“I’ve got a gig to get to,” Julie said. “Don’t worry. Striker is harmless.”
“Another cartoon?” I asked.
She nodded, clearly annoyed with me.
Julie supported herself and Liam as a voice-over actress specializing in animation, and often entertained the family with a wide range of different voices. She’d gotten so popular, she had bookings nearly every day. It surprised me that she continued to live at The Cottages when she’d expressed a desire to move several times and now had the money to do it, but having her brother living here and Brad staying in whatever empty unit was available must have changed her mind.
“Have fun.” I linked my arm through Mac’s, and we headed in the direction of the office until a shrill whistle brought us to an abrupt halt.
Chapter 6
Joseph waved his arms, staggering from the opposite end of the driveway and acting like he’d gotten his drunk on early. He was another inherited tenant from my aunt and, like Miss January, had been given a signed death warrant by his doctors. He suffered from cancer and a variety of ailments, and also like Miss January, he thumbed his nose at them and overindulged in cigarettes and liquor. Lately, he’d started to look a tad healthier. Ignoring his expiration date, he’d even put a few pounds on his boney frame.
I started in his direction, but Mac jerked my arm. “Oh no you don’t. You’re not going anywhere without me. I’m listening in.”
“Did you get his girlfriend back from the doctor?” I asked.
“That’s another thing I deserve a raise for. I boxed Svetlana up and shipped her to Los Angeles. Martin at the doll hospital assured me that if he couldn’t patch her thigh like new, he’d cut off her leg and give her a new one.”
Joseph had inherited the rubber doll from a friend, she came with a complete wardrobe and shoes. Another of his friends, mad because he wouldn’t share, deliberately burned a hole in the sexy blonde’s leg. Svet had a positive effect on his surly attitude. There had been a time when he’d wanted to marry her, and when he got turned down by the court clerk and a couple preachers in town, he went into a funk and went back to hardcore drinking.
Mac continued, “You had to pay extra to jump to the top of the list and get expedited service. Apparently Dr. Martin has a waiting list for his talent.” She grimaced at the thought. “But it was worth it. Svet just came back, and Joseph’s been all smiles. I forgave him for moping the whole time she was gone and frankly for acting like a prick.”
“Did you actually call him that?” I asked.
“Heck yes, and his response was, ‘I get called that every other day.’”
“What’s up?” I asked Joseph as we came to a stop in front of the fold-up beach chair he’d dragged out into the driveway. “Happy to see you’re not in jail.”
Joseph had cut back on his felonious activity when I cut off the twenty-four hour jail pickup service and made him wait until business hours for a ride home. It limited his options to walking or taking a snooze in the bushes.
“Striker’s a bad dude,” he said in a stage whisper that the neighbors could hear. “Hope you’re not renting to him.”
I shook my head. That’s all I need. “How does he know Julie?” I asked.
Joseph had his ear to the street, and if he wanted to find out information about people, he could, especially the low-life element. But he couldn’t be depended on to produce in a timely fashion and not cop an attitude, or worse, sell you out to a higher bidder.
He looked around as though he expected someone to be eavesdropping. Seeing no one milling about, he continued, “Those two dated a long time ago, long before your brother. Striker got arrested for trying to buy drugs from an undercover cop. He got free room and board for a couple of years—end of romance.” He brushed his hands together. “He just got released. Probably won’t take him long to get sent back to prison since it’s like a second home. He’s one of those guys that can only stay out of trouble for a short time and then gets sent back. He needs the structure.”
I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that Creole had had nothing to do with any of his arrests. He’d moved back to the Cove long after Striker was incarcerated. Besides, he didn’t deal with the bottom of the food chain. He worked the middle, which made it more likely he could get seriously hurt or worse. I tried not to think about the danger that surrounded his job.
Joseph downed his beer and stomped on the can, throwing it through his open door onto the living room floor. “Striker has a heavy hand with the ladies, if you know what I mean. He speaks, expects the woman to dance, and if not, he gets real mean. So be careful.”
