Madison Westin 02-Deception in Paradise (11 page)

“You’re exaggerating. A slap on the wrist,” he said.

“You’re awfully cavalier with my life.”

“Just think about it.”

“I have thought about it, and the answer is no,” I shot back. “In fact, a big no. Do you remember the last time I tried to take the blame for something you did?”

“What are talking about?”

“The drag racing incident? You spinning out of control and smashing into the living room of some old man’s house. Ring any bells?”

He shrugged. “All you had to do was say you were driving.”

“I did, you bastard. You failed to tell me there were seventeen eyewitnesses, and the police interviewed every one of them. Everyone in the neighborhood had been sitting out on their porch that day. Funny thing, I couldn’t pass for a six-foot, blond-haired man. I could’ve gone to jail.”

“You weren’t arrested.”

“I was handcuffed and forced to sit in the back of a police car for over an hour. They let me think I was on my way to be booked into county jail. In case you care, I decided then it was the last time I would lie for anyone.”

“Do this one damn thing. You do this, and the whole situation goes away, and I’ll leave town tomorrow.”

“I’m not doing it.”

“I’m going to go shower. In case the cops show up, I’m sliding out the back. I’ll lay low for a few days, and they’ll either go away, or they can deal with my lawyer,” Jax said.

I decided it wasn’t a good time to tell him Pavel died from a gunshot wound. He’d trip over himself getting out the door, leave town, and leave me to answer questions that I didn’t have the answers to. He wasn’t one to confront his problems head on if there was an easier way, one that didn’t include confrontation. He liked being Goodtime Jax. I’d told him one time that a person was judged by their word, and his was crap. He’d smiled and walked away.

He stared at me, trying to decide what his next bad decision would be. He started to speak, changed his mind, and got up and went upstairs.

“Clean up the sand on the floor,” I yelled after him. Maybe it would be better if he left town. I didn’t know what to think. Eventually, he’d be caught because he wasn’t smart enough to stay out of trouble. Before he went anywhere, I needed to get my house issue settled. Ever since the first day I’d found him sitting on my couch, I’d been sucking down yogurt for my chronic stomachache.

I had to get out of the house, away from Jax and images of a murder I had nothing to do with. I grabbed a couple of plastic sand pails, went out the door, and headed for the beach.

CHAPTER 15

I stood at the kitchen sink washing my seashells, having collected four buckets full. The long walk in the warm sand with the breeze blowing through my hair had felt good as I bent over every after other step, picking up shells. I looked out the window. The gate stood open in the front, and a sheriff’s car sat on the other side of the street. A dark sedan pulled up behind it. I shut off the water and ran for my cell phone. I hurriedly called Cruz Campion.

“This is Madison Westin. Is Mr. Campion in?”

“Hi, Madison. It’s Susie.” Cruz’s assistant was always friendly, but I had to go through her to speak to him.

“He said to call when the sheriff showed up, and they’re banging on my door as we speak.”

“Go open the door and find out who’s the investigator in charge. Mr. Campion’s out of the office; I’ll text him the info.”

I went to the door and looked out the peephole. Kevin and Detective Harder stood there. Thank goodness for Kevin. Harder and I had history, and it wasn’t pleasant. Harder hated Zach and so, by extension, he hated me.

“Susie, its Kevin Cory, and Detective Harder.”

“Don’t say anything, and Cruz will get back to you.”

I pasted a smile on my face and opened the door. “Hi, guys.”

“We’d like to talk to you. Can we come in?” Kevin asked.

“No.” I should’ve taken Jax’s idea and snuck out the back door.

“What does that mean?” Kevin asked, looking uncomfortable.

“Do you have a search warrant?”

Neither of them said a word.

“It means you can’t come in,” I said. “What do you want?” I looked at Detective Harder.

“Where’s the boat?” Harder demanded. “I have questions about the accident.”

“My lawyer is Cruz Campion, and he said not to answer any questions until he got here.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but Harder didn’t know that.

“You got yourself a good lawyer this time. I heard the last one wouldn’t rep you for littering.” Harder laughed. “Where were you the night of the murder?”

“Like I said, contact Cruz.” Harder was talking about Tucker Davis. He’d been my lawyer very briefly, and things didn’t end to his satisfaction. Tucker was probably sorry he didn’t think about framing me.

