Psycho in Paradise Read online

  “Since it’s my client…” Fab said. “Instead of announcing who we are, hold up your badges.” She opened the console, handing a black leather badge holder to Didier and tossing another over the back seat. “Hold it up.” She demonstrated. “A person would need to look close to see that it’s not a cop badge. Worked for us the other day.”

  “You’re in trouble.” Creole swiveled his head to glare at me.

  I winked, unperturbed. “It’s not illegal.”

  His eyes narrowed and, at the same time, his lips twitched.

  “Where did you get these?” Didier flipped the cover open, flashing the badge around.

  “Online. Mother has one too.”

  “Of course she does.” Creole snorted. “Probably uses it on Spoon.”

  “Stop.” I groaned.

  “Here’s my helpful tidbit.” Didier laughed at himself. “I’d like to point out that this isn’t my first job… assignment… sting… shakedown. I’ll pair with Madison, and we’ll be backup to you two.”

  “I kinda like ‘shakedown.’” I winked at him. “I’m the mingler. You can be the man candy—attract the chicks and break their hearts by telling them to beat it.”

  Fab’s blue eyes sparked with annoyance. “You two done?”

  “Not quite.” I raised up on my knees and reached into the far back, hauling a duffle bag forward and unzipping it. “This might be useful… once again.” I whipped out a megaphone.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Quiet reigned across the front exterior of the pink, two-story mansion. It was already late morning, and with any luck, it would be a couple of hours before the hardcore drunks were awake enough to continue the party.

  Fab and Creole agreed that Didier’s plan was a good one. Creole flourished his hand and stepped back, the signal for Fab to kick the door open.

  “Try the knob first,” I said, failing to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

  Fab took my suggestion and reached for the knob. When it turned in her hand, she was clearly disappointed. She shoved the door open. Next job she went on, maybe she could beat the door down. The entry was clear as the four of us stepped over the threshold. The same couldn’t be said for the mammoth living and dining rooms. Surrounded by overturned furniture and the bomb of trash that had gone off, young people littered the rest of the furniture. Having run out of room, pillows had been snagged and the guys were passed out on the floor in various stages of undress, the girls in the skimpiest of bathing suits. None appeared dead, as demonstrated by the loud snoring.

  One shirtless guy staggered in from the kitchen, sloshing coffee over the sides of his cup. “Come on in,” he yelled and waved. “Party will start in a few.”

  How was it that so many kids didn’t have anywhere to be on a weekday? The local college on some kind of break?

  The sliding doors stood open, and checking out the backyard from this distance, I saw that more kids were asleep on furniture and pool floaters.

  Fab bowed to Didier. “You’re the one with the megaphone. Go for it.”

  Standing next to him, I laughed and smiled before moving over to the window for a head count.

  “Wake the hell up,” Didier yelled into the megaphone, his words echoing out to the patio. “Get your stuff together and get out.”

  “Not so loud, dude,” a guy who’d snagged part of the sectional said. He struggled to sit up, but first had to relocate the female that straddled his body. “Who the heck are you, anyway?”

  Didier flipped open his newly acquired badge and waved it around the room. “You’re trespassing, and it’s a felony,” he ground out. His smirk let us all know he was enjoying himself.

  A few hadn’t moved an inch, not even to crack an eyelid. Several sat up, groaning from aches and pains from sleeping on the hardwood floors. Most were too blurry-eyed to know what was going on.

  Creole snagged the megaphone from Didier. He walked around to those that had plans to sleep in and had ignored the warning. Pausing, he directed the megaphone at the first sleeping body he came to, yelling, “Rise and shine,” and not moving on until the person stirred, showing signs of life. After he’d snapped everyone into consciousness, he stood in the center of the room. “Two choices.” He held up his fingers. “Get out now or go to jail.”

  Three guys punched each another in the ribs, stumbling to their feet, and made their getaway through the patio doors, heading in the direction of the beach.

