Christmas in Paradise (Florida Keys Mystery Series Book 13) Page 10

  “Read about it online in the morning.” He paused, then added, “Or wait for the weekly.”

  Brad broke the silence at the table. “Hey sis,” he called from the other end of the table. “Friend of yours?”

  His friends laughed.

  Creole growled.

  I laid my hand on Creole’s arm. “I did recognize her. Didn’t you date her?” There were a couple of titters, most of them finding my brother funnier than me.

  Brad saluted me with his glass. “Good one.”

  Fab glared down the table. “I dare him to ask me that.”

  Creole and Didier laughed.

  “I haven’t drunk enough to make a scene, but we could remedy that,” I said to Fab.

  The two of us exchanged smirks. It never got old, having a friend that always had your back.

  “I think I’d enjoy that.” Creole hugged me. “What about you, Didier?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was the last weekend before Christmas, and the four of us agreed we were partied out. We made plans to do nothing and spend an uneventful day hanging around the house. Since we’d eaten all the leftovers earlier, Creole offered to go pick something up for dinner if we could agree. My phone rattled across the island, intruding on the rustling of to-go menus. Four pairs of eyes flew to the screen. A picture of the exterior of Jake’s popped up, and I slid it away from Fab’s reaching fingers. “It’s not your phone,” I reminded her.

  Creole and Didier, mimicking Fab’s bad habit, didn’t bother to hide their intention of listening in. Fab signaled for me to hit the speaker button, which I ignored.

  “Anyone die?” I answered.

  Fab drummed her fingers impatiently. Didier grinned.

  Half-expecting Fab to grab my phone out of my fingers, I gave into that unspoken threat and the impatient eyes staring me down and hit the speaker button, setting it on the countertop.

  “Hey boss, hate to bother you, but as you know, tonight is Santa night.”

  Creole rolled his eyes.

  “Backup bartender got in a fender bender on the way here. He’s all right but has to deal with his car. One of his front tires and wheel well took a pounding. I’ve got Mac to fill in, but she can’t be here for a couple of hours. I hate to ask, but…”

  “No worries. I’m the owner—who better to fill in?” I let out a small sigh. “Be there in fifteen.” I made a face at Creole, who crossed his arms, a militant look on his face.

  “Thanks, it’s only until Mac gets here,” Doodad assured me. “If we weren’t so busy, I wouldn’t have called.”

  “No problem.”

  We disconnected.

  “You’re not going,” Creole grated through clenched teeth. “There have been more bar fights than usual since the start of these theme nights, some spilling out into the parking lot.”

  “They’ve been wildly popular,” I countered. “Jake’s is now almost one of the hottest places to grab a beer.” I knew it wasn’t what we served on tap but the sideshows that were drawing the crowds.

  Fab smirked. I kicked her under the counter.

  “Ouch.” She glared.

  “Name one of these events where there hasn’t been trouble,” Creole said, voice on the rise. “The only time the cops weren’t involved, I was there to get your revelers under control.” He added, “You could get hurt.”

  “It’s only for a couple of hours. What could go wrong?”

  “Make yourself comfortable while I run down a list for you.”

  “Are we fighting?” I frowned.

  “We’re discussing.”

  Fab laughed. Didier gave a poor imitation of a glare in response.

  “I’ve got a plan.” I came around the island, taking his hand in mine. “Since you don’t have a Santa suit, all you’d need to do is change into something red.”

  “What? I’m your bodyguard?”

  “Surprised you didn’t think of it.”

  “I did, but I liked my plan to steal you away to the beach, just the two of us, better.” He wagged his brows.

  “Fab and I volunteer to come along,” Didier offered.

  Fab humphed.

  “We’ve got this.” I winked at her. Creole picked me up, throwing me over his shoulder, and carried me up the stairs.

  ~ ~ ~

  Despite Creole’s attempts to distract me from leaving the bedroom, we finally made it to Jake’s—fifteen minutes later than I’d promised. The parking lot was over half-full, which for us meant a busy night. I directed him to drive around the back of the building and park next to the kitchen door.

