by Amy Vansant
Charlotte’s gaze drifted to the swim-stream pool in Declan’s backyard.
Declan is in some insane shape…
“I should have gleaned from his physique he’d been some kind of private soldier?”
Seamus shrugged. “Normal people don’t look like that.”
Charlotte scowled. “Wait, are you saying he’s still in the business?”
“No. I—”
Charlotte’s phone rang and she scrambled to pull it from her pocket.
It wasn’t Declan. It was Gloria.
She stood and held up a finger to ask Seamus to wait.
“Hi Gloria.”
“You didn’t call yesterday.”
Charlotte couldn’t help but smile. “You could say I had a busy day yesterday. It was impossible for me to get a moment.”
“Have you found anything?”
“I have. Your man’s name is Ryan Finnegan.”
Gloria repeated the name back to her. “That’s a nice name.”
“Sure.”
“Do you know where he is? Is he married?”
Gloria’s tone shifted from concern to burning fury so quickly Charlotte nearly dropped the phone for fear it was hot. “No. I mean, it doesn’t look like he’s married. He has other issues right now.”
“What issues?”
“My only lead thinks he might have been kidnapped by a drug dealer.”
“A drug dealer? He’s a drug dealer?”
“No—I mean, again, I don’t think so. I think he’s tangled up with one for some reason. I have it on fairly good authority he’s being held by a drug dealer.”
“But why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is he in trouble? Did you call the police?”
“I did. I told the police but they haven’t found any sign of him.”
“What’s the drug dealer’s name?”
“Louis Beaumont.”
“Wha—Georgette’s son?”
Charlotte’s mind whirred. Does Gloria know the family? And why does that name sound familiar?
Georgette Enterprises.
Jackie bought her club from Georgette Enterprises, the company named after Louis’s mother.
“Yes. I think Louis’s mother is named Georgette. Do you know him?”
“I know her.”
“How?”
Gloria ignored the question. “Where is he being held?”
“I don’t know he’s being held at all, but someone claimed to see him tied up at a dry cleaners owned by Louis—”
“I have to go. Call me if you find out anything else.”
The line went dead.
Charlotte stared at her phone. “Okay then...”
She returned her attention to Seamus hoping to get back to the conversation about Declan possibly still working as a mercenary.
Before she could form her next question, the front door opened and Declan entered.
“There’s the man of the hour,” said Seamus.
Charlotte crossed her arms against her chest. “There you are. I was starting to worry.”
Declan grimaced. “Sorry. I went to the hospital to talk to Stephanie.”
“She’s okay?”
“Made it through surgery with flying colors.”
“Good.” An uncomfortable silence fell and Charlotte struggled not to say what was on her mind. She lost.
“Did you go to see how she was or to make sure your stories about her gun were straight?”
Charlotte could hear the anger in her own voice. She’d meant it as a straightforward question, but apparently she harbored a little more pique than she’d realized.
“Uh oh,” mumbled Seamus. “I think I’m going to go out for a bit.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Gloria hung up the phone and stared at it, snipping bits of skin from the inside of her lip with her front teeth.
Georgette Beaumont.
Donning and stripping three different blouses, Gloria settled on one splattered with a swirl of black, white and hot pink paired with a matching hot pink skort. She still had nice legs.
Hopping into her Mercedes, she drove a mile to Seaside Serenade, an assisted-living home not far from her own age-restricted condo. Seaside Serenade was the next step, a step she hoped to avoid for a long time—but it was good to have options. She’d already secured a place for the future, largely on the recommendation of her old friend.
Georgette Beaumont.
A handsome woman with delicate features and dark hair piled high on her head looked up as Gloria entered the Seaside Serenade common room.
The woman’s eyes lit with apparent recognition, even as her expression bunched.
“Gloria, what are you doing here? Eez it Tuesday already? I really am losing my mind...”
“No, Georgie. It’s not Tuesday. I need to talk to you. It’s important. It’s about the old days.”
The women playing mahjong with Georgette glowered at Gloria. They looked to Georgette for guidance. The identity of the table’s queen bee was no mystery.
Georgette frowned and jerked her head to the right. The universal symbol for beat it.
The women stood from their seats and wandered off, eyeing Gloria, no doubt wondering what made her so special.
Gloria scowled back at one persistent gawker and slid into the now empty seat beside Georgette.
“I think that one cheats.”
Georgette laughed. “Gloria, you think everyone eez up to something.”
“Everyone is.”
“What can I do for you? What has you in a tizzy?”
Gloria pulled her glare from the mahjong cheater who’d perched nearby.
“First, how are you, Georgette?”
Georgette shrugged. “Bon. I’ve been more out of breath lately. Zey had to give me oxygen once.”
“I told you, you should’ve quit smoking sooner.”
“Gloria, I am French.”
Gloria nodded. It was true.
Georgette tapped Gloria’s arm. “So tell me your problem.”
“I have a question for you. Do you think your son was right to bring you here?”