  A woman’s squeals reverberated from the kitchen, catching our attention. Behind the island, she was staring down at the floor. So that was where the overturned stools scattered around the living room had come from.

  Being the closest, I hurried over. The contents of a large silver serving platter sitting on the countertop caught my attention. It held an array of what I assumed to be recreational drugs. I wasn’t familiar with the pills poured into small serving dishes, but I recognized the weed and the diminishing lines of white powder.

  The girl noticed my approach and jumped. Fear in her eyes, she ran in the opposite direction and out the patio door, another one making their escape via the beach. Feet stuck out from behind the cupboard where a young guy lay on the floor. Teenager? Certainly looked younger than college age, but it was hard to tell sometimes. Nudging his backside with my toe didn’t get a response, so I tried again, stopping just short of kicking him. A chill ran up my spine when he still didn’t move, and I stepped back. Glancing around the room, I caught Creole’s attention and motioned him over.

  “You okay?” he asked, a worried look on his face.

  “I tried to rouse him, but he didn’t move.” I pointed behind the counter.

  Creole kneeled down and checked his pulse. “He’s alive, but barely.” He stood, took his phone out of his pocket, and called 911. His eyes narrowed at the sight of the tray and its contents. He flagged Fab over. “I know your client doesn’t want law enforcement involved, but I’m not letting this kid die. An ambulance is on the way.”

  Fab spotted the tray, and Creole must’ve read her intentions. He waved her hand away. “You’re not destroying evidence. If this guy overdosed, these might be helpful to the doctor in figuring it out which drugs he took.”

  Fab turned away. Her phone out, she skirted around Didier, who’d come to see what happened, and had it to her ear as she stepped outside.

  “Is there anything we should be doing?” I asked.

  Creole shook his head. “Don’t touch him.”

  In less than five minutes, sirens could be heard outside, and judging by how close they sounded, they had to be at the end of the driveway.

  One of the partiers crawled up off the floor and made his way to the front door. About to cross the threshold, he skidded to a stop and stepped back inside, slamming the door. “Cops are here,” he yelled and raced around the couch, slowing to kick a couple of bodies that had gone back to sleep. Another one made an exit out the back, yelling at stragglers as he went.

  Slowly, the rest of the partygoers got to their feet, stumbling out to the patio, and the room cleared, with the exception of two guys who tried to stand and couldn’t manage to get one foot in front of the other. They both collapsed back down on the closest piece of furniture, one in a chair and the other on a side table that he slid off, hitting the floor.

  Fab strode in from the patio, shoving her phone in her pocket. A mutinous glare on her face, she stopped in front of Creole. “If this were your case, I’d have let you make the decision about what to do next.”

  “Fab…” Didier whispered.

  “I’ll handle it from here,” Fab said. “The rest of you wait out on the patio in case the cops have any questions.” She marched towards the incoming stretcher and directed them into the kitchen. One of the paramedics asked a couple of questions, which she answered.

  Creole went out the front door, Didier and I to the patio. The pool area had a large grassy area that turned into white sand as it went down to the waterfront. It was in the same shape as the inside—trash
everywhere, beer cans tossed around the pavement, drug paraphernalia scattered about. The patio and outdoor kitchen had been richly furnished, with high-end chaises, tables and chairs, and top-of-the-line appliances. The furniture had been overturned, and some of it had ended up in the water.

  The two dawdlers finally dragged themselves outside, both stopping to barf in the bushes. One fell between two banana trees, passing out. The other continued to be sick but made progress in his getaway.

  At first glance, it appeared that Mr. Knight enjoyed the luxury of a private beach. So where had the runners disappeared to? A private path? None of them were in any shape to swim and no one was in the water screaming for help, so I voted for a path that must lead into the neighbor’s yard. If that turned out to be the case, Fab needed to suggest to her client that he put up a gate—one with spikes to discourage climbers.

