Deborah Brown - Madison Westin 06 - Revenge in Paradise (19 page)

“What the heck is going on around here?” Creole kissed me.

I popped the top on his favorite beer and handed it to him. “It’s a surprise.”

Mother and Spoon came inside holding hands, and she announced they were leaving.

“Not so fast, Mother. I’m sure Creole would like to hear about your day,” I said.

His hand slipped under my skirt and he pinched the bottom of my butt cheek. Thankfully, I only squirmed a little.

“I do not,” he whispered in my ear.

I felt his hand moving to the other side and jumped out of his embrace. He jerked me back and held me firmly against his chest.

“Yes, I’d like to hear her retell the story. I thought later would be better, but now is good. Be sure you don’t leave out a single detail.” Spoon glared at Mother.

Fab covered her mouth and laughed. We both took perverse delight in watching Mother squirm; this was the same thing she did to us on occasion.

“Refreshments anyone?” I asked.

When Mother finished her latest version, we learned she’d been argumentative and disrespectful to the officer in charge and just about got them both arrested.

Creole laughed until he had tears in his eyes. “That’s a good one. And you,”—he pointed at Mother and continued to laugh—“set his pants on fire. Surprised you’re not in custody.”

“She burst into tears and sobbed how sorry she was,” Spoon said, and squinted at her.

“Cried?” Creole looked at her and started to laugh again.

Even Didier, after recovering from her newest version of how her day went, laughed.

“All of you stop laughing. This was a serious situation.” She smiled up at her boyfriend. “I’m sorry. I didn’t like the way they talked to you or treated you.” She slipped her hand in his. “Come on, Spoonie, this is an unsupportive bunch. And none of you tells Brad. I will do it in my own time.”

“Spoonie?” Creole and Didier said in unison, and the laughter started up again.

Spoon turned and glared at both men, put his arm around Mother, and banged the door closed.

“I’m afraid to ask about your day,” Creole said, and turned to Fab. “Make sure you get all of the coffee made in the morning.” Then he dipped his body and quickly slung me over his shoulder.

Fab gave him a dirty look. Everyone drank something different in the morning, which required two coffee pots and an espresso machine.

I wiggled my butt against his cheek.

“Be still.” He smacked my bottom.

I waved as he carried me up the stairs.

Creole slipped out of bed and left before the sky thought about getting light, but before sneaking out of the house he left me with a thorough kiss. Sleep eluded me so I decided to go grab egg soufflés from The Bakery Café. This early, I’d have my pick of breakfast pastries. My first stop: The Cottages. Just a quick drive by to make sure all was quiet. We had good tenants for a change, but I never knew when I’d get a call about a new felony having been committed.

I loved that there was no traffic. After rolling down the window, a salty sea breeze whipped through my hair while I continued to drive along the beach. I turned the corner and saw a man come out of Shirl’s cottage and close the door. His eyes darted around, hands stuffed inside his pockets. I recognized the scruffy-looking man before he noticed he was being watched. How in the heck did he hook up with Shirl? This must be her new man; no wonder she kept him hidden. Did she know he was an undercover cop?

It had been a while since I’d run into “Help,” who was a friend of Creole’s.

I leaned out the window, letting out a low whistle. “Get your butt over here and don’t think about making a run for it or I’ll drive over you.” I couldn’t make out his reaction because his baseball cap was pulled down. He donned large dark glasses, and his clothes were not as dirty as usual.

“Creole can piss off before I do him another favor,” he growled through a clenched jaw. He delivered a message for Creole one day, but thinking he was a prowler, Fab and I pointed guns at him. I’d run into him only a couple of times since, always going out of my way to say hello, knowing he wanted me to ignore him.

“You want a ride?” I smiled.

He shook his head and flipped his glasses up. His eyes narrowed to slits. “What I want is for you to drive away and forget you ever saw me. And keep your mouth shut.”

He looked clean, his hair was still wet around the edges.

“That’s so unfriendly,” I admonished. “Does my tenant know about your disreputable self?” I wanted to laugh at the frustration pouring off him. “You tell me your real first name and I won’t bother you until the next time.”

“Jim Bob. Now go.” His eyes constantly swept the street on the off chance that, at this hour, someone might appear.