  “Stop,” I said, rolling down the window as he slowed going by Junker’s. “Wow, where do you think he got that?” I pointed to an eight-foot statue.

  Creole lowered his head, peering out the passenger window. “What the heck is it?”

  “The most famous snowman of all.” I laughed at his confusion. “Frosty.”

  “Looks to be constructed of cement. It’s got to weigh a few hundred pounds.” The headlights illuminated the statue, which needed a bath and a paint job.

  “It reminds me of the lighthouse. It just needs a little TLC.”

  “You need to ask yourself how it got here. Stolen, possibly. Suspicious, just like the lighthouse.”

  “You’re so negative. The cops have had plenty of time to impound the house, but no, there it sits.” I waved. “They sometimes park their cruisers over there to catch speeders.”

  “Great, you’ve got yourself a speed trap on the property.” He gunned the engine and squealed into the parking space at the back entrance. “I’m telling you now—you’re not taking Frosty home. Santa wouldn’t appreciate the competition, not to mention the fact that no one would be able to park in the driveway.”

  I powered up the window, smiling. “Oh, okay.”

  He got out and walked around to the passenger side, pulled me across the seat into his arms, and kissed me until all thoughts of Frosty were forgotten.

  “I’m taking my guarding-your-body duty seriously tonight,” he said sternly. “You will stay out of trouble.”

  “What fun is that?”

  He scooped me in his arms and kissed me until my toes reached the ground. “If I have my way, you’re in for a boring stint behind the bar.”

  “And just because you’re looking all hot and sexy in those bathing trunks, there’s a no-touching-by-other-women policy. Got it?”

  He saluted. “Yes, ma’am.” He twirled around. “You think I’m sexy?”

  “I’d have to be unconscious not to think that.”

  Doodad, looking a bit harried, waved as we approached from the hallway. Traditional tropical Santas were knee-deep at the bar. Looking around the room, I saw that a few had donned only a hat and some hadn’t bothered to get in the spirit at all. Doodad had wanted to ban those that didn’t dress up, but since this was his idea, he didn’t want to jinx the turnout. He needn’t have worried—the place was packed, with music blaring from the jukebox, and even the deck was crowded.

  I slid behind the bar, nodding to Doodad, who was refereeing while a couple of regulars tossed quarters into a shot glass.

  Creole took up his post at the end of the bar in front of the garnish box and scanned for any faces that matched the wanted posters at the local post office. Last time I was in, there’d been one.

  A robust fellow in red Santa pants, a wife beater, and black suspenders banged his beer bottle on the bar. “I’ll have another,” he slurred.

  Thinking he needed to be cut off, I asked, “You got a ride home?”

  Doodad had hired Jimbo, an off-duty cab driver, for free rides. Paid him a flat rate and let him keep all the tips. Must be lucrative because he was back shooting darts in the corner.

  “Got my reindeer parked out front.” The man snapped his suspenders, flinched, and scratched his chest. “Went out there a couple of times but couldn’t find the bad boys. If someone took them, they have a serious ass-kicking coming.”

  “Don’t w
orry.” I set another bottle in front of him and glanced at Doodad, mouthing, He needs a ride. “Probably just a joyride. They’ll be back and parked right where you left them in no time.” Good sense kept me from turning in Creole’s direction; if he’d overheard the conversation, he wouldn’t be amused.

  “Giddy up.” The man grabbed his bottle and jumped toward the crowd. At the dance floor, he extended his arms and waltzed his way across to the deck.

  “You tell me what to do for a change,” I said to Doodad when he appeared at my side while I emptied the sink of dirty glasses, washing and stacking them to dry. “I’m good at fetching beer and doing the dishes. Not up on my mixed drinks.”

  “You’re pretty laid-back as a boss. Most would blame me for this problem.”

  “Stuff happens.” I shrugged. “Besides, I’m smart enough to hire good people and have sense enough to keep them.”

