Trouble in Paradise (16 page)

“You’re a schmuck,” Spoon said to Zach, and then went back
to Mother.

“What the hell is going on? I got a message to come to
Tropical Slumber and bring Slice?” Zach asked.

“This is Dickie’s big night. An open house needs people to
be successful. I knew none of you would support him, you know, from one
business man to another, so I sent out cryptic party invitations. Open bar.” I
pointed.

Slice had walked up beside Zach. “You’ve got a lot of nerve
but I like you anyway. I’m going to get a beer.”

“You know what I like about you? You’re nice to the weirdest
people, and I’m embarrassed to say I have zero patience,” Zach said and kissed
me.

“There are no dead people here,” Fab said, walking up beside
us.

“How do you know?” Zach almost laughed and caught himself.

“I snooped around,” Fab said. “Went through every single
room. They’re building a new crematorium at the back of the property. I wonder
what they use now? It’s not like you can use the kitchen oven.”

The three of us walked over to the bar. “This is a funeral
home,” Zach reminded Fab. “Slice and I have to get back to work.”

Slice handed Zach a beer and, to my surprise, he took it and
downed about a quarter of it.

“Say something that sounds nice to Dickie on the way out,” I
requested.

Fab smirked at Zach.

“What?” Zach asked. “Tell me and I’ll say it.”

“‘Good-bye, thanks for the beer.’ What do you say at the end
of a business meeting?”

“I’m collecting on this later.” Zach kissed me. He set his
unfinished beer on the bar, Slice waved and they disappeared out the side door.

“Fab, I saw you talking to Dickie. What was that all about?”
I asked. “I did notice he didn’t look scared.”

“I wanted to meet Raul, see where he was on the weirdo
meter. How do you suppose those two got together?” Fab asked.

“Oh brother. Everyone’s prince charming comes in assorted
packaging. I know a few odd couples that are very happy together.”

“You need a drink, but get it to go. When do we get to
leave? I saw your mother sneak out with her boy toy.”

Fab clearly had had enough and would start pestering me
every second or, worse, start something. “I’ll get everyone together.”

“I want to thank all of you for being such good sports,” I
said, on the way out the door.

“Me too?” Fab asked.

“Yes, Fab, you too.”

The sign on the office door at The Cottages read, ‘At the
pool.’ Mac lay stretched out on a lounge, wearing two pieces of cloth and
string across her chest, her skirt hiked up to the top of her legs.

“Is that appropriate work attire?” I asked, sitting down on
the concrete, putting my feet in the pool.

“I wore this under my white blouse today. It looks like I
have on a colorful bra.”

No it doesn’t.
“What’s going on?” I didn’t say
anything about her unique wardrobe. The tourists loved her always-cheerful
personality, and she handled the regulars without use of force.

“Everybody’s happy except the usual suspects. The Shiners
are fighting. I think when Kibble gets tired of getting his ass kicked, he
kicks back. Barbie’s sporting a black eye. Told me she got into a fight behind
Custer’s.”

“If you catch something from Custer’s and die, don’t say I
didn’t warn you.”

The city wanted to shut down Custer’s bar in the worst way
and not just because it was a rat hole. They had been planning for years to
highjack his property. The bar sat on prime real estate, on the main strip
through town, across from the beach. But, the bar’s namesake wasn’t stupid and
beat them in court every time.

“Joseph’s mommy-slash-girlfriend is a real shit stirrer.
Choose your words carefully when you’re around her and don’t turn your back.
She loves to start trouble. When did Joseph get so dickless?”

I noticed a car pulled into the driveway.  “Damn, the
sheriff just drove up.” Mac and I watched Johnson get out of his car and head
straight to Barbie and Kibble’s door.

“A dollar says they don’t open,” Mac said.

“I’m not taking that bet. They’re stupid but my guess,
Barbie jumps out the window and Kibble hides under the bed.”

“Another dollar says he’d never fit under the bed even with
a good shove.”

