Swindled in Paradise (23 page)

Creole wrestled the tray from Fab and carried it outside. Didier filled an enamel tub with ice and stuffed it with beers and a large bottle of mineral water and followed him.

Outside, Fab walked up behind Didier, wrapping her arms around his waist. He turned and lifted her into his arms, and she began shouting threats once she realized where she was headed. Four steps later, he jumped with her into the pool. They surfaced together, and before she could continue her tirade, his mouth covered hers and his legs wrapped around her.

Creole dove in, coming up next to a beach ball, which he bounced off Didier’s head. The testosterone shot up as Didier grabbed the ball and slam-dunked it in the hoop that was anchored on the side of the pool.

I took a safe seat on the steps, and Fab swam to my side.

“I appreciate it that your lug kept Didier from losing it while waiting for me to make my escape. Didier said it was a good thing you were there, or he’d have marched into the building,” Fab said.

“I did my part,” I half-laughed. “I fell asleep in the back.”

“Look at those two.” Fab pointed. “Everything is a competition.”

They were splashing around, jumping, shooting, trading mild insults.

“It’s fun to watch them having such a good time.” I lunged for the ball when it landed in front of me, cutting off Fab, and tossed it to Creole.

Fab shot her arms in the air. “Madison’s not playing fair.”

I splashed her with water and hustled up the steps. Fab treaded water and retrieved balls, tossing them to Didier.

“Unfair advantage,” Creole yelled.

A few shots later, Didier claimed victory.

As Creole swam to the side, hoisting himself over the side of the pool, Fab’s phone began ringing. A moment later, it stopped and mine started. I rolled over on the chaise and handed him my phone. “Here,” I thrust it at him. I knew who it was without looking.

Creole glanced at the screen and glared. “What do you want?” he answered. “If you don’t say something, I’m hanging up.” He bared his teeth at the phone. Like Fab, he never used the speaker button which disappointed me. King Brick only called for something he labeled an emergency, but then, that was how he classified all his jobs.

“I’m sorry,” Creole drawled. “She’s
tied
up at the moment.” He winked at me. “Can I give her a message?”

I shook my head at
tied up.

“I’ll pass it along. Just so we’re clear, I found out recently that I can get a twofer rate on making sure a body is never found—that rate could include your brother.”

Creole held the phone away from his ear.

“Interesting choice of words,” he snorted. “I’m just setting the record straight so there are no misunderstandings.” He hung up. “Brick wants you two in his office first thing in the morning.”

“Did he give you a clue as to what he wanted?” I tossed him a towel.

Fab climbed out of the pool. “Thanks for having my back. Maybe someday, I’ll do the same for you,” she said to Creole.

“How do you do it? Work for that man?” Creole asked.

“Brick gave me my first job and has been loyal since day one. There are times, though, when I entertain the idea of serving him up as an alligator appetizer.”

Didier wrapped a towel around her, his arms strong and steady. His hug lifted her off the ground, and then he pulled her down on the chaise in front of him.

“Do alligators eat everything, or are they sloppy and leave telltale DNA?” I asked.

Creole looked at his buzzing phone. “Food’s here.” He jumped up and ran inside the house.

“Thank goodness, these healthy crackers taste like paste, and they stink.” I scrunched my nose.

“I fixed those myself,” Fab said.

“You spent hours slaving in the kitchen, opening the box and pouring them in a bowl?” I bit my lip.

Didier laughed and got an elbow to his mid-section.

Creole came back through the patio doors holding four bags with Roscoe’s logo blazoned on them. The drive-thru boasted the best burgers in the Keys.

“What the hell?” Fab sputtered when she saw the bags.

Didier scowled at her and whispered in her ear.

She jerked away. “I suppose there are greasy fries in there too? You’re so cheap, you should’ve called Jake’s and got free food.”

“Fabiana,” Didier scolded.

I covered my face with my hands, peeking through my fingers and laughing.

Creole handed out the bags and tossed down a roll of paper towels. “Look, Princess.” He leaned in her direction. “You don’t want it, I’ll eat it. You can go make yourself a bowl of cereal.”