  “Let’s track the runners,” I said to Didier. “That should keep us out of trouble.”

  “Does it work for you and Fab?” He grinned.

  “We’re actually rather good at dragging each other back from the edge.” Sort of, anyway, but that didn’t sound as good. “We need to do a bushes check for anyone else that’s passed out. If they haven’t come to, including the puker over there, we need to let the paramedics know. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find one somewhat lucid. Then we’ll shout, ‘Run for your life,’ and follow casually to see where he goes.”

  “Mean.” He nudged me with a laugh. “Except for the bushes that are currently occupied, the rest of the landscape consists of palm trees.”

  “Did you know a person can crouch behind one if it’s mature with a nice big trunk?”

  “I’m not even going to ask.” He grabbed my hand. “It was short-sighted of the ones that left their cars behind. Is there a trick to getting them out unnoticed?”

  “It’s better if they wait until the police leave. They’ll probably take down the license numbers and leave it at that. Even if Fab requested that the cars be towed, and I doubt she would, they’d tell her to call for a flatbed. Private property and all. It’s a good lesson to learn early—careful where you park,” I said.

  “Does Fab always make sure she has a getaway route?”

  I groaned. “No way am I going to be part of corrupting you.”

  “This job is better than the last one, where we were running from flying bullets.” Didier grimaced. “I’m proud of Fab—she’s a tough cookie. I just want to protect her from all the bad stuff.” As we got closer to the beach, he craned his neck in each direction. “This isn’t a private beach—the way they constructed the houses, it gives that illusion. I’d never have guessed.” He let out a low whistle, clearly impressed. “The homes along this road all share the beach. Hard to tell how long it is. There’s an outcropping of rocks down there, but it wouldn’t surprise me if they were easy to get around.”

  “Makes it hard to know which house the kids ended up at.” I nudged Didier’s arm and indicated that we should go right, since that property was the one the neighbor had complained was having the party. Before we went any farther, I looked back to see if we were needed back inside the house. Neither Fab nor Creole were standing outside, so now was a good time for me and Didier to check out the neighbors.

  We’d chosen the right direction. When we stepped around the hedge that separated the two properties, it became clear that the kids didn’t have far to go. An easy dozen lounged around the pool in chairs and chaises. Others had snagged inflatables and were floating in the water.

  I hoped that none of them were drunk, as most were asleep.

  “This side has someone directing the action.” Didier nodded to a woman who was ordering another woman around, pointing to areas she wanted cleaned. Hands on her hips and with a finger shake, she said something to the kids closest to her. Not a one of them acknowledged her presence. The one lying the closest, on a rubber raft on the ground, rolled over and closed his eyes.

  “Since you’re not only a looker but charming, I vote that you suggest she put an end to the party.” I smiled at him, tapping my cheek. “My talent lies in making up plausible stories.”

  “Lies.” He smirked.

  “Inform her a guard will be posted next door to discourage trespassers. It’s such a good idea, I’m going to suggest it to Fab. If that doesn’t get her moving, remind her the cops are a phone call away.

  “You really think it’ll work?” Didier asked.

  “Of course. Handsome, charming French guy? Why wouldn’t it?”

  “Charming, huh?”

  “Toss in a couple of French words. They’re a favorite with me.” My eyes got big. “I know. Flirt with her.”

  “Did you forget who my fiancée is?”

  “Oh yeah. You’d probably survive, but I wouldn’t since it’s my suggestion.”

  “You’re not to leave my side,” Didier warned.

  The woman turned as we approached. After a quick glance in my direction, she dismissed me entirely and shifted her attention to focus on Didier. She leisurely ran her eyes over him from head to toe. Twice.

  Didier flashed his biggest smile and waved.

  The woman smiled back, standing straighter, pushing back her shoulders and running her hand over her blond chignon and down the front of her sundress, smoothing the wrinkles.

  One of the boys sat up, waving his arm to get her attention. She turned her back and edged her way around the side of the pool.

