Christmas in Paradise (Florida Keys Mystery Series Book 13) Page 8

  Fab scowled at her.

  “I know Miss Prissy thought she wouldn’t be putting out, but she’s wrong,” Mac said. Hands on her hips, chest thrust out, she turned to Fab. “You going to blow off my request? I need to know. Before answering, remember all the nice things I’ve done for you and also factor in holiday spirit.”

  Kevin’s laughter didn’t go unnoticed.

  Before Fab could serve up a snarky retort, I said, “We’ll be happy too, won’t we, Prissy?”

  Fab shot me a look of pure disgust and shoved the envelope in the pocket of her jeans.

  “And you.” Mac whirled on Kevin. “Here’s yours.” She pulled out another envelope, making a person wonder how much room she had in her bra, all things considered. “Not one word of complaint out of you either.”

  Kevin turned on the boyish charm that he reserved for non-work days. “I’ll give you the money. You buy something, wrap it, scribble my name on whatever it is, and let me know what I bought.”

  “Men,” Mac grumbled. “Don’t go all hog-wild; the budget’s ten bucks.”

  Ten? I had no clue what I’d buy, but I’d figure that out once I found out whose name I got. Maybe I’d get lucky and be able to just put a bow on a twelve-pack. “I’ll stop by the night of the party to say hello and drop off gifts.”

  Chapter Twelve

  At my request and with some grumbling, Fab detoured to the bank on the way home. We rarely went inside, opting to do everything online, but this was one of those times I needed to drop off paperwork for the bank manager.

  “We should’ve made this our first stop. Now we’ll probably have to wait,” Fab said, drumming her fingers against the steering wheel. Traffic was annoying her more than usual today, in part due to a road construction slowdown. At the first opening, she zipped around an old Impala, opting not to scare the man at the wheel by coming within an inch of his bumper.

  “That’s a bad time—the robberies have been happening right when the banks open. You never know which location is going to be next.”

  Her headshake conveyed that she thought I was out of my mind. She turned into the parking lot and took the space the armored truck had just vacated.

  “At least we know they have plenty of cash,” I said.

  Before getting out of the car, Fab reminded me, “I told you I’d only come to the bank with you if you speed it along and don’t dawdle.”

  “You can sit in the car if you promise to behave yourself and pinkie swear to be here when I come out.” I stuck out my little finger, which she ignored.

  “Forget that.” She got out. “You need me to prod you along so you don’t get all caught up in those folksy stories you like to listen to.”

  The two of us walked across the sidewalk and into the bank. Almost as soon as we’d signed in and claimed two chairs in the waiting area, a weird sound from the front of the teller line had us looking in unison at what was happening. A piercing scream ripped through the air, echoing in our ears.

  Of the two tellers who worked the counter, one’s face had gone ghostly white. Eyes bugged out, she turned toward her co-worker at the other end of the counter. Their hands shot into the air at the same moment. The other teller was also pale, her eyes focused on the man who proudly stood at the front of the line, gun in hand, amused at how he’d grabbed everyone’s attention.

  He was tall, with dark hair that was partially exposed under the fake combination white wig and beard that sat haphazardly on his head, some kind of goo on his face distorting the rest of his features. Red knee-length trunks, a tropical shirt, and a white plastic lei completed his outfit. His eyes stabbed the handful of people in the bank—eight, including the employees—silently daring them to do something, even though no one said a word after the scream. We were all completely paralyzed, a dead silence filling the space.

  Until Fab leaned in and whispered, “Flip you for which one of us gets to shoot him.”

  “That’s a real gun,” I pointed out the obvious. Thanks to my brother, I’d had a good education in identifying handguns, and Santa was packing a Ruger .38 Special. The bank robber the cops were looking for had used a squirt gun in his most recent heist. Which one was the original and which was the copycat? “Let’s see where this goes. I’ve never been to a bank robbery before.”