  A scream echoed off the walls, and the crowd parted slightly. It turned out that the screamer was a woman, and she was about to let another one rip when a man grabbed her arm, giving her a shake. Another man lay writhing on the floor. No one appeared too concerned. Those around him stared down into his face, not offering any assistance.

  I ruled out a bar fight.

  Another woman stepped up, but didn’t so much as lean down in the man’s direction before yelling, “We need a doctor. Man’s dying.”

  Doodad raced out from behind the bar to investigate. Creole pointed at me and glared for me to stay put, then made his way over to the man.

  “I’m a nurse.” A man stepped forward. “Get my bag,” he called to another man, who ran out the front door. He came back, bag in hand, in record time.

  The man on the floor suddenly opened his eyes and tried to sit up, pushing away all attempts to keep him down. Bets had been placed at the bar about whether the man was living or dead, with the money running in favor of death.

  Doodad pounded the bar top. “Get your boyfriend. This is a con.”

  I jumped up on a stepstool and yelled, “Creole.”

  When he turned, I motioned frantically. Doodad met him near the entrance, and after a few words, both ran out the front door. Most of the short-attention-span crowd had grown bored and were back to shouting over one another.

  The maybe-dead man had turned me into a nervous wreck, and I was ecstatic to see Mac coming through the door. The only upside was that everyone had maintained their good mood and gone right back to having fun.

  Mac walked behind the bar, shoving her oversized tote in a cabinet. “I would’ve stayed outside to help the guys, but Doodad got all bossy and told me to ‘get your ass inside,’” she repeated with a dreamy smile.

  I nudged her shoulder. “An update would be nice.”

  “You don’t know?” she asked with a huge smile that got bigger when I shook my head. “Love being the first to tell you stuff. Except maybe that I was in jail or had found another dead body—”

  “Focus,” I snapped.

  “You had a purse-snatcher in here. Can you believe it?”

  No, I couldn’t, but I didn’t want to stop her in the middle of her retelling.

  “Dude hauled ass out the door with several bags hanging over his shoulder.”

  Suddenly, the “dying” man jumped to his feet without help. He darted glances over both shoulders, then beelined for the hallway and the back exit.

  “Indigestion?” one man at the bar said in disbelief.

  His female companion said, “More likely drunk, and the clumsy bastard tripped.”

  A customer banged his bottle on the bar, yelling, “How about some service down here?”

  “Hold your horses, Bub,” Mac yelled back. She eyed the bottle, reached into the refrigerator, and delivered the order.

  “Your people skills rock.” I gave her a thumbs up. “You think the guys are okay?”

  “They’re fine,” she dismissed my concern, then set about working the bar like a pro, filling orders and keeping the banter friendly.

  A woman came to the end of the bar, waving me over. “I lost my purse.” To say she was sloshed would be an understatement; I had to lean in to make out her words. “Ahm…redeh ta ga… hommme naaaweh.”

  “Have a seat.” I came around the bar and helped her onto a stool. “I believe one was turned in to the bar manager; he should be back from his break in a few minutes.” It had never occurred to me that I’d need to get a sign made warning customers to beware of purse-snatchers.

  The woman mumbled about her keys, feeling for pockets she didn’t have. She obviously planned to drive in her current condition, but her missing purse would slow that plan and I’d keep her from getting behind the wheel. She’d either get a ride home or I’d threaten her with the police.

  Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I texted Creole, “Need you inside. Woman wants her purse.”

  Creole texted back, “Stall.”

  A friend of the woman’s showed up, the two enveloping each other in an effusive hug. It saved me from telling another lie about the whereabouts of her purse, which I didn’t know if we had or not. Not wanting to let the woman out of my sight, I stayed close to her while I turned my attention to Mac. She treated the customers to her crazy charm, shaking the jingle bells on the front of her top every time she set a drink down. The men sat in rapt attention.

  Finally, Creole and Doodad returned. Doodad had several purses slung over his shoulder, which he took to the office. When he returned, I told him about the woman and pointed her out. She and her friend had joined two men and were in the midst of a beer-bottle toast.

