climbing on his back and wrapping my legs around his waist. He piggybacked me through the opening in the fence and onto the secret path that led down to the beach. It was still called “secret” even though everyone knew about it. At the bottom of the stairs, he deposited me onto the sand.

“This way,” he said, and grabbed my hand. “There’s a hideaway between the two boulders, we can sit and make out.”

“Brad announced he wants to stay at the house––even after I offered a cottage.”

Creole snorted. “I’ll have a talk with him and point out his choices: Go stay with the girlfriend or I’ll have him arrested. No ocean view at the jail.”

“For tonight, I’ll sneak out and meet you at your house.”

“It’s time to initiate Brad into our group. Didier and I will team up for a game of annoying. If he passes, we’ll get him a bicycle.”

“Brad never passes up an opportunity to torment me. But he’ll be ready to fly out the door by tomorrow. Fab and I can help in the annoying department.” I nipped his earlobe. “How was your day, honey?”

He pulled me onto his lap. “I hung out in a sleazy bar, waiting for a connection that showed three hours late and had nothing for me that I didn’t already know. Waste of a day. Later, I’m dragging your ass into the shower to get all soapy and then into my big bed.”

“You do have that wonderful aroma of cigarettes and beer.”

“Don’t flatter me like that,” he said, and rolled me in the sand.

Before leaving the Cove we stopped for large lattes. Fab gulped hers down and shot up the Overseas Highway. We’d left the Keys behind, long past where the water hugged the sides of the highway, and everything was lush and green. She looked frustrated, having to slow to the speed limit after spotting a speed trap.

“You’re grouchy,” Fab informed me.

“Is it too much to ask to roll around in my king-sized bed with Creole, even if just for a little while? I snuck out last night to go to his house but Brad’s truck blocked the driveway.” I begged off early to go to bed, waited until the house was quiet, and snuck down the back stairs. So exasperated, I wanted to scream in the street but restrained myself, knowing the drama that would follow.

“You’re an adult.” Fab laughed.

“I’m not going to have S-E-X with Mother in the house. You laugh now, but you’d never do that.”

“I wouldn’t do it with my husband in my mother’s house. She’d find out, tell Father, and—although they’d never discuss S-E-X—I’d get lectured on manners and have to hear, ‘Oh, Fabiana, why can’t you control your impulses?’” she mimicked in a deep male voice. “Why are you spelling S-E-X anyway? I know what it is.”

“Really, Miss Ribbon-on-the-Door?”

Fab’s subtle way of saying, “Don’t you dare knock,” was to leave a ribbon tied to the doorknob, indicating that adventurous things were going on inside.

“Creole wouldn’t come over when Mother said she was staying. Brad would’ve flipped. It’s okay for him to have hot sex, but not his sister. The best part is, I know he didn’t get one minute of sleep with Mother snoring the roof off. On the way out this morning I told him to call Mac and he could have his choice of vacant units.”

Mother had fallen asleep on the couch catching up with Brad’s life, which I’m sure included nosey questions about his love life.

“What do I need to know about jail visits?” Fab turned into the visitor’s lot and backed into a space in the last row, closest to the exit.

“It’s like airport security. Nothing metal and leave your gun.”

Not a single person milled around, which meant the sheriff had unlocked the door and most of the people had filed in already.

“How many times have you been here?” Fab unholstered her gun and I handed her mine to be locked in a storage box in the back under the carpet.

“Never for the free room and board, but too many times as a visitor. I’m going to leave the money I owe her in her jail account so she has money for junk food, and let her know that if she needs anything to give me a call.”

“You know it looks like she did it—fingerprints, hair, and a crappy alibi.” Fab was one of those people who thought Jami murdered Edsel.

“If she did, why not do it on the night he beat her? And why at The Cottages? She had to know she’d be the number one suspect.” It surprised me that, with all the people who came and went and peeked out their windows, no one witnessed or heard anything unusual.

Fab jumped up the stairs to the door.

“Behave yourself,” I whispered.

We breezed through the metal detector without incident and were assigned a cubicle in the far corner of the first row. Fab wasn’t going to like that the exit door was in the opposite corner. No quick getaway.

I waited patiently for Jami to appear while Fab paced up and down, which rule number three—posted on the wall—strictly forbade. She checked out each cubicle and waved to inmates waiting on the opposite side of the glass for loved ones who were running late or wouldn’t show at all. She had the nerve to pause a couple of times and eavesdrop on one-sided conversations.

Jami walked through the door from her pod into the visiting area and sat down. Her orange uniform clashed with her pink hair. I waved and we picked up our respective red phones.

“I don’t know what favor you called in, but thank you for the visit.” She had a slight case of the shakes. “This has been a horrible day. I got assigned to a cell with a psycho bitch from hell. She had a conversation going on with imaginary voices and then flipped out, screaming and throwing herself against the wall. They hauled her to the infirmary for a shot and shipped her off to solitary. When I realized I survived my first twenty-fours, I’m not as scared.”

“I put your paycheck in your account so you can place an order next time.” The jail had a well-stocked commissary that sold anything from food to personal items. “Did you get assigned a good lawyer,” I asked.