Murder in Paradise (Paradise Series) (13 page)

“Next time, you and I will ditch them and sneak out the French doors for our own adventure.”

The light flashed on the screen, giving the one-minute warning, signaling the end of the visit.

“I’ll be back tomorrow. You want anything; I’ll get it for you. And when you’re in court, I’ll be there with my party face to give you a ride home.”

“Thanks for making this happen; it’s nice to see a face of someone I actually trust. Call Gunz. Tell him there’s a slight delay in his case, contact info in my day planner.”

We hung up as the screen went black.

* * *

I grabbed my purse out from under the front seat and retrieved my cell phone. One morning while Fab showered, I co-opted a few numbers off her phone. Her “what’s yours is mine to snoop through” policy had worn off on me.

I sat waiting for the visitor center parking lot to empty. Gunz answered his phone but didn’t say anything.

“Who’s this?” he demanded.

“This is Madison Westin. I visited Fab today, she wanted me to call and get started working on your case.” So what if none of that was truthful. “We didn’t discuss details, since conversations are taped.”

Gunz made a choking noise. “Yeah, no thanks. You’re not qualified.” 

“You should’ve stopped at, ‘no thanks.’ You’re forgetting that I know you’re a criminal.” I stopped from ending with, you bastard. “If this job was on the up you would’ve called someone else by now.”

“You keep your mouth shut about what you know and don’t know.” 

This conversation had degenerated rapidly. “You need a reference, call Spoon.” I hung up on him. Reminding him of my friendship with Spoon might keep him from doing something stupid.

* * *

“Hi, Susie, this is Madison Westin, is Mr. Campion in?” I could’ve sworn she groaned. “I have something to tell him about Fab’s case.”

“He’s in court today. I’ll take a detailed message and pass it along.”

“Hello, are you there?” I asked.

“Go ahead, I can hear you.” Susie sounded exasperated.

“Hello?” I paused. “Damn.” I hung up hoping I did a good job at letting her think we got cut off. It wouldn’t surprise me if Susie blocked my calls.

The criminal courts were about five minutes away from the jail. Cruz would be easy to find, the court clerk posted a calendar of every case being heard that day and in which courtroom.

My lucky day, I had my pick of metered parking in front of the courthouse. I ran up the stairs hoping he wasn’t in trial. Hopefully, I’d have no reason to call his office in the near future because when Susie heard about this, she’d be livid. I cleared the metal detector and went in search of the list that got posted on the bulletin board by the elevators.

I lacked the appropriate business attire, but looked better than most defendants who show up to plead their case. I hoped to run into Cruz in the hallway and pretend, “Isn’t this a coincidence?” His current case was assigned to the last courtroom on the third floor. The benches were empty, which either meant court was in session or everyone had left for the day. I looked through the small window in the door; Cruz sat at the defense table. A man and woman sat on the prosecution side, the guard and two people were seated in the front row. The judge and clerk were apparently on break.

I pushed the door open. No one turned around. I walked to the railing behind the defense table. “Mr. Campion,” I whispered.

He turned and stared at me. “Are you in trouble?”

“No, I have some information about Fab’s case that might be important.”

Cruz looked slightly amused. “How did you know I was in court? Oh, never mind. This better be good.” He straightened his tie.

“I’m only telling you because I want Fab to be treated fairly. She slept with the D.A.’s husband.” I tossed my head in Ana Sigga’s direction. “At the very least, it’s a conflict of interest.”

A dark-haired woman walked from the prosecution table and dropped files in front of Cruz. “Here’s the rest of the discovery.”

“Ana, don’t you think you should recuse yourself from the Merceau case since she had an affair with your husband?” Cruz asked.

Ana’s jaw dropped, but she recovered in an instant. “Who told you that?” she hissed.

“I did,” I spoke up.

Ana turned on me, her eyes flared. “You’re a liar and you better not repeat one word of that fabricated bullshit.”

Cruz looked at her. “I don’t care one way or another. Just hand the files over to someone else.”

“Go to hell.” Her high heels clicked as she flew out of the courtroom. Any hint and the gossip would run rampant and the headlines would be lurid.

