Pineapple Lies (14 page)

Declan’s eyes glanced up to catch her looking and he turned his face to the side.

“Almost there?” he asked.

Charlotte spotted the port.

“Almost.”

She slipped the optical wire into its square hole and stepped down.

“There! Try it now.”

Declan set the television back on the mantle and grabbed the remote. He loaded a movie streaming service and picked a random selection from his purchased queue. The sound of voices filled the room.

“You did it!” he said. “Who knew you were such a nerd!”

Charlotte laughed. “Everyone, except you, apparently.”

“Where did you learn to do that?”

“I just happened to set up a similar thing at my house. You managed to get me during the month that information was still in my head.”

“I don’t know about that. I think maybe you’re just a genius.”

“I wish.”

“So do you want to watch something?”

Charlotte looked at the screen. Two people were kissing, grappling with each other, about to fall into bed.

“Not this,” he said, quickly hitting pause. “It’s actually a murder mystery, not…uh…”

“Porn?”

“Right.”

Declan had paused the film seconds before a man’s tongue grazed a woman’s breast, her nipple visible through the thin fabric of her chemise.

“Oh,” she said, an involuntary noise that escaped her lips as she looked away. “I…uh…”

“I could make popcorn…”

He looked at the screen, spotted the paused scene and quickly hit play.

Groans of pleasure filled the room, amplified by surround sound.

Every nerve in Charlotte’s body hummed with energy.

The wine
, she thought, glancing at the second empty glass sitting on the table. White wine always made her giddy. She looked at Declan and knew she couldn’t be trusted with him. The countdown until she made a fool of herself began in
10…9…

“No, I should go,” she said. “I’ll come hook up your washer and dryer tomorrow.”

Declan laughed as he fumbled to turn off the television.

“I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to have a tech geek living just a few blocks away.”

Charlotte walked to the door and he jogged to beat her there. He opened the door.

“Thanks for coming over. Now I’ll have some idea of what to expect when I read the autopsy tomorrow.”

“No problem.”

Declan held out his hand and Charlotte shook it. The exchange felt strangely formal.

“Okay…see ya,” she said, walking out the door.

She was nearly to her bike when Declan called to her.

“Oh, and it’s lion.”

“What’s that?”

“The French word for lion is lion.”

Charlotte grinned. “Thank you. Good to know.”

She paused.

“What’s the little divot above a person’s upper lip called?”

Declan’s brow knitted.

“What am I? Your own personal Google?”

She laughed and waved as she straddled her bike to head for home.

She replayed their interaction in her head as she pedaled, until she reached the part where she’d fixed his television. Her eyes grew wide at the memory.

Oh no. Please tell me I didn’t say that.

She slapped a hand across her mouth.

“Good thing you have an extra-long cable?”

Chapter Fifteen

Seamus knocked on Jackie’s door and she answered a moment later.

“Aren’t you a vision in blue,” he said, admiring her aquamarine tunic with matching turquoise jewelry.

“Why thank you! Ready?”

“First, a gift.”

Seamus pulled his hands from behind his back to reveal what he had been hiding.

“Thank you! It’s—it’s a package of bacon?”

“You said you loved bacon! And flowers are so overdone.”

Jackie turned the flat package of meat over to inspect the other side. “And maple, too, wonderful.”

“It was between that and the pepper-edged. It was a tough call, but I made it.”

“Well, you’ve chosen wisely. And, it’s nice to know you listen! I’ll put this in the fridge.”

Seamus nodded. “Yeah, it occurred to me it wouldn’t be such a great idea to give it to you in the car.”

Jackie trotted to her kitchen and returned a moment later to walk with Seamus to his Toyota Highlander.

“So where is it you want me to take you?” he asked. “You made it sound like a big secret.”

“Oh it is. It is exactly a secret. A secret club. You even need to know the password to get in.”

“Really? Gorgeous
and
mysterious. You’re a keeper.”

He chuckled as Jackie smiled and batted her eyelashes.

“You can only get the password if you’re on their list or recommended by a member,” she said.

“So you’re officially recommending me? I’m honored.”

“No, you’re my
guest
. That’s different. We’ll see if I recommend you.”

“Still not sure after I brought salty pork products? Oh boy. Tough nut. Guess I better be on my best behavior.”

“Don’t be too good,” drawled Jackie.

Seamus winked. “Not a problem.”

They pulled beside a large warehouse located fifteen minutes inland. There were twenty cars already there, and they took their place beside them in the huge lot.

