Psycho in Paradise Page 7

  “It was illegal back when I was a cop, too,” Creole said with a laugh.

  “I’m certain your friend wouldn’t enjoy your assessment of him,” I reminded Kevin.

  “When I leave, I’m arresting Doodad and taking him to the hospital myself,” Kevin said. “Where he’ll stay until a doctor releases him.”

  “Am I free to get back to work or what?” Kelpie bellowed from across the room.

  Kevin rolled his eyes at her.

  Kelpie jumped up, kicking her chair back, and managed to catch it with her toes before it hit the middle of another officer’s back. She flounced over. “If boss chick has questions, shouldn’t I be the one to answer them?”

  Nice hiss! I grinned at Kelpie.

  “I’ll take a soda,” Kevin ordered.

  “Anyone else want a drink—non-alcoholic?” Kelpie’s voice boomed through the room. She stomped behind the bar, hips shaking with every step.

  Doodad ditched the paramedic. “Water for me,” he hollered as he slid onto to one of bar stools. “I suppose you’re wanting details?”

  Creole edged a stool closer for me to sit. Standing behind me, he wrapped his arms around me.

  “I always come through the front door, and there wasn’t a single clue from the outside that there’d been a break-in,” Doodad said. “Later, I found out that they slept over—that won’t happen again. Bastard jumped me as soon as I cleared the entry. Caught sight of the beer bottle coming my way out of the corner of my eye, courtesy of the wife, but had no time to get out of the way.” Doodad downed his water bottle, capped it, and pitched it in the trash.

  “Ouch.” I made a face.

  “I came to lying face down on the stinkin’ ground, chair on my back.” Doodad grimaced. “Guess the two geniuses thought that would hold me.” He barked a laugh. “Only plan I could come up with involved beating the two over the head with said chair.”

  “Told him that was a bad idea,” Kevin said.

  “When do I make my entrance?” Kelpie thrust her double D’s out with a huff.

  “Your turn.” Doodad laughed.

  “Da, da, daaa…” Kelpie jumped up, her arms in a victory salute over her head. “I waltzed in the door.” She twirled. “Got me an eyeful and went into ninja mode.” She air-boxed, kicking out one leg, then the other.

  I winced as she came close to taking out a rack of glasses.

  “Connected with the woman’s midsection.” Kelpie gave a demonstration, then grabbed her middle, making a groaning noise, acting out both sides of the drama. “The woman crumbled to the floor. Not only couldn’t she stand, she had a hard time sucking in air.”

  “Isn’t this where you invited her to ‘bring it on, bitch’?” Doodad reminded her.

  “If only she’d stood up…” Kelpie appeared miffed.

  “Her partner?” Creole asked, amusement in his eyes. “Where was he in all this? Sneaking out the door?”

  “His story is that Kelpie sucker-punched him, even though he had his hands up in surrender,” Kevin said.

  Kelpie leaned over the bar top, offering a bird’s eye view of her assets all the way to her navel to anyone who cared to take a peek… or openly stare. “I told you I feared for my life and was only defending myself.”

  I’d never seen a man who could lose his train of thought over a pair of breasts faster than Kevin.

  “Not a scratch on you,” he observed after a moment.

  Frightened. I managed to swallow my snicker. Most people would shake in their flip-flops with Kelpie bearing down on them, not the other way around.

  “I bruised my knuckles, if that counts.” Kelpie brought her hand to her lips, kissing them. Kevin staring.

  “I’m surprised those two aren’t dating,” Creole whispered in my ear.

  “Doodad, you’re going to have to schedule extra help for the next week,” I directed. “When word gets out that two people were brutally slain at Jake’s and there was blood everywhere, it will be standing room only. Especially on Kelpie’s shifts, since she’s the heroine.”

  Creole and Kevin groaned.

  “Anyone die?” A regular scooted through the door and up to the bar. “I’ll have me some breakfast—a beer.” He slapped his hand on the counter.

  “Get out,” Kevin yelled and pointed to the door.