“I figured your alibi would be your criminal girlfriend. How is Fabiana Merceau?”

My phone rang, and I jumped for it, the interruption timely.

“This is Cruz. Let me speak to Harder.”

“Here you go.” I handed Harder the phone. Harder scared me. I was sure he tormented insects for his own amusement.

“Figures she had you on speed dial,” Harder said with a half-smile. Cruz must have said something funny because Harder laughed. “You graduated at the top of your class. You know I can take her in and hold her until you show up.”

I held my breath. I could hear Cruz’s voice, but couldn’t make out the words.

“When you show up tomorrow, have the boat with you.” Harder paused. “Cruz wants to coach you.” He handed me my phone.

“Answer only yes or no,” Cruz said. “Is the boat there?”

“No.”

“Okay, I’ll make him get a subpoena, and you should prepare yourself for the fact he’ll get a search warrant for your house. I told him we’d meet with him tomorrow afternoon. Is that convenient?”

“Yes.”

“See you tomorrow. You can shut the door in his face.” Cruz hung up, laughing.

I looked at Harder. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I stepped back to shut the door.

“One more thing.” He put his hand on the door. “Where’s Jackson Devereaux?”

“I don’t know. He wasn’t here when I woke up this morning.” Technically, I was telling the truth.

“Have him call me.” He handed me his business card. “If he doesn’t, I’ll have him tracked down.”

“Okay.” I shut the door and breathed a sigh of relief.

I walked into the living room and picked up Jazz. He looked at me like, “What?” I hugged him until he meowed, then I laid him back down so he could go back to sleep. I wanted to lie down with him, but I was in total pace mode.

“Now what?” I said when the doorbell rang. It rang three more times before I could get to the door. “Whoever it is, you’re really annoying me.”

I opened the door, and my brother was standing there. “Hi, Brad. I didn’t know you were back. How was the fishing?” I moved to hug him, but he stepped back.

My brother had sun-bleached hair and a dark tan from the long hours he spent on his commercial fishing boat. He liked to say, “From my boat to your dinner plate.”

He glared at me, his face full of anger. “Where the hell is he? Why would you let fucking Dickhead use my boat?”

I had seen my brother mad before, but never at me. “I didn’t.”

“You think I’m stupid? The keys, where it was stored, all takes knowledge. If not you, then who?” He walked inside, slamming the door.

“He figured it out by himself.”

“That dumb bastard is not that smart.”

“Would you stop yelling? I’m not deaf.”

“The boat was not yours to loan.”

“Let me say this slowly. I did
not
loan him the boat.”

“I got a call that Dickhead was racing around at night, no running lights on, and hit a mile marker. The best part involves a dead fisherman.”

“I don’t know what happened out there that night. The dead guy’s name is Pavel Klaus, and I didn’t know him either.”

“What in the hell is the matter with you? You’re awfully calm.”

“I’ve been living this for a couple of days. Lower your voice or get out. I’m tired of being interrogated. I don’t have any answers for you.”

A loud thud against the front door brought our yelling to a halt.

“What was that?” Brad opened the door, and Jax fell in the entryway.

Jax lay there battered, bruised, his nose bleeding, clearly on the losing end of a nasty fight.

“What the hell happened?” I asked.

“Help me get him over to the couch,” Brad said.

Jax groaned when we laid him on the couch.

“Should I call 911?” I asked Brad.

“What the hell happened to you, you jerk-off? Do you need to go to the hospital?” Brad asked.

“I hate doctors,” Jax moaned. “Man, I’m sorry about the boat. I’ll work on it until it’s one hundred percent.”

The man could fix anything. If he didn’t know how something worked, it didn’t take long until he had it figured out.

“You bet your ass you will,” Brad growled. “What does the other guy look like?”

“They look fine.” Jax was having a hard time catching his breath. “I was jumped from behind by a couple of fishermen thugs, friends of Pavel who think I murdered him. They told me they were going to beat me to death.”

“How did you get away?” Brad asked.

“A guy bigger than both of those two assholes put together showed up. They took one look at the barrel of his gun and took off. He told them there wouldn’t be any second warning. He tossed me into the back of his truck bed and dropped me off here. Told me to clean up my mess and get out of town. He said Madison was off limits.”

