Hurricane in Paradise (Florida Keys Mystery Series Book 10)

by Deborah Brown

  Once the window was rolled up and Fab had pulled out, I said, “Didn’t think now was the time to mention I’m not sure we have a lawyer anymore. A new one needs to be a priority. Not having anyone we trust to call is a bad idea.”

  Halfway down the block, Fab rolled her window down, yelling, “Stay out of the street, old man.” She waved.

  I flinched, even though the man waved back with a smile on his face. “Fabiana.”

  “Stop mimicking your mother. That’s Hank—lives one block over. Sad day when I know more neighbors than you do.”

  “He’s an old man and doesn’t count. You’re a babe magnet for the over-eighty crowd.”

  Fab rocketed out into a break in traffic. “We’ll never get the lawyer deal we have now.”

  I blew out a breath of frustration. “There is that. Hopefully Mac can smooth the waters. On the plus side, the relatives love coming to visit. Cruz will have a hard time telling them the free entertainment’s over.”

  “Drive-thru?” Fab raised her brows.

  “Oh yes.” I licked my lips. “I need a caramel extra whipped intravenous caffeine drip. And a pastry. I graciously let Creole have the last donut, insisting I wasn’t hungry.”

  Fab made a retching noise.

  I shrugged. “Get me my usual in large and two pecan rolls.” By the time I got half the coffee drunk, I’d be ready to fly.

  When she returned, Fab handed me the drinks, followed by a pink bakery box. “You do know that, this early, your tenants will still be asleep.”

  “Perfect timing. It’s a big day, so everyone should be around. Mac posted a signup sheet on the office door, asking for volunteers to speak at the funeral and be brief—said word got out and it filled up in an hour. Never underestimate the power of free food.”

  Fab pulled into The Cottages, and into the space next to the barbeque area. An out-of-state vehicle had the office one. Mac must have had her head hanging out the window; we barely shut the car doors before she came running across the street from her house.

  “Crum home?” I asked.

  “Just got back from his morning run—that’s code for digging in the trash. It was a light day for him; he came back with one plastic grocery bag, and it didn’t look to have much in it.” Mac pulled her knee-length skirt out of the waistband of her shorts.

  “Are you coming?” I motioned to Fab.

  “It’s too early for Crum. Have fun.” She waved me off and sat in the barbeque area across from Mac at a cement table, where they could watch the driveway.

  I cop-knocked on his door and smiled at the thought of shouting, “Warrant.” Real cops probably didn’t do that, but the idea of scaring him amused me.

  “That knock of yours makes me want to wet myself.” Crum filled the doorway in only tighty-whities.

  This was one of those times I wished I could enforce an indoor dress code. The law said he was “dressed.” I disagreed. “Would you mind putting on one of your skirts? I need to talk to you.”

  He swept out his hand, opening the door wider. “Come into my humble abode.”

  I entered, looking around. It never failed to amaze me that his cottage was clean, even though the junk stacked up in neat little piles was overwhelming. “Hi, Harlot.” I sat down next to the cream-colored cat and scratched her head and ears. “Happy to see she’s healthy and appears content. I forgot to ask what became of her children.” I checked the corners. At least the place didn’t reek of cat box smell.

  “I placed my grandchildren in good homes. Women that I had relationships with who would enjoy a reminder of our time together.”

  “Have you checked to see that they’re still alive?” I said, thinking both the cats and the women needed a welfare check.

  Crum stiffened. “This isn’t the right attitude for someone who clearly wants something.”

  “Today’s Score’s funeral, and I’m hoping that you’ll escort Miss January and keep an eye out for fights or other unsuitable behavior before it erupts.”

  “Don’t you worry; I talked this over with Mac and volunteered to make sure Miss January gets there, and I’ll keep an eye on her. I’m going to liquor her up a little so she’ll stay calm. She can’t really do anything sober.”

  “Please tell me you’re wearing something appropriate,” I blurted.