  The man flashed him the finger and hotfooted it out the door.

  “A friend?” Creole laughed.

  “Some days…” Kevin said irritably.

  “How long are we going to be closed?” I asked. “Do I have time to get out the ‘Active Crime Scene’ sign that I keep in the office? That won’t keep the drinkers away, though—they’ll just insist on a table being moved out front so they can sit in the parking lot, guzzling a beer or six.”

  “How about ‘This Rathole is Closed’?” Kevin laughed until he noticed he was the only one enjoying his humor. “Once we’re done here, you’ll be able to reopen. Shouldn’t be much longer.”

  Before I could tell Kevin to stuff it, he got called away by the other officer. “I’m happy you called the cops,” I said to Kelpie.

  She shook her head, mouthing, Not me.

  Doodad raised his hand. “It was me. I wouldn’t have if they’d made a run for the door.”

  “All it would take is for one to die in the parking lot. Then try explaining why you didn’t bother to make a phone call while you’re on your way to jail,” Creole said, letting Doodad know what he thought of that stupid idea.

  “You okay?” I asked Kelpie. “We can flag the paramedic down before he leaves.”

  “I’m fine.” She flexed her muscles. “Don’t have to hit the gym after work now. No need to worry, I got this handled. The other cop told me we’d be able to reopen today. I’ll get the place cleaned up, toss a little tomato juice on the floor, and hope it dries looking like blood.”

  “Just when I was about to say how happy I was that, in addition to no bullet holes in need of repair, there’s no blood that needs cleaning up, necessitating a call to ‘crime scene cleaner’ dude,” I said.

  Creole stared up at the ceiling.

  I nudged him. “If you see a patch, it’s probably a bullet hole.”

  “You should’ve gotten up there and dated each one and wrote the shooter’s name,” Kelpie suggested.

  “Next time,” Doodad said with a laugh.

  Creole shook his head. “Is this you two cooking up new entertainment? Not happening. Got it?” His blue eyes turned icy and bored into Doodad and Kelpie until they agreed. He didn’t notice that Kelpie had one hand behind her back—her promise meant maybe.

  “Doodad, take the rest of the day off and any more time that you need,” I said.

  “Snuck off a call to Cook when the cop had me corralled in a chair—told him we’d be reopening soon,” Kelpie said. “He’s on his way back with a couple of relatives in tow.” Kelpie patted her girls and spun around. “Do I look okay?”

  “You’d never know you took down two felons,” Creole said, which had her grinning.

  “We’re leaving so you can get the bar ready to open, but before I go, is there anything else I should know about?”

  Kelpie looked down before answering, which had me on alert. “Need some ideas for our next theme night.”

  “There’s only so many times we can do wet t-shirt, even though it was super popular,” Doodad said. “You come up with something good, toss it our way.”

  Creole hated anything that attracted trouble, and a room full of people drunker than usual fit that bill. He pinched my butt, and I struggled not jump.

  Looking up, I asked, “You got any good ideas?”

  “Nothing sissy,” Kelpie said. Responding to Creole’s glare, she added, “I’m sure it’ll be great.”

  My shoulders shook. Creole tightened his hold.

  The only officer left now was Kevin. He walked up to the bar and held out his hand. Kelpie put a soda in it. “You need me to open it?”

  “Got it handled.” Kevin smi
rked. “You’re clear to open. If possible, take a rest from the 911 calls.”

  I slid off the stool. “You need anything, call.”

  Creole took my hand in his and pulled me down the hall. “Kelpie should come with a warning sign—a neon one. I can see why the regulars love her. She fits right in—as crazy as they are, only sober.” He pulled me into a hug. “I’m happy we missed the action, although I know you hate to miss the good stuff.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Fab’s Porsche roared into the driveway, and I glanced up briefly from my stack of paperwork as she passed the garden window. The door blew open, and the first thing that caught my attention was the coffee cup holder from our favorite bakery.

  “I’m home,” she yelled at the top of her lungs, turning and flashing a cheeky smile before crossing the kitchen and handing me a cup.