“What’s he talking about?” Brad asked me.

“I wasn’t there.” My money was on Slice, Zach’s investigator, but it wasn’t the time to ask questions. There was nothing to be gained in aggravating Brad any further. “I’ll get something to stop the bleeding.” I ran into the kitchen.

“You need to be careful. There are more than a few guys down at the docks that would kill for twenty-five bucks and a twelve-pack,” Brad told Jax. “Where’s the boat?” he asked me.

“The boat’s been trailered to Moron’s. He’s going to get started right away. I’ll pay for the repairs,” I said.

“It’s not about who pays. I put hours of sweat into that boat. I’ll never understand why you let Dickhead joyride around with his lowlife friends.”

“She didn’t,” Jax wheezed.

“Shut up,” Brad replied. “Why are you here anyway?”

“Stop it,” I said. “His breathing is getting worse. He needs to go to the doctor, whether he likes it or not.”

The doorbell sounded. I opened the door, and our mother stood there.

“Oh, isn’t this nice?” I said. “You show up after unleashing Brad on me with no warning, when you knew I wanted to be the one to tell him what happened.”

“What are you talking about?” Mother pushed past me. “Brad.” She hugged him. “What the hell happened to him?” she asked, pointing at Jax.

“A couple of Pavel supporters decided to beat him to death,” I explained.

“Can’t you stay out of trouble?” Mother took the towel from Jax and gently cleaned the blood from his nose and mouth. “How was your trip?” she asked Brad.

“Trip was good, filled the tanks in record time and came back early.”

“It’s late for you to be here in the Cove. Another date with Spoon?” I asked Mother.

“Madison, please.” And then to Brad. “Is Madison in any danger?”

Brad glared at me. “What the hell are you talking about now?”

“Didn’t mother tell you she’s dating Spoon?”

“That criminal with the tattoos?”

“Same one.” I felt a little bad, rolling mother under the bus.

“There must be something in the water down here. You two have lost your minds.” Brad turned to Mother. “You’re not going to date Spoon if I have to take him fishing, tie weights to his ankles, and push him overboard.”

“I’ll help you get Jax to your truck,” I told Brad. “I’ll come with you.”

“You stay here. I’ll deal with this.”

“You can bring Jax back here if they don’t keep him overnight,” I said.

“He’s coming home with me. I’m going to spell out just how helpful he’s going to be in getting the boat back in the water.” Brad glared at Jax.

“I’ll get it running better than before,” Jax said.

“Hardly, since I did the original work.”

I remembered when the two of them had restored a turquoise 1964 F-100 short bed truck; it was a work of art when they finished. I never understood why Brad had sold it.

I pointed at Mother. “Take her with you.”

“Madison, what has gotten into you?” Mother asked.

“You knew I wanted to be the one to tell Brad and then you did it. No heads-up? Nothing?”

“She didn’t tell me anything,” Brad said. “I heard about it the second I docked the boat. You, your ex here, and the dead guy were all anyone wanted to talk about.”

“Slow down,” Jax mumbled as Brad pulled him to his feet. I shut the door behind them.

“I want an apology,” Mother demanded.

“For what?”

“It was my right to tell Brad about Spoon, not yours. I’m your mother, in case you forgot.”

“I’m sorry. I took all my frustration out on you. It wasn’t very satisfying, if that matters.”

“What’s wrong with Spoon?” Mother asked.

“Would you want
me
dating Spoon?”

“He’s a better man than Jackson Devereaux,” she defended.

“At least Jax hasn’t been to prison,” I shot back. I was on shaky ground; Jax had been to jail.

“I didn’t come here to talk about Spoon. I’m a grown woman and can decide who I want to date.”

“You remember those words. You’ll be hearing them again when I’m telling you the same thing.”

I could tell she wanted to send me to my room. I almost wished she would, so I could sit up there with the door locked. I took a deep breath to step back from the drama.

“Don’t worry. Brad will calm down,” Mother reassured me.

“Jax being dumped on the doorstep cooled down the conversation. I didn’t get a chance to ask Brad how long he’ll be in port.”

“I’ll call him tomorrow,” Mother said.

“Do you want to spend the night?”

“Stay in the same room Dickhead was in? No thanks.”