Deborah Brown - Madison Westin 06 - Revenge in Paradise (9 page)

“You know how many times I’ve heard that?” She barked her instructions, ordering me to stand on the shoe outline where she snapped my photo. Then she squished my fingers across an inkpad, tossing a paper towel to me to rub off the black ink.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she said, and ushered me into a holding cell.

I lay on the bed and curled into a ball, trying to stay calm and do the biggest pretend job of my life, telling myself I was sipping a margarita on the beach. I needed to pee but the only toilet sat in the corner, and the thought of someone watching freaked me out.

I tossed and turned and lay on my back and kept an eye on the crawling thing in the corner of the ceiling, at least it wasn’t a roach. I turned to the wall and started counting the tick marks, wondering where someone had gotten a marker. After losing count three times and starting over, I closed my eyes. Days went by, more likely a few hours, when—at the same time—my name got bellowed by the guard and I heard a key inserted in the cell door. I rolled over and almost started to cry.

The Chief himself stood in the opening. I leaped up and threw myself in his arms. “I’m so happy to see your grumpy-ass self.”

He patted me on the back. “If you get any body fluids on my shirt, I’ll lock you up again.”

I looked up at him and choked back a sob. “Fab’s here, too.”

He took a monogrammed handkerchief from his pocket, placing it in my hand. “Come on, you haven’t seen my new office yet. There are perks to being Chief of Detectives. Nice big desk, comfortable furniture.”

I struggled to get my emotions under control. “How did you find me?” I sniffed.

“Creole burned up my phone until I answered. He’s not happy with you. Mentioned he might be committing a felony on your person. He blew into the old rubber factory as your Hummer was being loaded on a flatbed along with the Jaguar.”

“Everyone I asked to call you sneered at me. Your investigator needs personality school.”

“That reminds me, I have to call Creole. Didn’t take you long to have my best detective mumbling to himself.”

“I don’t understand what’s going on. No one told me anything. I swear to you we were only there to pick up the Jaguar for
your friend
, Brick. How much trouble are we in?”

The door opened and Fab stalked in, looking like a wild mess, her jeans and shirt covered in dirt.

“Man I hate this place,” she muttered.

Harder’s eyes turned to steel, looking her over. “You do realize, Miss Merceau, that you owe me––and owe me big.”

“Fine. Just ask her and we’ll do it.” Fab turned and rolled her eyes. Good thing Harder couldn’t see her face.

“Did I say thank you?” I smiled at Harder. “Probably not!”

“O’Neill would like to speak with the both of you.” He picked up his phone, demanding the investigator’s appearance.

“What about Cruz?” I asked.

“He’s waiting for court to resume, so he’s sending over an associate. In the meantime, he’ll be on speaker phone.” Harder used his desk phone to call him. “This is just a formality,” he said to Cruz. “Once I heard these two were involved, I was certain it was another case of wrong place, wrong time. I spoke with Brick to confirm.”

O’Neill knocked and stuck his head in, then held the door for another man who introduced himself as Cruz’s associate, Timothy Leeds, and looked fresh out of law school. He nodded at me and passed business cards around the table. He sat between Fab and I.

“I’ll interrupt when I don’t want you to answer,” he whispered to the two of us.

Harder took the call off of speaker and handed the phone to Mr. Leeds, who exchanged a few words with Cruz and hung up. Another man in jeans slid in the door and seated himself next to O’Neill.

“You don’t mind if I start.” Harder glared at O’Neill. “Tell us from the beginning, when you got the call and everything you saw,” he said to me.

I gave him a detailed synopsis of our morning, from when we left jail visitation to finding ourselves surrounded.

“Mine’s the same as hers, except that there were two homeless-looking men slumped over shopping carts,” Fab said.

Harder and O’Neill exchanged looks.

“We know about them,” Harder said.

Fab continued. “I kept my eyes peeled and didn’t see a thing. We never went into any of the buildings.”

“What kind of business was it?” I asked.

“It was a large rubber company that primarily manufactured tires, merged with a larger company that plucked off the good assets, selling everything else and laying off a lot of employees. The man who owns the property is old and rich and doesn’t care that it’s an eyesore that attracts felons wanting to dump evidence. I’m sure you noticed that there are no neighbors to complain.”

Fab had her arms wrapped around her body, she’d been eyeing the door and the window. Hopefully she knew we were on the third floor.

“When can we leave?” she asked.

“The Hummer is now downstairs in the parking lot.” Harder reached in his pocket and pushed the keys across the desk, then opened his desk drawer and handed over our guns. “You two are lucky these haven’t been fired in a while.”

“Aren’t you going to tell us why you brought us here?” I asked.

The lawyer looked completely bored.

“We apologize for the inconvenience. It’s an ongoing investigation.” Investigator O’Neill smirked. Translation:
“None of your business.”

I’d be annoyed later, once I was back home, floating in the pool. I said to Harder, “If you have questions, call me. We’ll both be available,” and nudged Fab’s foot.

The attorney finally spoke up. I wondered if he thought I didn’t notice him using the phone in his lap. “Call Mr. Cruz’s office and we’ll make them accessible.”

“Come on,” Harder said as he stood up. “I’ll walk you out.”

Fab and I rode home, both lost in our own thoughts. It wasn’t until we turned on to the Overseas Highway that Fab broke the silence. “I saw the body,” she said, and shuddered.

“What body?” I screeched. “What are you talking about?”

