The Palm Beach Murders by James Patterson (best novels in english .txt) 📗

our way through the Haunted Mansion and Frontierland. Once we landed in comfortable seats and under air-conditioning at the PhilharMagic 3-D, with no one sitting close to us, I acted on the urge to kiss him.

Marty said, “I’m glad you’re having a good time. I’m sorry you missed out on Disney for so long, but I’m glad your ex-husband didn’t hurt your sense of joy.”

“First of all, he’s not my ex-husband yet. And he didn’t hurt my sense of joy, but he did come close to ruining it. He was never the man I thought he was. It turns out you are the man I thought he was.”

We kissed again, deeply and passionately. I felt Marty’s hand around the back of my neck, and I wanted to hold him tight. As the show began and objects came flying at us in 3-D, we continued making out, grabbing at the visual effects before us. I’d never thought I’d enjoy the PhilharMagic 3-D so much.

Somehow I knew Marty was a guy I could depend on. He would protect me, and since he had taken me to Disney World, I knew he just wanted to make me happy. Who could ask for anything more?

Chapter 17

I thought the salesman was going to kiss Marty when we dropped off the Bentley. He darted out of the showroom and met us in the parking lot.

The salesman blurted out, “I thought you’d—”

Marty was back in character as the annoyed rich guy and said in a sharp tone, “What? You thought we’d what?”

The salesman stammered and said, “F-forgotten us. You just surprised me by keeping the car a little extra. You must have really loved it.” He was standing in front of us, almost hopping in place with excitement, like a kid about to open a Christmas present. “What do you think? Will you pull the trigger on it? I can have everything ready for you to sign in just a few minutes.”

He was following along in the parking lot as Marty walked toward the back where his car was parked. The salesman didn’t even seem to realize he was being led away from his office.

Marty waited until we were right next to his car so we could enjoy the look on the salesman’s face when he opened the door of his beat-up BMW. The salesman’s expression said it all.

As Marty and I slipped into the car, Marty said, “Think I’ll stay with my Beemer for now.”

We giggled about it all the way back to Palm Beach.

The night ahead of us ended up being one of the best endings to one of the best weekends of my life. I tried another one of Marty’s crazy little pills, and this time we didn’t wait for Allie to show up. I called her. And she brought a friend. A tall, very young, and really hot Czech bartender from Café Boulud, the restaurant right in the hotel. He had blond hair and blue eyes, and he eagerly accepted one of Marty’s homemade Ecstasy tabs. I couldn’t even pronounce his name, which didn’t sound like it had any vowels in it, and his accent was thicker than Allie’s. But he wasn’t here to talk.

Before I knew it, we had our own disco going, with my speakers blaring out dance songs from the eighties on Pandora. We left the music on as each couple started to get more intimate and clothes started to fly onto the floor.

The young bartender looked like he belonged in a Tommy Hilfiger ad, with his flat stomach and ripple of muscles that popped perfectly against his tightie-whities.

Suddenly, I heard a knock on the door. It wasn’t like when Allie would tap and then rap a little harder. This was an immediate pounding.

Allie scooted from the couch and said, “I’ll get fired if I’m caught in here.”

“Me too,” added the bartender.

I shut off the music and called out, “Who is it?” Trying to keep my best homemaker’s voice.

From outside the door I heard, “Palm Beach Police, Mrs. Moore.”

That had an effect on Marty, who sprang up and started toward the bedroom. I said, “You need to stay out here with me this time. These two have to go into the bedroom. They can’t be caught in here or they’ll lose their jobs.”

Marty said, “Leave it to me. They won’t get their names.” He scrambled to get dressed as I slipped my blouse back on and pulled up a pair of shorts. I opened the door a crack, like I was worried about who was there. It was the same two cops who had crashed our first party. That must have been how they’d known my name.

I opened the door and waved them inside.

Only one of the cops spoke, just like last time. He was tall and handsome, with blond hair and great arms. They strained the sleeves of his polyester uniform.

He glanced around the room and noticed the other clothes, and even I could see the shadows of Allie and the bartender under the door of the bedroom. They weren’t particularly discreet.

The cop said, “Looks like you’re having quite a party.”

Marty smiled and said, “Wanna join in?”

Neither of the cops thought that was very funny, and they got it across with a long, surly look at Marty. That made Marty clear his throat and say, “Just kidding, you guys.”

The cop pulled a pad from his back pocket and said, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Moore, but we had another complaint about the noise. I just need to write a quick report about it. If you promise to keep it down, we’ll let this one slide too.”

“I promise.” I was in no mood to deal with the police.

The cop looked at Marty and said, “And your name, sir?”

Marty hesitated. “Why do you need my name?”

“Why don’t you want to give me your name?”

“Why should I give you my name?”

“Because we were called here on a complaint of noise and you appear to have been contributing to that noise. I think we’ve