Deborah Brown - Madison Westin 06 - Revenge in Paradise

by Deborah Brown

  I knew that would get her attention.

  “Next time,” Fab said, shaking her finger at Mother, “I’m calling Spoon.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  Clearly, Mother never thought that would be used as a threat.

  “Try me. I hate jail and I’m not going back.” Fab twisted her waist-length brown hair off her neck and pulled it into a ponytail.

  What Mother would soon find out was that her boyfriend, Jimmy Spoon, had a pipeline to news as it happened. So he already knew she’d been carted off to jail and he wouldn’t be happy. Mother thought she had him wrapped around her finger, but she’d see his surly side now that she’d gotten herself arrested.

  “I planned to open the room legally and have an appointment to talk to the county licensing board. You two need to stay out of trouble until this fiasco can be salvaged.” I gave them a tight-lipped stare.

  “How did your stake-out go?” Mother asked Creole, changing the subject to switch the focus off of her.

  “Did you get your man?” I smiled, knowing she was referring to the time we were out of town together.

  “They’re all in jail. On to my next target.” He looked over his shoulder at me, licking his lips.

  “How was the wedding? Mary, wasn’t it?” Fab’s eyes flicked between me and Creole.

  I turned and stuck out my tongue. “Marcy! And I had a great time.”

  “Maybe next time I’ll go.” Fab smirked.

  “That’s one way to make sure you stay out of jail.”

  The front door flew open as hurricane Brad blew in, slamming it closed behind him. “What the hell, Madeline Westin?” he roared. His brown eyes were a carbon copy of Mother’s. Tall and brawny, his easygoing personality buried under his fury.

  I barely noticed Julie, his girlfriend, who took cover behind his back. She peeked out and waved. Both looked as if they’d spent the day on the water, her sunburned cheeks a giveaway. He spent long hours on the ocean as a commercial fisherman, so it surprised me that he still enjoyed pleasure boating.

  “Don’t look at me, I just got back home. I thought you weren’t due to dock your boat for a few days? Come in early to sneak around with your girlfriend? And not calling Mother. You know how she worries.” I made a sad face, trying not to laugh.

  “My love life is off limits,” Brad said, and glared.

  Julie reached for his hand, squeezing. He sat in the last remaining chair and pulled Julie onto his lap.

  My living room was a large open space connecting to the kitchen, and to the patio and pool area through the French doors. I inherited the house along with a rental property from my aunt Elizabeth. I updated the house with fresh paint and throw rugs on the hardwood floors, and replaced most of the furniture with over-stuffed, slipcovered, comfortable pieces I brought with me when I moved to Florida. I kept her favorite chair that seated two and had it recovered in a tropical print.

  “Oh good. Rules,” I said. “Then you can extend me the same courtesy.”

  “Not likely.” He scowled at Mother. “Would you like to explain how you got arrested?”

  “It’s just a misunderstanding and will soon be cleared up,” Mother said. “Who the heck is making breakfast?”

  “The only reason you’re not sitting in jail and may skate on these charges is because Kevin forgot about the back door. He warned us that he won’t overlook it again.” Brad’s voice brimmed with frustration.

  “What?” Fab fumed. “Kevin got hot on the phone like a tattle-tell?”

  Julie cleared her throat, blue eyes full of fury, and glared at Fab. “My brother is an upstanding person, a respected sheriff who doesn’t break the law. You should try it sometime.”

  Time to break this up. I didn’t think Julie had it in her, but the young blonde looked ready to take on Fab.

  I jumped up and said, “I promise Jake’s will not be used as a hotbed for illegal activities.”

  The front door opened again and every woman’s fantasy, Didier, walked through, dropping his travel bags onto the floor. Fab’s model boyfriend had returned from a photo shoot in New York. His blue eyes scanned the room and, surprised to see everyone at such an early hour, a dark expression filled his face.

  Fab flew across the room and flung herself in his arms. She whispered something French in his ear and he growled something back. He leaned down and kissed Mother’s cheek, also whispering in her ear, which made her smile.

