Chapter 7
Kendall answered, and I made introductions. I asked her about Brandon‘s whereabouts last night.
“Yeah. This is kind of embarrassing,” she said, “but he spent the night at my place.”
“What time did you meet up?”
“And he was there all night?”
“Yes.”
“That’s all I need to know,” I said, then ended the call after thanking her. I glanced at Brandon. “Looks like you’re off the hook.”
He gloated. “Told you.”
I thanked him for his cooperation and told him to get in touch if he thought of anything else that might be helpful.
We left the Delphine, climbed into the van, and headed back to the Avventura to get ready for the evening. We stopped in Diver Down and took a seat at the bar to grab something to eat first.
Teagan greeted us with that infectious smile of hers. In a skimpy bikini top and jean shorts, the teal-eyed beauty was always a delightful sight.
"I heard about the murder at the Coronado,” she said. "You think that's an isolated incident?”
"I don't know. I thought we had a promising suspect, but I'm not sure now."
She looked at me with a grave face. "I just had a bad feeling from the moment I woke up this morning.”
"You and your feelings.”
She frowned at me. "I just knew something bad was gonna happen.”
"Think positive," I said.
Her face twisted with a playful scowl. "I do think positive. But sometimes these visions just pop into my head. There’s nothing I can do about them. I don't want them. But sometimes they come flooding in no matter what I do.”
Teagan’s supposed psychic powers came and went, and she was never fond of the gift. It always put her in a bad space.
I didn't know what to believe, but the girl had a hell of an intuition.
"Why don't you channel that energy productively and figure out who the hell killed this girl?"
"You know I don't like to tap into that kind of thing. It just brings bad luck.”
I smiled. "Luck is what we make of it. If you think you have good luck, you’ll have good luck. If you think you have bad luck, that's what you‘ll have.”
She gave me a flat look.
I raised my hands innocently.
"What will it be?"
"I think I'm in the mood for steak tacos,” I said.
Teagan looked at Jack. "Let me guess. You want the lobster roll."
Jack smiled. "You read my mind. I still think we need to go to Vegas."
She lifted an eyebrow at him. "You remember what happened the last time you took me gambling?"
Jack frowned. "Yeah, well, that was a fluke.”
Teagan poured two glasses of Wild Fury whiskey and slid them across the counter. JD and I sipped our beverages, and she put in our order. We sat at the bar, kicking around theories about the cases, and tried to unwind.
After we ate, we headed back to the Avventura, and I took Buddy out for a quick walk. The little Jack Russell was more than ready to stretch his legs.
When I returned, I took a shower, then got dressed for the evening. I wore a stylish Di Fiore suit, a Julian Vellore tie, and shoes by Sergio Valtieri.
With his usual flair, Jack donned a Hugo Hale suit with a waistcoat, silk tie, and shoes by Lucien Thorne. He combed his hair back and put it into a slick ponytail. He looked part gangster, part rockstar. I must say, we were both looking pretty dapper.
We decided to leave the van behind and called for a limo. Might as well show up to the event in style.
The driver picked us up and chauffeured us across town to the Paradise Pavilion. The place was packed. People in fashionable attire waited to get inside. There were plenty of sparkly dresses, high hemlines, plunging necklines, spike-heeled shoes, and fine jewelry.
There was a long line, which was bypassed by the VIPs. The paparazzi loitered outside. Camera flashes blinded celebrities and socialites as they climbed out of limousines.
This was THE event to be at in Coconut Key. Everyone who was anyone would be in attendance tonight. News crews surrounded the venue. Notable people drove down from Miami. This was a big deal. It felt like a movie premiere in Hollywood.
Our driver pulled to the red carpet, hopped out, and grabbed our door.
Jack stepped out of the limousine with a beaming smile on his face.
Cameras flashed.
The crowd of onlookers cheered.
It didn't matter who we were. We had just stepped out of a limo onto the red carpet. They would cheer for anybody. Because of the band and his failed mayoral campaign, Jack was almost a local celebrity. But that didn’t really count for much.
We walked the red carpet to the step and repeat where more photographers snapped pictures. We posed like everyone else did and let them grab a few shots. It was fun to play celebrity for a moment. On a day-to-day basis, it would get rather annoying.
