Overdose in Paradise

by Deborah Brown

  Fab stepped up to the desk. “I’ve had enough of you and your surliness. I don’t care that you’re one of the best lawyers around.”

  “Ignore her bad attitude,” Emerson instructed. “She gave up sugar cold turkey. I told her to wean herself off, but did she listen? As you can see, she did not.” She motioned to Fab and me. “Step down to my office. I can get a criminal attorney on the phone. A good one.”

  “Sit the hell down.” Ruthie’s hand slammed down on her desktop. She winced. “You’re making my headache worse.” We filled the chairs in front of her desk. “Who’s the client?”

  “Dr. Stan Ardzruniannos, aka Dr. A. Made headlines when his girlfriend OD’d in his house.”

  “He’s a cutie,” Emerson gushed. “Did he provide the drugs? The news makes him out to be a drug-dealing scumhole.”

  “Never ask the guilt or innocence question.” Ruthie used her courtroom voice. “I’ll go by the jail tomorrow and talk to the man.”

  “Don’t you need to make an appointment?” Fab asked.

  The esteemed counselor actually snorted.

  “If, for whatever reason, you decide not to take the case, would you please call me?” I took my business card out of my pocket, shoving it across the desk.

  “Mother, you should call either way. On your drive back to the office would be a good time,” Emerson told her mom and got a frown in return. “Don’t worry.” She patted my arm. “I’ll make a note on my calendar to remind her.”

  I stood. “Thank you for your time.”

  “Out of curiosity, how long would you have stood out there and made spectacles of yourselves?” Ruthie asked.

  I looked at Fab.

  “As long as it took.” Fab smiled.

  Emerson stood. “I’ll show them out.”

  “Don’t get too friendly. They’re both trouble.” Spoken like a mom.

  “Come on, bad girl.” I looped my arm through Fab’s, and we laughed. There was more truth to that assessment than most people knew. Soon after we got outside, Emerson’s assistant came out of her office and held up five fingers.

  “I’ve got a conference call coming in,” Emerson explained. “If you ever need a referral to another lawyer, give me a call. I’ll set you up with someone with a good track record.”

  “You’re the best,” I said to her retreating back, and she waved. “She’s the only woman I know other than you that can run in heels and not end up face down.”

  “Just another of my talents.” Fab gunned the Hummer out of the driveway. At the signal, she held her hand out. “Pay up.”

  I reached down and grabbed my wallet. “Here’s what I owe, plus a tip because that performance was outstanding.” I put a twenty in her open palm.

  “I’ve got a surprise for you later.”

  “I don’t like surprises, and you know it.”

  “You can damn well get over it before Didier and I arrive early to pick you and Creole up for dinner at Brad’s.”

  I leaned my head against the window. “Family business meeting.” I sighed. “Last I heard, no one could agree on the agenda. Brad demanded, in his snooty authoritarian voice, that my talking points be submitted in writing.”

  Fab laughed. “And? You’d never let him get away with that.”

  “I wrote them down all right. On a sticky note pad and told him he could keep the rest.”

  “You want anything before I take you home?”

  I shook my head. “You mean Creole’s? I know I sound whiney, but it’s an adjustment when one’s house burns down.” I sighed again. “Sorry for the pity party. After all, you and Didier lost everything too.”

  Fab and I had been roommates since the day she showed up, bags in hand, and moved into the house I had inherited from my Aunt Elizabeth. Then, one sunny afternoon six months ago, a deranged man with revenge on his mind decided it was a good day to torch the place with me in it.

  “What I hate the most is having to drive over to drink morning coffee with you.”

  “And I thought I was the sentimental one.” I winked. “When is your monstrosity of a house going to be ready? First morning after you move in, it’s coffee on the beach.”

  When she and Didier got married, Fab had had her eye on a house at the other end of the street from where Creole lived. She’d mentioned it to her father, and he bought the whole block, except Creole’s house, as a wedding gift. The two other houses that were part of the deal now stood empty. That’s one way to pick your neighbors.

