Greed in Paradise (Paradise Series) (2 page)

I couldn’t wait for Mother to say, “How was your day, honey?”

“Started out with a gun in my face, but no worries, he’s dead.”

Since it rained all day, my long red hair bushed out to five times its normal size. I managed to tame most of it with a black pāua shell hairclip, tendrils falling around the sides of my cheeks and the back of my neck. I threw on my dress, reached for the bamboo bracelets Mother and I found in an out-of-the-way store in Marathon Key, fastened my earrings, and slipped into my flip-flops. Admiring my outfit in the standing mirror, I reluctantly chose low-heeled slip-ons because I knew Mother would freak.

Before leaving, I nuzzled the neck of my very old, longhaired, black cat, Jazz, who was laying sound asleep on my bed. His meow sounded like, “Stop that.” I was damn jealous I wasn’t lying beside him and it irritated me that he went right back to sleep—I could never do that so quickly.

I listened at the top of the stairs and there wasn’t a single sound except for the whir of the ceiling fans. Fabiana Merceau, my best friend and roommate, had gone somewhere with her French model boyfriend, Didier. Just one name, like a rock star. He looked like one, too. He had Mother, Fab, and I under his spell.

I had inherited my two-story Key West-style home from my aunt Elizabeth. I decorated it beachy, and chose oversized down-filled furniture one could curl up on and go to sleep. I loved that family and friends knew they could choose my house to hang up their flip-flops anytime, day or night. Close friends walked in through the French doors from the patio whether they were locked or not. I tried to think of a single friend I had who didn’t carry a lock pick.

Grabbing my purse off the entry bench, I went out and slid behind the wheel of my black convertible Hummer. I’d gotten an excellent deal after my previous SUV went to car heaven or was more likely smooshed and sent to a recycler after it had been torched. The streets of The Cove were slick and wet from the rain that had finally stopped. I drove slowly, which suited me anyway. I knew where all the cop hiding places were for ticket-giving, and in the long run, it was faster to drive the speed limit than to endure a cop’s lecture while trying to maintain a somewhat-pleasant look while being ticketed.

A car leaving The Crab Shack left an open space for me by the front door. The fun restaurant centered around an enormous tiki bar and waterfront dining that overlooked the cooler blue water of the Atlantic, and its food never disappointed.

If I ordered wine I wouldn’t be tempted to gulp it down; I just needed to take the edge off my nerves. I spotted Mother at a window table with her boyfriend, Jimmy Spoon. Both were seated so they could survey the comings and goings. To put it bluntly, Spoon looked like a thug with his scruffy brown hair and hard-as-nails brown eyes; but if you knew him, you also knew he had a huge heart. He told me once, “Don’t screw me and you won’t end up dead.”

Mother stood and hugged me. “You look great, honey.” She looked over my entire outfit down to my shoes. “Doesn’t she, Spoon?” Spoon winked and pulled out my chair.

“What did you do today?” Mother asked.

“Spent most of the day at Jake’s.” I wasn’t in the mood to relive all of the details, after all. She’d be mad when she found out. Spoon looked at me and arched his eyebrow. No wonder he hadn’t said a word, he already knew and hadn’t said anything either. I would have bet he knew minutes after the shooting, since the man had connections to gossip as soon as it happened. Hopefully, the doghouse would fit two.

“I’ll have some white wine,” I told the waiter.

Mother entwined her fingers with Spoon’s, smiling at him. Good thing my brother, Brad, wasn’t here. He hadn’t embraced the idea of Mother being with a younger man, which I suspected didn’t bother him as much as the bad-boy tag. She looked happy. She’d grown out her traditional blonde bob, which now looked wind-whipped, and the hemline of her black spaghetti-strap dress kept getting shorter. Her eyes were glued to the front of the restaurant.

“Are you expecting someone else?” I asked.

“Madeline, sorry I’m late.” A man I’d never seen before appeared from out of nowhere and kissed Mother’s cheek.

Spoon didn’t knock him on his butt, so I assumed he knew him until he checked the man over briefly, looking amused.

“This is my daughter, Madison Westin.” She smiled at him, then me. “Brian Varner,” she introduced. Brian held out his hand.

“I’ve been looking forward to dinner,” he said politely.

“I don’t shake hands.”