  Creole smirked; he spoke three languages and understood every word between them. During our time away, we shared all the good memories of our childhood with one another. He told me that his mother spoke Italian, his father French/Cajun.

  “Glad you’re back, model boy,” Brad said. “Do you know what your girlfriend has been up to?”

  “Enough,” Creole barked. “Fabiana has had a bad day. I’m sure she’ll tell you about it—” He inclined his head toward the stairs. He turned back to Brad. “Why don’t you take your mother to breakfast?”

  Didier scooped Fab off her feet and carried her up the steps. Stopping half way, he turned and looked at me. “Welcome back, Cherie.” Seconds later, Fab’s bedroom door banged shut.

  Everyone was tired and running on adrenaline. I tried to lighten the mood. “Look at the bright side, Brad. You didn’t have to wait months to hear about the latest family adventure.”

  Brad complained incessantly about being the last to know about Mother’s and my misdeeds. We used the excuse that we didn’t want to upset him. When he confided that it made him feel foolish, I felt thoroughly chastised and resolved to share future information before he found out on his own.

  “We’ll see you later,” Creole said as he stood. Pulling me up next to him, he draped his arm across my shoulders.

  Mother arched her brows. “I thought you two were taking it slow.”

  “I don’t see why you’re so resistant to keeping it in the family,” I said.

  Creole looked at me, silently communicating: That’s the only thing you could think to say? “I have an announcement. I’d like you to meet my new official girlfriend.” He kissed my cheek. “I would hope that you’ll all be happy––and if you’re not, keep it to yourself.”

  No one said a word as they waited for Mother’s reaction. She was afraid we’d date, then break-up, and Creole would divorce the family.

  He pulled me toward the door, and I stopped briefly to kiss Mother and whisper, “Love you.”

  * * *

  Traffic was non-existent in the early morning hours so Creole rocketed down the Overseas, the Atlantic on one side of the highway, the Gulf on the other. The sun slowly made its appearance shining down on the water, making it sparkle—an open invitation to come for a swim. His hideaway was located in Hibiscus Key, not far from Tarpon Cove. The exit sign gave no clue that anything existed other than a loop around to the opposite side of the highway. A wall of trees hid several homes that dotted the waterfront along the exclusive strip of roadway.

  “Your brother’s a bit of a drama queen,” Creole said as he veered off the highway.

  “If the sheriff hadn’t been called out, Brad would’ve laughed it off,” I said, defending him. “He’s very protective since our father died; he takes his man-of-the-family role seriously. He would like it if Mother were more low-key. He just wants her to be safe. He’d marry her off in a second to a stable gentleman her own age if he could get away with it. I know he’s come to tolerate Spoon but, let’s face it, he’d like it if they broke up.”

  Spoon was ten years younger than mother and came with a colorful past, which he turned around through his own hard work.

  The street we turned onto wound around in a semi-circle. Creole stayed to the right and pulled into the last driveway at the end where he had an unassuming beach cottage that perched over the water. Painted all white, he’d recently built a tall wooden fence that wrapped around the perimeter, the gate opening into the courtyard. He liked the added security and had installed security cameras.

&
nbsp; The surprise came when you walked through the front door and stepped into one big room with a solid wall of sliding pocket doors that opened to a patio and pool that overlooked the beach below. He portioned off the bedroom from the living area with two large bamboo screens, which looked good but would offer zero privacy if he had overnight guests. A large kitchen and mammoth bathroom were my favorite rooms in the house. He had done all the inside remodeling himself, all first-class finishes: travertine tiles, bamboo floors, and top-of-the-line appliances.

  “It seems like we just left here.”

  “It got way too crowded at your house.” He turned me toward the massive king-sized bed and said, “Take your clothes off.”

  “That’s so romantic,” I said to his back as he disappeared into the bathroom. Next thing I heard was the water running.

  “Stay right there until I come and get you,” he yelled.