Fab glanced over her shoulder, and Didier glared back at her. She jerked the bag out of Creole’s fingers, and instead of a thank-you, she gave him the stink eye. I held up a packet of ketchup, and Fab rolled her eyes, but took it. All conversation stopped as we ripped into our bags. Fab made a show of pulling the bun apart and sniffing.

“Balcazar called me earlier,” Didier said between bites.

“Did he suspect Fab of being the one he wanted ferreted out of his building and carted off in cuffs?” Creole asked. “He called downtown and attempted to throw his weight around.”

“At first, his call unnerved me, had me thinking he knew about Fab. He mentioned the break-in, and I told him I hadn’t heard about it and was surprised it hadn’t made the news, then changed the subject. The social call stunned me, since he’s ignored my attempts to get in touch. He hasn’t made a secret of the fact that he thinks I’m guilty,” Didier said.

“Crappy friend,” Creole hissed.

“He had the nerve to ask why I hadn’t called, when he knows that I have, and left several messages too. I’d already written off the relationship, but I was curious and pressed him about why he thought I was guilty. He said he was sorry if he gave that impression; he hadn’t recovered from Lauren’s death. He went on about how she was like family and her passing was painful.”

“That’s laying it on thick.” Creole rolled his eyes. “I’d love to have a little one-on-one chat with him. See what he knows and if he’s withholding anything.”

“Right before we hung up, he blurted out that he thought someone had gone through his files. He didn’t say whether from his office or otherwise. Having learned this trick from my beautiful girlfriend, I answered with a question, ‘Why in the hell would I do that?’”

I shook my finger at Didier, imitating him in a pseudo-French accent, “First damn, now hell,” I tsked.

He laughed. “Thank you, feels good to laugh.”

“That was the worst French accent,” Creole whispered in my ear. “But oddly a turn-on.” He brushed my hair aside and kissed the back of my neck.

“Did he happen to mention whether anything was missing, files or otherwise?” Creole asked.

“I did ask and got a vague response, that it was ‘just a feeling.’ Once he heard my snort of disbelief, he added that he was trying to prove my innocence.”

“There must be something aside from his shady business practices he doesn’t want anyone to find out,” Creole said.

“Before realizing I wasn’t alone, I tried to place a couple of bugs in his offices so you could get your answers from the man himself,” Fab said. “Sorry.”

Oh great. She’ll never be content with just snooping through Balcazar’s offices now. Next stop will be his house,
I thought. Creole exchanged some kind of secret-code look with Fab. Translated: He had her back if she was going to commit another felony.

“How did the conversation end?” he asked, hanging on Didier’s every word, taking in the information.

“He wanted me to know that if he did discover anything in the files that would prove my innocence, he would turn it over to the district attorney. I informed him that I had nothing to prove because I wasn’t guilty. And if he thought me capable of murder, then we were never really friends. The call ended, and we both knew the friendship was over.”

Fab stood, stretched, and leaned down, kissing Didier’s cheek. She picked up the dinner trash and tossed it in the bin. Miss Picky had wolfed down her burger and fries like the rest of us.

“Were you able to get a look at any files?” I asked when she sat back down.

“Balcazar should worry about his computers having no passwords. I can give him a recommendation for a reclusive, nerdy geek from one of my more nefarious contacts. Isn’t that how you refer to them?” Fab looked at me.

I shook my head. “If this is a contest as to whose friends are more badass, you win hands down.” I cracked a phony smile.

“Balcazar left his computer on, so I connected with Big Al, and he remotely installed a bug that would track Balcazar’s every keystroke and copy his files. Interestingly, the filing cabinets didn’t contain file one. They were primarily used for the storage of office supplies. I’d just finished snapping pics and was about to place the bugs when I heard a man’s voice coming down the hall. Since I didn’t hear any response, I assumed he was on the phone.” Fab stabbed her finger in Creole’s direction, and said, “I forwarded you all the pictures.”

“Call me the second you hear from your information person.” Creole raised his eyebrow, wanting her to confirm that she would call and he wouldn’t have to wait until he stumbled on some tidbit.

“Haven’t I shared everything so far?” she asked.

Didier kissed the back of her neck.

“One more thing, not sure if it’s important. In an armoire, he had an impressive stash of condoms, sex toys, and some kinky looking outfits. It appears he favors a little game of dress-up,” Fab revealed, looking at Didier.