I found that nicety to be completely abhorrent; who knew where his hands had been? Mother kicked me under the table while Brian mumbled something and sat down next to me. I looked at Spoon’s face and knew Mother had once again broken her promise and set me up.

Mother and her damned blind dates…not one of them had ever been remotely interesting. I had a reprieve while Zach and I were a couple, but since I was single again, she wouldn’t rest until I was married and her dream of grandchildren came true. She stopped pestering Brad with attempts at fix-ups once he began dating Julie. She had a son named Liam, giving Mother one almost-grandchild; and she salivated for more.

I turned to Brian. “So, you’re my date?” The waiter set my wine glass in front of me or I’d have left.

He looked like a nice guy, but what did that mean anyway? Boring! A non-descript fellow, brown hair, cheeks flushed. I’d bet one of his body parts that he had no clue what he was getting into.

He groaned. “I’m sorry you didn’t know.”

“Brian is the director at Sunnyside Retirement Home. We met when he filled in and conducted a tour for my poker group.” Mother smiled at him.

“Are you and Spoon thinking about a move to the old-folks home?” I asked.

Brian coughed and took a drink of water. “Sunnyside is a scenic, maintenance-free, upscale senior-living retirement community, with all the amenities and extensive health care options for those in their retirement years.”

“Do you have a minimum age requirement?” I asked. “He’s my age,” I said, and looked at Spoon.

Spoon glared at me and I gave it right back. He downed the rest of his beer and set the bottle down with a bang.

Mother frowned. “Brian and I sat together at lunch and I realized the two of you had a lot in common. He’s unattached and so are you. It’s time for you to meet someone new.”

Brian looked uncomfortable. “I want to thank you, Madeline, for referring the Odell’s Sunnyside’s way.” He looked at me. “Your mother’s friends are quite lively.”

“They all smoke, drink, and gamble, don’t let those phony chips fool you; they’re backed with hard cash and payout when they leave. Do you allow these activities?” I pasted a phony smile on my face.

“Madison!” Mother kicked me again.

“We have a Bingo night that’s very popular,” Brian said.

I bet about now Brian wished he had ordered something besides a Shirley Temple. “My boyfriend left me for his supermodel ex-wife. What’s your story?” I took my annoyance with Mother out on him, and I regretted it instantly.

He patted my hand. “Madeline told me your sad little story. I’m very sorry.” He put his arm around my shoulders. “She also told me about your penchant for bad boys, they’re never worth it in the end,” he clucked. “You should try a regular guy for a change.”

“What a prick,” Spoon mouthed, glaring at him.

“I can’t believe you,” I said angrily to Mother. “What about your boyfriend?” I looked at Spoon. “She wasted your time,” I said to Brian and pushed his arm away. I grabbed my glass of wine, downed every last drop, and slammed it onto the table, shattering the stem.

No one said a word.

I shoved my chair back. “I’m not ready.” I burst into tears and ran past the hostess stand at the front of the restaurant, and right into the open arms of Creole who was coming in the door.

Creole grew up down the block from my Aunt Elizabeth, whom he had enjoyed a mother-son relationship with. She had unofficially adopted him, often hiding him from an abusive, drunken father. It surprised me that my brother and I didn’t meet him until I came to live in Tarpon Cove. Since my aunt’s death, I learned that she lived two lives and actually managed to keep them separate. From the day Creole introduced himself to the family, Mother had opened her heart to him as if he were a second son.

He put his arm around me and led me out of the restaurant. “Why are you crying?” he growled. “You know I hate that.”

“Take me home,” I sniffed.

Creole scooped me up in his arms and carried me across the parking lot to his pickup truck. He reached into the glove box and handed me a napkin after depositing me on the front seat.

“Do I need to go back in there and beat the hell out of someone?” His crystal blue eyes, now dark cobalt, bore into me.

I hit the highlights of what Mother had done and also explained that I overreacted because I’d had a crappy day.

“Madeline and I need to have talk. I’ll make it very clear that when you’re ready, I’m going to be your first date,” he barked.

It didn’t take long for Creole to become firmly entrenched as a member of our family—but thankfully not related by blood, since we’d kissed more than once. Even though he was easy to look at, lean and hard, and moved like a tiger on the prowl, I had no plans to start dating when breaking up still felt like an open wound. Besides, there were a few black marks on my relationship track record; an ex-husband lurked around out there somewhere.

