Deborah Brown - Madison Westin 06 - Revenge in Paradise

by Deborah Brown

  He shook his head. I knew his father was abusive, which was how he met my aunt––hiding out to ride out the storm.

  I scooted over and put my head on his shoulder.

  “Surprisingly, Brad and I didn’t get into any big trouble. Mostly, stupid kid stuff,” I said. “If she deemed it really creative, she’d let us off a little easy.”

  He kissed the top of my head.

  “I never did anything to incur the wrath of my father,” he explained. “Too afraid. He didn’t need an excuse to go ballistic. He was bad enough when he wasn’t justified; can’t imagine if I’d given him cause.”

  “Brad and I drew the lucky parent card. We pretty much enjoyed a PG growing up. I’m happy that Aunt Elizabeth came to your rescue. I still don’t understand why she never told us.”

  “Elizabeth was an interesting woman. She led separate, clearly defined, lives and wanted it that way. I think she enjoyed the excitement of living out the life of her alter ego with no one to criticize her. She loved her summers with you and Brad and coveted that time. She would tell stories sometimes; I loved the one where you got invited out for a boat ride and threw the hostess’ shoe overboard just because you felt the urge.”

  “I was five and it still makes me squirm. Mrs. Snow was like a fairy princess to me, so much fun. You know she laughed and hugged me. Ten years later, she died from cancer and it broke my heart. I remember bringing her favorite pink roses to the funeral.”

  Creole had long since slowed down, and pulled calmly into his driveway.

  “When you set me on the ground, how do you know I won’t run?” I teased.

  I knew if I cut through the trees that granted privacy from the main road, he’d capture me where I stood bent over, gasping for breath.

  “Ha! Go ahead,” he dared. “Even with a head start, I’ll catch you and drag you back to my lair for the ravishing you deserve.”

  I loved that he always helped me in and out of his big truck. He pulled me into his arms, where I felt safe, and up over his shoulder. “I’m not in the mood to run down the street,” he said, and smacked my bottom.

  He unlocked his door and kicked it shut, depositing me in the middle of the large bed and crawling on top, straddling me. “You’re not going anywhere,” he growled low in my ear. One of his hands cupped the back of my head, controlling me subtly but no less surely, as his lips captured mine in a kiss that began surprisingly sweet, and then quickly became outright demanding. I didn’t try to soften his approach, but matched his fire with my own.

  Chapter 12

  Fab and I sat in the Hummer at The Cottages, watching Mac bounce up and down on the mini-trampoline she’d set-up in the barbeque area. The girls taking the brunt of the abuse, her rear followed side to side. I briefly owned one, leaving it at the curb for another exercise enthusiast after falling off and hitting my head.

  Fab grabbed her ringing cell phone, looked at the screen, and threw it onto the console.

  I looked at her, afraid to ask. “Who’s that?”

  She bit on her lower lip. “Harder.”

  “It’s been a few days, he must have more questions about the murdered Gage.” I continued to watch Mac, who’d gotten down on solid ground, hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath.

  “How many times do we have to say, ‘Never knew the corpse.’? I told the one cop after he showed me the pic from his rap sheet that I’d never had contact with the man.” Fab pointed. “Here comes the exercise queen.”

  Mac waved. “Your brother’s out on the beach with Liam,” she said, joining us in the middle of the driveway.

  “Call Harder back,” I said, and nudged Fab.

  “Returning your call,” she said, and hit the speaker button for the first time. “I was driving and knew you’d want me to pull over to talk.”

  “If I were a betting man, I would have said you’d never call back,” he chuckled. “Did the red-headed one force you?”

  I shook my head, no.

  “Yes,” she snapped. “What do you want? Chief Harder, sir.” She stuck her tongue out at the phone. She threw a mild hissy fit, swinging her hips, stamping her foot. “We’re busy.”

  I tried to kick her and she jumped back. Mac covered her mouth and laughed.

  “Just tell us over the phone,” Fab amended.

  “This has nothing to do with your friend, Gage. I need a personal favor and who owes me more of those than the two of you? I want you in my office tomorrow. First thing.” He disconnected.