Officer Johnson knocked so loud we could hear the pounding
at the pool area. “Even my cop knock isn’t that loud,” I said. “I’m going to go
find out what’s going on.”

“Bad idea, but I’m coming too.” It was a straight diagonal
across the driveway.

“I guess they’re not home,” I told Johnson, trying to curb
my sarcasm. “Is there a problem?” 

Johnson pulled a business card from his jacket. “Tell the
Shiners I want to talk to them,” he said, holding it out for me to take.

“You need to leave it on the door.” I wasn’t getting
involved.

“What’s up with the old woman?” Johnson pointed to Miss
January. She had slipped out of her chair, her butt hanging just above the
porch. Her arms looped around the armrests kept her from sliding completely to
the ground. “I’ll call the paramedic.”

“Not necessary. I’ll take care of her,” I said, walking
across to Miss January’s cottage; she was neighbors with the Shiners.

First, I made sure Miss January had a pulse. I unhooked her
arms, put one arm around my neck, and tugged her upright. “Come on, I’m going
to help you inside.” Miss January opened her eyes briefly when I put her on the
bed, I removed her shoes, and left her snoring.

Johnson cleared the driveway, but hadn’t made it to the
corner, when Barbie and one of her friends climbed out the bathroom window,
crushing the impatiens in the planter before disappearing down the beach.

“They must’ve committed a felony,” Mac said.

“I’m going to ask Joseph to find out.”

“How are you going to get past the bulldog?” Mac asked.
“Damn that woman. Do you know how many times I’ve told her she can’t hang her
laundry on the patio?”

I looked down to the opposite end of the driveway. Veta had
put up one of those retractable clothes lines. She had hung Joseph’s tighty-whities
for the neighborhood to see and just brought out another basket. 

“From here I could shoot holes in the laundry and then I bet
she’d remember,” I said.

“What if you shoot her?” Mac asked.

“You just squashed a great visual. I’ll take care of this.
You’re coming.” I motioned. “Run interference and maybe I can get a word with
Joseph. Hey, Veta!” I yelled.

“I’ve told you, you’re to call me ‘Miss Lindsay,’” she
scolded and shook her finger.

When Mac and I reached the front door, I reminded her,
“You’ve been told not to hang your laundry outside. If you do it again, I’ll
ban you from the property and Joseph can move.”

“What does it matter?” Veta shot back.

“No one, and I mean no one, wants to look at your underwear
flapping in the wind. Take it down now. I’ll wait,” I said.

Joseph appeared in the doorway. He looked stressed, stooped.
I motioned to him and gave Mac a slight shove in Veta’s direction. The second
Veta went inside with her laundry basket Mac blocked the door.

“Why are the cops visiting the Shiners?” I asked Joseph.
“Please get me anything you can about Cosmo Rich.”

Veta rushed through the side door of the unit. “I don’t want
you talking to Joey without me present. You’ll get him in trouble and then
what?”

“He doesn’t look well.” I glared at her. “You don’t have to
like me, I couldn’t care less.” My patience had run out for the day. “But you
have to be civil and follow the rules while visiting the property. No more
laundry.”

While Veta had her back to Joseph, he looked at me and made
a phone sign with his thumb and pinky to his ear.

The second I opened my front door, I yelled for Fab and at
the same time my phone rang.

“Hi, Mother,” I said looking at the screen.

“Come over here now.” Mother sounded frantic.

I grabbed my aspirin bottle out of my purse. “What’s going
on?”

“The neighbor kid continues to sneak over here and swim in
my pool. I caught him again today and called his father. He told me to go to
hell. You need to be the bad guy, since you don’t live here. Come over and
handle this, you’re always so reasonable.”

“Not when it comes to my mother. I’ll bring Fab; she can
shoot the dad and then they’ll probably move.”

“Bring her, honey. I’ll see you in an hour.” Mother hung up.

“Who am I shooting?” Fab lay on the couch, one leg hanging over
the back, Jazz stretched out along side of her.