  “We’ve just gotten our occupancy permit, and I emailed the contractor with a list of repairs that need to be addressed. Didier was surprised at how active a role I took in the renovations. I didn’t abuse the free reign by leaving him out and instead ran every detail by him so that we could agree on it.”

  “Married life,” I cooed. “Housing is another item on the list of things Creole and I need to discuss. We really do need more space. I don’t want to give up entertaining the family, and we don’t have the room to fit everyone at his house.”

  “Why isn’t getting married at the top of that list?”

  “Yours, Mrs. Didier, was so outrageously over-the-top beautiful, who can compete? I know it’s not a competition,” I said in response to her frown, then sighed. “Do you promise not to tell anyone what I’m about to share?”

  Fab locked her lips with her fingers. “Would you like to seal it by comingling our blood?”

  “Eww. You’re weird.”

  “Takes one to know one.”

  I leaned back against the seat and laughed. When I caught my breath, I said, “Creole and I are in agreement on eloping.”

  Fab gasped. “O-M-G. Not only will your mother flip out, but so will I. I’m not being excluded from the big day.” She sniffed and wiped the corner of her eye.

  I stared and asked incredulously, “Are you crying?”

  “Would you drop this idiotic idea if I did?” she roared.

  Guess not. I rubbed my ears. “When we decide for sure, I’ll let you know.” I didn’t see any reason to upset her with, We’ll do it on our own timeframe. After all, I had thus far ignored everyone else’s version of, Hurry up already.

  Chapter Three

  Fab turned off the highway and wound around through a bank of trees onto a dead-end street that ran along the water to where we lived. She stopped in front of the security gates, bypassing the security panel by hitting a button inside the car, then drove through the gates and waited for them to close before continuing down the road.

  When I’d heard about the over-the-top gift of property, I suggested security fencing. The day after they closed on the property, a fencing company showed up and began the installation of ten-foot-tall spiked wrought iron. Caspian had informed his daughter that once the project was complete, trees would be planted to provide more privacy, and he was as good as his word.

  “I was hoping Creole would be home.” I pouted at seeing that the only car parked in the front of the beach house was Fab’s Porsche. “I’d hoped we’d have time to do…stuff.”

  Fab rolled her eyes. “Sounds romantic.”

  I got out, expecting her to do the same, but instead, she waved and backed out, leaving me with her overpriced ride. We needed to have a reminder talk about the Hummer belonging to me and that she could at least ask.

  Creole had found the beach house through a business acquaintance looking for a fast sale. He’d renovated the interior himself, ripping out the walls and turning it into one large space. He’d also added wood security fencing. I closed the fence behind me and went inside, dumping my bag on a stool under the kitchen island.

  The view from anywhere in the house was gorgeous. Creole had installed sliding pocket doors along the far wall that opened onto the patio/pool area, which had steps leading to the beach below, making the space seem larger. The bathroom had a six-foot-tall picture window, so I could relax in the bathtub and enjoy watching the water breaking on the shore.

  Sliding onto a stool, I’d pulled out
a legal pad and was on the phone to my Information Consultant, GC, who preferred the moniker over his real name, Alexander Mark, when Creole strode through the door, broad-shouldered, with cobalt eyes and bristles of dark hair sticking up that I knew were soft to the touch. We immediately locked eyes, and I sat up a little straighter, leaning forward and blowing him a kiss. My two cats, Jazz and Snow, meowed and intercepted him, hoping for treats.

  “Any information you can dig up on Nicolette Anais would be helpful,” I said to GC, referring to Dr. A’s deceased girlfriend. I’d gone back to read the subsequent news accounts and found nothing remotely interesting.

  “How involved are you in this case?” GC asked.

  Creole brushed a kiss across my cheek and went to feed the cats, succumbing to their incessant meowing.

  “Dr. A is a friend, and if I can be of any help, I’d like to.”

