“If he wants to talk to his client, he can do it at the station.” Kevin glared. “As for you,” he said to me, “tell it to a judge.”
“Can I change my clothes?” I looked down at my bathing suit.
“You’ll get clothes to wear at the station.”
“I’ll make some phone calls.” Creole hugged me and whispered, “You won’t be in custody long, I promise.”
“Stand back or you’ll be the next one arrested.” Kevin’s face filled with pure disgust, and then he looked at Julie and said, “He’s a drug dealer,”—he pointed at Creole—“and you bring your son here. It’s bad enough that you live at The Cottages.”
It surprised me that Kevin didn’t know Creole worked undercover.
“Do you have to cuff her?” Brad asked. “It’s not like she’s going to run anywhere.”
Kevin glared back at Brad. “I’m doing this by the book. I know she’ll have expensive legal representation that will work the loopholes.”
I caught sight of Liam out of the corner of my eye, angrier than I’d ever seen him, arms across his chest. He watched his uncle’s every move.
“Cruz won’t need tricks because you’re wrong about me,” I said quietly, and put my hands in the air and stepped forward.
“Turn around,” he barked. “Or I’ll add resisting arrest.”
He fastened the cuffs with speed, tightening them beyond comfort. I’d never been thoroughly humiliated before; this was a new experience and very humbling, especially in front of my family.
Spoon wrapped his arms around Mother, who had paled.
“You’re a real dick.” Brad sneered.
Julie watched in wide-eyed amazement.
“Look around,” Kevin said to Julie. “This will be your life. Even you might end up in cuffs one day. If you can’t break off the relationship because it’s the right thing to do—do it for your son.”
“Don’t say one word until your lawyer gets there,” Fab yelled.
Didier’s sad face almost had me in tears as Kevin led me out the front door. The neighbors were getting a show. I knew that by the time the story made it around the block, I’d have been seen in chains.
Jail! The second time in a month. This was a pattern I needed to break.
I heeded Fab and Creole’s advice and kept my mouth shut. When I got out of whatever the heck was going on, I’d be paying a visit to Joseph. If he had gotten me arrested because one of his lower-than-life friends, he’d need to move. He could leave behind Svetlana––she’d be an ideal tenant.
Unfortunately, the ride to the sheriff’s office was a short one. I thought about suggesting the scenic route to slow the inevitable. Kevin and I didn’t exchange a word. He helped me out and led me inside.
“Sit.” He pointed to a bench.
A few minutes later, Kevin returned. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said. “Homestead is coming to pick you up, you’ll be transported soon. Too bad it’s the weekend. No court appearance until Monday, but I doubt you’d get bail anyway.” He seemed happy to relay the last part.
I maintained my silence. It should be interesting to see how Brad’s relationship with Kevin’s sister, Julie, would weather this storm. This might force him to choose between the woman he loved and family. He did that once before, but we got him back when the girlfriend had to be straight-jacketed and shipped to a mental hospital. I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing, believing Creole would make good on his word and get me out of here. Then I wanted a few days with him at his beach shack.
No one spoke to me as I sat handcuffed, my fingers numb, a banging ache in my lower back. My teeth chattered. The air conditioner had to be set on fifty degrees. I wished for two beach towels, one to wrap around my bathing suit and the other for my bare legs.
I looked up when my name was called. Mary-something, a matronly woman whose name was on the door, a couple of the letters missing, snapped her fingers, motioning me to stand up and follow her into a small room to start the booking process. It went quickly, since it was understood that I would shut up and do as ordered. I mentally made a gardening to-do list, never acknowledging the flash of the camera. I relaxed my hands for fingerprints, thinking about which potted plants needed more seashell mulch. My ink-stained fingers brought me back to reality and I scrubbed them furiously with the paper towel I’d been handed. A blue uniform got tossed my way––who knew they had colors other than ugly orange?
Won’t be long now before I find out if I get matching shoes.
