Christmas in Paradise (Florida Keys Mystery Series Book 13) Read online

  “The rest of the story?” I asked, knowing Brick’s family members screwed one another on a regular basis, but not murder. Not in the past anyway.

  “Brick’s mistake was ignoring his own mandate and renting cars for cash again. These idiots figured that Brick had an illegal side business going and would never involve law enforcement. And as we both know, he never does. He’s furious and blaming me, saying I should’ve told my guys no cops.”

  “Prick,” I said.

  “Madison,” Creole admonished, then did a double-take. “Did I just morph into Didier on the language thing? What I should’ve said is that I can think of a few harsher words to describe the man.”

  I covered his hand with mine and squeezed.

  “Let me get this straight—Brick thinks anyone you send on a job should risk their lives for a few bucks?” I asked. “You and I know that if we had done the job, those morons would be dead. And then so would Brick, because he’d disappear, never to be found.”

  Fab hung her head and rubbed her temples.

  “What does Brick want?” Didier growled. “Since this is case closed as far as you’re concerned.”

  “To let me know he’s not paying.”

  “Oh yes he is,” I seethed. “I volunteer to make the collection call myself. With a little hint about all the personal dirt I’ve been privy to over the years and wouldn’t be the least bit hesitant to dig up and make public.”

  “Refusing to pay?” Creole cracked his knuckles. “Didier and I will pay him an office visit. It’s been a while since I’ve blacked his eye; I’d enjoy doing it again. Maybe both this time.”

  “Admit it,” I teased Fab. “Telling us all about it wasn’t that painful.”

  Didier pulled Fab sideways into an awkward hug.

  “Good thing I brought the kid or I wouldn’t be able to get in,” Brad announced from the patio doors, Liam by his side. “What, my key get lost in the mail?”

  Liam waved.

  “Security is Fab’s domain.” I came close to smiling at smoothly shuffling the problem into Fab’s lap.

  Didier stood, crossing into the outside kitchen, where he grabbed plates, handing one to Liam and pointing him to the barbeque.

  “Key’s in the mail,” Fab said.

  “Strangers don’t get keys. Not sure you’re my brother. Where’s the designer suit?” I eyed his shorts and shirt—they had “upscale men’s shop” written all over them but was still a departure from his usual uptight look. “Dude? Your image? You should’ve at least worn a tie.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “Smells good.” Brad sniffed. “Why don’t I get invited for dinner anymore?”

  Didier nudged him, pointing to a plate he’d set on the counter.

  “You do. But you’re always busy, with what I’m not sure—your excuses tend to be vague.” I pointed to where Liam was piling food on his plate. “Help yourself. Then come sit and entertain us with stories about a day in the life of a soon-to-be real estate mogul.”

  Brad puffed out his chest and laughed. “It’s probably too soon to put mogul on my business card.”

  Liam put his plate down, claiming a seat.

  Creole took drink orders and refilled everyone’s glasses. I covered mine, opting for water.

  “How did you wrangle visitation from Mother?” I asked Brad.

  To say she was possessive of Liam’s time was an understatement, and that included time spent with either Brad or myself. Apparently, we all needed to be supervised. Brad took it in stride and was the only one to get her to back off and loosen up her controlling ways.

  “I had to book in advance and warn her several times that it was a guys’ night out. I didn’t actually say ‘no women,’ but she got the point,” Brad said, and he and Liam shared a laugh.

  “So, brother, what brings you by?” Fab asked. “In the neighborhood?”

  “I know, I know, I’ve been scarce.” He put his plate on the table and pulled two envelopes from his back pocket, handing one to Creole and the other to Didier.

  Fab leaned over, peering at the envelope. “Didier plus one.” She shot Brad a death stare.

  I shook my head at Brad, glaring at him.

  Creole looked down at the envelope and handed it to me. “I’ll let my plus one open it. You’re not getting us in trouble with your sense of humor. In case you’ve forgotten, Didier and I can take you.”

  “Admit it, I’m funny,” Brad boasted.