“Mother’s having neighbor issues. She should’ve called the
cops but wants to retain her standing as the darling of the neighborhood. She’s
acting odder than usual. You have her permission to shoot someone over swimming
in her pool.”

“Sounds like fun. Let’s go,” Fab said.

“Don’t take out your gun for any reason,” I said to Fab.

Before I could put my key in the lock, Mother opened her
front door, grabbed my arm, and pulled me inside. “Come upstairs.”

“Don’t you want me to talk to the neighbor?” I asked.

“Fab, you come too,” Mother said.

Mother was a bundle of nerves; Fab had a smug smile on her
face. An instant stomachache was my clue that Mother was up to something other
than neighbor issues.

“What’s going on?” I planted myself on the couch.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” Mother asked.

“I’ll have a glass.” Fab laughed. “I’m excited to tell you
we have a surprise for you.”

I groaned. “Tell me what’s going on or I’m leaving.”

The doorbell rang. “Aren’t you going to answer the door?” I
asked.

“Damn, he’s early,” Mother whispered. On the second ring,
she answered the door.

“Hi, ladies.” Creole walked in, wearing a pair of black
tuxedo pants and a white dress shirt. He carried his coat and tie on a hanger.
“You’re not dressed; you only have an hour,” he said to me.

“For what?” I asked.

Mother and Fab stood together smiling.

“Your mother graciously fixed us up. I thought you knew. I
needed a date for this company party.”

“I told you I couldn’t go,” I reminded Creole. I glared at
Mother. “I have a boyfriend and you heard me tell Creole.”

“Madison, it’s not like you’re married,” Mother pointed out.

“And we won’t ever be, if you keep this up. Enough already.
You promised you’d stop with these hideous fix-ups.” I looked at Creole.
“You’re out of luck. I don’t have a damn thing to wear, unless I want to
embarrass myself in these sweat shorts, which I don’t.”

“Where am I going to find a date now?” He looked at his
watch.

“I’m not going.” I stuck my chin out.

“You most certainly are going,” Mother said. “I’ve taken
care of everything. Look at him, all dressed up, and handsome. I just went to a
damn party at a funeral home, ran interference and I’m your mother.”

“You’ll have fun,” Fab coaxed.

When Mother whips out her trump card, ‘I’m your mother,’
game over, she wins. “What am I wearing?” I sighed.

I felt glamorous and sexy in the black, strapless gown, with
a corseted waist and front split skirt gently falling to ankle-length, walking
up the stairs and through the front doors of the Flagler Museum. My red curls
were swept up off my neck, secured by two pearl combs.

The Flagler, also known as Whitehall, was once the personal
residence of  Henry Flagler; an empire builder, who set his sights on St.
Augustine transforming what was seen as a desert into a garden spot,  he had
given it to his wife as a wedding present. A magnificent estate, a historical
landmark that overlooks Lake Worth in Palm Beach.

“What are we doing here?” I asked.

“Tonight is our annual dinner-auction. The money earned goes
to a fund for widows and children of fallen officers. In addition, they look
philanthropic holding their dinner here because an additional ten percent
premium is added to the sale of each item and those proceeds go to the
preservation of the museum.”

We entered the main entry hall which had on display its
newest exhibit of modern art. We stopped to look at the first painting along
with another couple that came up and stood beside us. “Don’t you think the
artist has transformed pure abstraction, taking it in new directions?” the
woman asked me.

“Stunning,” I said, twisting slightly, squinting. The artist
had six vowels in his name; I wouldn’t embarrass myself by throwing it out so I
could pretend to know something about abstract art.

Creole nodded to the man in agreement. “What are you doing?”
he whispered.

“Trying to see if it looks less like a hot mess with my eyes
half closed. There’s no palm tree, no water, shells.”

“It doesn’t speak to me either.” Creole laughed.

“If it starts to talk to me, I need to go home. Show me an
old master, now, that takes my breath away. Not modern scribble that I don’t
understand.”