  “This isn’t a party.” In a deep voice, he instructed everyone except one teller to gather in the waiting area. He talked to us as though we were invited guests, keeping our attention with his commands, even though that wasn’t necessary, since the Ruger was ready to shoot anyone who disobeyed his orders.

  I studied the man behind the ratty beard, who appeared barely out of puberty, early twenties maybe. Another thing that stood out was that he spoke as though he’d been well educated. It irked me that he’d decided to besmirch Santa Claus, one of my favorites, by wearing his less-than-dramatic and unoriginal outfit while committing a felony. While the situation was dangerous and definitely stupid, it wouldn’t take much for it to get out of hand and result in someone ending up dead. I stayed silent while “Santa” continued his monologue.

  “I’d appreciate it if everyone stayed calm,” the man said. “Make my job easier, and as a gift for being good, you get to live.”

  I was happy the man didn’t hear Fab’s snort.

  “As you’re finding out, I’m here to take something from you, and you’re going to let me do it.”

  His voice was incredibly calm; he didn’t appear worried about the police or anything else. With all the attention the robberies had generated, including the description of his so-called costume, I wondered why no one had noticed the man the second he stepped into the lobby.

  “Jewelry, money, whatever you have of value.” He waved his gun in the direction of the teller. “Get moving and fill up that bag,” he said to her. “One minute. That’s how long I’m willing to wait. If you fail… I wouldn’t want to be you. Trust me. Come on now, give me what I politely asked for.” His tone had turned sarcastic.

  “Over your dead body,” Fab whispered.

  The woman across from us whimpered. “You’re a monster.”

  Santa didn’t take kindly to that comment. After a few seconds of silence, he raised the gun without a word and pointed it at the woman. She hid her face in her hands and started to cry.

  “I’m pretty sure that we can shoot him without ending up in jail ourselves,” I said, just loud enough for Fab to hear.

  “If he demands something from one of us, we’re going to find out.”

  “We also have to make certain he doesn’t shoot anyone else.”

  Fab knew as well as I did that we couldn’t reach for our handguns without tipping him off. Today, we both had them holstered at the smalls of our backs.

  “Silence. All I ask for is quiet and that you do what you’re told. Next time, it will be your head,” he said, his smiling expression replaced with a bored one.

  I moved my hand along the side of the chair, poking the phone in Fab’s back pocket and snapping my fingers, hand out. I didn’t see a way to reach into my bra and take mine out without anyone noticing.

  Fab handed me hers, holding out three fingers.

  I put it between my legs and pushed speed dial. As soon as the call connected, I said in a whiny voice, “Sorry for speaking, but couldn’t you just rob the bank and let us go?” It surprised me to learn that, in addition to helping himself to the bank’s money, he robbed the customers. That tidbit had never come out in any news article.

  The Santa wannabe took his focus off the teller packing the money in the bag and turned it on Fab and I, putting a finger to his lips. “I’m in charge. My plan.” He returned his attention to the teller.

  “Creole?” Scanning every corner of the bank, Fab nodded at the phone, murmuring, “That trick worked once before; hopefully, it will this time. Creole’s not stupid.”

  I nodded and looked around, trying to come up a contingency plan fast.

  Santa stood watch, seemingly confidant, wai
ting for one of the women across from him and the man to take out their valuables. I was certain that this wasn’t the first time he’d done something like this, copycat or not. I was also sure that this would be his last. A little patience, and this would finish as it should, with him in custody. His eyes darted around, making eye contact with everyone, scanning the space as he checked out the only other man and dismissed him, not seeing the older man as a threat. Why would he? There were only a few people there to scare, and he did that right off. Everyone had heeded his threats and done everything they were told, and it was doubtful that they’d do anything crazy to try to stop him.

  Santa began collecting jewelry and watches, even cash, everything people turned over, and all with a smile on his face.