  “I went out and got a real nice outfit,” he said, clearly proud of himself.

  I glanced down, squeezing my eyes closed and taking a breath before meeting his gaze. I didn’t have to wonder long. He held up a pair of knee-length bathing trunks.

  “They’re black.” I pasted a smile on my face.

  He held up a white dress shirt that was actually white and not yellowed or grey. “This I had in my wardrobe.” He presented a multicolored tie that hung off the tip of his finger.

  “You’re wearing a tie?”

  “I’m wrapping it around my neck and letting it hang loose. Same thing, don’t you think? It’s too hot for a coat, but I’m taking my green wool smoking jacket with the black elbow patches.” He preened and pointed to the door of the bedroom, where it hung.

  “You’ll look nice,” I lied. “Thank you for helping. Fab owes you another favor.” She’d kill me, but I knew he’d prefer one from her than me. I stood and scratched Harlot one last time. Before closing the door, I said, “Any problems, call me.”

  Coming down the driveway, I yelled, “Fab,” pointing to the SUV. “You need anything, call,” I told Mac. As we pulled out, I told Fab, “Next stop, JS Auto Body. Mother says Spoon is in the office today.” I also relayed my conversation with Crum, leaving out the part about the favor; that could wait until he went to redeem it, then I’d fess up.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  “Someone actually rented you this car?” Creole looked over the rusted-out, beige Dodge Dart. He pulled me out of the way and opened the passenger door, sticking his leg in and kicking the floorboards several times. “Just wanted to make sure it won’t drop out from under us.” He held my arm while I got awkwardly into the seat. The two front seats were small and had a foot of space between them. I was certain they weren’t factory issued, but they were better than the non-existent back seat.

  “Free.” I flashed a gloating smile. “Step-daddy dearest came through.” Good thing Brad couldn’t hear me call him that. He liked the man but wanted his mother with a nice retired gentleman who would bore her to tears. One major stride, though: he’d stopped suggesting she date other men.

  Creole snorted. “I’m going to ask him; see if you just made the story up.”

  “I would never…” I sniffed. “Well, maybe, but not this time.”

  He checked the eyesore’s interior over once again and rocked against the driver seat in an effort to squeeze out more legroom.

  I went on, “Just because JS Auto sits behinds barbed-wire fencing and the sign boasts that he specializes in high-end vehicles doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a ‘little gem,’ as he called it, hanging around that he’s saved from the crusher.”

  “Coming from Spoon, that gives me confidence that it won’t break down just around the corner.”

  “Spoon promised it was in good running order.” I sighed. “It was awkward to ask him not to tell Mother about the latest developments. I didn’t want her to get her hopes up, in case it turns out to be a dead end. He agreed, but only after I assured him I’d keep him up to date.”

  We parked a couple of spaces over from where we were the night before. Fab’s Porsche went by; they waved and continued to the far side of the lot. This time, we had both exits covered.

  “What are you doing?” Creole asked.

  I finished twisting my hair into a clip, then put on a baseball cap and reached for a pair of glasses, tying a hoodie around my neck. “My disguise. For when I go into the grocery store and get an up-close look at this woman.”

 
“Hear me out.” He sighed. “I knew this would come up, and I should’ve said something sooner. You know that there’s a chance that this person may recognize you. Tweak this plan a little: send Fab in, and she’ll get pictures. While she’s dogging the woman, I’ll go over the car.”

  “What about me and Didier? We’re talking about my brother.”

  “It’s your decision. But think about the best option before deciding.”

  He did have a good plan, but I felt petulant at having been left out of the planning. I wanted to snap, “Fine, do it your way,” but that would be a fight-starter. “Your plan is the better one,” I said with lukewarm enthusiasm, ignoring the sudden tick in his jaw. “Let’s hope our mystery woman comes back tonight.”

  Creole reached for his phone and tapped out a text. A response came back quickly.