  “Keep in mind this case has to do with drugs, and depending on the amount, you don’t want to inadvertently end up tangling with a dealer,” GC said gruffly.

  “Your concern for my well-being is new. Does this mean we’re friends?”

  GC laughed. “You’re a hard woman to shake, and that friend of yours is even worse.”

  Fab would be amused by his assessment of her. “Oh good. Friends, then.” I wasn’t sure whether he heard, as he’d hung up. Another person that didn’t bother with “good-bye.”

  Creole slid a manila envelope across the island, dragging a stool over to sit next to me.

  “Paperwork? Great.”

  “It’s an offer on your tentative bar space.”

  Soon after I met the original owner of a valuable parcel of real estate down by the docks, he decided that he wanted to rebuild the area and couldn’t do it himself. So I introduced him to Fab’s husband, Didier, and they formed a partnership. I also used my connections to expedite the construction paperwork. In return, I got to choose a space to do with what I wished and decided on an upscale bar.

  “The design process was the best part,” I said. “My enthusiasm for the rest has waned, and I don’t know what I would do without you seeing to the endless minutia.” I closed my eyes. “Maybe I should opt out, but it would feel like a failure.” I pushed the envelope away. “I’m not interested.”

  “Open. It,” he growled.

  “This from some friend of yours?” I ripped off the corner and tore it open. “I’m telling you now, N-O!”

  Shaking his head, he grabbed the envelope out of my hands, pulling out a professionally packaged proposal. “Listen to me. Who knows what goes on in that overactive brain of yours better than me; often even better than you do? What you need to admit to yourself is that you enjoy being a fixer—of people’s problems—much more than being a hands-on restaurant/bar owner.”

  “But—”

  He put his finger to my lips. “It’s still my turn.”

  I tried to bite it, but he moved too fast.

  “You’ve got a lot on your plate, and even you have to admit that if you want this space to succeed, it needs someone with ambition and drive. I’m thinking you threw out the idea of another bar to be shocking, knowing that your family wishes you’d sell the one you already own.”

  I made a faux shocked face.

  “I got approached by a local man who wants to turn the space into an ice cream bar, which would be a good fit for that area. A better location for your bar idea would be on the piece of property that Brad is in talks to acquire.” Creole held up his finger. “But if having the bar at the docks is what you really want, then I’m going to make it happen.”

  “I’m not cut out to be a restaurant entrepreneur, since that would have to be my prime focus. Call me crazy, but I love the ice cream idea, and more so if the store carries my favorite flavor.” I smiled sadly. “It just feels…”

  “It’s okay to change your mind,” he said adamantly. “Check out the amount he’s offering for you to do just that, and you might see it as a savvy business decision. Page two.”

  Reaching out, I flicked over the pages, running my finger down the page and scanning for the amount. My eyebrows shot up as I continued reading to the last page. “I should get my CPA to look this over before I sign.”

  “Didier and I were running project numbers with Whit and ran the idea by him. He sat down, read the offer, and gave it a thumbs up. He wasn’t happy with the bar/restaurant idea, as he says they’re money pits. He said, ‘Whisper real estate in her ear. A better bet.’”

  I’d inherited Ernest Whitman, my aunt’s CPA, when she died, and I’d never regretted continuing to use the same professionals she had. Pen in hand, I signed on the dotted line. “You know, that run-down dump of a motel on the main drag a few blocks from The Cottages is for sale.” I laughed at his disgruntled look.

  He reached out a hand and curved it around my jaw. His fingers reached behind my ear, and the warmth that flowed from them made me forget what we’d been talking about. His arms slipped around me, and his lips brushed mine. “Life will always be an adventure.” He stood and scooped me into his arms.

  Chapter Four

  “You better hurry it up.” Creole sat back on the couch, watching me with amusement as I alternately held each of the only two dresses I owned up in front of me and studied them in the mirror. “Fab and Didier will be here any minute. Knowing her, she’ll pull up out front and lay on the horn.”

  Once again, I disappeared into the closet. “This isn’t as easy as picking a pair of pants and a shirt.”