  “If we were in trouble, Creole would’ve called. Just in case, I’ll text him.” I promised to text him about all legal issues. He’d decide whether he should don his cape and come to our rescue. At first, I would have agreed to anything to stop the lecture, but after thinking about it, I decided I liked having him as a trump card.

  “You got any dead bodies for us?” Fab asked Mac.

  “They show up in spurts. We’re in a lull right now,” Mac said. She looked around and then at me. “Love your brother. He broke up a fight between Joseph and a derelict drunk, ordered Joseph to go inside like he was a child, and then went in and kicked the door shut, making the windows rattle. Brad told the other guy he had a five-count to get off the property or he’d dropkick his ass. Joseph took it well; the next day he introduced Brad to Svetlana.”

  “I like Svet, she keeps him out of trouble.”

  Mac laughed. “I also complained to Joseph that he let Brad see his rubber friend naked but wouldn’t let me.”

  So far, Svetlana was Joseph’s longest-running girlfriend; some days he dropped his bad attitude and acted human. She managed to stay out of trouble, the sheriff never came looking for her, and she didn’t shoot people or pee on the flowers.

  Mac struggled into a bright fuchsia skating skirt that matched her bicycle shorts, but clashed with her lime green tank top.

  “The old guy next door, who likes to pee out his bathroom window,” she said, and tossed her head in the direction of the two-story apartment next door, “he thinks he saw Jami and another woman here the same day Dead Ed was discovered. When I pressed for details, he couldn’t be sure, admitted to being drunk.”

  I sighed. Maybe she is guilty. “She admitted during our brief jail visit that ‘we’ had seen the body. And I wondered what she meant.”

  “Maybe she had help,” Fab suggested.

  “I’ll check around and find out who her girlfriends are. They don’t stay besties for long; they screw each other over or sleep with the other’s boyfriend.” Mac looked down, adjusting her top.

  “I can’t imagine Edsel ever getting laid. What’s the attraction? What am I missing?” Fab shook her head.

  I crinkled my nose. Neither Mac nor myself had an answer to Fab’s questions.

  “I almost forgot,” Mac said. “Miss January’s got a boyfriend. They stay inside a lot. Let’s hope she doesn’t get pregnant. She looks eighty, but her identification says she’s in her forties. Her ovaries might not be all dried up.”

  The thought of Miss January with a child made me cringe. She could barely take care of herself; on multiple occasions, she had gotten drunk and forgotten how to get home.

  “Where would she find a boyfriend?” I asked.

  “My guess is a bar or the bus stop. Where else does she go?” Fab pointed to the house across the street. “Maybe she found him in the bushes over there, where she passes out drunk on occasion.”

  “She found him on the beach, drug his ass home.” Mac had a big smile on her face, thrilled to be the bearer of the news.

  As if on cue, the happy couple came out Miss January’s door. She wobbled on the stairs and he caught her arm before she fell.

  “Hi, ya!” She waved her arms at us. “Come meet my beau.” Her electric cigarette wobbled between her lips.

  “Be nice,” I said to Fab.

  Miss January’s new haircut made her look more worn out and grizzled, although that was a tall order, considering how she looked before. One hot day she tied her grayish
mop into a ponytail and cut it off at the scalp. Now it jutted out in odd lengths.

  He didn’t look drunk, but when we came face to face, he reeked of cheap whiskey and looked one hundred and weather-beaten with a gray stubble that didn’t pass for hair even though it grew out of the top of his head.

  “This is my honey, Score,” she mumbled, dropping the cigarette into the pocket of her muumuu.

  I held my breath, eyes riveted to her dress in case of smoke.

  Fab hit Score on his boney shoulder, causing him to rock. “Nice to meet you,” she said.

  Score patted Miss January’s head. “Me and my gal here are going to go down to the beach and have a little sip.” He showed us the brown bag he had hidden behind his back, liquor bottle poking out of the top.

  They shuffled off. When out of hearing distance, I said to Mac, “Have Shirl keep an eye on those two.”

  “Shirl’s gone incognito these past few days. She doesn’t think I know she’s hiding a man up in her cottage.”