  “Once I’ve finished up here, your lives can go back to normal and I’ll be richer. Fair, don’t you think? You’re all behaving and should be able to say goodbye to each other without incident.”

  Oddly, his voice didn’t seem as confident as before. I’d noticed that he checked one of the watches before pocketing it. Why the change? Could it be he had allotted a certain amount of time to get in and out and he’d surpassed it? Santa came to stand in front of me.

  I held out my palms. “Sorry, I don’t have any valuables. Only brought in this pile of paperwork.” I motioned to the chair next to me.

  His finger shifted on the trigger. My heart racing, I flinched involuntarily, and it took a moment for me to realize I’d just heard a distinctive click. “Santa” looked momentarily disconcerted. Through my fading panic, I realized that he’d just slipped and given himself away, and no one had noticed except Fab and me. We exchanged a secretive smile. That click had meant one of two things: either the gun misfired or he didn’t have any bullets. Possibly he’d failed to load his weapon, or maybe he didn’t have any ammunition to begin with. Maybe he thought if he brandished an unloaded firearm, if caught, he wouldn’t get the automatic additional ten-year sentence. I mulled over my ridiculous idea, but then, maybe it wasn’t. Why not? People had been immobilized by one look at the gun pointed in their direction and his confidant attitude. Advantage Fab and me—we had two working firearms.

  He shot me a disgusted look and moved to Fab. “I tagged along with her.” She pointed at me. “My purse is in the car if you’d like me to go get it.”

  They engaged in a stare-down.

  He muttered, moving on to the bank manager.

  I tried to catch the attention of the people across from me and signal them to get Santa to turn around. The two that made eye contact stared back as though I was certifiable and no reply was necessary. They weren’t in on the plan and weren’t willing to take any risks. I could hardly blame them; they didn’t know me, and even if they had, their reaction might still have been the same.

  The tension ratcheted up when the man across from me put a hand to his throat, wheezing, trying to catch a breath.

  Santa turned his head, and while he was attempting to control the situation, Fab pulled her weapon, keeping it hidden for the moment. The only problem was that Santa was standing too close to the man for her to get a clean shot.

  “I’ll shoot you!” Santa shouted at the man. But his threat wasn’t followed by a bullet, which made me more certain of my theory that he wasn’t armed.

  “I’ve… got asthma…” the man tried to say while his breathing gradually got harder and harder.

  “I don’t care. When you’re dead, you won’t have to worry about your asthma,” Santa said, drops of sweat rolling down from under his beard, dripping on his shirt.

  “He’ll die if you don’t let him use his meds,” I said loudly, “ensuring you get the death penalty when you’re caught.”

  The woman next to him, her face filled with worry and eyes brimming with tears, started crying again. The manager’s face burned with anger, her hands clenched at her side.

  I jumped up, having decided to be the distraction and hope this didn’t backfire, so I could listen to one of Creole’s lengthy lectures on personal safety. “Santa’s out of bullets,” I announced. “He’s not much of a threat.”

  “Liar!” Santa pointed his gun directly at me.

  “Drop it,” Fab said, and a second later, shot him in the shoulder.

  I’d ducked, and when I glanced up, I was surprised to see that Fab hadn’t put the bullet between his eyes. Maybe I was rubbing off on her – a little, anyway.

  Santa dropped the gun, grabbing his arm, and ran towards the door.

  “I’ve called the cops; they’ll be here any second,” I yelled. In fact, just then, several police cars blew into the parking lot.

  Santa apparently didn’t notice and ran out the door into the raised weapons of the local cops, which had him skidding to a stop, his good hand shooting into the air, he turned slightly, his expression a mixture of surprise and anger. They ordered him to the ground, and he obeyed.

  “That was brave of you,” Fab said. “Regardless of what we suspected about whether he had more bullets or not.”

  “A little improv was needed. The last thing I wanted was for that other man to die because we didn’t do anything.”

  Fab nudged me. “Our security detail just showed up.”