“You’re being nice.” I eyed him and didn’t feel guilty for thinking he wanted something. “How are you and the professor getting along?”
“He told me that I was a dim-wit and added that that was being generous.” Joseph snorted. “Just wait, he’ll want something, and I’ll slam the door in his face. I will admit that I admire that he can bag a woman in his underwear.”
“Don’t even think about wandering around half-dressed. We now have a dress code—pants, shorts, or skirt. Mac has informed him of the new rules and anyone caught breaking it moves.” I gestured to the street.
“Don’t get all worked up, thinking I’m going to be a copycat. I’m not putting my treasure on display like that. Sorry ladies, I gotta to pee.” He went inside, slamming the door behind him.
“At least he didn’t do it in the bushes,” Mac whispered as we headed back towards the office.
“The last tenant that did that killed my flowers,” I grumbled.
“Joseph is right about one thing, the professor brought some painfully thin…ah…older woman back the other night. She was wearing a fifties polka dot full-skirt dress. I wouldn’t mind one myself, but I think it would make my butt look big.”
I bit my lip, controlling the laugh that threatened to burst out. How would a fifties dress fit into her retro-hippie look?
“For an old gal, she rocked those four-inch heels, but the hat… someone needed to tell her that the flowers and bird on the brim were a bit much. She clung to his arm, giggling. I got the impression she’d already sampled his…um…goods.”
“Did anyone die?” I asked, not wanting to think about his, or anyone’s, goods.
She sucked in a breath. “I would’ve been hot on the phone if that had happened.”
“I probably don’t say it enough, but I appreciate you.”
“Ha,” she snorted. “I love my job, and I’m not going anywhere. I never got to pull my gun at my last place of employment.”
“If you want to show me your appreciation, you could fix me up with one of Creole or Didier’s friends.”
Her innocent smile made me give her a second look. “When are you going to tell me what’s going on with you? Did you kick your husband to the curb?”
She looked momentarily sad, then replaced it with her contagious smile. “I haven’t told Shirl; she has to be the first. Best friend and all. Then I’ll tell you.”
Shirl, another tenant, had come to The Cottages temporarily after an ugly breakup with her boyfriend. A highly respected registered nurse at Cove Hospital, she’d just been promoted and hadn’t been around much lately. She’d become the cottage nurse, and with her easy manner, the tenants and guests loved her. She too had been banned from ever moving out.
“Call anytime.” I climbed into the Hummer and waved.
Chapter 7
Carrying my heels in one hand, I descended the stairs and dumped my shoes in the entryway.
Mother sat at the kitchen island smoking a cigar, Fab waving the smoke in the direction of the living room. She and Didier stood at the island, coffee in hand. The man knew how to rock a suit; he looked delicious in all black. Fab, also in all black, had on a short dress with cap sleeves.
I pecked Didier’s cheek, reaching for a coffee mug. “Mornings wouldn’t be the same without your pretty face.” I smiled at him. “Get your own cell? The uniforms are ugly,”
I scrunched my nose, “but they have matching shoes.”
He smiled back at me. “I was in a holding cell, praying they wouldn’t call my name and order me into more permanent accommodation. Thank you for getting me the lawyer. Cruz says I’m a huge step up from your usual referrals. He’s damn good; he talked with me privately and then had me answer all the questions the detectives put to me. They released me with certain conditions, which I readily agreed to.”
Fab hugged him. “Don’t worry, we’ll keep you out of jail.”
“It’s times like these you find out what kind of friends you have—and I have the best.” Didier brushed her cheek with his lips.
“He also can’t leave town.” Fab winked up at him.
He looked at her with such love in his eyes that I had to look away. Just giving them some privacy, I told myself. “You know smoking is not allowed in my house.” I frowned at Mother and opened the side panels in the garden window.
Mother ground out her hand-rolled Cuban in an ashtray that she must have brought with her. Her dark-brown eyes scowled at me. “Why did I have to hear from Spoon that Didier got arrested?”
