Island of Deceit
Authors: Candice Poarch
feeling up your legs?”
Harper was steamed. As long as he'd fantasized about caressing Barbara, not just her legs, but all over, and another young man had his hands up her legâ¦he saw red.
Barbara sighed. “I'm hiring Trent to help in the shop. Not that I need to explain, but he's giving me a pedicure,” she said patiently. But the way her eyes were sparkling at him, he could tell she did not like explaining herself.
“He feels your legs like that during a pedicure?”
“He's not
feeling
my legs, he's massaging them. And so did Vicky when she gave pedicures.”
“Well, you already know his skills. He doesn't need to be feeling you up anymore.”
“Yes, sir,” Trent said.
“You haven't finished my pedicure,” Barbara said to Trent. “I don't see any polish on my toenails.”
“Barbara⦔ Harper started.
Other books by Candice Poarch
Golden Night
Long, Hot Nights
Bittersweet
Discarded Promises
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
In loving memory of my father, the late Alfield Poarch, for being such a terrific man who gave with his heart. He was an inspiring role model, not only to his family, but the community as well. He influenced others to follow his untiring work ethic. We all consulted him and my mother for advice and guidance. When I think of romance I think of my parents' story. I couldn't have asked for a more loving father. Thank you, Dad.
CKNOWLEDGMENTS
During a chat with RAWSISTAZ, I asked what type of story they'd like to see. Tee C. Royal responded that she wanted more stories with plus-sized heroines. So here's to you, Tee C.âa book that celebrates womanhood regardless of her size. Women are wonderful, creative, and sexy at any size.
I give my sincere thanks to readers, book clubs, book sellers, and librarians for their support. I also thank Sheriff Raymond Bell and Mary Porter for background information.
As always, I extend profound thanks to my parents, my sister, Evangeline, who travels with me to promote my books, and Sandy Rangel, for their unswerving help. Most of all, I'm deeply grateful for my husband's continued support for my writing. Thanks to my writer friends for keeping me sane. Many thanks for guidance from my editor, Selena James.
Last but not least, I am very grateful to have had the late Kate Duffy for my editor. We all miss her, not only for her editing skills, but for her friendship and as one who always offered great advice.
ROLOGUE
Dorsey McNair placed her fancy new Easter hat on her head and looked at herself in the mirror, hoping it would make her feel better. Nobody could say she didn't pull out all the stops for Easter Sunrise Service. She prided herself that she looked at least ten years younger than eighty-five, but she didn't pride herself in letting some young pup make a fool out of her.
At seventy-five, Elliot Stone should know better. At least he told her he was seventy-five. He could have been younger or older. Some men didn't age well. But she was going to fix his bacon if she didn't get her money back. Every single penny of it. He wasn't going to get away with waltzing into her life to steal her money.
She'd shampooed, cut, and permed lots of heads to make that money. Sometimes her back had hurt so bad it felt as if it would crack in two. But did she take a sick day? No. She took a pain pill and kept on working.
Right now as she lifted her hand to powder her nose, she felt every year of her age. Her face had darkened with age to a deep brown complexion. It was an old face with few wrinkles. There were more wrinkles on her neck. Even considering that, she'd held up well.
She'd never felt old before, not really. There was still too much to do. No, she'd never had time to feel old. Not until now.
Suddenly weak, Dorsey stumbled to the bed and sat down hard on the soft mattress. She needed that money. Her house was paid for, and she and Barbara had even had it renovated five years ago. But there were medical bills. Lots of them.
She'd never been a burden on anyone, and she wasn't about to start now. She'd saved enough to take care of herself in her later years, and she just couldn't let Elliot get away with stealing her life savings.
Every year, she contributed to the College Fund to give some child a boost in this tough world. When the Lord saw fit for her to leave this earth, what little was left over was earmarked for her granddaughter. Not that Barbara needed it. She'd done well for herself. But she certainly didn't want it to go to Elliot and his band of thieves.
Had she not gone to the bank to take out another CD, she would never have known he'd cashed in several of her CDs. Nearly $400,000. That's the trouble with bank branches. He'd sent someone to a branch where the folks didn't know her. At her local small branch, every last person knew her.
He'd worked fast, the scoundrel. How did he know how much money she had, anyway? And how did he get ahold of her things? He must have broken into her house and taken her certificates when she wasn't home.