Georgette’s eyes blazed as if someone had jump-started her battery. “No. I should be at home with a private nurse—”
Georgette coughed and gasped for a breath. Gloria covered her friend’s clenched fist with her hand to stop it from shaking.
“Take a breath, dear. Don’t get yourself upset.”
Georgette took several deep breaths. Her shoulders relaxed. “I am sorry. You know how angry I am.”
“I know. Unfortunately, it’s your son I’ve come to talk to you about.”
“What has he done now?”
“I think he’s kidnapped a friend of mine.”
“What?”
“Remember the man I told you I’d been passing during my walks?”
“Zee one with zee funny tee shirts?’
“Yes. I hired a private investigator to find him. She says he’s being held by your son.”
“What? To what end? Why would Louis do such a thing?”
“From what she tells me, it sounds like your son is starting the family business up again.”
“What?” Georgette slammed her fist on the table, sending the mahjong tiles dancing. Several rained to the floor and clattered on the hardwood. Gloria heard the cheater behind her moan, no doubt realizing their game wouldn’t be continuing.
Gloria felt the corner of her mouth twitch. Ha. That will teach that cheating wench to look at me.
“This is unacceptable. I did too much. It took me too long—”
Gloria nodded, allowing Georgette time to vent.
“I’m wondering if Louis put you in here so you wouldn’t meddle with his business.” Gloria dropped her voice to a whisper.
“After he saw what it did to his father? I spent a decade unraveling this family from violence.”
“I know. I know.”
“It was nearly impossible—such were the
alliances that had been made. Those awful men. They didn’t want to lose Victor’s organization. But I did it.”
“And no sooner did you finish, than your son checked you in here.”
Georgette’s lips pressed into a tight knot. “Ungrateful brat.” A puzzled look crossed her expression. “Wait. Does your tee shirt friend deal?”
“Drugs? I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“Zen why would my son take him?”
“I don’t know. I was hoping maybe you had some information that would give me some leverage with your son. I need to save Ryan.”
“Who is Ryan?”
“That’s my kidnapped suitor’s name, Ryan Finnegan.”
“Ryan Finnegan...” Georgette’s gaze drifted toward the ceiling.
Gloria felt a pang of nerves. Georgette recognized the name. Maybe Ryan was some sort of old rival. Maybe he was a dealer…
“Zee name is so familiar...”
Gloria held her breath, giving Georgette time to collect her thoughts.
“Zee club!” Georgette thrust her index finger into the sky to punctuate her recollection.
“What’s that?”
“Louis’s club.” Georgette shook her head and waved her hands before her, signifying she wanted to start over. “Victor had a building, far into the trees, where he kept supplies.” Her voice dropped as she said the last word.
“Go on.”
“I was going to sell the building, but Louis wanted to turn it into a nightclub. He had just turned twenty-one and his mind was very much on play. I thought maybe he could turn his passions into a business and agreed to let him try. I put one of my business managers in charge of helping him with the money and all was well for a while...”
“What happened?”
“A boy died. In the club. A young man. I recall his last name was Finnegan.”
“How did he die?”
Georgette shrugged. “Who can say? Overdose they thought. I couldn’t have my assets under such suspicion with our history. I forced Louis to close the club and sell the building.”
“You think my Ryan is related to the boy who died?”
She nodded. “It makes sense, no?”
Gloria placed a hand on Georgette’s.
“I’ve missed you. I haven’t visited in a while.”
Georgette grasped her hand. “I’ve missed you too my friend.”
“We are friends aren’t we?”
“But of course.”
Gloria squeezed Georgette’s hand a little tighter. “Great. So tell me...where would your son keep a prisoner?”
A silence fell nearly as fast as the smile from Georgette’s face.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Seamus left the room as Charlotte and Declan stared at each other.
“I don’t want this to be weird,” said Declan.
Charlotte gaped. “You don’t want this to be weird? Everything has been weird since you picked up a gun at Jackie’s. What don’t you want to be weird?”
“Everything. Nothing. I know a lot has happened in the last twenty-four hours and I don’t want questions to fester.”
Though she’d intended to try and stay angry a little longer, Charlotte couldn’t help but laugh. “When have you ever known me to keep my mouth shut and fester?”
Declan threw his arms around her as if she’d just been rescued from living on a deserted island with a volleyball as her best friend.
“Ow...my shoulder...”
He shifted his arm. “Sorry.”
She nestled between his pecs. “No biggie. Just my little ol’ gunshot wound.” Charlotte didn’t consider herself a hugger, but now that he’d maneuvered away from her wound, she had no complaints. She wrapped her arms around his waist and he squeezed a little harder.
“I was afraid you were mad,” he murmured into her hair.
“Well, I am mad, a little...”
He released her slowly and stared into her eyes. “Then let ‘er rip. Hit me with any concerns.”
She grimaced, organizing her thoughts. “I suppose I feel a little deceived because you’ve always been a little...uh...effeminate isn’t the word—”
Declan’s eyes widened. “Effeminate?”
“Poncy!” called Seamus from the back of the house.
