Deborah Brown - Madison Westin 06 - Revenge in Paradise (22 page)

I buried my face in his chest. He lifted me and I wrapped my legs around his waist; he carried me into the bedroom. He did that a lot and I remarked on the fact.

“It’s easier to keep track of you that way.” He smiled. “You’ll feel better after a nap. I’m going to keep you in my arms, make sure you don’t go anywhere but to sleep.”

I didn’t want to admit that the room had begun to spin a little. He lay me on the bed, and I nestled against his chest and fell asleep.

When I got home, the smell of coffee led me to the kitchen. I slipped onto a stool at the island, and my favorite brew appeared in front of me. I had a serious case of bed head, my hair sticking out in all directions; my face reddened and bristled from a rash that covered my cheeks. If asked, I’d pass it off as a food allergy and not whisker burn. Make-up sex had been intense and had me thinking an occasional argument would be a good thing.

“I don’t understand why one of you can’t leave your telephone on,” Fab muttered. “Leftovers in the fridge.”

“I’ve sworn off Mexican food and margaritas for a while. I hope my drunken spectacle didn’t kill my love for Tequila.” I downed half my coffee. “Where’s the boyfriend?”

“Didier felt bad about what happened. I haven’t seen you that drunk since that time we got snockered at lunch and went shopping, and you made a loud scene in every store we went into.” She laughed. “Enjoyed the show.”

“I remember you encouraging my obnoxious behavior during our shopping spree. Don’t tell anyone, I enjoyed purging my soul until I woke up at Creole’s feeling like a steel bar had been rammed into my head.”

Fab turned. “Is Madeline speaking to you yet? Has she gotten over your drunkcapade?”

“We’ve exchanged text messages. I need to go tell Mother I love her and she’s the best. She did open the game room. It was supposed to be open to the public, but so far, it’s private parties only. She’s not interested in making waves with the owner right now. We’ll take her out for a two-daughter lunch and some shopping. That should smooth the waters.”

“You two solve more problems with food and shopping than anybody else I know. I’d never get off so easy.”

“Do you miss your parents?”

Fab had a strict upbringing and she rarely spoke of her family. She’d rebelled when she became an adult and they seemed to be unforgiving.

“Not so much now that I’ve been adopted by your mother. If I went home, I’d be forced to live under their rules and prove myself as an obedient daughter, and then all would be swept under the carpet only for as long as I never defied their authority. My guess is that they’d arrange a marriage to someone suitable––code for having nothing in common with me.”

“I need something stronger.” I stared at my empty cup. “It has to have caramel and whipped cream, with a pecan roll on the side.”

“Mac called, wants you to come to The Cottages.”

I looked Fab over before running upstairs; judging by her black ankle pants that I loved, and silk top, I’d have do better than sweat shorts and ninety-nine-cent flip-flops.

* * *

“We should’ve taken your car,” I told Fab as she pulled out of The Bakery Café after we chugged down lattes and wolfed down rolls. “I might throw up and don’t want to do it in here. It’s hard to get the smell out and on a hot day it whips up a fresh scent.”

“I don’t even want to know how you know that.” Fab grimaced. She pulled on one of my curls. “You hair is falling out of the clip and not in a good way.” She studied my hair, looking amused.

“Two signs the humidity level is wretched: my hair is bushed out and my scalp itches.”

Fab laughed at me, not an ounce of sympathy on her face. Her long brown hair never frizzed. How unfair is that? And anti-frizz products are full of it.

“I told Didier that if there is ever a next time that something accidently slips out, we fess up, because you would do that for one of us. I promise you he didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Poor Didier. Is he mad that I outed him in front of people?” I shook my head, feeling my cheeks turn red.

Fab chuckled. “He feels initiated into the family. He worries you’re mad at him. I told him you’re not a grudge holder.”

“Creole and I made up, and kept making up, so all’s good. We worked on a couple of trust issues and now we have a new system. I call or text with, ‘I’m fine.’”

Fab pulled into the driveway of The Cottages and Mac sat in the barbeque area sunning herself. Apparently, she’d been to South Beach—she sported pink boa-feather flip-flops and matching sunglasses. The flashing lights around the lenses made me queasy.