  Mimicking one of her tricks, I snapped off the lid and sniffed. “I smell a bribe.”

  “I’m playing phone tag with a potential client. Once I find out what it’s all about, I’ll need you for backup. The promise and all.”

  “You’re always promising, and then you do whatever you want.” If looks could kill… “Might not be available.” I punched a button on my phone and waited for my call to go to voicemail. Again. “Brad, if you don’t call me back in the next five minutes, I’m going to go pick up Mother and we’re both coming over.” I hung up.

  “That was mean. Didier says the pressure of murder charges hanging over his head is getting to him. He tried to beg off working out with the guys, but they wouldn’t let him.”

  My phone rang, and the picture on the screen made me smile.

  “What?” Brad roared through the phone. “You’re threatening me now?”

  “You home?” I took his silence for a yes. “I’m coming over. I got a report back on Patty, and I have a couple of questions.”

  He sighed. “Let’s do this next week.”

  “Pizza? I can pick it up on the way over. If you’re not there, I’ll track you down, and believe me, I’ll find you.”

  “You kind of scare me.”

  “That’s so sweet.”

  “Don’t be stingy on the shrimp.” He hung up.

  Fab picked up one of the reports and fanned through the pages. “All this is about psycho Patty?”

  “GC sent me information to follow up on that will hopefully lead to someone other than Brad. The Rambler that was used to pick Patty up was stolen and not recovered, but he did get me a lead on the guy that picked her up from the hospital, and I’ll be finding out where they went. The threat of jail should loosen his lips, unless he’s a repeat offender and sees it as a free-room-and-board op.” I laughed at Fab’s eyeroll.

  “At least GC hasn’t cut us off yet.”

  I gathered the reports together, plus another stack that I’d set aside for Brad. He couldn’t say I wasn’t keeping him updated. He might not open and read them right away, but eventually he would.

  “Tell Brad that, if the worst happens, we’ll break him out and find him a hiding place where even the cops won’t look.”

  “He doesn’t enjoy that kind of humor.” I flashed a flinty smile.

  * * *

  Brad had given me a security card for the underground garage long ago, and thus far, I’d only used it once or twice. One of the perks of buying a unit in the building—two parking spaces and an additional guest space. I parked next to Brad’s loaner car, an Escalade from Spoon, who’d joked he had a Pinto waiting for him. Brad had threatened to sell it for parts. Once the cops released his SUV, he planned to trade it in.

  Grabbing my bags, I headed for the elevator, punching the button for the penthouse. Brad shared the floor with one other unit, which he and Didier had used for office space until they finished renovating the building and all the other units sold.

  When the doors opened, my brother and a man I’d never seen before stood talking in the hall. If I hadn’t been looking, I would’ve missed the scowl on the stranger’s face—that was how fast it disappeared—and it took me by surprise.

  My brother took the bags from my hand and introduced me. “This is my neighbor, Alexander Mark; my sister, Madison.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, checking him over—similar to my brother in age, height, and sun-bleached brown hair.

  “Likewise,” he mumbled. “We’ll talk later.” He waved to Brad. Apparently, he couldn’t get away fast enough.

  Brad opened his door and disappeared inside. I stalled and openly stared as the neighbor hustled to his door, inserting the key. “Alex Mark,” I said, loud enough for him to hear.

  He looked up, and I winked.

  Well, I’ll be damned! My brother’s neighbor is GC. I’d know that growl anywhere, since I talk to him almost every day. So much for my theory that he was a nerd who lived in his mother’s basement.

  I closed Brad’s door and followed him into the kitchen. “Is Alex the original owner of that condo?”

  He nodded. “We had a couple of offers but took his, since it was all cash. Investment Advisor. Perfect neighbor. Quiet, minds his own business.”

  “He’s hot. If he needs a date, you should sic Mother on him. She hasn’t meddled in anyone’s personal life lately.”

  Brad barked an unamused laugh. “Let’s eat before the good news. We wait until after, and I probably won’t be able to stomach food.” He ripped paper towels off the roll and served up the pizza.