The pain on Ana Sigga’s face gave me a stomachache knowing I put it there. “It seemed like something you should know,” I said to Cruz.

“Susie will be calling you.” Cruz had a slick air about him. “My aunt and uncle are coming for another visit and requested to stay at The Cottages. The highlight of their last trip a fight broke out and a man and woman got arrested.” His eyebrows arched. “I don’t remember getting a referral.”

“No money for your hourly fee.”

“Unless you have photographic proof that Fab slept with the judge, I need to look over these files.”

“Thank you,” I said and left.

A hand grabbed my arm and yanked me back as the elevator doors opened. “Are you going to tell anyone else?” Ana glared, her lips pulled tight.

“Fabiana is my best friend and I want her to get fair treatment. I promise you, I’ll never repeat one word of gossip about you and I always keep my word.” Even though she looked at me as if she’d stepped in something smelly, I appreciated the opportunity to apologize.

“You’re a better friend than she deserves,” She turned her back on me.

I admired her six-inch red-soled Louboutin heels as she walked back into the courtroom.

CHAPTER 18

Fisher Island boasted the wealthiest inhabitants in the U.S. It was home to obscenely rich people who owned elegant mansions and reassured their neighbors they all held the same social standing. How often do I find myself in Miami with free time? It wouldn’t hurt to drive by the murder scene. A few turns later, I found myself on the causeway that would take me out to Biscayne Bay.

Ever since Liam paired my cell phone with the dashboard, it made talking on the phone so much easier, not to mention my driving sucked with a phone in one hand. The dash started to ring, the only drawback—no call-screening ability.

“What are you doing?” Creole asked.

“Just finished my visit with Fab, and heading home. Anything new on getting Fab out of jail?”

The noisy background told me Creole was cruising the streets in his pickup truck. “Word is charges will get dropped before the court hearing. Tests are coming back and nothing’s linking Fab. The backyard video is being heavily scrutinized because it didn’t go through the correct chain of command. You got anything for me after your visit?”

“We didn’t talk about the case. We talked about her new friends and how yummy the food is. I have another call, I’ll talk to you later.” I clicked off. If we talked any longer, I knew I’d blurt out my destination.

To my surprise, the only mode of transportation over to Fisher Island was a ferry. The incoming one had just docked and there were half a dozen cars in line for the return trip. I came to a stop in front of a guard with an official looking clipboard and rolled down my window.

“Your name?” he asked.

That surprised me. “Madison Westin.”

He flipped the page on his clipboard. “Who are you here to see? I’ll need to call and confirm to give your access.”

Who knew that private island meant private? I laughed with embarrassment, my cheeks burning red. “I’m joyriding. I planned to drive around the island, grab a coffee, and come right back.”

“That’s not allowed. One hundred feet ahead, you can make a U-turn.”

Before I could put the Hummer in gear, Creole stood staring at me through my driver’s side window. “How’s it going, Stan?” he said to the guard. He yanked on one of my red curls. “You do realize that you’re sixty miles in the opposite direction of your house? Park over there next to my truck.” He pointed to a small parking lot that held about ten cars.

I parked next to his truck. Creole jerked my door open. “You’re such a liar.” The corners of his mouth turned up. “You need to pay attention to your rearview; then you might have known I’d been following you since you got on the causeway.”

I knew some of my antics amused Creole but for how long? Where Creole laughed and warned me, I’d be in big trouble if I got hurt, Zach would get mad and stomp away.

“I didn’t feel the need to detail every stop I made on my way home.”

“Let me guess, once you got over to the island you’d cruise the murder scene? Or worse, get out of your car and sneak around the property?”

I decided to pull my favorite and answer with another question: “How did Fab and Gabriel get on the coveted guest list?”

“Gabriel jacked a speed boat; Fab used it as her ride off the island. We found the boat tied up right where Fab said it would be at the guest dock of a yacht club. Turned out to be stolen out of Lauderdale by a man fitting Gabriel’s description.”

I flashed him a flirty smile. “You’re a cop; you have access. Take me for a murder tour. You could narrate it like an overpriced bus tour, ‘and this happened here.’”