“Fab…” I turned to her and dropped onto a barstool.
She glared at me, letting me know she didn’t appreciate being thrown under the bus. I tried not to laugh at her discomfort; she hated being on the hot seat with Mother. “Today’s the funeral for Lauren,” she told Mother. “I planned on stopping by afterwards to take you out for lunch and tell you all about it. It’s been a hectic couple of days.” Fab turned to me. “How come you’re dressed in black?”
“I’m coming along. You need someone to schmooze with the mourners. You know you don’t do friendly.”
“I can do friendly,” said Mother raising her hand. She’d obviously known all along about the funeral, as she was also dressed in black, her blond bob in place, eyes sparkling. She also knew that no one would be rude enough to tell her she couldn’t crash the funeral in the company of her daughter.
Didier laughed and put his arm around Mother, giving her a hug. “I love all of you, but you need to stay out of this. My hotshot lawyer has hired an investigator.”
Fab, hands on hips, rattled off something in French.
“As usual, I don’t know what she said. Are you familiar with the phrase ‘fat chance’?” I asked Didier. “Friends help friends.”
Fab huffed and tossed her hair. “I called Raul this morning and asked if he had any connections at that snotty funeral home in Miami, and he did. He’s going to call his friend and get us as much information as he can. Didier forbid me to break in and search the records myself.”
I winked at her. “Good idea, though.”
Fab and I had a good relationship with the owners of the local funeral home, Tropical Slumber. Dickie and Raul could always be depended on to sleuth out information from the coroner and their competition. Who knew funeral directors were a close-knit bunch?
“You two need to stay out of trouble.” Didier shook his finger at us. “I’ll tell Creole.”
“That’s not a very good threat; I tell Creole everything. We share, starting with ‘How was your day, honey?’”
“We’ll be out past curfew; we’re staying overnight in Miami,” Fab informed me.
“I’ll ride with Madison,” Mother said. “Spoon’s coming back tonight, and he can pick me up here.”
“While you two mourn the deceased, Mother and I will play girl spies. You wouldn’t threaten to tell on Mother to Spoon, would you?” I eyed Didier.
He groaned.
* * *
Memorial Park sat in the middle of the city of Miami, with not a whiff of an ocean breeze on this hot, humid day. The service was held in a non-descript chapel, the stained glass window the only stand-out. Mother and I sat in an uncomfortable pew at the back and people-watched. There wasn’t a vacant seat in sight. Most of the people in attendance were well-dressed, in expensive suits and dresses with lots of gold and bling, unlike at a beach funeral, where they gave new meaning to casual.
The service had been short. One person strode to the podium to read his prepared remarks, which sounded impersonal, then everyone adjourned to the graveside. A short line formed, and roses were handed out to drop on the closed casket. Once again, Mother and I hovered in the back. I had no intention of participating.
Mother poked me in the side and motioned for me to get in line. “Go,” she hissed. “You would if you’d ever met her.”
My stomach grumbled, reminding me that I preferred to attend funerals at Tropical Slumber, where they served food. A free sandwich or two is a good way to loiter and make small talk.
Mother and I walked by Fab, who wiped the corner of her eye and smirked.
“Don’t throw the rose,” Mother whispered. “Lay it on top, all nice like.”
“How do you know this stuff?” I asked, crossing the manicured lawn to say my good-byes, thankful it was a closed casket.
“At my age, people die.” Mother looked younger than her sixty years, her blond bob now windblown and looking sassy and flirty, her knee-length dress showing off her long, tan legs. Since she’d started dating a younger man, she looked fit and better than ever.
I leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Well, you’re forbidden to have any thoughts of your own demise. I’ll always need you around.”
“I wish your father could see you now, that you and your brother have grown into fine adults.”
Brad and I were devastated when Father died in our early teen years. Mother, in her usual style, jumped in and became both parents, holding our family together.
“He knows.” I smiled at her. “Dad and Elizabeth are watching out for us and our happiness.”