“Your lack of accent would suggest otherwise.” I wagged my finger at him. “Do not break Shirl’s heart. Or Fab and I will feed you to the alligators.”

“Are you threatening me?” He’d had enough of me for one day.

“Just be honest with her. I know that’s hard for your sex, but give it a try,” I said. I didn’t know the man at all, but Creole vouched for his character and that was all I needed to know.

Knowing Shirl, he could whisper, “Lose the damn skirt,” and she would be naked in half a second. He’d be hard to resist; he fit her type of bad-boy good looks, longish dark hair, and the palest pair of indecent blue eyes which could strip you bare.

His jaw clenched. “I’d hate to complain to Creole about you.”

“Stop by sometime and I’ll give you lessons in making up good threats.”

He stared at me for a long moment, turned without a word, and shuffled down the street a few houses before turning in and disappearing. I sped up to see where he had gone and it surprised me to see a path that cut straight to the beach. I drove slowly down the rest of the block, looking for more secret paths, but found none.

I need to pay better attention
.

The neighborhood was typical of a small beach town, this street and the surrounding neighborhood full of charming fifty-year-old beach houses and a few multiple units. Limited grass, some favored rocks. Well maintained, more tenant-friendly than owner-occupied.

My phone rang. “What are you doing cruising the block like you’re looking for criminals?” my brother asked.

“Did you know that there’s a secret path to the beach a few houses down?” I looked in my rearview mirror to spot where he was loitering.

“That’s what you get up early and do? You were never this weird before.”

“When did you become the poster child for normal?” I liked having my brother around and wasn’t looking forward to when all the repairs would be completed on his boat.

Something tapped the passenger-side window and I screamed. Brad had smooshed his face against the window, gesturing to let him in.

I clicked the locks.

“Isn’t this tint illegal?” he asked.

“Look, I have a scary-girl rep to maintain. Have you seen Joseph?”

“He’s been hiding out since the night of your near-arrest. I don’t know who he’s more afraid of, you or the police.”

“He can’t hide forever.”

He laughed. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Damn, I forgot. I’ve got to go get it,” I said and stomped on the gas. The highway was still not heavily trafficked and I knew the back roads.

“Let me out,” he said.

“To do what? You got in, you’re staying. Besides, we need to talk business.”

“You’re interrupting my run on the beach.”

“You can do that with Didier and boy bond, unless you’re intimidated by the fact he’s better looking than you.” I winked.

He slugged me in the arm. “Julie thinks I’m a looker. I want to learn a few French phrases for my own perverse needs.”

“If you start talking about your sex life, I’m going into detail about mine.”

“Being your brother, that’s the last thing I want to hear about. I know you have one but I’d rather pretend that you’ve never been kissed.”

“One of your friends was the first,” I said, and laughed.

“Which one? I’ll kill him.”

I pulled into a parking space in front of The Bakery Café and, judging by the empty spaces, the morning rush hadn’t begun.

I cut the engine and turned to face him. “Does this mean you and Julie are okay after the whole arrested-in-my-living-room thing?”

“So far, there are no lasting issues. If I could get Kevin to keep his opinions to himself that would help. I confronted him and he’s fine with me, it’s the rest of the family.”

“I hope you’re not forced to make a choice. That would mean I’d rarely see you.”

“I already told Julie not to ask. I’m an as-is guy and that includes my family. It didn’t help when Kevin showed up the other day to pick up Liam and he refused to go. He called his uncle out on the whole arrest––he wisely observed that Kevin enjoyed handcuffing you. That, Liam didn’t like.”

“Telling Kevin ‘no’ is a big red flag. Did they work it out?”

“Kevin started to grab him to force the issue and I blocked him.”

“Maybe suggest a guy outing to Kevin––he and Liam could go somewhere of Liam’s choosing and talk out their problems.”

“Probably not while he’s grounded. Kevin told on him.”

I gasped. “That blows. He should have addressed the anger one on one. Remember when we made a pact, no telling on the other?”

“It pissed me off. Liam and I are going fishing when he gets off of home detention.”

“You have always been the best big brother.” I blew him a kiss. “Let’s talk about the Trailer Court. I read your prospectus and approve your plans for renovation.” He put together a detailed report, turning the run-down lot into a fifties-themed trailer court—complete with restored Airstream trailers—with the intention of making it a tourist destination.