“It took you long enough.” Mac met us at the office.

“Just remember who works for whom here,” I said.

“You’re surly this morning. Still hung over from the royal ream you gave your family?” She looked at me unsympathetically. “This problem needs your expertise, sure as hell not mine.” She put her hands on her hips, sticking her double Ds out. Mac dressed in layers; she pulled her long skirt out of her shorts, ready to go back to work.

She better not put my eye out
.

“What already?” I asked.

“Miss January lost her cat again and she’s terribly upset, pacing around, drunken- mumbling.” Mac looked over at her cottage as though she might hear; even if she was outside she’d be drinking or passed out.

“How can a person misplace a dead cat? Was she pushing it around in the stroller again?”

“There’s not a damn word about dead cats in my contract.” Mac shuffled nervously. “I heard you got drunk and stood on a table and yelled at everyone in your family. Sorry I missed that.”

I glared at Mac and cut across the driveway. Miss January’s door stood wide open. She lay passed out on the couch, one leg hung over the side and resting on the floor. I twisted the lever on the glass-front screen door and, to my surprise, it opened. She snored softly, drool running down her chin. I ransacked the place. Finding Kitty in the oven, I covered her with a dishtowel and put her back in her usual place on the couch.

Not a single personal item sitting out, her tiny cottage was immaculate as always. I’d enjoy seeing a photo or two. A lump in the bed caught my eye, and I recognized the grizzled face as belonging to her boyfriend. I was pleased he didn’t sleep in the buff. I left him to his peaceful snooze and went back in the living room and straightened out Miss January, who stirred a little, slurred her words, and went slack. I threw a light blanket over her. Hopefully, when she woke up, she wouldn’t remember any kitty drama.

I took the dish towel with me, and when I got back to the office, I balled it up and slam dunked it into the trash. “Put dish towels on your shopping list and give them to Miss January.”

“How are the love birds?” Fab asked.

“Drunk and sleeping it off. He’s got nice legs for an old dude.”

“What did you do?” Fab looked shocked.

“Not what you’re thinking.” I laughed.

“Next time you complain about some lunatic I rent to, I’m going to remind you how weird the new gardener you hired is.” Mac shook her head.

Fab and I stared at her. “What are you talking about?” I asked.

“Mr. Crum is doing a good job for a certified snobby nut case.” She took an emery board out of her desk drawer and proceeded to saw on her fingernail. “I’m surprised you hired a man who wears a skirt––and a very short one.”

Fab started laughing.

“I never hired him,” I said, trying not to yell.

“I’ve got his bill here. I’m going to pay for the plants even though I think he dug them out of someone else’s yard. They didn’t arrive in containers; he had fisted them, roots exposed.” Mac slid the invoice across her desk.

“Nervy bastard. Pay him and fire him.”

Stolen plants? Good grief
.

“You might want to hold off until we find someone else. I’m having a hard time, the locals want to mow and go, no plant service.”

“Your decision, but I don’t want word to spread that the sheriff came here trying to identify stolen flowers.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Joseph darting up the driveway. Without a word to Fab and Mac, I chased after him. The closer I got to his cottage, the more my anger grew. I beat on Joseph’s door, leaving him no doubt it was either me or the cops. He had avoided everyone since he’d gotten me arrested. If I had known that he’d just met that Bungee cretin in jail, I’d have left them both at the bus stop and sped home without a glance in the mirror.

If Joseph thought he could ignore me forever, he was mistaken. I yelled at the top of my lungs, “Get out here so I can kick your ass.”

Fab and Mac, who had followed me out of the office, laughed.

I turned and glared at them. Fab drew her Walther, waving it in my direction. I stared for a few seconds, finally realizing the message she was sending. I my put my heel to the door in short kicks. The longer he dawdled and hid out, the more it annoyed me.

I yelled again, “You open this door or I’m shooting the lock off. Count of three: one…”

He didn’t need to know I had no intention of filling the door full of bullet holes when I could go to the office and get the key. Besides, the doors had been an upgrade that I installed when I first took over the property, single French glass doors with roll-up plantation blinds.

“Two…” I yelled again, feeling it in my throat this time. Maybe Creole would find a hoarse voice sexy.