  “Anyone inquires about a purse, they need to describe it before we hand it over,” Doodad told Mac. Since there wasn’t room for three behind the bar without bumping into one another, I made my exit.

  I waved to the two of them, after which they immediately got caught up in conversation. I imagined Mac was getting an update. Creole leaned against the wall, wrestling with impatience.

  “Heart attack guy and his friend were running a scam,” he said when I got within hearing distance.

  “It was rumored to be indigestion.”

  He laughed and hooked his arm around my shoulders. We cut through the kitchen, where I stopped and collected a to-go bag, waved to one of Cook’s relatives—cousin, nephew, I couldn’t remember—then headed out the exit.

  “They make it a rule to hit places they don’t frequent. Once inside, they scope out the exits and identify their targets. One distracts the crowd by falling on the floor; the other steals any purses that haven’t been secured. Once he hits the parking lot, the other guy has a miraculous recovery and takes his leave.”

  Creole hit the button on his key fob, and the locks on his truck flew up. He scooped me up, opening the door and setting me on the seat.

  “How clever of you to link the two of them together.”

  He went around the front of the truck, climbing behind the wheel. “They weren’t the brightest. The inside guy didn’t pay attention to his surroundings and ran straight for the getaway car, not realizing they’d been discovered. He also didn’t see the cop standing there with his accomplice already in custody. In the midst of the finger-pointing between the two men, the story came out.”

  “They both got arrested?” It surprised me that all that had gone unnoticed inside the bar.

  “Hell, yes.” He hit the steering wheel. “Or they’d be back; maybe not in Jake’s, but another bar. They’ve pulled this scam before, and nothing short of arrest will stop their felonious activity. Even that’s no assurance they won’t get out and set up shop elsewhere. It wouldn’t surprise me if there were a few open cases with their names on them. Right now, they’re sharing a ride to jail.” He gunned the engine and pulled out onto the Overseas, headed to his house.

  “Kevin must not have been on duty.” I squeezed my eyes shut, imagining all the ways that would have made the night worse. “He’d have closed Jake’s down for the night. Even if he didn’t, one sight of law enforcement and our
customers would’ve scurried for the exits.”

  “You’re lucky.” He dropped a quick kiss on my lips at the red light. “Turns out the officer they dispatched is a friend. Assured him that the purses would get back to the rightful owners. He discussed drunk driving with Doodad, who it appears he’s friends with, and was satisfied that we had that handled.”

  “You can bill Jake’s for your protection services.” I smiled at him in the dark, not sure if he could see. “The perps owe you a big thank you. If it were only me and Doodad, I’d have shot them in the butt.”

  Creole threw his head back and laughed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ’Twas the night before Christmas…

  “What are you doing?” I stood in front of Creole, loosening his Santa tie, unbuttoning his shirt, and running my hands down his chest. “Much better.”

  “You’re distracting me,” he said in that deep voice that curled my toes. He winked.

  “Why so fancy when even shoes are optional?”

  “My girlfriend thinks I’m sexy in shorts and a tie. Bought this one special for her since she’s a big Santa fan.”

  “She’s a lucky woman.”

  “Salesman said it was vintage. Does that get me extra points?”

  “Anything you want.” I winked. I slipped into a red calypso skirt and silk scoop-neck top the saleslady had talked me into. I’d gotten a local florist to make Fab and me red wrist and ankle leis.

  Creole picked up a Santa hat and smashed it down on his head, accepting my last-minute purchase with a laugh. Then he pulled me into his arms. “Are you going to behave tonight?” he growled.

  “Probably not.”

  “Good.”

  I’d planned this Christmas dinner for just the four of us, and it was one of my better decisions. I wanted a drama-free, laid-back evening. Breaking with the tradition of ordering takeout, I’d whipped out an apron and spent several hours in the kitchen. That hadn’t happened in years. As long as it tasted as good as it looked, the time would be worth it. Fab had special-ordered dessert and chosen the wine.