“Heard through the gossip grapevine, while restoring that old Airstream on the back of my property, that Spoon had a couple of them rotting away on his auto body lot. I mentioned my plans to him and he indicated he’d like to be an investor.”

“You don’t even like him. What happens if he and Mother break up? They’re still in the honeymoon stage of their relationship, although I like the idea of a family venture.”

“I didn’t comment one way or the other. We need a sit down to go over the plans and costs. As for Mother, she could do a heck of lot worse, and it was you who pointed out how happy she looks. How can I ignore that?”

“Have you ever met a man who can keep up with her? Even when you fixed her up with Doc, he wanted to make a few changes. Trust me, a woman hates that.”

“And does Creole want to make changes?” Brad eyed me closely.

“He never tells me not to do something, just to be careful and not to scratch up or bruise what belongs to him.”

“Which one of us is going to get pregnant first?” Brad raised his eyebrows.

“Probably not you; most likely Julie.” We laughed.

Three cars pulled up to the bakery at once. “I’ll get the food. You run down to Sherman’s Market and grab some orange juice.”

Tropical Slumber Funeral Home had the most interesting history of any business in the Cove. It got its start as a drive-thru hot dog stand. Long-time locals claimed that on a hot day you could still get a whiff of a fully-loaded dog. When the parking lot was empty, as it was then, Fab insisted on parking on the red carpet that ran under the overhang up to the front door.

“How rude is it to show up to a funeral that we know is over?” I looked around wondering if we were early or late.

“We didn’t even know the deceased, and what we’ve found out since is that the world is a better place. Besides, I talked to Raul and told him we were stopping by for information.”

Raul and Dickie purchased the business a few years back. They couldn’t be more different. Raul schmoozed the clients and handled all the business details, while Dickie’s talents lie in making the dead person look their best for their final hurrah. And looks-wise, they couldn’t be more different, either: Raul the body builder, Dickie thin and pale, never looking quite comfortable in his own skin.

It surprised me that the door stood wide open. You usually had to ring the doorbell when there weren’t any send-offs in progress.

Raul came rushing forward. “You’re in time for left over funeral food,” he said to me. “I heard you call it that once.”

The entry was decorated in red brocade, with plastic slipcovered furniture and a large gold-gilded mirror that hung over a round table that displayed the food. I helped myself to a sandwich triangle and thought briefly about stuffing a couple in my pocket like people do at real funerals. Fab reached around me, picked one up, and sniffed it before she bit in.

I noticed the look on her face. “Swallow. Don’t you dare spit it out.”

She pushed the rest of the sandwich in her mouth. “Just kidding.”

Raul laughed. “I’ve missed you,” he said, and hugged Fab. “Stop by sometime, I miss playing cards with you, even if you do cheat.”

“I can get you an invitation to a private game at Jake’s. Not a criminal in the group.” She opened a drawer and withdrew a note pad, scribbled something, and handed it to him.

I settled back in a chair, careful to make sure I sat on my skirt; otherwise, the backs of my legs stuck to the plastic and made an unfortunate sucking noise when I stood.

“You’re so snoopy,” I said to her. “Did you ransack the place when you stayed here?”

I met Dickie at my aunt’s funeral, with no expectation of ever seeing him again. Then we became friends––the kind who will hide you when the police are looking to have a chat.

“Where’s Dickie?” I asked.

“He’s got a headache; still shaken up over a… well… misunderstanding.” Raul grimaced.

Chances were high that his story had something to do with a dead person, but a girl could hope.

Fab had the attention span of a child. She moved about the large foyer looking into all of the viewing rooms, at two of them she jumped back from the door. Oops, must be occupied. She never ventured out of hearing range.

“Anything we can help you with?” Raul waved Fab to a chair. “Dickie went on a body run, brought it back, and was excited to get started on the preparations. You know him, he always looks forward to a new job. A new challenge. He’d done his preliminary work and was setting up the embalming process when the deceased, Mr. Simmons, started talking to him. Poor Dickie fainted. I ran for the smelling salts, which brought him around, but he refused to go to the emergency room. Luckily, he’s only got a goose egg on his head.”