Of course, Paris Delaney was there with her camera crew. They closed in, and Paris asked, "Are you excited to see the collection tonight?"
"Indeed, I am," Jack replied.
"Do you have any leads in the Abigail Jordan case?"
He smiled. "I can't comment on ongoing investigations."
At the main entrance, the door guy checked the list, and we stepped inside. Jack made a beeline for the bar.
Socialites mixed and mingled, waiting for the show to begin.
A runway extended to the center of the audience.
With drink in hand, JD and I made our way backstage to find Ginger and Cinnamon. This was the real show. Behind the scenes was always more interesting than the actual event.
Stylists and makeup artists scurried about, attending to gorgeous models in various states of undress.
It was a madhouse.
On a scale of one to 10, these girls were 20s. Smooth skin, toned abs, long legs, pert all-natural endowments, sparkling eyes, and luminous hair styled to perfection.
Jack spotted Ginger and Cinnamon, and they waved us over with smiles on their faces. The two blondes were nothing short of perfection. They’d been nursing Jack back to health and were doing a good job of it. The two could inspire a man to live life to the fullest.
"I'm so glad you could make it," Ginger said.
"We wouldn’t miss this for the world," Jack replied. "Thanks for inviting us."
The girls both wore lacy silk lingerie that elevated pulses. I'm not going to lie, it might have been hard to stay focused in a place like this. Everywhere you looked, there was a stunning distraction.
“Have you met Ava yet?” Cinnamon asked.
“No, but I’d like to,” I said.
Ava Lang was on the cover of every fashion magazine. She was the most sought-after face in the industry. Flawless skin, pouty lips, dreamy ice-blue eyes, wavy chocolate hair, and the kind of svelte figure that was proof of a higher power. The skimpy lingerie she wore showed off every inch of it.
"Just FYI, she's got a boyfriend," Cinnamon said. "But you never know.” Cinnamon winked at me, then waved the supermodel over.
She smiled and strutted in our direction.
"Ava, I want you to meet my friends, Jack and Tyson.”
"It's a pleasure to meet you," I said, taking in her delightful hand.
"You as well," she replied with the voice of an angel. She exchanged pleasantries with Jack and said, "I hope you guys enjoy the show. Giovanni has outdone himself with this collection."
"Indeed, he has," I said, trying to keep my eyes at an appropriate level.
"Okay, people!" the production manager shouted. "We're on in five."
Ava smiled. "I guess it's game time."
She said goodbye and walked back to her dressing area, where she was greeted by her boyfriend. He was a handsome man in his late 30s with wavy dark hair, a square jaw, and narrow brown eyes. He wore an expensive suit and a Rolex Submariner on his wrist.
"That's her boyfriend,” Ginger said. “Sebastian Vorn. He’s superrich. He's the one who started Memo.”
I knew the app. It was a secure communication platform with end-to-end encryption. Even Isabella couldn't crack it. Messages that you sent on Memo could only be read by the intended recipient.
We chatted for another minute, then made our way to the front of the house to find our seats. We grabbed another beverage, then sat in the front row.
“Excuse me, but I think you’re in my seat?”
I looked up to see a beautiful blonde with elegant bone structure hovering over me, looking a little annoyed.
I gave her a confused look. “I’m pretty sure I’m in the right seat, but let me check.”
The first two rows had been reserved for VIPs, and each guest was strategically placed by the designer.
I pulled out my ticket and looked at my assigned seat, then checked it against the seat number. I flashed a smile and looked up at the gorgeous blonde. “Looks like I’m in the right place. But I’m more than willing to share.”
She sneered at me. “No thanks.”
I looked across the stage to the front-row seat directly opposite me. It was empty. I pointed out to the blonde that she might be confused about the row number.
She looked across the aisle, saw the empty seat, then her face flushed with embarrassment. She walked off without saying another word.
It was too bad. I would have liked to see if there was something a little more friendly under that annoyed exterior.
The crowd settled, and the lights dimmed. The music pumped, and the parade of beauties hit the stage, strutting their stuff on the catwalk in frilly lingerie that barely covered anything.
This was quite possibly heaven.
But it didn't take long for the devil to show up.