“Hope you had breakfast. You won’t see a cell until tonight. Being really hungry makes the food taste and look gourmet,” Mary said, and laughed at her own joke.
I’d heard from several sources that what they passed off as food tasted like paste and was tossed on a plate in a runny, thick mess.
Mary ushered me into a holding cell that was already occupied by several women. The banging of the steel door behind me brought home the gravity of the situation in a stark way. I wasn’t sitting by the pool and that sucked. Thankfully, no one made eye contact; all were silent in their own thoughts. The bunk beds taken, I slid down into a vacant corner, wrapped my arms around my legs, and buried my face in my knees. After the first time, like the rest of the women, I didn’t look up when the door opened and a name that wasn’t mine was announced.
The Homestead cop must have stopped for lunch because it seemed like it took hours for my ride to show up. My butt had two sore spots, courtesy of the cement floor. Finally, a female voice called my name and I noticed that Mary had been replaced by another unfriendly face. I stood up, walked to the cell door, and turned to be cuffed once again.
A male officer with paperwork in hand didn’t bother with introductions, just jerked my arm and led me out to his patrol car. The drive didn’t take as long as when I drove north. I shifted several times, finding no relief for the aches in my body. He parked next to the entrance, a few steps up to the door that welcomed incoming criminals. Chief Harder stepped into my path and my face almost smacked him in the chest. Cruz Campion, my attorney, gave me an irritated sigh, pointing to his watch. He was probably annoyed he had to venture outside Miami Beach for a non-celebrity client. I knew Creole had moved mountains.
“I’d like to speak to my client,” Cruz barked.
The officer shepherded me into a conference room, and uncuffed my hands from behind my back, only to refasten them in the front.
“Sit,” he said.
“Woof,” I wanted to respond, but I managed to control myself before they added a charge of being obnoxious.
“Keep your answers brief,” Cruz whispered. “You know the drill. If I don’t like the questions, I’ll interrupt.”
I took a deep breath and swallowed back tears, biting down hard on my lip. I would not cry. “Just get me out of here,” I said. “You’ve got relatives coming this weekend.”
We had an understanding: Cruz handled my legal problems, and I entertained his visiting family members. The first couple had such a good time that word had spread throughout the extended family. There was always a Campion calling for a reservation. Their favorite reminiscence was porch seating for a fistfight that resulted in the sheriff showing up and arrests being made.
Two cops entered the room and sat across from me, one in suit pants and a shirt, and the other in blue jeans. This looked like Good Cop/Bad Cop and the bad one was a naughty looking devil. I bet he had the women licking their lips. The Chief sat at the head of the table and leaned his chair back against the wall, observer privileges I assumed.
Good Cop pushed a photograph across the table. “Do you know this man?”
“Yes…well, not exactly…‘Know’ is not the right word…so no.” I held back a groan at the dodgiest answer ever. “Told me his name’s Bungee.”
Bad Cop snickered. “Did you pick up your unknown friend the other night?”
Maybe he isn’t so cute after all.
“I only came to your nice facility when my tenant, Joseph LeBeaux, c
alled and requested a ride.” I related the details from the pick-up to drop-off.
Good Cop rolled his eyes, not believing a single word. “Didn’t you find it odd that Benjamin Hall had on a jail uniform?”
“He said they let him keep it since they couldn’t release him naked. I didn’t ask if he ever had clothes. He did say it had to do with stealing and stuffing the items up his…backside.”
Cruz laughed. “Don’t refer him.”
Bad Cop looked me over in a way that would make most people squirm, but he hadn’t been raised by Mother––and she was better at it than him.
“Hall’s associate told us you held him up for a percentage off the top, in exchange he could use your property to hide out and store stolen goods,” he said.
“My manager and tenants can corroborate that he’s never set foot on the property. I have a receipt for everything stored at The Cottages. We keep detailed records. You should talk to Joseph about his friend.”
