“Lord, would you look at the testicles on that man,” Aunt Scarlet said. “They’re the size of oranges. How do you think he keeps from sitting on them?”
“You think he’s had implants?” Rosemarie asked. “I’ve heard plastic surgeons down here make a killing on senior citizens. People get to a certain age and then want to discover the fountain of youth.”
“And testicular implants are supposed to make you look younger?” I asked skeptically, trying to zoom in on Elmer.
“Everything droops when you get to be my age,” Scarlet said. “We always associate tight and firm with youthfulness. Instead of getting the implants, he should’ve given those puppies a facelift. They almost hang all the way to his knees. I thought he was going to trip over them the other day out on the golf course.”
Elmer was down on the beach under one of the umbrellas, sunning on a lounger top side up, making sure his oranges got plenty of exposure. I could barely get a decent shot of the tattoo on his arm, and even with the full zoom and focus of the camera, it was still difficult to make out. Age hadn’t been kind to Elmer.
“I thought about getting my lady parts tightened up a bit,” Scarlet continued. “They call it vaginal rejuvenation, if you can believe that. I haven’t had anything rejuvenating down there since the time I walked through Wally Pinkerton’s yard and all the sprinklers came on.”
“Umm,” I said, for lack of anything better.
“I was going to get rejuvenated because a couple of years ago I thought I might be getting some action, and I wanted everything to look as if it just came out of the factory. But the fellow up and died on me before we could get all hot and bothered. Take my advice, Addison. Never let a man die when they’re lying on top of you. Thank God he was wearing one of those medic alert buttons around his neck, because I never would’ve been able to push him off to reach the phone.”
I was in a complete state of Zen. The mojito and the Xanax were magical and I could feel nothing in my brain or my body.
“It’s probably best you opted out of the surgery,” Rosemarie said. “Sharon Osbourne said it was excruciating.”
“Ehh, I don’t have much feeling left down there anyway,” Scarlet said with a shrug. “I’ve stopped holding out hope.”
“You’ve just got to wait for a man who’s big enough to make things seem not so loosey-goosey down there.”
“I’m going to have to get closer,” I said, hoping this would distract them from the conversation.
“Look,” Rosemarie said. “Those loungers right next to him just came open. Let’s get them before someone else does. You should be able to take plenty of pictures from that angle.”
“I still don’t understand how you could recognize the tattoo,” I said to Scarlet. “It’s so wrinkled and distorted it’s nearly impossible to make out.”
“Some things you don’t forget,” she said sagely. “The Whiskey Bayou bank robbery of ’43 and a Latin lover named Mario are the two things that stick with me the most. Whew, was your Uncle Stan steamed about Mario. But once I explained he was Spanish royalty and it was an honor to be asked to sleep with him, Stan calmed right down.” She looked confused for a minute and slapped her hand on top of her head to keep her hat from blowing away. “May he rest in peace.”
Rosemarie and I stared at Scarlet with horrified fascination, and I did a half-assed sign of the cross along with Rosemarie and Scarlet at the mention of Uncle Stanley’s untimely demise. Stanley had been her fifth and final husband, but he’d died when I was a kid so I barely remembered him.
We made our way to the stairs that led down to the beach, and I immediately noticed the little tiki hut bar set up about twenty feet behind Elmer.
A private investigator, a choir teacher, and a geriatric spy walk into a bar…
No one would have ever believed it.
We spread our towels out on the loungers, adjusted the umbrellas so we were protected from direct sunlight, and got comfortable. I set the camera on the little table next to the loungers and pointed it at Elmer, who seemed to be snoozing peacefully on the lounger a few feet away.
The problem with the camera was that it made noise when pictures were taken, and I didn’t know how sound of a sleeper Elmer was. So I used my second best option and pulled out my iPhone.
The beach waiter came up and took our drink orders, and I sighed, frustrated, because I couldn’t get a clear shot of the tattoo on Elmer’s arm with my phone. I had to have the tattoo. It was the only documented proof the FBI had of the Romeo Bandit. And if I wanted a big reward, I had to have definite proof.