  My phone beeped. “I know you’re annoyed; I can feel it over here. I won’t let you down.” And Fab thought she couldn’t do sensitive. I smiled at the screen.

  “What’s next?” I asked Creole.

  “This is the sexy part—we wait.”

  * * *

  The mystery woman showed up right before dusk, earlier than she had the night before. She cruised up and down every lane before deciding on a parking space, the closest one she could find to the entrance that had the option to either drive straight out or back out. Getting out, she scanned the lot again, grabbed a cart, and went inside the store.

  “So much for hoping she’d chose a space farther away from the front.” Creole leaned over and kissed me, handing me his binoculars.

  Watching through the windshield was not where I wanted to be, but if the woman did recognize me, we might not get another chance. I’d never forgive myself if I roused her suspicions and never saw her again.

  Fab cut across the parking lot and was already on her way inside the store as Creole halted behind the Mazda. He snapped pics of the rear license plate, then moved along the side, snapping more of the interior. Finally, he flashed a penlight on the dashboard and snapped another, which was most likely of the VIN number. To my surprise, instead of coming back to the car, he followed her into the store.

  I was positive Fab would have a dozen pictures already, and if the woman paused to blow her nose, that would be included in the pictorial array. She had her picture-taking abilities honed to an art; very few ever knew that they were the object of her attention. However, I did have to admit that a lot of her talents were focused on dead bodies.

  Creole exited first and, taking almost the same path as Fab had, only in reverse, headed to the Mercedes. Fab sauntered out a minute later, paused to pull out her phone, then changed direction and headed towards the Dodge.

  I gave her a dirty look when she finally slid behind the wheel of the car.

  “We’re tag teaming her back to where she came from,” Fab said. “Creole gets to lord it over Didier that he’s the better driver, and you already know I am. It will give us time to bond.”

  Even when Fab annoyed me, she could make me smile. “Do we at least get to go first?”

  “That depends on which way she leaves.” Fab pointed. “Here comes Miss Junk Food Shopper.” She shuddered. “The worst food choices ever, if you can call it that. She filled the basket with those cheap TV dinners times two. Spent too much time in the cut-rate treats aisle.”

  It would be worth the waste of money to bring home that kind of food, or whatever it was called, and unload the grocery bag in front of Didier. The imagined outrage on the health food nut’s face made me bite my lip.

  “Give me your phone.” I held out my hand.

  “Hang on.” Fab flipped it across the seat. She had the Mazda under her personal microscope.

  “Don’t lose her,” I said, more to annoy than remind. I flicked through the pictures. “Nice job, as always.” A close-up of the woman’s face came into view; of course she knew me and Mother. What was her name? “Psycho Patty,” I whispered.

  The woman left the parking lot and headed south on the Overseas, our Dodge and the Mercedes following.

  “Heads up, she’s turning,” Fab said as we breezed by her. “The guys will take over. I’ll make a U-turn and fall in behind. Call Didier; we need to stay in touch,” she ordered. It didn’t take her long to catch back up and pull up behind the Mercedes. Patty turned left into a housing tract.

  “Since it’s late and there aren’t many cars on the road, we’ll swap positions every time she turns,” Fab said, which happened at the next street.

  Eventually, Patty turned into a driveway and pulled into a garage with an open door. The Mercedes pulled into a driveway just ahead of where she’d turned off. Fab and I passed the house, a one-story block-style white structure that showed signs of neglect, making another turn and parking at the corner. The neighborhood was made up of old beach houses; some had been renovated, others torn down and overbuilt for the neighborhood.

  The phone rang, and instead of handing it to Fab, which earned me a scowl, I answered and asked if it was all right to put it on speaker phone.

  “You could use your own phone to talk to your boyfriend,” Fab hissed.

  “Didier, would you have a few words with your girlfriend in French? She’s being mean to me.”