“We can’t seem to locate LeBeaux. He’s either vacated the premises or he’s not answering the door.”
“You have my permission to kick the door down or the manager has a key and will open it. You can call it a welfare check.”
“Gentlemen,” Cruz spoke up. “You have Mr. LeBeaux’s ride request on tape. You’ve searched The Cottages and found nothing. And no one confirms a relationship between my client and Mr. Hall. You have the tape from the bus stop that shows conversation took place––he didn’t just jump in and drive away like other friendly, colluding criminals.”
Good Cop stood. “You’re being released based on the assurance from Chief Harder that if we have any more questions you will make yourself available.”
Both cops looked curious about Harder’s and my relationship.
“My cell phone is on twenty-four hours.” I smiled weakly.
“Call my office and I’ll make her available,” Cruz said.
* * *
I changed into my bathing suit in record time, dumping the uniform in a laundry basket and somehow managing to walk to the exit instead of running.
“More relatives coming to town,” Cruz reminded me. “I expect the full entertainment package. If you can’t arrange a brawl, take them to that seedy bar that seems to be a big hit. I think they come here to see you more than me. Next time you get arrested, I suggest Miami.” He climbed into a black Testarossa and sped off.
“Thank you,” I said to Harder. “Creole must have some incriminating pictures.”
“He never says no to any of my requests, so I thought it was about time I returned the favor. I wouldn’t have bothered if there was a chance you aided an escaped felon. One question, how could you let him sit on your backseat?”
“He’d lain down. It’s due to be detailed, I’ll mention it to Spoon’s guy; he keeps the Hummer looking like new.”
We both laughed, having the same aversion to ickiness.
“Get me an appointment with Mr. Spoon. He never returns my calls. I have a sixties MG Roadster that needs a couple of impossible-to-find parts. I’ve heard he’s the man.”
I laughed. “I’ll be using Mother to deliver this favor. Where’s Creole?”
“He’d better be in the Cove. I ordered him to stay there until you got back.”
I peered up at him and said, “I need a ride.”
“Your girlfriend is parked in the back, as far away as she can get from the building while still being in the parking lot.”
Harder walked me to my SUV where I said, “We made a connection with a security guard on your case, or should I say, Fab flirted and charmed him until he agreed to help. Older men love her. I know you’re here because Creole asked and I want to tell you I appreciate it because I know you have way better things to do.”
As we approached, the Hummer appeared to be empty. I knew Fab was slunk down behind the wheel, keeping an eagle eye on the comings and goings.
Harder rapped on the window. A second later, the click of the door lock sounded. “Try driving the speed limit, Miss Merceau. I hear it’s character building.” He helped me in and closed the door.
“You okay?” Fab tossed me a sweatshirt. “Joseph’s a dead man.”
She picked up her phone and hit a button. “Here,” she said, and handed it to me.
“Are you on your way home?” Creole asked.
“Just leaving the police station. Before this I had fond memories of Homestead––they host the last NASCAR race of the season and crown the champion here.”
“I’ll be waiting for you.”
Chapter 17
On the way home, Fab told me that Brad and Julie got into an argument, and then Mother burst into tears. Liam refused to speak to anyone. He and Didier ended up going for a run on the beach.
“Look who’s standing in the street.” Fab pointed, and I saw that the headlights illuminated Creole’s face.
“I don’t want to be mean, but I wish everyone had gone home.” I looked at the cars parked in front of my house. “This is going to be weird, facing everyone after being arrested.”
Creole held up his hand, and Fab hit the brakes. “He couldn’t wait until I got in the driveway.”
“Thanks, girlfriend,” I said. “I appreciate you.”
“It’s unwritten code: The one who doesn’t get arrested picks the other one up.”
Creole jerked the passenger door open and slid me off the seat into his arms, planting a quick kiss on my lips.
“Fab, you tell the family she’ll talk to them tomorrow.” He kicked the door shut and opened the door to his truck, dropping me on the front seat before going around and climbing behind the wheel. By the time Fab got out of the SUV we were at the corner.