“The more I learn about you the more I want to know,
combined with that laugh I may have to shoot your boyfriend.”

“You rock that tuxedo of yours.” I checked him out. “All
cleaned up, you look like a corporate executive.”

“I really want to kiss you.” Creole ran his finger across my
lip.

“Cousins don’t kiss.”

“First cousins is illegal I believe. Plus, my adoption was unofficial
and we’re not blood, so there’s no cousin hurdle. Want something to drink?”

“White wine,” I said, relieved that Creole was being a
gentleman.

“I’ll muscle my way through to the bar and grab us drinks.
Be right back.” Creole disappeared into the crowd.

“Madison!” Buckshot boomed, his wife Cynthia glued to his
side. “You’re looking good, girl.” 

Buckshot was a longtime client and good friend of Zach’s.
This overly tanned couple was the toast of South Miami, according to the
headlines on the latest cover of a Miami magazine for people with money. I
found Buckshot genuinely nice, but his bleach blond, snotty, annoying wife made
my head hurt.

“Nice to see both of you again.” I smiled at Buckshot,
making no effort to include Cynthia.

“Where’s Zach?” Buckshot looked around.

Creole appeared at my side. I ignored the question. “Creole,
Buckshot Jones and his wife, Cynthia.”

“Damn shame; I thought you and Zach were a great couple. No
offense,” Buckshot said to Creole.

Cynthia unleashed her claws. “The last time we saw Zach, he
mentioned he’d moved on and fallen in love with someone else.”

My first conversation with Cynthia had been in the bathroom
of a restaurant. She’d concocted some fantasy relationship in her mind starring
Zach, and clearly she wasn’t over her starring role.

Someone called out to Buckshot demanding his appearance.
“Good to see you,” he said and they disappeared into the crowd.

“What did you do to her, sleep with her husband?” Creole
asked.

“I’ve never slept with someone else’s boyfriend or husband.
You?” I asked.

“I unknowingly got involved with a married woman once.
Didn’t end well. Now I run a background
and
motor vehicle check and need
at least three written references from living people.”

“Date a psycho or two have you? I have an ex-husband
skeleton in my closet. I’d think you could have your pick of dates.”

“I played hardball negotiations with your mother, told her
I’d marry you, and get to know you later.” Creole winked. “And chances were
good I wouldn’t be returning you.”

“I can’t believe we’re not married, after that promise.”

“Madeline thought about it, but I convinced her you needed
to pick your own husband. Elizabeth was low-key outrageous, and had a way of
finessing situations to her liking. Your mother is bold as brass.”

“Mother would love that description. I heard someone tell
her once, ‘You’d think you had balls,’ and with steely eyes she responded, ‘How
do you know I don’t?’”

Creole laughed. “Madeline’s a character. I’m happy you’re
here and that you didn’t make me do this with a rent-a-date. They charge triple
for last minute. I’ll behave myself,” then adding, “for the most part.”

“I’d hate to end this evening by shooting you.”

“Complete my fantasy and tell me you’re packing.” He kissed
my cheek. “I need to make my presence known to my boss; I’ll introduce you to
his date.”

“No thanks, I’m terrible at small talk. There’s a jewelry
exhibit in this side room.”

A tuxedo clad waiter came my way, holding out a platter of
raw fish. I shook my head and smiled, refraining from telling him, “I like my
fish cooked.”

I stood in front of the glass display admiring a solid gold
breastplate necklace, with intricate chains, wondering if it was as heavy as it
looked. Arms went around the front of me, pulling the back of my body to a
masculine front.

“Are we dating other people?” Zach whispered in my ear.

I turned around in his arms. “What are you doing here?” I
gasped in surprise.

“That’s not an answer.”

I stepped back looking at him in a tuxedo. “Look at you, all
delectable looking.” Zach looked good in anything he wore. Personally, I
preferred a towel that could be yanked off. “This is your fault.”

“Does Madeline have anything to do with your being here?”
Zach groaned. “Have you told her you just use me for the smokin’ hot sex, and
that I have asked you to move in but you get some nervous twitch.”