Joseph cracked the door opened. “I’m calling the sheriff. This is harassment. I’m a sick old man, a Veteran.”

Reminding me of his service to the country made me feel bad, but not bad enough to stop from unleashing a tirade on him.

“Get out here.” I pointed for him to stand in front of me.

He opened the door and stood on the threshold. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his eyes staring a hole in my knees. “I just wanted to help the guy out. I swear I didn’t know he broke out of jail.” His boney shoulders started to shake.

The anger evaporated out of me seeing him so upset. “Where is Bungee now?”

“Not in custody, judging by the phone calls I ignore,” he said.

I groaned. “What does that mean?”

“Your lawyer sent his lackey over for a statement, and he showed up with a detective. They asked questions and I answered everyone truthfully; I met Bungee in the holding area for the first time.” He slid into the chair next to the door. “My ankles were swollen bad that day and I might have exaggerated my health issues a little, but I didn’t want to get arrested.”

“And what else,” I demanded. He still hadn’t made eye contact and fidgeted in the chair.

“Two other detectives showed up, banging on the door a couple of times, and I didn’t open up and invite them in. They’ve got to have a warrant to kick the door down. I figured if I didn’t leave my place, they couldn’t take me into custody.”

“You might as well face your possible felonies. The worry will kill you instead of the cancer.”

He scuffed his shoe back and forth on the cement porch. “I called Mr. Famosa to smooth things over. He was totally pissed at being lied to and even angrier when I told him I didn’t have any money.”

I did a mental eye roll. It surprised me Joseph was still breathing to tell the story and that the cops hadn’t found him dead or that he hadn’t just disappeared. No one screwed with Brick without unpleasant consequences.

Joseph cleared his throat. “He was more concerned that it would ‘F’ up his relationship with you.” Joseph shuddered. “Then he made a clicking noise, told me that would be the last sound I heard before dropping dead.”

“How did the conversation end?” I asked.

“He hung up on me.”

Signature Brick! Nice to know I’m not the only one who gets hung up on. I’d have Fab call and smooth things over.

I peered over my shoulder at the sound of male voices at the opposite end of the driveway. Bad Cop and Good Cop stood conversing with Mac and Fab. All four stared in my direction.

“Looks like the cops are back.” I motioned to Joseph.

He kicked his chair back, ran into his cottage, and turned the dead bolt.

I picked up the chair and waited for them as they ambled up the driveway in form-fitting jeans, both in all black. “Hello, officers.” I flashed an insincere smile. All I could think of was going home; if only I’d left a few minutes sooner.

“We’d like to speak with Mr. LeBeaux. We see he’s finally home,” Bad Cop said, and knocked on the door. Rather civilized in comparison to my obnoxious pounding.

They both did a leisurely perusal over my body. I glared at both of them.

“Are you here to arrest him? Does he need a lawyer?” I asked.

Good Cop frowned at me. “It’s none of your business.”

I forced myself not to sound snotty. “Do you want him to open the door or not? You can’t kick it in without a warrant.”

“Just get him to open the door,” he growled. “We have more questions about his friend Benjamin ‘Bungee.’ Have you seen him?”

Bad Cop returned from looking around the side of the cottage. They had to know by this time that the only two exits were facing the front.

“Hell no. I would’ve reported him immediately to the local sheriff.” I pulled out my cell phone. “You better not be lying,” I said while texting for Joseph to open up:
They’re not here to arrest you. Only questions
. “Or I’ll complain to Chief Harder.”

The lock turned from the inside. Joseph opened the door and motioned them in.

“They said they just wanted to talk and I believe them,” I told Joseph.

I turned to the cops and said, “Have a nice day.”

“What was that all about?” Fab asked when I joined them.

“Still looking for Bungee,” I said to Mac. “Put out the low-life alert and see if anyone knows where he’s hiding out. The sooner he’s picked up, the sooner these impromptu police visits will stop.”

Fab snapped her fingers at Mac. “You owe me five.”

“What did you two wager on this time?” I asked.

The unmarked police car had caught the attention of the snoopy neighbor next door, who hung out his bathroom window about ready to fall.