  “What the heck is going on here? Shirl better not go all flakey on me. I’ll take care of this myself,” I said, and stomped over to her door and beat on it with my best cop knock.

  The door blinds moved, and several seconds later, the door opened. “What the hell, you scared the you-know-what out of me.” She slid out onto the step, closing the door behind her.

  “You’re in violation of your lease agreement, secreting men inside your cottage. I’d like to meet him.”

  She didn’t say anything, then stepped back. “I don’t have a lease agreement.”

  “I’ll be firing Mac for that oversight,” I said. “Are you in any trouble?”

  “Can’t a girl get laid without everyone poking their noses in?” When I didn’t say anything, she said, “Didn’t think so.” She cracked her door open and squeezed back inside like a woman with something to hide, and threw the deadbolt.

  “Who is he?” I demanded from Mac.

  “She came home early from her shift at the hospital, helped some guy with dark hair and a fine ass in a pair of blue jeans out of her car, half-drug him inside and haven’t seen her since.”

  “Shirl does have a point, you do tend to poke your nose into everyone’s business around here,” Fab snickered.

  Chapter 13

  “Where are the keys?” Fab ripped the kitchen drawers open one by one and ended up rooting through the junk drawer.

  “Not in there, I guess,” I said. I amused myself by watching her pace around the island and into the entryway, still searching. It pained me to end the game so quickly, but I took them out of my pocket and hung them on my index finger.

  She stopped in her tracks and stared. “I can’t believe you!” She stalked over and reached out to grab them from my hands.

  I jiggled them, and then pulled them back just out of her reach and scooted around her.

  Fab grabbed the back of my top as I reached for the front door handle. “You’re the meanest friend ever,” she whined. “You just sat and watched while I got all aggravated. I should’ve known. The smirk on your face should have been my tip off.”

  I frowned and made sniffling sounds, screwing up my lips so that I wouldn’t laugh.

  “I never get to drive my own SUV.” I pointed at the window. “Look!” I said, and ran out the door.

  “Where do you learn these juvenile tricks?” she yelled after me.

  “I lucked out and got an older brother.” I laughed.

  “Please,” she said, and pulled on my arm. “It’s a long drive, my nerves can’t take it. Next time we’re going around the corner, you can drive. I promise.”

  “Too much drama.” I shook my finger. “I texted Creole about our meeting with the chief, he wrote back that if we needed bail money to let him know.”

  “What do you suppose Harder wants anyway?” she growled.

  “I don’t know, but could you try your hardest not to get us arrested?” I looked at her and she glared. “You should enjoy life while you can; Creole said he still plans to strangle you. Luckily for you, he’s been busy.”

  “That means you blamed our last adventure on me.” Fab grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the driver’s side door, and jumped in, hitting the lock.

  I smirked at her, holding the keys out.

  She bounced around in the driver’s seat, lowering the window a smidge to stick her fingers out.

  I shook my head and walked around, getting in. “Everyone knows you’re the instigator and I just go along for the fun,” I said, handing her the keys. “In some cases, it’s clear we don’t agree on the definition of fun. Don’t tell me you don’t use the same tactic and blame everything on sweet Madison.”

  She snorted. “You bet I do. I gave Didier the watered-down truthful version. He laughed in my face, and then punished me for lying.”

  “You okay?” I blushed deep red. “You know I hear noises sometimes.”

  She sniffed. “He’d never hurt me.”

  This was truly none of my business but I blurted out, “Then what?”

  “No orgasm all night.”

  My mouth dropped open, and I started laughing until my eyes filled with tears.

  Fab scowled at me, her mouth drawn into a tight line.

  “You really need to stop reading erotica,” I said, and continued to laugh. “I’ve seen those naughty books you try to hide, so don’t deny it.”

  She blasted the horn, pulling up alongside a hot Ferrari, and gunned the engine. I saw the man turn and laugh before she screamed around him, flying down the highway.

  “Didier’s good for me. I don’t want to screw up our relationship. He reassured me this morning he’s not going anywhere.”