  I had already slipped off my flip-flops and left them by the door, always going barefoot after I got inside. I pulled off my short-sleeve T-shirt dress and tossed it over the chair, followed by lace boy shorts and matching chemise. He had about three seconds because I wasn’t standing in the middle of the room au naturel, trying not to look embarrassed.

  He must have tapped into my thoughts because the bathroom door opened and he threw a pose against the jamb, stark naked. He held out his arms and I walked straight into them.

  He scooped me up and set me in the large claw-foot tub that was rapidly filling with warm, bubbly water. I caught the scent of my favorite bath gel, frangipani. He stepped in behind me, catching me by the shoulders. Relaxing against the back of the tub, he drew me into his arms, dipped a large sea sponge into the water, and ran it across my shoulders.

  The bathtub sat in front of a large glass window and the sun shined brightly, overlooking a secluded section of the beach out across the Gulf water.

  “Another new rule today,” he murmured in my ear.

  I leaned forward. “What?”

  He pulled me possessively against his chest, the firm muscle of his thigh meeting my stomach.

  “We’re going to sleep together every night I’m not working, whether it’s at your house or mine. I’ll find you.” He licked the inside of my ear, his teeth nibbling on the lobe.

  “Is this where you’re going to tell me you want Fab to move out?” That had been a sticking point with my last boyfriend. He asked every time he came over when she was moving. I got good at giving evasive answers.

  “I like Fab and Didier and it’s not like we have to share a bathroom.”

  I realized I’d held my breath waiting for his answer.“Four adults is a lot, but I’m fine with it. I think it’s going to work because we all get along.”

  “There will be rules,” he said and cupped my chin, twisting gently so I could see that he was serious.

  I rolled my eyes. “Rules? Did you know Fab has them?”

  Creole grinned. “Underneath that pretty face, Didier has some good ideas. It’s where I got the idea.”

  I reached for the soap, lathered my hands, and massaged his foot. Unwrapping his leg, I ran my soapy hands up and down his inner and outer thigh. “I don’t have to write them down do I?”

  He pinched my bottom. “First, you will not do anything that puts your life in danger. Second, no lying. Lastly, if I tell you not to do something, you will not just go ahead and do it anyway.”

  “I don’t usually lie. I tend to shade the truth when needed and then there are those times I make up stories out of whole cloth.”

  He put his lips to my ear and chuckled. “Do you agree to the rules? A simple, ‘Yes, sir,’ will do.”

  “What if I’m naughty and forget?”

  “I’ll check with Didier and get back to you. I forgot to ask that part.”

  “No more man-bonding for the two of you.” I flicked water on him.

  The two of them enjoyed exhausting sports. They ran sprints on the beach, challenged each other to see who could do the most push-ups on the sand, and went for grueling bike rides that took them up and down the Keys.

  He tipped my head, cradling my face in both hands, and bent his face toward mine, seeking my lips and brushing them slightly. “I thought about you all day,” he whispered. His mouth fell upon mine, pressing me with a bruising kiss.

  “Thank you for announcing to the family that we’re together. I would’ve waited until we were caught naked. My favorite part was when you sealed it with that look daring them to say anything.” I lifted his hand to my lips, kissing his fingers.

  “Who’s going to be the one to tell them there was no wedding in South Carolina, that we ran off and spent very little time out of bed?”

  “No one’s going to ask except maybe Mother and I’ll change the subject.”

  “You’re all mine now,” he whispered.

  “Yes, I am.”

  Chapter 3

  Trying to enter unnoticed, I turned the knob to the front door slowly, peering around the corner into the kitchen.

  “No one’s here but me,” Fab said, filling her coffee pot with water to drink her early morning cup of mud. The bag said “coffee,” but I wasn’t convinced. “Brad drove your mother home last night. Her car disappeared a few hours later so I assume Spoon must’ve had it picked up and delivered to her.”

  Spoon owned an auto body shop down in the seedy section of the docks. This family didn’t have car problems; he picked them up, left a courtesy car, and delivered washed, waxed, and noise-free running vehicles when they were returned. He made it very clear that he’d prefer us to get rides home at night and made sure our cars were waiting in the driveway the next morning.