“You just might be the best boyfriend ever.” I scooted over so that I could put my head on his shoulder.
“You just wait. I’ve got plans for you. First, a long shower. We’ll use every drop of hot water. Then I’m whipping up a frozen gourmet pizza and whisking you off to bed early.”
“To sleep?”
He gave a deep rumbling laugh. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll sleep soundly.”
* * *
Creole and I sat at an outside table at The Bakery Café, sipping coffee. My leg draped over his, I flicked his finger through the whipped cream and licked it off. We stared at one another with stupid smiles. He reminded me regularly that I was “his” and I realized I wanted him to be “mine.”
Creole had taken a call from Fab earlier and arranged to meet her here. He told me earlier, “If it weren’t for evidence against Jami, there would be a list of people who’d be happy to see Edsel depart life early.”
Fab created a scene in front of the restaurant, cutting another driver off as she sped into a prime parking space. Everyone sitting on the sidewalk looked up from their coffees to stare. She slid into a chair, lifted the lid off her coffee, and gave it the sniff test.
“Did you eat all of the pecan roll?” she asked.
I laughed at her. This was a regular stop for mornings when things went awry or we just needed a sugar fix. Trying to choose one item from the display case took concentration.
Fab set my phone down in front me and the screen informed me I’d missed a dozen calls. I turned it off before it could ring.
“I’ve got information for you two on Edsel. Not a nice guy; no one’s mourning his death,” Creole said.
Fab gave an unladylike snort. “Great––one dead guy and a dozen suspects.”
Creole flagged down the waitress and gave her an order for three kinds of breakfast rolls and reminded her to bring a knife.
“We’re going to share?” I smiled up at him.
Fab made a retching noise before sputtering, “Stop with the public display.”
“Dead Edsel has got a criminal record as long as your arm. Got an early start and it’s all he’s ever been. ”
The waitress set a dinner plate with the rolls on it in front of Creole and leaned down, giving him a full view of her cle
avage. Then she winked.
Irritation spread through me and I gave her a dirty look. Before I could jump her and pull her hair out, Creole gripped his arm around me. “Thank you,” he said to her. After she moved on, he whispered, “Were you jealous?”
“Of course not,” I sniffed.
Creole continued. “Edsel caught a couple of breaks and blew them, ending up back in prison. I read Mac’s report and hers didn’t mention him terrorizing a girlfriend with two small children who left him to reconcile with her husband. The threats got so bad she thought he’d kill her whole family. He did two years and once again got an early release––bad decision.”
“Good riddance to him,” Fab said.
He broke off a piece of cinnamon roll and pressed it to my lips.
“He worked on a construction crew consisting of ex-cons. He had a hot temper and was on the verge of being fired. He hung out at a hole in the wall called Dawg’s. What are you going to do with the information?”
“Ferret out a few people who knew him, kick over a rock, see what crawls out––unless you have the names of those other people interested in hastening his death,” I said.
I eyed the half-full plate, not able to eat another bite. I would stuff the rest in a napkin before I asked that waitress for a bag.
Creole cupped his hand under my chin. “Be careful. Not a scratch, scrape, or bruise.”
“Yes, sir.” I rolled my eyes. “It’s not like we go out of our way. You need to work on keeping the same promise.”
“I’ve got an appointment.” He licked my lips. I giggled and he kissed me. “Don’t look now, but Zach and his ugly sidekick are over in the corner. I’m very happy he turned out to be a stupid ass because I got the girl.” He sing-songed the last part, laughing.
I gripped his T-shirt and jerked his face to mine. “You be damn careful.” I kissed him. “There’s more where that came from.”
I watched as he walked to his truck. Before getting in, he turned and made a smooch face.
Fab smirked at me.
Deborah Brown - Madison Westin 06 - Revenge in Paradise Page 11