  I opened the envelope, took out the card, and started laughing. “My bro is having a Christmas party. Black tie.”

  “Tux?” Creole said incredulously. “And bowtie? Sorry, dude.” He clapped Brad on the back. “We’re busy that night.”

  “You’ll have to change your plans—Mother is co-hosting. It started out a family affair, but when I ran my own party plans by her, she suggested that we combine the two. Dumping all the planning in her lap works for me. The woman knows how to throw a party.” His dark eyes zeroed in on each of us in turn, finally landing on me. “If you can party at a funeral home, the least you can do is show up and act like you’re having a good time.”

  “I’m RSVPing for all of us,” Fab stated smugly. “We’ll be there.”

  “You going?” I raised my eyebrow at Liam.

  He nodded. “I’m working on a date. The girls I know at school left the state for break. Going to ask someone local.”

  “If you’re looking for someone old enough to be your grandmother, I could probably introduce you,” I offered.

  “You know,” he laughed, “that would be fun, just to see the reactions.”

  “I’m a bad influence.”

  “Not as much as I wish you were. You asked what I want for Christmas – lockpicking lessons.”

  “I knew this day was coming, and it’s here,” I groaned. “Nothing says ‘holiday spirit’ like lockpicking.”

  Fab slammed her hand on the table. “That was my gift idea.”

  I winked at Liam.

  “What’s for dessert?” he asked.

  Chapter Ten

  Fab had been driving me crazy, trying to come up with a holiday surprise for Didier. I’d thrown out my best ideas, most of which she sniffed at. Now when she brought up the subject, which was often, I ignored her. Finally, she decided on one of my ideas that met her standards.

  First on her list was kicking Creole and me out of the house with the admonition to not come back until noon the following day. Creole was only too happy to comply, as lately we hadn’t spent much time at his beach house, which was quieter than my house, with no unexpected guests stopping by.

  Fab planned dinner for two—take-out, I assumed, since I’d never seen her even pick up a pot the whole time I’d known her—and we’d driven to a party store in Miami that came recommended by someone she knew. After trying on several outfits, she’d chosen a strapless red velvet Santa’s helper costume, with white faux fur trim and a black belt, that cinched her waist and barely covered her silk-clad behind. I’d found the white, thigh-high stockings with bows, and the saleswoman had recommended boots.

  “Didier prefers stilettos,” Fab said in a breathy tone.

  To my credit, I didn’t roll my eyes.

  The day had come, and I was happy to get out of the house. Fab had worked herself into a state, worrying over every little detail. I’d thought that was my job, but she was being more meticulous than I’d ever seen her.

  I’d made plans of my own, but nothing as elaborate as Fab’s. It was a beautiful day for a drive down the Overseas—blue skies, the sun glimmering off the water. Taking the turn-off to the beach house and rounding the curve, I was a bit disappointed that Creole’s truck wasn’t in the driveway. I slipped the picnic hamper, which I had filled to the brim with food for dinner, over one arm, tucked a blanket under the same arm, and with my free hand, reached for a foot-tall potted sago palm.

  I managed to get everything inside with no mishaps, setting it all on the counter. Not sure how long I’d have to wai
t, I unpacked the food into the refrigerator. From the wine rack, I chose a bottle of Cabernet, setting it next to the basket.

  The palm tree was my attempt to make up for the lack of holiday decorations. Reaching into my purse, I pulled out several strands of colored electric lights and draped the palm, making it the centerpiece on the coffee table. It looked a bit garish, but I liked it. After the New Year, I’d take it home, replant it into a larger pot, and find it a permanent place outside.

  I crossed the living room to the patio doors and slid them open, welcoming in the salty sea air. When Creole remodeled, he’d gutted the small house and turned it into one large, open, airy space. Sliding around the bamboo screen and into the bedroom, I opened a drawer, taking out a black two-piece bathing suit and matching sheer, knee-length dress. I’d be ready for the beach by the time Creole got home.

  The kitchen door clicked closed. Creole poked his head around the corner, and I asked, “How was your day, honey?”