I watched Elmer for ten more minutes and contemplated my choices while I sipped on a Sex on the Beach. Rosemarie was reading a book two loungers over, and Aunt Scarlet had gotten bored and was building a sand castle, wearing nothing but a big hat and a lot of sand she was probably going to regret getting up close and personal with later.
“Don’t forget the sunscreen, Aunt Scarlet,” I called out a little too loud, watching Elmer closely to see if he stirred. Nope. He was down for the count. It was now or never.
I took another fortifying sip of my drink and grabbed the camera. I put the strap around my neck and got on all fours in the hot sand. I might have muttered an expletive or two, having not thought through the fact that it would feel like dipping my hands and knees in molten glass.
I tried not to think about what I looked like from behind. And then I did think about it and grabbed the towel off my lounger, draping it across my backside like a tablecloth. I snuck a quick look at the bartender at the tiki hut bar, but while I’d been contemplating my course of action, Rosemarie had decided her own course of action. She had the naked bartender cornered, a guy of about twenty-five or so, and he looked both horrified and fascinated at the same time. Rosemarie had her own brand of magic when it came to men. She’d once caused a man to be in traction for six weeks during a tantric sex marathon.
The bartender was easy pickins. And he was most definitely distracted. I slowly crawled on hands and knees until I was inches away from Elmer Hughes.
My heart was pounding in my chest and I was covered with sweat and sand, neither of my favorite things. I realized my buzz and the Xanax must have worn off, because I was feeling a whole lot of anxiety all of a sudden.
Elmer let out a soft snore and I squeaked. His arm was limp and his hands were gnarled with age. He wore a pinky ring with a small ruby in the center. The tattoo was wrinkled and the ink had faded over the years, but now that I was up close, I could see it clearly. A thorny vine and rosary beads were twined around a naked woman that had more curves than Kim Kardashian. The vine and the rosary beads ended at the top of his hand where the rose had started to bloom. And right between the woman’s legs was the name
Romeo
.
I’d found him. The Romeo Bandit was alive and well after all these years. And he was about to get taken down by three naked women. That was going to sting. Elmer struck me as the type of guy who’d want to be taken down by a man.
I brought the camera up and took a couple of quick shots, and then I bit my lip as I debated whether or not to stretch his skin out a little and get a more complete picture. I finally decided that was the alcohol talking and probably not the best decision, and then I realized the alcohol had been giving me direction through this whole debacle because what I was doing definitely wasn’t using my best judgment.
I found this out the hard way when I turned to crawl back to my own lounger and my towel got stuck under my knee, pulling it completely off and leaving me bare-assed with my lady bits flapping in the breeze.
“Yikes,” a male voice said behind me.
I scrambled to cover my rear with the towel and turned my head in time to catch Elmer Hughes’s horrified stare.
“Jesus God,” he wheezed, clutching his chest. “I thought I was having a flashback from the seventies. Those things looked a lot different then. That’s nothing like ’70s bush. You’ve got a nice landscaper.”
I turned fifty shades of red and scrambled to make sure I was completely covered with the towel. And then I noticed his gaze had shifted to the camera in my hand.
“I can explain,” I said. “I was putting on sunscreen and it made my ring loose, and it flew right off my hand and under your lounge chair. My camera has a light and a magnifier on it, so I thought maybe I’d be able to see it better.”
Holy shit. I could lie like a boss. I had no idea where that came from, but even
I
believed it, I was so convincing. Maybe it was the Xanax/mojito cocktail that made me such a great liar.
“Huh,” Elmer said. “Did you find it?”
“No. And boy is my husband going to be pissed. That’s the second time I’ve lost a wedding ring.”
“Maybe it’s a sign from God you’re not supposed to be married,” he said, waggling big bushy eyebrows.
My lips curled in disgust and I chose that unfortunate moment to look at Elmer’s oranges. It turned out there was still some life down there after all.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” he said.
“Yep, just what I was thinking.” I crawled forward another inch, thinking of escape and someone to call for help. Lying had gotten me in a lot of trouble. And I wasn’t willing to do anything for a hundred thousand dollars after all.