A large, ponytailed man in his mid-thirties greeted them at the entrance. He had a dagger tattooed on the side of his neck. Seamus eyeballed him, calculating his chances against him in a tussle. He gave himself a fifty-fifty shot.

“Hey Miss Jackie,” said Ponytail.

“O’Toole, Newman and Pickford.”

The man opened the door and held it for them as they entered. “You know you don’t have to—”

Jackie nodded and walked inside, holding aloft a hand to quiet the bouncer as she moved.

“He seems very familiar with you,” said Seamus, giving the giant one last glance.

Jackie shrugged. “I like it here. I come a lot.”

“And what kind of password was that? I’ll never be able to come here if I have to remember all that nonsense.”

“It’s easy to remember,” said Jackie above the rising music as they passed through a narrow hallway with tin walls. “O’Toole, Newman and Pickford…Peter, Paul and Mary.”

Seamus stepped into the main room and his jaw fell slack. A sea of smartly dressed retirees filled the giant warehouse space. A DJ stood on a large stage spinning tunes. Though the current song was from before his time, he recognized it as
Yakity Yak
by the Coasters.

“It’s an old people dance club!”

“Fifties, sixties and a smattering of seventies music. It cycles so when the seventy-year-olds get tired, the sixties music starts and the sixty-year-olds dance until it is time for the fifty-year-olds to step in.”

“So no one has a heart attack.”

“Most of the time. Want a drink? It’s a little easier to talk by the bar.”

They meandered to a large and well-stocked bar located against the east wall.

“I’ll take a tequila sunrise, Joe,” said Jackie to the young man pouring.

“Whiskey for me,” said Seamus.

“Ice?”

He raised an eyebrow. Joe nodded and poured it straight.

“What do I owe you?” asked Seamus.

Joe’s eyes darted towards Jackie and he shook his head. “On the house.”

Seamus looked at Jackie.

“You own this place, don’t you?”

“What? What makes you say that?”

“The way everyone treats you. Defers to you. It’s pretty obvious.”

“Well…not a lot of people know, so keep it to yourself.”

“You have partners?”

“Just me.”

“What about your neighbors in Pineapple Port? Do they know?”

Jackie shook her head. “They think I’m just another happy patron.”

“You
are
a woman of mystery!” said Seamus, finishing his glass and motioning for another.

“You still won’t be able to get in here without me until someone recommends you and you’re approved,” said Jackie, a saucy smile creeping to her lips. “And after tonight you’ll have to start paying for the whiskey.”

“Then make it a double!” Seamus called over his shoulder.

Jackie laughed.

“I think I’ll be able to get in,” said Seamus. “I have friends in management.”

Jackie stared at him, smile lingering. Seamus had seen that look before.

Oh she’s done. She’s in
love
with me.

He leaned in and kissed her. He wanted to think about how lovely she looked, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that she owned the club. As their lips separated, his gaze wandered to the huge, industrial-style bar and the endless racks of booze.

Best. Girlfriend. Ever.

“So you were a cop, right?” asked Jackie.

“Afraid I’ll bust you for your underground club?”

“It’s not as illegal as people might think. Making people
think
it’s illegal is part of my marketing plan. It makes it more exciting for everyone.”

“Ha! One last caper, huh? Like getting to sneak out on their parents again.”

“Something like that. There is a poker room in the back. That isn’t entirely legal.”

Jackie pointed to a door and he looked at it.

“Reeeally…”

“Tonight isn’t poker night, don’t get any ideas.”

“When is it?”

“I’ll tell you if and when the time is right.”

Seamus grinned. “Tough broad.”

He was about to lean in to steal another kiss when his attention drew to the far corner of the dance floor. In a large booth, six people were making out like overheated teenagers. Every one of them had to be in their late sixties, if not older. There were bald heads, cheap shoes and bright plastic jewelry flashing everywhere. One couple tumbled out of their seat on the floor and began giggling.

“That group needs to get a room,” he said.

Jackie groaned. “It’s the X.”

“X? Ecstasy?”

Jackie nodded. “They love it. There are strict rules about selling or consuming drugs on the premises, but they take it before they come and then…” she raised the corner of her upper lip and threw a finger in the direction of a man and woman clutching each other in a desperate attempt to meld their bodies together. “…
that
.”

“Where do they get it?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t decided what to do about it yet. Once they’re here they aren’t technically doing anything wrong, but I get tired of turning the firehose on them to get them to leave at the end of the night. Plus, sometimes they start feeling up people not involved in their little—”

Jackie cut short.

“Al!” she called across the room. “Al!”