  “Babe.” He grimaced. “Totally forgot. The dress bag in the closet is a surprise from Fab…or so Didier said when he dropped it off.”

  I unzipped the bag and pulled out a full black cotton skirt and backless short-sleeve shirt, very casual by Fab standards. I loved them. In the bottom of the bag was a pair of black flat slides.

  Holding the outfit in front of me, I turned to Creole and got a nod.

  “Why’s she shopping for you?” he asked.

  “She’s been complaining that I lack enthusiasm for rebuilding my wardrobe after the fire, so she went out and bought up half of one of her favorite stores. I chose a couple of things and took the rest back.”

  “Thought maybe you weren’t buying anything because we need another closet. There’s no room to enlarge, but what do you think about adding a second story?”

  I scanned the room, as though looking at it for the first time. “Put in a staircase.” I pointed to the corner. “Two bedrooms and ensuites upstairs. We could use the space down here as a large living room, and in addition, there’d be room for an oblong dining table that we could use on nights we can’t sit outside. Do you think we could get county approval?”

  “Maybe. The other option would be to find another beach hideaway.”

  “If that’s your plan, you’re going to be the one to break the news to Fab that you’re ixnaying her compound idea.”

  Once the papers were signed on the various properties, Fab had decided family members should move into the empty houses—one big happy family, all living on the same block. So far, there had been no enthusiastic takers.

  I stepped into the skirt, pulled the top over my head, and twirled around.

  Creole whistled.

  “Do you know anything about the surprise Fab and Didier are planning to spring on us? I’m assuming Didier knows about it, since they’re still enjoying marital bliss and, according to her, sharing everything.”

  A banging at the door prevented him from answering. Creole stood and stomped through the kitchen. Before opening the door, he said, “As a housewarming present, I’m going to kick the hell out of their front door.”

  “On the bright side, she only picked the gate lock, stopping short of coming all the way inside.” I swallowed a laugh, knowing that Fab was annoyed with Creole for not letting her upgrade his security system.

  Creole threw the door open. No Fab or Didier, but the gate stood open. My Hummer was parked in the road, window down, Didier sitting inside with an apologeti
c look on his face.

  “Five minutes. If you honk one time, we’re not going and we’re blaming you,” Creole yelled, loud enough for the neighbors to hear, if we had any. He shut the door with a resounding bang, a smile on his face. “That was fun.”

  “I’m ready.” I slid into my sandals.

  “Have a seat.” He sat back down on the couch, reaching out and tugging me onto his lap. “We’re staying in here for the next four and half minutes. To pass the time, we’ll make out.”

  “I hope you set a timer.” I leaned in for a kiss. Eventually, I said in between kisses, “Fab’s been good for two or three minutes; we should give her a break.”

  Creole set me on my feet, turned, and knelt down. “Hop on.”

  “I love these piggyback rides.” I hopped up, Creole’s arms gripped my legs, and we headed out the door and through the fence.

  “That looked fun,” Fab said after we got in the back.

  “It was.” I brushed Creole’s lips with mine.

  Didier—just one name, like a rock star—turned in his seat. “I want to apologize.” His blue eyes sparked in annoyance. “Fab led me to believe that she’d just be ringing the doorbell, not barging into your house.”

  The French duo made a stunning couple even when they were shooting sparks at one another.

  “She stopped short of opening the door,” Creole said with an amused huff.

  Didier wrapped his hand in Fab’s long brown hair. “Try driving the speed limit.”

  Creole and I looked at one another and exchanged a silent laugh.

  I leaned over and whispered, “Five bucks says she can’t do it.”

  “Do I have ‘stupid’ tattooed on my forehead?”

  I ran my finger over his skin and shook my head.

  “Where are we going?” Creole asked when Fab had bypassed the turn to get back to the highway.

  “I told Madison that we were picking you guys up early because we have a surprise,” Fab said.

  “I thought it was my new outfit, which I love. It’s so me. Thank you.”