  I followed her gaze to where Creole leaned against the back of his truck, Didier beside him. They both had their arms crossed. “We need to remind those two that it’s not like we left the house this morning thinking we’d go to a bank robbery.”

  “I’ll be your backup on this one.”

  “You’re the best.”

  “Don’t—”

  Before she could get the words out, I hugged her anyway.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Two parties the same day—who does that? I asked myself again. The season was now racing to a close, and tonight would be the end of the parties. The last few days before Christmas were going to be relaxing because I planned to decree just that in the morning. The shopping was done, the packages wrapped and stuffed under the tree.

  The Cottages’ holiday bash had undergone a few alterations after the invitations were received and the partygoers complained that it was too fancy. Always willing to improvise, Mac listened to the grievances, and the evening party morphed into a late-afternoon barbeque by the pool so those that needed to be in bed by eight wouldn’t miss anything.

  The latest plan made it easy for me to put in an appearance and then get back home and change for the second party of the evening.

  I pulled on a red, knee-length tiered cotton skirt I’d found while shopping with Fab, paired it with a white short-sleeved t-shirt, and slipped my feet into shell-trimmed red flip-flops. I grabbed my purse and headed for the stairs. Creole looked up, stood, and met me at the bottom.

  “Your date awaits you.” He stuck out his arm.

  “You’re going?” I eyed him suspiciously.

  It annoyed me to no end that Fab was leading the whiner parade, lying on the couch with Didier’s arms around her. Both had refused to put in an appearance at The Cottages party with me. Creole didn’t want to attend either, but he hadn’t outright refused. Both men had lit out earlier, dragging their feet somewhere with vague excuses about errands, and it surprised me that they were now back.

  “I can’t let my favorite girl party without me.” Creole gave me a cheeky grin.

  Fab made a sick noise, sounding like the cat horking up a hairball. I groaned inwardly. Wait until she got that noise perfected—I’d hear it non-stop until she got bored.

  “Good one.” Didier gave him a thumbs up and laughed at the glare he got in return.

  I checked Creole over from head to toe. He was in linen shorts, his t-shirt hugging his abs. “You’ll need to change. A sweater and jeans would be good.”

  Fab growled. “If Didier were going, you’d suggest he strip to a pair of speedos. Eye candy was the word you used once.”

  Creole and Didier laughed.

  “Is this where I say sorry?” I stuck out my lower lip.

  “Don’t fo
rget my gift.” Fab pointed to what looked suspiciously like a liquor bottle factory-wrapped in a holiday-themed box.

  It annoyed me that she wouldn’t tell me whose name she’d gotten. I got one of our female Canadian guests—she and her husband were here for the season, which lasted from November to April. To say it was hard to choose something for someone I’d only shared a few words with would be an understatement. I opted for chocolates from a family-owned store in Marathon. They’d not only wrapped the box but put it in a small shopping bag for a great presentation.

  Creole picked up her gift and mine, grabbed my hand, and we headed out the door.

  ~ ~ ~

  Creole rounded the corner to The Cottages, and I directed him to park at Mac’s. She’d said that way I didn’t run the risk of getting blocked in and having to run down the driver of the offending car.

  He cut off the engine, then leaned over and kissed me. “Any tips on how to handle this crowd?”

  “If in doubt as to what to say, smile, then change the subject. You can’t do that too many times, though, or Crum will spread the rumor that you’re stupid.”

  “Dare him to say it to my face.”

  I laughed.

  Creole got out and went around, opening the passenger door, lifting me into his arms, and setting me on the ground. We walked across the street, where Mac saw us coming and met us halfway.

  “We’ve got beer and cold drinks at the bar. No wine drinkers in this crowd.” She led us to the pool area, directing Creole to where he could put the gifts.

  The gate had been propped open, and several of the guests lying on the chaises waved and shouted hello. I waved back and so did Creole.

  “You’ve already attracted the attention of the ladies,” I said.