  “You in trouble with Didier?” I asked.

  Fab looked ready for work in her halter-top and white mid-thigh shorts, showing off her long legs. She reeked of sexiness. Her signature Walther lay in front of her on the counter.

  “His initial anger pretty much evaporated when I launched into an excruciatingly detailed explanation instead of weaseling. He told me he was proud of me for being upfront. Then I jumped in his arms and sniffled about how happy I was that he came back early.”

  “What’s your version of what happened? Hit the highlights and don’t gloss over the unflattering details like you usually do.”

  She pressed her lips together but not before an exasperated sigh escaped. “I caught your mother, which is probably not an accurate description since she sat at the bar and made calls to set up her game, oblivious to anyone listening. It sounded like fun at first, so I offered to be security. I had second thoughts the night before, but telling your mother she should rethink her bad idea is a waste of breath. The game barely got under way when out of nowhere the shit hit the fan. I texted your mother. You know the rest.”

  “Thank goodness there wasn’t any cash lying around.”

  “She had that angle covered.” Fab gave me a wary smile. “Set it up as a pre buy-in, the money held by that CPA of yours. Once they finished, they’d cash out. In retrospect, we shouldn’t have tried to hide anything and let the cops investigate. The game didn’t have the appearance of anything illegal. But the doctor, lawyer, and CPA didn’t want their names linked in a headline with gambling. So they hit the secret door at the first sound of trouble.”

  The microwave dinged and I took out the hot water and mixed myself a cup of coffee. Fab teased me that mine was nothing more than colored water as compared to hers that guaranteed to grow hair on your chest after half a cup. I slid onto a stool at the large island across from Fab. All important conversations took place in the kitchen.

  “We need to talk,” Fab said as she pulled her long brown hair off her neck and secured it with the clip that she held between her lips. “Now that you’re becoming a real estate mogul, where does that leave our partnership?”

  “Still partners is where it leaves us. While I was out of town, were you perhaps auditioning a replacement?”

  Fab laughed. “I need you tonight for a Brick job, and as you p
ointed out, they can go south in a second. I’d like backup. I’m to show up at Miami International dressed in something skimpy, sexy and pick up three businessmen and deliver them to the Ritz-Carlton Hotel.”

  “Who’s loading the suitcases?” I flexed my arm, tapping my bicep.

  “If you’d work out more, I’d let you do it.”

  Jazz sauntered in, meowing. Fab scooped him up and reached into the refrigerator for some butcher-paper-wrapped treats. To my surprise, she bypassed the counter and slid down to the floor to feed him.

  I watched as he gobbled up the turkey; he had trained everyone in the family to spoil him.

  “In the meantime, I’ve got to check on my mini empire. You driving?” I tossed her the keys.

  * * *

  Fab rocketed around the corner using the brake sparingly in my shiny black convertible Hummer. I’d gotten an excellent deal from Brick after reminding him several times that it had a lot of mileage, which made it a used car. He finally caved when his nephew boosted it and used it as a cheap motel room.

  Fab squealed into a parking space in front of the office at The Cottages, a ten-unit property of small individual houses, steps from the Gulf of Mexico. I had inherited the property from my aunt Elizabeth.

  We catered primarily to European tourists, recently getting a slew of reservations from Scotland. I looked forward to the first good-looking Scot to show up in a skirt. That would have the crazy women of the neighborhood converging. I had several year-round tenants and a firm rule––that got broken with regularity––not to rent to locals. I recently removed the welcome mat for the occasional murderer, drug dealer, and just plain riff-raff.

  “Who’s that?” I pointed to a man, seat back, lying down behind the wheel of a banged up Chevy Vega, gunning his engine at the curb, desperately in need of a muffler.

  “Why are you asking me?” Fab grumbled. “I don’t know the people in this neighborhood. That would be you. Go make friends with him and I’m sure he’ll tell you his life story. I’ll wait inside.”