“We should split up,” Mother said in my ear, after we’d laid our roses on the casket. “We’ll work the outer edges, where the loners like to hide. What kind of questions are we asking?”
“Pretend the deceased is someone we know, make vague comments about the loss of a dear friend.” I brushed a lock of Mother’s hair behind her ear. “Pay attention for inappropriate responses, anyone acting odd; you know, the ones you wouldn’t think would normally act that way. We’re looking for a chatty co-worker of Lauren’s. Try to avoid questions like ‘did you murder her or know who did?’”
Mother and I separated and went in opposite directions. I homed in on an unremarkable-looking young man doing his best to go unnoticed. His shaggy brown hair hung in greasy clumps, his expensive suit jacket and wrinkled khaki pants didn’t even remotely go together, and the ensemble was finished off with scuffed, cheap shoes.
“Sad about Lauren.” I frowned and sidled up next to him.
“Female?” He looked confused. “Yeah, I didn’t… Yes, very sad.” His eyes flitted around the grassy area, and he looked ready to bolt.
I ditched the niceties. “If you didn’t know the deceased, why are you here?”
“Keep your voice down,” he shushed. He tugged on the sleeves of his jacket, casting an eye around before looking at the ground. “This is my job. I’m a paid mourner,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper.
“Pay well?”
“It’s part-time, and I need the work.” He reached into his pants pocket, taking out his keys.
“How many of these people are professional mourners?”
He toed the grass, kicking up a small divot. “Half maybe. We’re forbidden to disclose any details, including anything about payment.”
“Did you know the deceased was murdered?” I asked.
“Eww!” He jumped back. “That’s bad karma.” He continued stepping backward. “Gotta go. Please don’t tell anyone about me or that we talked.”
Mother walked across the grass, a smirk on her face. “Did you know there are paid mourners here?” she asked when she got close enough that no one else would hear.
I was shocked that she’d found out and a little annoyed I couldn’t be the first to share that little detail. “Yes, how did you find out?”
> She pulled a business card out of her clutch. “I got this.”
I grabbed it from her fingers and read it. “You’re forbidden to call.” I shoved it in my purse. “Don’t give me your innocent look. This is just the kind of weirdness you and your friend Jean would sign up for. Now tell me how you got the card.”
“This well-dressed woman who came solo sought me out – another woman alone, I suppose – and asked me if I knew the deceased. I told her no, that I’d come for the food.”
“Really, Mother,” I clucked. “Next time, we’ll rehearse appropriate responses ahead of time.”
“That funeral friend of yours serves food and lots of it. Anyway, the woman – Mali was her name – told me that this service is always looking to hire. The only requirement is dressing professional. She says you can wear the same outfit every time; it’s not as if you’re going to run into the same people.”
Once you wore a black dress to a couple of funerals, it would lose its appeal for any other function. I squirmed at the idea that being a professional mourner was a career choice.
“I’m starving.” I grabbed her arm. “Let’s get out of here. My guess is the ones that know her are in that small group over there.” I pointed to where a dozen people stood under a towering oak tree. “We won’t be able infiltrate and make headway with that bunch. Looks like a high school clique––invitation only. I don’t see Fab and Didier; they must have left already. Let’s go snag a window table at the Crab Shack.”
Chapter 8
The baby blue sky was filled with white, fluffy clouds; a great day for a drive. And the view only got better once we hit the Keys, the whitecap waves crashing onshore on both sides of the highway––the Atlantic and the Gulf of Mexico.
The Crab Shack was a family favorite; it sat off the main highway in Tarpon Cove and overlooked the darker blue waters of the Atlantic. The restaurant was low-key, decorated in nautical décor and served the best seafood in town.
The sun shone brightly through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Mother, like daughter, would only accept a waterfront table. Before sitting down, I took a moment to enjoy the waves, which were heavier than usual, breaking on the sand below and washing up under the stilted building. I ordered drinks while Mother had a short conversation with someone on her cell.
Swindled in Paradise Page 4