I searched for Rosemarie and was just in time to see her and the bartender disappear behind the bar in a tangle of limbs. I searched for Aunt Scarlet, but she’d buried herself in the sand and was busy building anatomically incorrect breasts on her chest. I had no backup and there was no rescue in sight.
“How about you join me for dinner tonight? I can arrange a private meal in my villa at sunset, overlooking the ocean. Do you like roses?”
I could see how he’d seduced hundreds of women. There was a certain debonair charm about him that was appealing, even though he was long past his prime. He must’ve been lethal back in the day. No woman would’ve been able to resist.
“I love roses,” I managed to say. “And I’d love to have dinner.”
“Good. I’m in number one twenty-seven. Just come around to the back deck.”
He lay back down and closed his eyes and I let out a sign of relief. I crawled the rest of the way to my lounger and started gathering up my stuff. I was pretty much exhausted for the day, and I needed a nap in hopes that a good idea about how to capture him would appear somewhere in my dreams. Because at the moment, I had nothing. I’d left my cuffs in Whiskey Bayou by accident, and I was pretty sure using the Glock in my beach bag would get me arrested since I was in another state and I didn’t have any authority here. Not that I had a lot of authority back home, but at least most of the cops knew me and cut me some slack.
I was going to need help. Of the professional kind. Savage was never going to let me live this down.
C
alling Savage was
the last thing I wanted to do. And when I say the last thing, I mean that I’d rather be tied to the stake with fire licking at the bottom of my feet than have to face him. But I needed help, and we had a very short window of time to make the capture.
Savage was like a temptation test from God. At least that’s the way I’d decided to look at it. I wasn’t sure if I’d passed any of His other tests, but I was batting a thousand on this one. I’d managed to say no every time Savage had made a move, and I still didn’t understand where I’d gathered the inner resolve.
I loved Nick. I mean really loved him. There probably weren’t a lot of men out there that were willing to put up with P.I. girlfriends who were only average at their job. Not to mention the fact that trouble seemed to follow me wherever I went. I often wondered why a guy like Nick could love me. He was beautiful to look at—the body of a swimmer and a face sculpted by Michelangelo. He was a damned good cop, and I hadn’t even found out that he was filthy rich until we’d been dating for months. It hadn’t mattered. Nick had a code, and that’s what I loved about him. And he always had my back.
Savage made Nick look like second-string quarterback. The man oozed testosterone, and I’d once had to check my underwear to see if he’d made it disintegrate. He was part Native American and part Greek god, and I was willing to bet Savage had no problems with anyone seeing him naked.
But we were all adults and a lot was at stake, so I sent him a picture I’d taken of the tattoo and made the call to ask for the biggest favor of my life. Not much phased Savage, so he said he’d be on the next flight and would see me before my dinner date. I was pretty sure this might be the last time we ever worked together, because I wouldn’t be able to face him again after he saw me naked.
I’d spent the afternoon napping, and when I woke up I was sunburned and I had a hangover. I stumbled into the bathroom and stuck my head in the faucet, drinking water right out of the tap. And then I looked up and saw myself in the mirror and screamed.
No one came running in to see what was wrong, so I figured they’d already seen me and didn’t want to be frightened again, or no one was in the villa. I took a shower and then toweled off gently, admiring the pale strips of skin that ran down the middle of my boobs from where the camera strap had hung. The skin on either side was bright pink.
I rubbed lotion all over my body and was grateful it would be dark by the time I had to go to dinner because there wasn’t a lot I could do to spruce myself up other than hide in the shadows. I did spend the half hour it took to blow dry and straighten my hair, and I dabbed concealer under my eyes and a few other places to get rid of the green tinge left by the hangover.
By the time I walked into the main living area I was feeling mostly human.
“I thought I heard you scream,” Scarlet said, pinning a big Hawaiian flower in her hair. She wore a grass hula skirt and a lei dangled between her ninety-year-old breasts.
“Figured you must’ve woken up and saw yourself in the mirror. You gave me a pretty good fright too when I came in and saw you on the bed. Thought you were dead. Or maybe one of those zombies that I’d have to shoot in the head with a shotgun.”
“I’m glad you refrained,” I said dryly. “I’ve got a date with Elmer tonight.”