Declan scowled. “She doesn’t need your help, Seamus.”
Charlotte’s head tilted. “Actually, poncy’s not bad...”
“I know. Okay. I’m not an ape man like some people,” Declan yelled the last five words over Charlotte’s head toward Seamus’ room.
“You’re more like the prep school-boy type,” suggested Charlotte.
“Nerd!” screamed Seamus.
“Using a napkin when I eat doesn’t make me a nerd!”
Charlotte held up her hands. “Okay, okay. I think we all get the idea.”
Declan’s nostrils were flaring as he stared in the direction Seamus had wandered. It was easier to imagine him in fatigues tromping through the jungles of Columbia when he wore that particular expression.
Charlotte put her hand on his chest and his attention returned to her. His expression softened.
“You get the idea,” she said. “You’ve always had a sort of a nice-boy feel, and then I find out you were learning martial arts and shooting guns and it makes me feel like you were lying to me on some level. Not to mention when you filled me in on your history with Stephanie, you could have mentioned you ran through the jungles of South America together.”
“You’re right. I should have told you. I was just so young and stupid then. That wasn’t me. It’s so embarrassing—”
“You’re only twenty-seven now.”
“There’s a big difference. For some of us.” His gaze shot in Seamus’s direction again. “I was in a bad place at the time. And while I enjoyed the training and the excitement of being in the field, I think it also helped me focus. It helped me realize soldiering wasn’t what I wanted to do for a living. So I left.”
“And Stephanie?”
Declan looked away. “She stayed. Let’s just say it fit her better than it fit me.”
“She shot those men at the club.”
He nodded.
“You helped her hide the gun.”
He shook his head. “I took her prints off it and tossed it back on the ground.”
“Won’t the cops think it’s weird there’s a gun with no prints?”
“When your choices are evidence and no evidence, always pick the latter. Not finding a gun would have been even stranger.”
“Mariska and the other ladies saw Stephanie with that gun.”
“Saw her with a gun. Do you think any of them can tell one from another? Plus they’ll never think to ask about it. The police think drug dealers were the problem—not lawyers and old ladies.”
Charlotte considered this. “Hopefully they won’t look too closely into Darla. She’s got a secret history like you.”
Declan chuckled.
“Why wouldn’t Stephanie take credit for killing the bad guy when he drove through the wall?”
“That gun shot the guy in the parking lot, too.”
“Right. It might be harder to explain why, when and how she shot him.”
Charlotte paced. “Stephanie doesn’t want scrutiny.”
Declan shook his head.
“Because she’s a lawyer?”
Declan nodded.
“And a killer.”
Declan stared.
“She is, isn’t she?”
Declan’s mouth hung open, as if he was unable to find the right way to start his response.
Charlotte tried again. “Okay, let me dial back a little. Let’s assume she killed people while with the Honey Badgers, like any soldier might. My question is—is she killing here?”
“Well, two, yesterday—”
“One and a half. Pirro finished off the guy in the parking lot.”
“True.”
It hadn’t been that long since Charlotte had disco
vered Stephanie’s mother was a notorious serial killer. Had the apple not fallen far from the tree?
“Is she a serial killer like her mother?” she asked.
Declan grimaced. “No. I—No.”
“You don’t know?”
“I don’t. I swear.”
“But it isn’t out of the realm of possibility?”
Declan took a deep breath. “I don’t know.”
Charlotte sat on the edge of the sofa. “I need to talk to Stephanie. Find out where Ryan is being held exactly.”
“That’s why I went to see her.”
“Oh? Not because the first rule of Honey Badger club is that you don’t talk about Honey Badger club?”
“No. Because I knew you needed more info about Ryan. I thought she might tell me.”
“She must have been thrilled to find out you were there to help me.”
“I told her I hoped she felt better soon, too.”
“That was sweet.”
“Thank you. She told me she saw Ryan in a back room at Irony Dry Cleaning. It was one of the investments Louis’s mother made with their ill-gotten gains. Ryan was tied to a chair. His face had been a little rearranged.”
“They were torturing him?”
“Sounded more like a standard beating.”
“Oh, like the sort of standard beating the Honey Badgers used to dole out?”
“Is everything going to come back to my quasi-military history from now on?”
Charlotte nodded. “For a while.”
“Fair enough.”
Charlotte stared through the back sliding doors at the pool.
“Whatcha thinking about?” asked Declan, sitting in the chair across from her.
“I talked to Frank this morning, hoping he’d have information for me about Ryan. He said the cops did a sweep of the dry cleaners and found nothing.”
“Hm. You think Stephanie was lying?”
“No. For once I don’t. Why would she lie about seeing an old man tied to a chair?”
“Maybe he’s important. You saw those photos on his phone. He wasn’t acting like a normal, innocent guy hanging out watching drug dealers.”
“True. I should know better to underestimate retirees. I have that phone in my purse. You just reminded me there were some voicemails on there I wanted to check.”
Charlotte stood to retrieve her purse from the kitchen table where she’d left it. Declan took her hand.