She'd thought about it all night. She should have kept them in a bank lock box like Barbara had told her. But she liked to have them in her house, where she could put her hands on them.
She was going to deal with Elliot after church services. She'd pray on it. The Lord would find a way for her to work this through. He'd gotten her through many tough battles, and the deaths of her daughter and son-in-law. He'd let her live long enough to raise Barbara and to know that the girl would have a good lifeâand that she was self-sufficient. She only wished that Barbara could find a good man like her own late husband. A woman needed somebody who cared.
But she had to look on the bright side. Barbara was ready to retire and had done well. The two of them planned to travel together before they moved back to her birthplace in VirginiaâParadise Island. She was finally going home.
Yes, indeed. The Lord had surely blessed her. She had no doubt that he'd get her through this, too.
An hour later, Dorsey thought she might as well not have gone to church. She didn't hear a word of the preacher's sermon. After the service, she didn't linger to talk to friends. She drove directly to Elliot's house and punched the doorbell. No one responded.
Back at the car, she slipped off her heels and slid her feet into flats before she left the car again and eased around the side of the house. If he could sneak into her house, she could sneak into his. Before she rounded the corner, she heard voices coming from the back yard. She plastered herself against the side of the building and listened.
She could distinguish four voices, two female and two male. One was distinctly Elliot's.
She listened as they discussed moving to another location and setting up more “marks.” They discussed how they needed more money before they could retire.
No kidding,
she thought. But they willingly stole most of
her
retirement. And how many other people had they hoodwinked? Dorsey tightened her mouth into a thin line. Somebody had to stop them.
“Whatcha doing, lady?” a kid, no more than four, asked, squinting at her. He held a huge ball in his hand. And he had the prettiest brown eyes. Dressed in jeans, a long-sleeved knit shirt, and sneakers, he obviously hadn't been to church today. Even if folks only made it to church once or twice a year, most families attended Easter Sunday service.
“What's that on your head?” he asked, frowning up at her.
Dorsey put her gloved fingers to her lips. “Quiet,” she whispered. Didn't kids know about hats anymore? Had he been a boy from her neighborhood, Dorsey would have sat on the front porch with him and told him stories about church and hats and appropriate attire.
She listened for the Stones while the boy regarded her curiously. But the Stones had quit talking.
“Can I have that feather? I never seen purple strawberries. Are they real?”
“No.” Hurriedly, Dorsey raced to the car as quickly as her legs would carry her, started the engine, and drove off.
She'd traveled a mile before reason began to re-assert itself. She couldn't deal with these people alone. There were too many of them and they were obviously skilled thieves.
At the red light, she fumbled for the cell phone Barbara had given her. She should pull into a parking lot to use the phone, but this was an emergency. And she didn't want Elliot to catch her in his neighborhood.
She didn't usually depend on other people to do things she could do for herself, but she realized she was in over her head. Elliot lived with an entire family of thieves.
Barbara's phone rang and rang until the answering service picked up. Impatiently, Dorsey listened to the long spiel until she could talk.
“Barbara, honey, I hate to bother you, but I'm in a scrape. Remember the man I told you I was dating? Elliot Stone? Well, he's stolen nearly half a million dollars of my certificates. I've met Elliot's son, Andrew, and his sister, Minerva, but it sounded like Minerva is really his wife. There are four of them. Two women and two men. I don't know who the other female is and I didn't get a look at her, only heard her voice.
“Elliot's like you in that he doesn't like taking pictures. But I sneaked one at a church brunch. It's in one of my jewelry boxes. Not the real one with my good pieces, but the pretty Valentine's box you gave me filled with chocolates a couple of years ago. I keep it in my bedside drawer. The picture is on the bottom turned upside-down with some heavy costume jewelry on top.
“Honey, maybe we can put our heads together to come up with a solution. I guess I'm going to have to go to the police. And they were talking about my family's golden bowl. He must have seen the picture I have or read the article in my scrapbook. I need to get my money back, and I need to save the bowl. I really don't want to be a burden⦔
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When Barbara Turner returned home that night, she listened to her messages. Fear and anger shot through her. She knew Dorsey. She'd try to handle this on her own.
She called her grandmother immediately, but got the answering machine. She dialed frantically for the next hour. Dorsey never stayed out this late. Without bothering to pack a bag, Barbara caught a train from Penn Station to Philly.
But when she got home, it was too late. She found Dorsey dead at the bottom of the stairs.