He traced my lips with his fingers. “Careful. Don’t flirt with me unless you’re willing to accept the consequences.” Our eyes locked. Damn. There was that electric jolt of chemistry again. “It’s against department rules.”

I stuck my chin out, letting him know I’d make an end run around him and get over there on my own. “Have a nice day.”

Creole grabbed my arm. “It’s just a house; the yellow police tape hasn’t been removed.” He gave me a shake. “How long before you’re back here?”

“Tomorrow. And I’ll be a legitimate guest of someone, so don’t worry about me breaking the law.”

“I don’t have all day. We’ll take one of the police speedboats.” He motioned to follow him over to the dock, stopping at the dock master’s office, flashing his badge and filling out a form.

Creole reached into a storage box and tossed me a life jacket. “Put it on. I’m going to drive so fast that you’ll get sea sick and want to turn around and come right back.”

I loved boats, but the thought of wave jumping, the bottom of the boat hitting the water hard every few seconds, made me nauseous before I even set foot aboard. I looked him straight in the eye. “And you can explain to Mother why I’m green and puking.”

He and I knew that was a well-played trump card. If I hadn’t seen the flicker in his eye, I would’ve backed down and not gotten on board. I’d been seasick once and it had been gruesome and lasted long after I set foot on solid ground.

He held out his hand, holding tight, while I stepped across from the dock and into the boat. “How do we get around if we arrive by boat?”

“We have two police trucks and two golf carts on the other side, which is the preferred mode of transportation. Going by boat cuts down on the waiting time for the ferry. There are private boat marinas on both sides for island residents. Some boat over or walk on the ferry. It’s convenient for them to leave a car on this side.”

“The golf cart sounds like fun. Can I drive?”

Creole’s blue eyes were blazing. “Ground rules: I’ll drive you by the house, you can hang out the window all you want, and then we leave. Agreed?” 

“What if I have to go to the bathroom? Or I need something to drink?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Can you swim?” 

“No, I can’t.” 

Creole smirked and turned the key. I stood in the front on the port side, feeling the water spray in my face. I grabbed hold of the railing to keep from falling when he first took off, none too smoothly. A perfect day for a boat ride, I loved the blue-green waters of Florida getting deeper blue the closer we got to the Atlantic. If this had been a planned trip, I’d drop anchor and spend the rest of the afternoon reading and napping.

All too soon, Creole pulled into a visitor slip. He helped me off the boat, grabbing my arm. “You stay by my side. If you even try to wander off I’ll handcuff you.”

The golf carts had all been assigned out by the time we got to the island, so we climbed into the last pickup instead.

“When I told you that you could hang out the window, I hoped that you’d just roll down the window and stay inside the truck,” Creole snapped and jerked my top.

I poked my head back inside and pointed through the open gates to the inside courtyard that could easily park ten cars. “That’s Zach’s truck up there in the driveway.”

Creole squinted. “You don’t know that, you can’t see the tags from here. There are a lot of overpriced SUVs on this island. Could even belong to Chrissy Wright.”

“Well, does it? You’re investigating the case, you should know every car licensed to the Wrights.”

He turned into the driveway, his look letting me know that what ever happened I deserved it. “What ridiculous lie are you going to tell?”

“Zach’s my boyfriend! Can’t a girlfriend stop and say hello?”

“You must drive him crazy. He’s such a control freak and you’re a wild card!” Creole shook his head.

Creole hung back and leaned against the truck, arms crossed, as I walked up the walkway. Zach shut the front door behind him and started down the steps.

He blinked, looking surprised and not in a good way. “What are you doing here?”

It didn’t matter what I said, he’d be mad. “How about a tour?” 

Zach fixed me with a glare. “Our client doesn’t wish to have any visitors, her husband was murdered in case you hadn’t heard, and you’re trespassing. You’ve been ducking my calls and you show up with here with him.” He pointed to Creole. “What does she have on you?”

“Hey, pal,” Creole yelled back, “don’t be mad at me! I only drove to keep her from being arrested.”

“You can get over being mad at me,” Zach said to me. “I didn’t have anything to do with Fab being arrested. I called to tell you I pulled strings and got you an early jail visit.” “Thanks, I saw her earlier. She’s making friends.”