Free Greed in Paradise (Paradise Series) by Deborah Brown Page B

eyes sparkled; one would have to be crazy not to enjoy Creole’s all-consuming kisses. I threw my new bathing suit and black and white sheer wrap skirt that hung mid-calf onto the bed. I would change when I got back from Jake’s. Until then, I pulled on a short black full skirt and a short-sleeve top. A skirt was always my first choice in clothing; I wore pants only when I went somewhere cold, which I tried to avoid.
    I snuck out the front door without running into Fab. At some point I’d have to answer to her intense questioning. She’d interrogate me like a cop, although I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t point a gun. She needed to learn patience since our chat would have to wait until later when there was no chance of anyone eavesdropping. By then, I’d think of something to say.
     
    * * *
     
    The driveway to Jake’s had been blocked by sheriff’s cars with blinking lights. I groaned. “Who died now?” I had to circle the block and park on the street.
    Officer Johnson jerked a young woman with dirty blonde hair across the driveway by a pair of metal cuffs. I wondered if he was responsible for the dried blood under her nose and scratches on her cheek. Head down, she yelled something incoherent. He looked annoyed at her attempt to twist away, and, opening the back of his car, he shoved her none-too-gently onto the back seat.
    Kevin barely had control of a brunette who kicked at him every chance she got. “You bitch,” she screeched at the top of her lungs. Apparently, this was directed at the other woman under arrest. The brunette tried to wrench free from Kevin and managed to fall onto the ground, skinning her knees. She unleashed an F-word-laced tirade on him that would make a sailor blush.
    I hustled into the bar, not wanting to catch the attention of the busy sheriffs. Somehow this would all end up being my fault. The television over the bar blasted a golf game that not one person had their eyes on, and music blared from the juke box. I played golf in high school, but my best friend and I sent more chunks of grass flying than balls.
    “What the hell happened?” I asked Phil, who handed me a bottle of water.
    She had an ear-to-ear smile and swung her long blonde hair. “Once word gets around we had a bar fight, we’ll be packed again. We need to make a ‘this happened here’ sign and auction the seats.” A couple of her middle-aged male groupies who took up residence at the bar during her shifts laughed.
    She went on. “Group of girls showed up, celebrating a birthday. After a couple of rounds, it comes out two of them are sleeping with the same guy. I passed by the juke box when the blonde blurted, ‘It’s bad enough I have to share him with his wife.’” Phil could multi-task, washing glasses and talking at the same time.
    “The brunette finally realized her boyfriend was the man in question and said, ‘He’s divorced.’ She lost it when the blonde mentioned he added a new hoochie to the group. That’s when she jumped across the table, threw a glass of beer in her face, called her a whore, and dragged her to the floor.” Phil refreshed drinks, holding court at the bar.
    I shook my head. “Did you try and stop the fight?”
    Phil arched her brows. “Hell no, and get a chunk of hair pulled out like the one girl? I stayed out of it. Why ruin everyone’s fun? They tipped the table over, chick fight on, kicking, screaming, hair pulling, and slapping—no real punches. One of the customers called 911.”
    I groaned when Johnson slithered through the front door, headed in my direction. “You’re a trouble magnet. If it’s not The Cottages filled with felons, then it’s your bar. A couple of more incidents here and I’m sure we can get this place shut down.”
    “Is there anything specific that you want, because I’m on my way out?” I reminded myself that I promised to try to be nicer, and failed.
    “If I think of something, I’ll call you.”
    I walked in the direction of the kitchen,