Slice’s appearance stopped the conversation. “Look at you,
all dressed up in a tux.” I winked at him. “Do a little spin.” I twirled my
finger.

“And curtsy while you’re at it,” Zach growled.

“Not my problem I look better in a tux than you do. Although
I’m sure Madison would be too nice to point that out,” Slice said.

“Go away,” Zach said to Slice.

Slice handed off his drink glass to a waiter passing by and
walked away laughing.

“I’d like to unzip you out of this dress,” Zach said
planting a kiss on my cleavage. “Where’d you get the boobs? They get bigger
every time I see you.” He backed me into the corner. There was one other couple
in the room, in the opposite corner, their laughter suggesting an intimate
moment.

“Mother bought them. The tag said, ‘adds two cup sizes.’”

“I don’t want that bastard even looking at your cleavage.
Come home with me,” Zach said.

Thank you, Mother.
“We’re just friends. Creole has
friend of the family status.”

“I don’t like that either. What’s my status?”

“I want to reassure you, Zach Lazarro, that I’m not done
with you yet. You’re not in jeopardy of being traded. You go back to work and
I’ll go back to my blind date. You know nothing happens on the first date.”

Zach arched his eyebrows. “Are you forgetting we had banging
sex on your patio?”

“We lived together first. I’d even previewed you in your
underwear,” I said with a straight face.

“Is he bothering you?” Creole asked from behind me, handing
me a glass of white wine.

“You’re bothering us.” Zach glared at him. He grabbed me,
giving me a long kiss. “See you later. Don’t touch her,” he said to Creole.

Zach had marked his territory and it felt good. “What’s up
with you two?” I wanted to touch my lips, savor the kiss.

“Zach thinks I’m a drug dealing criminal who belongs in
jail.”

“Why not tell him? You grew up together, best friends. That
should count for something. If anyone would keep your secret and have your
back, it would be Zach.”

“Pissed me off when he jumped to conclusions. Why should I
clear up any misconceptions? There’s a certain comfort in carrying a justified
grudge.”

“Zach’s probably going to warn Madeline or, worse, Brad.
You’re a link to Elizabeth that I don’t want to lose.”

“I’d warn her too,” Creole said. “I made my ass-kissing
rounds, shook hands with the right higher-ups. So whenever you’re ready, we can
sneak out, go eat chicken someplace else.”

In my front hallway, Creole pushed me up against my front
door, covering my body with his. The house was quiet; Fab must’ve gone to bed.
“I know you were tricked into this date. You’re the only woman I know who would
be such a good sport.” He brushed stray red curls behind my ear. “You saved me
from taking a hooker date, like a couple of other guys showed up with.”

“You need to get their numbers and give them to Mother.
She’d love to drive them crazy finding them dates.”

“I’ve been a perfect gentleman.”

“Except for the times you looked down the front of my
dress,” I said.

“I could’ve stared a lot longer.”

“False advertising.” I made a face. “Mother got carried away
when she bought the bra.”

“I’m sorry,” Creole said.

“For what?”

He leaned in to kiss me.

“You can stop now,” Fab interrupted. I guess she wasn’t
asleep after all. “Madison has a boyfriend and I’d hate to have to shoot you.”
She stood at the bottom of the stairs, hands on her hips, wearing a skimpy
nightgown.

“You’re a pain in the ass,” Creole told Fab.

“That’s old news. Goodnight.” Fab pointed to the door.

“Don’t be so rude.” I almost laughed.

“I wouldn’t want to be rude,” Fab purred. “Stay as long as
you want, I’m not going anywhere.”

Creole glared at Fab. “Thank you.” He kissed me lightly on
the lips, closing the door behind him.

“You’re worse than a father on prom night,” I said. “Thank
you for interrupting. I’m surprised you didn’t do it with a shotgun.” I kicked
off my heels. “Unzip my dress, this bra has to come off. Damn thing digs into
my skin.”