  I liked Didier and our newly formed foursome and, selfishly, wanted no changes. “The four of us should go out on a date night.”

  “You’ve never suggested that before.” Fab looked skeptical.

  “It will be fun. I’m choosing the place for our first outing. Creole’s not going to agree to some flashy restaurant in South Beach where we have to do extreme dress-up.”

  Her blue eyes stared at me, unblinking. “I’m putting my foot down though. No drive-thru hamburger stands. The place has to have tables and chairs.”

  “I’ll talk to him about available dates and get back to you.” I liked the idea of a date night, dress-up tropical style.

  Fab opened the ashtray. “I’m happy you keep this full of quarters, I’d never remember until we were out of change.”

  We sat waiting for another car to back out, Fab tapping her fingers against the steering wheel. Someone on the opposite side came out and Fab zipped into that space ten feet ahead of a car going the right direction.

  “Why don’t you ask Harder for a parking pass?” I turned and looked out the back window. “I’m not getting out, unless the woman sitting behind us waving her middle finger moves along.”

  Fab leaned forward, pulling out her Walther and shoving the gun into the front of her jeans. “I’ll flash it and she’ll move along.”

  “Have you lost your mind? You can’t do that in the police parking lot.”

  Creole had a new, larger storage box installed—replacing the old one when the key disappeared—just for these occasions. I also knew and failed to mention to Fab that, at the same time, Creole outfitted the Hummer with a more sophisticated GPS. She had found the last one and drove over it several times. He harped on safety first, for which I should show more appreciation.

  Fab hopped out, walked over to the woman’s window, and rapped on the glass. Judging by the look on the woman’s face, she decided not to fight over the space. My guess was that Fab flashed her scary face. The car jerked into gear and disappeared down the aisle.

  We ran up the stairs and into the building, breezing through the metal detectors. Our passes were waiting at the check-in desk.

  Fab clipped hers to her scooped-neck top, fingering it. “I’ve never gotten one of these before.”

  “That’s because when y
ou’re brought in for questioning you don’t get one. The handcuffs let everyone know your status.”

  Harder leaned against his office door at the end of the hallway, his arms across his chest. His suit pants were rumpled and he’d ditched his coat and tie. He looked better in shorts and a golf shirt; the suit made him look like a down-on-his-luck detective in a noir film.

  “I knew you’d show up.” He nodded to me, his brown eyes full of amusement. “But you, I wasn’t so sure,” he said, and stared at Fab.

  I tapped her in the small of her back, a reminder not to say anything inappropriate. “Hello, Chief.” I smiled, breezing by him, and took a seat in front of a large mahogany desk. The shelves behind him were filled with books on police procedures.

  Harder seated himself behind his desk. “Sit, Miss Merceau.” He motioned to a chair. “Your pacing gets on my nerves.”

  The only thing I liked about his new office was the large window, although the view of the parking lot didn’t hold my interest.

  “You said this meeting was personal, so that rules out the dead guy. What’s new?” I asked.

  “He’s still dead.” Harder laughed, clearly thinking his response funny.

  Fab kicked my foot. We stared at him, waiting, neither one of us wanting to be the first to speak.

  “This is about my god-daughter, Lizzie. She was engaged to marry this jerk, Dane Thorson, and two weeks before the wedding he disappeared.” He handed over a driver’s license photocopy. The man didn’t take a bad photo—black hair turning gray around the edges, arrogant smile.

  Fab leaned over from behind the picture, and snapped her fingers, pointing to the door. She and Harder only tolerated one another because of my friendship with the man and it stemmed from the days from before I knew her when he actively sought to put her in jail for suspected criminal tendencies he had yet to prove.

  “They planned to move to the Bahamas right after the ceremony,” he went on. “Hot shot got a job at a 5-star resort as their executive chef, lots of money and perks. Then he disappeared, never even showed up for the job. Hopped a plane to Switzerland and I hoped he’d never return, but he’s back. Lizzie has been mildly stalking him, which worries me––but she wants answers and, so far, he’s successfully eluded her. I’d like to kill him, but I’d rather play golf than sit in prison.”