  “Marjorie Ross.” She preened, her hand outstretched.

  Didier went into full charm mode. Taking her hand in his, he kissed the back, introducing the two of us. He didn’t say a word about private investigators or security—in fact, he led her to the conclusion that we were friends of Fab’s client, Scott Knight.

  Marjorie completely ignored me, for which I was thankful. The whole handshaking ritual, envisioning the swapping of germs, made my hands fly behind my back. Some folks thought me ill-mannered, the others crazy, and some of them ought to talk. But I suppose people recognize kindred souls.

  “Mr. Knight’s house was broken into and trashed by an overflow of partiers.” Didier went on to explain the chaos we had walked into. Also mentioned the “unfortunate” man on his way to the hospital.

  “How I can help?” Mrs. Ross asked breathlessly.

  “How long is the party supposed to last?” He cast a disapproving eye around her backyard.

  “The kids have a long weekend from school.” Marjorie sighed. “Today’s the last day; they go back tomorrow.”

  “Your house fared better than Scott’s.”

  “My son is well known for his parties, which makes him very popular. That will serve him well in life,” Marjorie said, proud of her progeny.

  Mother would have laughed in my face if I’d pitched that I needed to let my friends trash the house so I could be popular. Truth was, when she’d gone out of town, we’d thrown parties, but we cleaned up the evidence. Probably too well, which should’ve been a red flag, but she never said anything.

  Marjorie hung on Didier’s every word. The knock-your-eye-out diamond on her finger didn’t inhibit her in any way.

  Didier warned her about the police and that she should keep the partying and trespassing to a minimum. He even went so far as to suggest she send everyone home. “I wouldn’t want you to get into any trouble.”

  Marjorie gushed and cooed. So sickening. One kid moved behind her, out of her line of sight, and unabashedly listened in, a huge grin on his face. Her popular son perhaps?

  Didier brought up her status in the neighborhood. “You wouldn’t want anything to blemish your reputation.”

  “You’re so right.”

  Enough now. I knocked him in the back. To his credit and my admiration, he didn’t so much as twitch.

  “So very nice to meet you, Marjorie. We need to get back to the house.” Didier kissed her hand again. “I’m sure we’ll run into each other again.”

  “That would be lovely.” She fluttered her lashes.
r />   Didier looped his arm in mine, and we headed back toward the water.

  “You were so sickly sweet, it made my teeth hurt,” I said.

  “Got her to promise to keep those unruly kids on her property and not let them stray over to my friend Scott’s.” He smirked. “I deserve a back pat for throwing in how bad an arrest for trespassing would look on their records.”

  I patted his shoulder. “Remind me to clap for your performance later. You rocked it.”

  When we came up the beach, a cop stood on the patio with Creole, who pointed to us.

  “Wonder where Fab is?” I asked.

  “Let’s hope she didn’t shoot anyone.” Didier laughed, and I joined in.

  As we got closer, I waved to the cop, recognizing him as Officer Jackson, a patron of Jake’s. “Is the kid going to be okay?”

  “He’s lucky that someone called for medical help. Paramedics didn’t think it was life-threatening, but it could have been,” Officer Jackson said. “College kids don’t always think—sometimes when a situation turns serious, they compound it by not calling for help.” He looked down the beach. “Where did the rest of them sneak off to?”

  Didier nodded to the right. “The house next door is party central, and there’s parental supervision over there. Her son invited a few friends, word got out, and a hundred showed up. One of them got the bright idea to expand the party over here. Which one is unclear. Mrs. Ross is in the process of sending everyone home. It appeared she still had a couple dozen hangers-on.”

  Officer Jackson motioned me over to one side. “I want to hear your version of what happened.”

  Over my shoulder, I noticed that another cop had stepped forward to ask Didier questions. I told Jackson what had happened from the moment we walked in the front door. This was one of those times that I didn’t exaggerate to make events sound more exciting.