“Someone wanted Gage Banford dead. Blew his face off. Several holes in his chest, blood splattered everywhere. Brick needs a new trunk if there is such a thing, I don’t see how that mess gets cleaned up.”

I squeezed my eyes shut momentarily. I just wanted to go home and have Creole wrap his arms around me, but it wouldn’t be that simple after today.

“Our car retrieval job had a dead body in the trunk? That’s why all the questions about Gage,” I said. “I wonder if that ass-clown lawyer of ours knew this was a murder case.”

“I’m just glad we’re out of there.” Fab weaved through the traffic.

“You do realize that without a friendship with Harder we’d be wearing ugly orange and staring through bars and not sharing the same cell.” I looked at my cell phone for the time. I wore a watch, but only for decoration; I never set the time and knew nothing about changing the battery. “Ten hours of detention seemed like days. You damned well better be nice to Harder the next time you see him.” I started to shake.

“Are you okay?” She pulled my hair.

“Where in the hell was Brick?” I screamed out my frustration. “He knew something went wrong when we didn’t show up on time!” I paused to breathe. “Thank goodness for Creole, who is going to kill us. I don’t want to go home, and we can’t go to Mother’s. When she hears Brick’s involved that will end any sympathy. She loathes him.”

“I can’t believe I’m going to say this,” Fab said, and made a face at me, “but getting arrested, chased, and shot at is getting old. Want a partner in Jake’s? We’ll cater to the unsavory sort and discourage the others.”

“You know I’ve wanted you as a partner from day one and you turned up your dainty nose. We’d need a new name.”

“We could still take the crap cases, missing animals and dead people––not surprise dead people like today. You know, like the caskets missing or bodyguard for Dickie when he does fancy funerals.” She ran her finger along the bridge of her nose, admiring it in the rearview mirror, and smiled.

“Eww,” we both said at the same time.

Poor thing, Fab’s lost her mind
.

“Didier’s back?” I pointed to his car. “He got back earlier than you thought. We should’ve gone to Key West.”

“Please don’t tell him anything, not tonight anyway,” Fab pleaded.

“I’m taking a shower and pulling the covers over my head. Listen to me––it would be a lot better coming from your lips than Creole’s.”

We walked in together. I smiled at Didier and picked up Jazz. “See you two in the morning,” I said, and disappeared up the stairs before he could say more than, “How was your day?”

* * *

When I peeked into the kitchen the next morning, Fab and Didier were entangled, laughing and drinking coffee. She had a tendency to ignore good advice, and I knew the words “almost charged with murder” and “no chance of ever getting out of jail” never passed her lips.

Jazz sat on the island, Didier feeding him some treat Fab buys from the deli. “No feeding him on the counter.” I picked Jazz up and set him on the floor; he meowed at me, and stuck his tail in the air, giving me the cold shoulder.

“What?” I mouthed to Fab silently, stirring my coffee.

She gave a slight shake of her head.

“What are you two ladies doing today?” Didier winked at me and put his arm around Fab.

“I’m sitting out by the pool with a book. I’m turning my phone to silent. I need a quiet day.” I smiled weakly, feeling guilty Fab hadn’t womaned-up.

Before Fab could answer, the front door banged against the wall. “Where in the hell are you?” Creole yelled. He blew in like a full-force category-5 hurricane. I didn’t say a word and slid closer to Fab.

“What the hell, man?” Didier scowled at him.

Creole stalked into the kitchen. “What did I specifically tell you two?”

I’d never seen him this mad, rendering me speechless. I admired that no one intimidated Fab, but getting in his face with a snotty attitude would be the wrong move. Thankfully, she stayed quiet.

Creole told Didier in excruciating detail about our little adventure. How we ignored the warning beep on the GPS—along with every single other thing he said about safety—and put our lives in danger.

I gave him kudos for story recreation. He ramped up the drama to where our offense of not listening became a felony. His story-telling skills were on par with mine.

He turned his dark eyes on me. To look at them then, you’d never know they were blue.

“Come here,” he demanded.

“No.” I hid behind Fab, peeping one eye over her shoulder. “Where’s your gun?” I felt up her back.

It took a few moments for Didier to absorb everything he’d just heard, but when it all clicked into place, he turned on Fab and yelled at her in French and the fight was on.

Her hands flew to her hips, and leaning forward, she yelled right back in his face.

Starting tomorrow, new rule: No fighting in French.

Not paying attention, Creole grabbed my arm and pulled me around the island.

“Are you okay?” he asked as he looked me over. In one swift move, he threw me over his shoulder like a sack of flour and headed out the door.

“Don’t wait up,” he called.

He dumped me on the front seat of his truck, and fastened my seat belt. “I dare you to move,” he growled.

He hit the gas. Staring at the road, he flew over to the Overseas Highway, his jaw clenched the whole way.

I laid my head on the back of the seat. “It was terrible.” I started to cry.

“You know you’re not allowed to cry, so stop it.” He ran his hand gently down the back of my head.

“I don’t like jail,” I said, and covered my face with my hands to sob out all the fear I had stored from the day before, especially those bleakest moments when I thought I might not see him again without a barrier between us.

“We’ve got the whole day and night together and I’m going to make you forget yesterday.”

“That’s understanding of you,” I sniffed.

“Did I forget to mention the part where you’re going to get a lecture that sets your ears on fire, and if I suspect you’re not listening, I’ll call your mother?”

“I’d never escape without another torturous lecture. Once, as a teenager, I made her cry and I was so consumed with guilt that I threw myself in her arms to comfort her. I still had to go to my room.”

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.