“I’m high maintenance. I’ve been called crazy more times than I can count, and I’ve been known to carry a gun.” I smiled at him.

“You threatened to shoot me once, and did you see me running for the door?”

My stomach growled loudly. A glass of white wine on an empty stomach was now making me nauseous.

“How about Roscoe’s?” he asked. “I can get us onto the secret back patio where all the tables have chairs.”

Roscoe’s served the best burgers in Tarpon Cove, but after a couple of fights broke out he removed all of the seating in the front and told people to eat in their car or leave. He didn’t have a brisk walk-up business but the drive-through always had a waiting line. He could afford to reject the “customers always comes first” rule.

“Afterward, I need to go back to The Crab Shack and get my SUV.” I grabbed another napkin and wiped my eyes.

Creole picked up his phone. “Madison’s car is in the parking lot; you make sure it gets back to her place. It’s the least you can do since you’re part of the reason I found her crying.” After a short pause he added, “And tell your girlfriend that the next time she wants to set Madison up on a date, she runs it by me first. Got that?” He sat listening for a minute and then hung up.

“How did Spoon take you telling him what to do?”

“He laughed at my nerve but said he’d get your SUV back to the house. He can’t shoot me, I’m law enforcement.”

Shortly after my aunt’s death, Creole came back to South Florida on loan from the DEA in the pursuit of a big drug case. After locking up the bad guys, he transferred permanently to the Miami office and now consorts with drug dealers all day. “Creole” is an alias for his undercover work. Only a handful of people know his real name—Luc Baptiste. The Westin family perfected the art of secret keeping.

He pulled into Roscoe’s and parked. “Don’t move.”

He favored the big testosterone trucks, and being short made it impossible for me to get in and out by myself in a dignified fashion. He opened the door. I held out my arms and he swung me onto the ground, gave me a shake, and pushed me up against the side of his truck.

“You will explain to me why you didn’t call me after the shooting at Jake’s, and how come I had to hear about it through the grapevine.” Turning me completely around, he said, “No bandages, that’s a good sign.” He leaned down, his lips grazing my cheek.

He tugged on my hand, clearly impatient, and hustled me around the back and in through the delivery entrance. Roscoe and Creole did a convoluted hand shake, and man-hugged. Creole introduced me, saying, “This is Madison, my next girlfriend.”

Roscoe gave a shout of laughter before his dark eyes swept over me from head to toe. He stood basketball player tall, towering over Creole who is well over six feet. “Nice to meet you.” He smiled his approval. “I suppose you want entre to the private patio?”

“Can I brag to my friends?” I asked. I had enjoyed Roscoe’s food on many occasions. It was the place to go when your mouth watered for a great hamburger, but I always had to enjoy them from the front seat of my SUV.

Roscoe shook his finger. “No, you cannot. The riffraff will converge and demand entrance.” He took our order and I noticed he stuck it first on the wheel.

Creole pulled out my chair and went and got us bottled water. “Look at me,” he said when he returned, sitting across the small table from me. “You didn’t call me or Fab, why not?”

“Do you want me to cry all through dinner?” I flashed him a sad face, hoping to change the subject.

“I can get the information out of you and there won’t be a single tear shed.” He twisted my hair around his fingers and pulled my face forward. “Start talking.”

“Started the morning with being threatened. He’s dead; left a big mess. Johnson the sheriff is a dick and the crime scene cleaner dude is seriously weird. Can’t believe Kevin tried to fix up his sister Julie with him. Why were you at The Crab Shack?”

“Harder called with some sketchy details but knew you’d come out without a scratch. I went by the house and Fab informed me you were at The Crab Shack having dinner with Mother. She said Madeline stopped by, acting weird, so I thought I’d better check it out.”

Harder had earned the esteemed title of Chief of Detectives for the illustrative Miami police department, and was Creole’s boss. We got off to a rocky start, when he thought I had criminal tendencies and I thought he was an ass. Turns out we were both wrong.

I asked Harder once, “What’s your first name?”

“Detective,” he said. Now I suppose he’d change it to “Chief.”

Creole cut into my thoughts. “I heard Johnson had a few choice words for you today. He won’t bother you again. Ever,” he assured me.