Barefoot with a Stranger (Barefoot Bay Undercover #2)(28)

“Right,” they answered in unison.

“Well…” She glanced from side to side, as if she suspected they were being watched. “I don’t know who else to tell because I tried to tell Nino, and all he does is tell me to mind my own business. Minding other people’s business is my job now, doesn’t he know that? Anyway, maybe you can help.”

“What is it, Poppy?” Chessie asked, a note of impatience telling Mal she was as anxious as he was.

“It’s Mr. Gabriel,” the woman said on an exaggerated sigh. “I simply don’t know what to do with him.”

“What do you mean?” Chessie stepped closer, immediately more interested now.

“Well, I know I’m supposed to be watching other folks around here and reporting back to him. That’s my job, you see,” she added to Mal, as if he hadn’t picked that up yet.

“What about Gabe?” Chessie pressed.

“He just hasn’t been himself since last time you were here, Miss Chessie. He’s not taking any new business. He’s always in the back of the house just slamming those iron bars around and doing so many of those push-up things it’s a wonder he doesn’t drop over dead.”

They were both silent for a moment, unsure what this woman—a woman who obviously liked to know all—really did know about what was troubling Gabe.

“Well, he likes to work out,” Mal said after a beat.

“He never sleeps,” Poppy continued. “Never. His bed isn’t touched when I go to the house to clean, and I’ve seen him at night when I’m leaving the office late or coming in to open.” She pointed over her shoulder at one of the bungalows Gabe had told Mal was designated for the resort’s housekeeping business. “Something’s wrong with him.”

“He has a lot on his mind,” Chessie offered, as vague as Mal.

“He doesn’t eat, not one decent meal. Not my good Jamaican food and not that thick spaghetti all dripping in cheese your grandfather insists on making. I cook good food, you know, with none of that—”

“Okay, Poppy.” Chessie cut her off with a quick wave. “We’re going to talk to Gabe right now, and I’ll be sure he eats—”

“I’ve recycled far too many empty booze bottles from their trash.”

Leave it to Gabe to teach the housekeeper how to be a good spy. Mal put a hand on Chessie’s shoulder to guide her away. “Thanks for letting us know,” he said.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Chessie added.

The other woman shook her head. “Not fine, not at all. I hope you two can help him, because I’m worried he’s going to do something rash.”

“Rash?” Chessie stopped. “Like what?”

Poppy’s big brown eyes grew wide and scared. “I don’t know, but this change is so sudden. When I started working for him, he was, you know, funny and…happy. Now he’s…”

Grieving, Mal thought. “Thanks, Poppy,” he said quickly. “We’re here to help him, I promise.”


And that wasn’t a lie. If they found Gabe’s son, surely he’d climb out of his personal hellhole.

The maid gave a quick nod and pointed to the bungalow where Gabe and Nino lived. “Just go around the back and holler. He’ll have his ear things in and turned up to deafening, like he does when he beats the sweet stuffing out of that punching bag. You’d think that thing was made of the devil himself.”

“Thanks,” Chessie said with another quick hug of Poppy’s wide shoulders.

As they walked toward Gabe’s bungalow, she let out a deep sigh. “I don’t know what’s worse. Knowing my brother is in personal agony or not really understanding why.”

“I’ll tell you why,” Mal said. “He loved Isa.”

“Isa…” She said the nickname softly, her steps slowing.

“Your brother loved Isadora Winter like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Like nothing I thought…” Could even be possible.

She stopped completely then, taking that in. “I could tell when I found her name listed as deceased that he…he cared a lot.”

She didn’t need to know everything, but she needed to know this. “He loved her, Chessie. And he won’t admit it, or any weakness, but with Isa gone, he needs his son.”

Chessie nodded slowly, her expression in complete agreement with him. “First, we have to make sure the boy is his.”

And find out what happened to Isadora. “And we have to do that,” Mal said. “Or he’ll risk his life trying to do it himself.” He guided her down the narrow strip of grass that separated the bungalows.

They continued to the back of the house, coming around where a raised patio faced the expansive gardens of Casa Blanca. No sound came from the patio, and the heavy bag that had been jury-rigged to hang from a partial awning hung untouched.

Mal opened his mouth to call out Gabe’s name, but a soft sound stopped him. Chessie heard it, too, looking up with a question in her eyes. It sounded like…sniffing.

They took a few more steps, cautious and uncertain, because who in their right mind would sneak up on Gabe Rossi?

They heard it again. The distinct sound of…oh man.

Chessie put her hand over her mouth to hold back any sound, and Mal just closed his eyes. Someone was crying—hard.