  When Creole and Didier stopped laughing, I said, “Her name is Patty, an old girlfriend of Brad’s from years ago. Last name eludes me, if I ever knew it. Mother may remember. They met in South Carolina.” I paused to remember how much havoc she wreaked back then. “They dated, and possessive doesn’t being to describe her attitude. She hated me and Mother. Patty became increasingly erratic, and Brad eventually had enough and broke off the relationship.” I suspected Brad had been slow to come around because his lower friend didn’t want to give her up, or more accurately, didn’t want to give the sex up, but I kept that to myself. “She flipped out, to put it mildly, retreated into some make-believe world. I’d wondered at the time if it was a con, but the judge must have thought it was real; he ordered her to the nut house.” Where I’d thought she still was. Which was probably why neither Mother nor I had thought of her when we tried to figure out which of Brad’s crazy exes might be responsible.

  Now she’s out! Normal for half a second, and someone thought unleashing her on the public was a good idea.

  Creole pulled back out of the driveway, parking behind us. With the house not close enough to have a view of the corner, both cars would go unnoticed. “Didier is going to go knock on the door.”

  “Oh no, he’s not,” Fab came close to screeching. “That bitch is crazy.”

  “Didier came up with his own plan.” Creole half-laughed. “Sort of. He boosted it off someone else.”

  Didier’s voice came over the phone next. “It’s not so late that she won’t answer the door. Send me a picture of Jazz. I’ll show it to her and share with her how heartbroken my daughter is that her cat has disappeared. Flirt subtly, try to get a peek inside, then leave.

  “That stupid animal trick of Madison’s.” Fab hit her head on the steering wheel.

  “One little tweak,” I said. “Sending a picture of Snow.”

  “Didier’s going to take his phone, so we can listen in on the speaker. Hit your mute button before he goes in, so there’s no noise slip-ups,” Creole said.

  “So she won’t get suspicious, after I leave the house, I’m going to make my way down the street, house to house.” Didier sounded pleased with his plan. “If I get the ‘Where do you live?’ question, I’ll give her the name of the street around the corner.”

  “If that psycho invites you inside, the answer is, ‘I have to get home to the wife and kids,’” Fab said.

  “Yes, wife.” Didier sent a kiss through the phone line. “Creole will wait until I get to the end of the block and pick me up.” The car door slammed.

  “Don’t worry so much.” I tugged a strand of Fab’s hair. “Just bec
ause he doesn’t do this all the time doesn’t mean he’s in danger. He’s in great shape and can handle himself, and Patty has no reason to be suspicious.”

  “I’d tear down this eyesore. There’s a lot of yard here that’s wasted,” Didier said as he crossed the weed-filled dirt to the front door. “The garage looks bigger than the house.”

  Didier knocked, and seconds later, Patty answered. “Hello,” she practically purred.

  “Eww,” I said, “she thinks he’s cute.”

  Fab wrinkled her nose.

  Didier used his sexy voice, launching into his story about the missing “Fluffy.” Instead of an address, she asked for his phone number, which he didn’t hesitate to give her. She promised to call if Fluffy turned up and wished him luck.

  “Thanks.” Didier waved, quietly reciting the house number as he walked away.

  Patty stood in the doorway and watched him walk to the neighboring house before shutting the door.

  From halfway up the next driveway, Didier scanned the house. “It’s all closed up. No one home here. Any reason I can’t go straight to the corner now that I’m out of sight of the house?” Without waiting for an answer, he started down the street. “The inside of the house has been gutted back to the studs, at least in the large room I could see, which probably used to be the living room/dining room.”

  “Wonder if she’s squatting,” I said, thinking about Carbine.

  “Patty’s clever. She opened the door just enough to thrust her head out. After I showed her the picture of ‘Fluffy,’ she opened it farther and stood in the doorway. Not sure that was her original plan, but if she hadn’t made the move, I don’t think I would’ve seen much.”

  “We need another plan,” Creole said. “Let’s go to Jake’s and convene a meeting on the deck.” He hung up.

  “Drive by the house slowly so I can get a good look.” I shifted in my seat, looking out the driver’s side window.