  Thinking he’d want beer, I asked, but he shook his head and indicated he wanted water before motioning me into the living room and dropping the pizza box on the coffee table. We sat on the couch, enjoying the view and eating in silence.

  “Tell me you’ve got another suspect besides me,” Brad said as he finished off the last piece.

  “Working on that angle. Before Patty came to town the last time and kidnapped you, she was living with some guy named Folsom Diggs. I’ve ordered a background check that will hopefully include his present address. So much faster than having to go to previous addresses and shake down the neighbors.”

  “Folsom? Named after the prison?” He squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath. “You be careful, you hear me?” I nodded. “Folsom’s probably crazy, like Patty. Don’t you have associates to foist these field trips off on?”

  “Fab.” I smiled. “Trust me—she’s a match for any amount of craziness.” I picked up the pizza box and carried it into the kitchen, putting it back in the shopping bag to take with me, so it wouldn’t sit around. Coming back into the living room, I said, “We’re going to find whoever did this.”

  Brad leaned back against the cushions. “It would be easy to think you’re making this up to impress me, but I know you wouldn’t do that to me… or any client.”

  “Hmm…”

  “What?” Brad snapped.

  “There’s one more bit of information that you need to know.”

  He groaned and covered his eyes. “Talk about the girlfriend you can never get rid of. I’m being punished for my crappy choice in women.”

  “Stop.” I reached over and attempted an awkward hug. “When you and Patty got together, you had no clue that she had issues. I’m not sure if you know this, but after your breakup, she was committed for one of many hospital stays. That time was different from the rest—turns out she was pregnant. Six months later, she gave birth to her daughter, Mila Thorson. She’s currently in the foster care system.”

  “Are you saying I’m the father?”

  “The time frame fits. Don’t you want to know if she’s yours or not?” I grabbed his hand and squeezed. “This little girl has haunted me ever since I found out about her.”

  “My guess is that she’s not my child. If she were, Patty would’ve used her to manipulate me, starting long before she drew her first breath.”

  He had a point. But still. “Do I have your permission to check this out, get definitive proof?”

  “This is really bothering you, isn’t it?” Brad asked.

 
“If by chance she’s a Westin…”

  “We want her,” Brad finished. “But if, like you said, chance and all… this isn’t the best time. The reason being I’d like to get to know my kid from somewhere other than behind bars.” He smiled sadly. “Knowing you, you’ve already checked this out.”

  I got up and retrieved my bag from beside the door, then sat back down. Reaching into it, I pulled out a stack of reports. On the top was a picture of Mila.

  Brad stared for a long time before removing it from under the clip. “This is Mila?” He ran his finger over her hair. “She has the same light-brown hair I had as a kid.”

  “Same color eyes.”

  He held the picture next to his cheek. “Resemblance?”

  “I’m not objective. The first time I laid eyes on her, I wanted to scoop her up and smother her with hugs.” Tears threatened, but I breathed them back.

  “Why wouldn’t Patty tell me? Never mind. I know the answer,” he spit out. “She wouldn’t risk losing her bargaining chip, even at her child’s expense. She was waiting for the perfect moment to spring her on me.”

  I scooted closer to Brad. “I’ve had some newly acquired experience dealing with Social Services and found out through numerous phone calls that a child’s family takes priority. That’s if they check out. It also takes patience—they move at their own speed, not to mention having a big caseload.”

  “My money’s on you.” Brad continued to stare at the picture. “You’re a force to be reckoned with when you want something.”

  “If Mila turns out to be yours, you’d be expected to pay child support. They also wouldn’t even consider the issue of you getting custody until you’re cleared of the murder charges.”

  “If she is my daughter, I want her out of foster care, whatever it takes. And I want you taking care of my kid. You have no record, stellar references, and knowing you, one of your connections could cut through the paperwork. If only you were married.” He glared down at the “friendship” ring.

  “Creole would marry me tomorrow.”