The last revelation clearly caught him by surprise.

Creole stood, lifted the bucket of cold drinks, and moved it to a small table in front of us.

I reached for a bottle of water. “I have my own contribution. The boys got us a copy of the coroner’s report. I’m picking it up tomorrow.”

“You mean those two weirdos at the funeral home?” Creole asked, plopping down behind me on the chaise.

I glared at him. “At least my weirdo friends don’t ask for cash.”

“Some of them do,” Fab reminded me with disgust.

Creole wrapped his arms around me, pulling me back against his chest. “If my friend in the police lab hadn’t been on vacation, I could’ve gotten a copy. But there’s a lock-down on the files, and no one’s talking; word has it Balcazar has high-placed friends. Anything we didn’t already know in the report?”

“Not really. According to Dickie, the opinion of the Miami coroner is that it’s someone she knew. Whoever murdered her looked her in the eye and took the shot up close. Makes me think a lover or a good friend. We’ve got our info broker working on it.” I tried to stand and was held firmly in place.

“Where are you going?” Creole whispered.

I pushed against his embrace, and he tightened his hold. “Nowhere, I guess.”

Didier appeared thoughtful. “Lauren never talked about her personal life. If she had a boyfriend, she never mentioned him. No reason she would, really. We were friendly, but it was all business. Everyone knows about Fab.” He leaned in and kissed her. “Sweetheart.” Didier turned her face to his. “I don’t want you involved anymore. You hate jail, and I can’t bear to visit you there.”

We both hate jail,
I thought. I tried to think of one positive thing about the experience—there were none.

“Fab,” Creole started, “If Balcazar does have something to hide, the last thing you want is to get caught snooping. Who knows what he’d do.”

Fab jerked on Didier’s arm and shifted in his lap until they were face to face, then said, “If you think I’m going to sit and do nothing while you’re railroaded, you’ve got the wrong girlfriend.”

“Didier, was it on the first date—after the hot sex, of course—that she disclosed her interesting career choice?” I asked. I jumped and restrained myself from rubbing my bottom where Creole had just pinched me. Instead, I rammed my elbow back, but he moved before I could make contact with his ribs and I hit the chaise cushion instead.

Didier laughed. “She told me she was a licensed private investigator; made it sound sexy and glamorous. The first morning at your house, when I watched you both accessorize with guns, I knew I’d gotten a glossy version of the job description.”

I remembered that morning, walking into the kitchen for a cup of my morning addiction and finding a shirtless Didier, sporting a serious case of bedhead and eyes as blue as the ocean, pouring himself a cup of coffee. With the first word he uttered in that delicious accent, “Bonjour,” I was completely charmed.

Fab hadn’t bothered asking Didier whether he wanted to move in or not. She just went to his hotel, packed his suitcases, and checked him out. He found out when his key didn’t work in the door.

Fab cut in, “I finally fessed up, and in excruciating detail. Now I tell you everything.” She beamed at him.

“After the fact,” Didier muttered.

I grasped Creole’s hands in mine before asking, “Did you tie her up to get the details?”

Didier and Fab glared at me. Creole snickered.

“Really, Madison!” Fab scowled, letting me know she’d get me back.

“Since we’re all in the spirit of sharing,” I said, “what about Officer Watters?”

“It seems we’re all in agreement that it wasn’t a coincidence he stopped you a second time.” Creole narrowed his eyes. “I did a little checking. He’s a loner, no friends and a rep as a major a-hole. Unblemished personnel file. I’ll keep on it.”

Our heads snapped around to the patio doors at the sound of the front door slamming.

Creole jumped up. Halfway off the chaise, he set me on my feet on the patio. “Who’s got a gun, just in case?” he demanded.

Fab slid her Walther out from under her towel and handed it over.

It wouldn’t have been the first time that, minding our own business, indulging in a leisurely swim, we were caught without firepower.

Creole and Brad met in the doorway. Julie peeked around his side.

“What were you going to do—shoot me?” Brad pointed at the gun.

Creole whisked it behind his back. “I didn’t figure anyone making as much noise as you did was here to rob the place, but it pays to have a ready weapon in this house.”

Liam came through the door and announced, “We brought dinner.”