The Worst Best Man(22)

“Talk, Papi,” Frankie insisted.

“Okay. Alls I know is dis guy calls me up and says he got a driving job for me. He needs me to pick up his frien’ at Oistins. Oh, and his frien’ might not want to get in the car so I should bring some help.”

“He asked you to kidnap someone.”

“No, no, no! Dis man, he gives me your friend’s number. I call him and tell him I have a surprise for him. Drunk Americans are not bright, not bright!” Papi pointed a gnarled finger at Frankie.

“Preaching to the choir, Papi. Keep talking.”

“So, he’s like ‘Cool, man. A surprise.’ An I’m like, I’ll see you on the sidewalk. I’m in a white van. And he went there willingly, and my frien’ helped your frien’ into the van, and that’s that.”

Poor, stupid, drunk Chip.

“Where’d you take him?”

“Rockley Ridge Resort by Sandy Lane. But good luck getting’ in dere. Some big to-do tonight. All Hollywood an’ stuff. Lotsa security.”

“Who took Chip off your hands when you got to the resort?”

Papi shrugged and pushed another glass of rum at her. “Don’ know. He did not feel the need to introduce himself. He pay me. I leave.”

“What did he look like?”

“Big burly like guy. Like a bear. I dunno. But he was just hired muscle, I think. He said his boss would be happy.”

“What did they do with Chip?” Frankie asked.

Papi tapped her glass with his and they drank.

“Ahhh, that’s the good stuff,” Papi hissed out. “Anyway, your friend was sleepin’. He passed out drunk on the ride. So, the big guy just carried him toward the elevators like a bride.”

“And you left and came here.”

“To celebrate an easy night’s work.”

“Thanks for your time, Papi,” Frankie said, sliding off the stool.

“Thanks for your boobs,” he said enthusiastically.

“Yeah, yeah.”

She found Aiden and the kid pacing the sliver of front porch of the shop. Aiden was dialing. Antonio was munching on a fish sandwich.

She plucked her own sandwich out of the bag and grabbed one of the Cokes she’d stashed in there. “Call off the cavalry, Aide. We got a location.”

Aiden hung up the phone. “Where?”

“Rockley Ridge Resort,” Frankie announced, pleased with her investigative abilities.

“Let’s go!” Antonio said, waving them toward the van. “My uncle will wake up soon and want to go home.”

“The fourth sandwich is his,” Frankie told him.

“Thanks, Frankie. You’re a hell of a girl,” Antonio said, wrestling the wheel one-handed while clutching his sandwich in the other.

“Here. You might as well eat,” Frankie said, handing Aiden another sandwich.

“How’d you get him to talk?” Aiden asked, peeling back the wrapper and eyeing the fish.

Frankie looked everywhere else but his face. “I just asked, and he told me.”

“Bullshit,” Aiden said.

“I told him what information I needed, and he was happy to share,” she lied.

“So, you’re not going to tell me how you dragged the information out of him when he turned down a thousand bucks just a few minutes earlier?” Aiden pressed.

“I guess some things are worth more than money,” Frankie said innocently.

“Kid, you know anything about the Rockley Resort?”

Antonio whistled. “FAN-cy. Good security, too,” he said cagily.

Frankie whipped out her phone, praying it still had a charge. It was dead. “Shit. Gimmie your phone, Kilbourn.”

He handed it over, and Frankie opened the browser. “Why were you googling me? Creeper!” She slapped Aiden’s arm. His last tab was an image search of her.

“I told you. I’m interested in you, and when I’m interested in something, I do my research.”

“First of all, I’m a someone, not a something, buddy. Secondly, where do these pictures come from?”

“Social media mostly,” Aiden said, leaning over her shoulder to look.

“Excuse me, guys,” Antonio called from the driver seat. “I think you’re getting off track.”

Uncle gurgled from the backseat and dragged himself into a seated position. He cleared his throat. “Ah ah HEM!”

Frankie handed him the bag with the last sandwich and Coke.

Uncle nodded his thanks and dug in.

“Right. I’ll yell at Aiden later.” Frankie decided. She typed in the resort’s name and hit the news tab.

“Double shit. This is not good. Little Miss Trellenwy—what the hell kind of name is that? You rich people are the worst at naming kids.”

“Back to the matter at hand,” Aiden nudged her.

“Right. Trellenwy Bostick, Hollywood star and heiress to Napa Valley wine fortune got married there today,” she said reading from a gossip site. “So far no pics because the security’s too tight. How are we getting in there?”

“I can get you over the wall about a half kilometer down. You’ll have to fight your way through some vegetation, but you can come out on the beach,” Antonio put in.