  “Busy,” he said grumpily. A large shopping bag in his hand, he disappeared into the walk-in closet and came out empty-handed.

  Waiting for him, I wrapped my arms around him, running my fingers up his back. Leaning back, I said, “Change into your bathing suit. I’ve got everything ready for a picnic on the beach.”

  “Sounds good.” He kissed me hard.

  I went into the kitchen to arrange the food inside the antique hamper that I’d scored from Junker’s. The lidded wicker basket had caught my attention when he unloaded it off his truck. If I had hesitated, I’m sure he would’ve sold it in a heartbeat. I’d given it a good washing and replaced the plastic dinnerware and utensils with pottery dishes, real silverware, and linen napkins.

  Creole would be happy—I’d gone to the fish market and scored one of his favorite foods: salmon patties. I was just happy they came pre-cooked. I’d chosen pasta and vegetable sides and stopped at the bakery for his favorite cheese rolls. I’d assembled the salmon burgers ahead of time, making everything easy. The last thing to go in the hamper was the bottle of wine.

  Creole came into the kitchen in bathing trunks and a t-shirt, beach towels in hand. I handed him the hamper and grabbed the blanket I’d found in the linen closet at home right after I moved in; I knew I’d have a use for it one day. He led the way out to the patio, and I grabbed a large lantern, which he took from me, motioning for me to go ahead down the steps to the beach.

  I led him to a spot not far from shore and smoothed out the blanket. Creole set the basket down, opened the lid, and removed the bottle of wine and two glasses. We sat side by side, enjoying the view of the water. The sea was calm tonight, not a single boat on the horizon.

  “Eating outside never gets old.” Creole popped the cork. “We’re not going to have much time before the sun sets. If I’d known you had something special planned, I’d have been home sooner.” He leaned down, brushing my lips with his.

  “Well…” I tugged on his t-shirt. “I guess we’ll just fumble around in the dark.”

  He handed me a glass and clinked it with his. “I like this—it’s quiet, just the two of us.”

  I rested my forehead against his. “I plan to enjoy every minute of your undivided attention.”

  We sat with our hands entwined, watching the small waves lap the shore.

  “The chief called today.” He paused, seemingly lost in thought. “Told me that medical leave couldn’t go on forever and asked when I would be back on the job.”

  “And you said?”

  “Told him my doc said first of the year. He had the nerve to ask if I’d even seen a doctor.”

  “Not so nervy, since you haven’t seen one recently.” That had been a bone of contention between the two of us, but now didn’t seem the right time to remind him.

  “The chief threatened to call the doctor himself, check out my story. I called his bluff, told him to go ahead. I’m counting on doctor-patient confidentiality and his not finding out that I haven’t been the most cooperative patient.”

  “You’re probably safe there. I assume we’re talking about Dr. A?” At his nod, I said, “He has experience with flaky patients; he won’t rat you out. But he might use it to get you to come in for a check-up.” I hoped it turned out that way. Blackmailing Creole to get him to take care of his health didn’t bother me in the least.

  “What’s for dinner?” He fingered the lid of the hamper.

  I slapped my hand down on the lid. “That’s how you left it – a vague return date of January?”

  He nodded. “The chief knows I’m struggling with what to do next, and he backed off, not wanting to push me into saying anything other than that I’ll be back.”

  I removed his hand from the lid, opening it. “Dinner’s a few of your favorites—one in particular: salmon burgers.” I took out the plates, setting them on the blanket, then removed the food and laid it out. I playfully slapped his hand away, wanting to serve him.

  After I handed him a plate, he removed the bun and sniffed.

  I laughed. “That was so Fab of you.”

  “Smells good.” He grinned. “What kind of surprise does Fab have for Didier? It’s been a well-kept secret. If he knew, he would’ve said something, and he didn’t.”

  I told him about the costume in exacting detail, sticking out my leg and mimicking putting on the bow-tie stockings that had caught my interest. “Dinner and jungle sex.”

  Creole roared with laughter. “You might want to think about borrowing that outfit one of these nights.”