A short man standing near the X group turned his head toward Jackie. He pointed to his chest and Jackie nodded, pointing to her feet. Al shuffled over.

Can’t Help Falling in Love
by Elvis swelled. Some of the fast dancers downshifted, some left the floor, and a new crowd of slow dancing couples moved in to take their place. Blue spotlights swirled slowly around the dance floor.

“Al, what are you doing over there?” Jackie asked as he drew near.

“What?”

“
You know what
. Why are you skulking about with that crowd?”

“Aw…I wanted to try it. Don’t you want to try it?”

“No, I do not. Do you know where they buy it?”

“No. Thing is I
had
two. Friend of mind had a couple and gave them to me.”

“Who?”

Al scowled.

“I’m no snitch.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Anyway, I was going to take them before I came today, but I lost them. Worst part is I think I left them on Charlotte’s counter.”

Seamus’ ears perked at the sound of Charlotte’s name.

“Charlotte, the young one?”

Al looked at him. “Yeah, Charlotte Morgan.”

“You and Charlotte were going to do X together? Is she the friend who gave them to you?”

“What? No! I emptied my pockets on her counter when I got all scared—”

Al stopped and looked at Seamus.

“Anyway,” he said. “She has nothing to do with it. I’m just too embarrassed to ask her if I left them there.”

“Well, stay away from those people,” said Jackie. “That stuff could be dangerous and I’m sure Tina doesn’t want you rubbing all over her. She comes here to dance. Go dance with your wife.”

“Yeah yeah,” said Al, turning.

“Drive safe,” called Seamus.

Al turned and looked at him, his eyebrows tilted with concern. Seamus waved and Al offered a curt nod before heading back to his wife.

Seamus chuckled. “This place is crazy. How did you come up with the idea?”

Jackie sighed.

“My husband was a slum lord. We made a lot of money on the suffering of others. When he died…I wanted to give back. I spent most of our money fixing up the places he’d let run down for years, building neighborhood parks, doing what I could. When I started to run out of money, I spent the last of it on this building and started the club. Everyone who works here grew up in my husband’s substandard housing. I give them jobs and help any way I can.”

Seamus looked over at Joe. Though not as large as the doorman, he had tattoo sleeves on both arms and looked as though he had been around the block, as did the DJ.

“Wow. That’s really something, Jackie. You must be so proud.”

She shrugged.

Seamus looked at his feet. “You’ve been so honest with me…I feel like I should be honest with you.”

“I would hope so!”

He took a deep breath. “I wasn’t a cop in Miami.”

“You weren’t? What were you?”

Seamus smiled. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

Jackie put her hand against his cheek, drawing him in for a kiss.

“I’m harder to kill than you think,” she whispered.

“I bet,” he said. “That’s okay. I like a challenge.”

He grabbed her hand and led her to the dance floor.

Chapter Sixteen

“I hope you don’t mind,” said Mariska as she and Charlotte walked to her car. “I told Dottie I would give her a ride to her daughter’s on the way.”

It wasn’t unusual for Pineapple Portians to request rides from Mariska on nail day. Her trips to the salon were predictable and a staple of her relationship with Charlotte. Mariska had her nails intricately painted once a month, and in the time it took to finish, Charlotte had her eyebrows waxed and her own nails done in a more simple fashion, usually just a buff.

“No problem,” said Charlotte. “I’d rather take Dottie than have her try and drive herself. Then we’d all be in trouble.”

Dottie was eighty-five. She’d had her license taken away years ago, but that didn’t stop her from making an occasional trip to the store. The last time she’d returned dragging a political poster under her car, the potential senator’s frozen grin slowly wearing away beneath her undercarriage.

Mariska opened her sunroof and they rolled the few blocks to Dottie’s house, careful to avoid the Sandhill cranes congregating in the road. Dottie’s neighbor fed the redheaded cranes, defying the neighborhood ordinance against it. He threw them bread and hot dogs under the cover of predawn darkness, but the birds stared at his house until nearly noon, defeating the whole purpose of his skullduggery. When he left town to visit his children, the angry Sandhills pecked away half his siding and all the screening of his neighbor’s porch, searching for their regular meal. His illegal bird soup kitchen had to be the worst kept secret in town.

The door to Dottie’s home flew open before Mariska had a chance to put her car in park. The short, white-haired woman puttered out, encaged by a walker with tennis balls plugged to both front feet. She turned slower than a clock’s second hand, grabbed the handle of her front door and slammed it shut as if it had just insulted her. The shockwave unhinged the plastic numeral two in her mounted home address and it swiveled upside down, rocking back and forth like a pendulum.