  “Fab’s not a sharer. And as I recall, you once told me the fewer clothes the better.”

  “I really should stop to think about the endless possibilities before blurting out my favorite no-clothes edict.”

  I lay back and laughed.

  Chapter Eleven

  “That was totally phony,” I said to Fab, who’d yawned for the fifth time in the short ride from the house to The Cottages. “You just want me to ask about last night so you can brag about your romantic antics. Not going to do it.” I stuck my fingers in my ears.

  “You’re a prude.”

  I wiped a non-existent tear from my cheek.

  “Madeline called before you got home and wanted the details. She’s going to buy her own costume.”

  Creole had driven me home that morning. He and Didier had made plans to go for a bike ride south to Marathon and left soon after.

  “La, la, la.” I turned to the passenger window, staring at the other cars. “Don’t want to hear about what you and Mother talked about.”

  Fab turned into the driveway of The Cottages, snapping up the “office only” parking space. “This isn’t going to take all day, is it?”

  “Since you’re so tired, why don’t you take a nap in the office? If anything exciting happens, I’ll call you.”

  “You’re the one who needs a nap—you’re so mean today.”

  I sniffed before she got out and shoved the door closed.

  Fab whirled around, giving the property a slow scan. “I haven’t seen the lights on at night yet. How do they look?”

  “Like two drunks got together and challenged each other to a duel of decorating skills.”

  Fab struggled not to laugh, but did anyway. “Turned off, they look good.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  Kevin caught my attention. It was clearly his day off, as he was dressed in bathing trunks and busy spraying down a surfboard with a hose at the opposite end of the driveway.

  “Do we have to talk to him?” Fab nagged as I started in his direction.

  I ignored her and kept walking.

  “Nice board. You get tired of it, I’ll take it for yard deco,” I said. “I’m surprised no one’s stolen it.”

  “I’d make sure they never got out of jail.” He turned off the water and rolled up the hose. So he wasn’t the one that threw it in the bushes when done.

  “Speaking of… arrested anyone lately? You don’t have to run down the entire list, I’m only interested in the
people I know.”

  He leaned the board up against the side of his cottage. “It’s been quiet lately, just the usual drunk and disorderly issues. Another bank got robbed. From the description this time, the weapon being used is actually a squirt gun. Know anything about it?”

  “Squirt gun? Sounds dangerous, you better be careful.” I looked over my shoulder at Crum’s cottage. The bathroom window was closed, which meant he wasn’t home. It hadn’t taken him long to figure out it was the best place for eavesdropping on conversations going on in the driveway. “Where’s Crum?”

  “He’s around somewhere. I’ve seen him at least a half-dozen times this morning. I’m his alibi if a heist took place earlier today. Let’s hope some nimrod doesn’t think the robberies are a great idea and we get a copycat.”

  Fab had ditched me and gone into the office; she was now headed my way with Mac in tow, decked out in a sleeveless red knit shift, a pile of Christmas tree necklaces around her neck.

  “Miss your mall job?” I asked.

  “Oh heck no.” She didn’t make eye contact, too busy fiddling with one of the necklaces that had stopped flashing on and off. “I heard that a few of Crum’s groupies showed up and pitched tantrums that he’d gotten the boot.” She got the necklace to light up again and held it up to her chest.

  Kevin watched with a smirk, enjoying the show.

  “Happy to be back. I don’t have to stand all day, and who knew that herding old people is harder than children.” Mac winked at Kevin, who she’d caught leering at her. “Any problems while I was gone?” She didn’t wait for an answer, knowing there hadn’t been any. “No one moved, so that means you didn’t put Fab in charge.”

  I didn’t turn to catch Fab’s reaction. Kevin was thoroughly entertained.

  “There’s one thing you’re forgetting.” Fab elbowed Mac.

  “We’re having a party.” Mac elbowed Fab back, but only got air; the woman was smart enough to step back. “Fab told me that it’s the same night as your family shindig.” She whipped some folded envelopes out of her bra, handing one to me and one to Fab. “It would be helpful if you’d both participate in the gift exchange – attending or not.”