Trouble in Paradise

by Brown, Deborah

  “I’m not a talker,” Mac said. This I knew to be true.

  “If you get a note under the office door, call me immediately and tell me what it says. It doesn’t matter if it makes sense.”

  “How much are you paying for the info?” Fab asked.

  “It was a bargain. Returning Kitty before Miss January wakes up is a win-win all around. Best case, she won’t remember that Kitty ever went missing,” I said.

  “All that matters is that I don’t have to listen to any more crying,” Mac said, fastening her hair with a racecar clip.

  “I’m going to make it up to you. Next Thursday, I’ve planned a girls’ night out. It’s all arranged, so be at my house by five o’clock. It’ll be fun,” I said.

  “Where’s my invite?” Fab asked.

  “Please, there is no girls’ night without you. Mother’s coming, she’s bringing cigars. And I’m asking Julie. Since she’s marrying Brad we need to get to know her better.”

  “Married?” Mac shrieked. “It’s not fair! I’m always the last to know every damn thing.”

  “Hey, I didn’t know and I’m the alternate daughter,” Fab said.

  “Calm down you two. Mother has yet to perfect her shotgun wedding plans. Brad and Julie better be careful; Mother’s eager for grandchildren. You should have seen her trying out ‘Grandma’ v ‘Grandmother’ with Liam.”

  “Five bucks says she comes up with something else to call herself,” Fab said.

  “Sucker bet is what I call that.” I laughed. “We’ll see you later,” I told Mac. I opened my door and called to her, “It’s not ‘if’ anymore, it’s ‘when’ the dirt hits the fan, call me.”

  “Next stop, Kyle’s house,” Fab said, pulling out of the driveway.

  “I changed my mind. This message needs to be delivered by a man. You know men never take it well when threatened by women.”

  “Who’s your man for the job?”

  I picked up my cell and hit a speed dial. The call was picked up on the first ring. “Do you ever loan the bald twins out?”

  “What now?” Spoon asked.

  “Kyle, a kid in the neighborhood, is terrorizing Miss January and her cat.”

  “Is it still dead? And I’m not kicking the crap out of a kid.”

  “I want the bald ones to pay a visit to Kyle’s dad. They need to make it clear he’s to keep his kid away from The Cottages. No bodily harm, shear mean-ass intimidation. Kyle can’t even walk by; he can go the long way around.”

  “You’re running up quite a tab with me,” Spoon said.

  “I figure we’re even because I haven’t ratted out to my brother the exact nature of your relationship with Mother.”

  He hung up laughing.

  CHAPTER 17

  Fab floated in the pool on a raft, with Jazz asleep on one of the chaises. Now I had someone to complain to about my day. I raced upstairs and changed into my bathing suit. On my way back through the kitchen, I grabbed a bamboo tray, my new flamingo shaped pitcher filled with mango iced tea, matching glasses, and a bucket of ice and headed out to the patio.

  “I’ll have a glass,” Fab told me.

  I picked up the pitcher and my phone rang. “Now what?” I looked at Fab, then at the caller ID. “It’s Brick.”

  “I’d say don’t answer but...”

  “Took you long enough to answer,” Brick said.

  “If you called to pick a bitch fight, this is a good day for one.”

  Brick snorted. “Next time, maybe. I want you in my office tomorrow morning; I’ve got a job for you.”

  Fab ditched her raft and swam over to listen in.

  “Does this involve dead people?” I asked.

  “If you want your license, you have to put in the hours. I’m not just signing off.”

  “If this was a legitimate job, you’d have called Fab first.” I made a face at her.

  “You women drive me crazy. It’s a simple delivery job.” Brick hung up.

  “He demanded I show up in his office in the morning,” I told Fab.

  “He does that. What kind of job?”

  “Delivery job that doesn’t involve dead people.”

  “I guess I’ll be calling your mother.” Fab jumped back in the water. “One more day of following that damn delivery truck up the turnpike is going to drive me nuts. I could make the drive in my sleep.”

  “Just promise Mother won’t get hurt.”

  “What about me?”

  * * *

  This was the first time I’d been back to Brick’s car lot since the shooting. From where I stood in the parking lot, I could see him sitting at his desk on the second floor. In the reception area, a small boy ran around, screaming at the top of his lungs. The sound reverberated off the walls and made my ears hurt.

  “You can go on up.” Bitsy, the bubbly and charming receptionist, waved to me, flipping her long blond hair from side to side. Her royal blue dress was mind numbingly bright and cut so low that, if she sneezed, her nipples might fall out. Brick said the customers loved her, which I took to mean the male ones.

  Brick told me he deliberately bought butt-numbing chairs, so people wouldn’t stay long. The average customer never saw the inside of his office. I sat down opposite him, waiting impatiently for him to get off the phone.

  “She’s here,” he said and hung up. “I didn’t think you’d show.”

  “What’s the job?”

  Brick hit the intercom button. “Send Alejandro up here.” He looked at me. “I need you to deliver my nephew to his grandmother’s house in Pass-a-Grille.”

  The little screamer raced in, and slid across the floor, landing in front of Brick in one piece.

  “This is Alejandro, my brother Casio’s son. This is Miss Madison.”

  I had died and gone to hell.

  He turned and stuck his tongue out. He appeared to be seven to eight years old, and not a single doubt he was chock full of Famosa DNA.

  “Say hello, Alex,” Brick coaxed.

  The kid looked me over in the same disrespectful way his father would have if he were here. “Hello!” Alex yelled.

  “Alex is in the yelling everything stage, likes the way it sounds, wants to make sure he’s heard. He has two older brothers,” Brick said.

  “Where am I going again? I’ve never heard of the place.”

  Alex rolled his eyes, the ‘she’s stupid’ look on his face.

  “The Pass is at the southern tip of St. Pete beach. The old Don Cesar Hotel marks the starting point and dead ends at the water, so you can’t get lost. Take the interstate over the Sunshine Skyway Bridge, hang a left, you’re almost there,” Brick said.

  I knew the Sunshine Bridge. It climbed to over four hundred feet and then straight back down, like a nauseating roller coaster ride. When they replaced the old bridge, the designers wanted to make sure there wasn’t another major boating disaster like when, years back, a freighter hit a support column in a storm killing thirty-five people. It was far better to be the driver going over the bridge and have to pay attention to the road, since the passenger seat view made one wonder if they were about to die.

  “St. Pete? You didn’t say anything about this being an overnight trip. I’m not prepared.”

  “Round trip is doable or you can stay overnight. I’ll pay whatever it takes,” Brick said. “Are you ready?” He picked Alex up off the floor, tossed him in the air, making him laugh, and grabbed a suitcase on the way out of his office.

  Brick stopped at the reception desk, and grabbed a manila envelope. “The address, directions, and cash are in here. You can reach me on my cell.”

  Note to self: Bill Brick triple.

  A well-dressed thug appeared out of nowhere. I’d heard Brick hired bodyguards. He grabbed up the car seat and installed it in my back seat in two seconds. He must have kids at home. “Alex doesn’t meet the weight requirement so, for his safety, he rides in the car seat.”

  “Now I know why you didn’t call Fab.” I glared at Brick.


  “You need anything, call me,” Brick said. “Alex has his DVD player. He’ll watch movies, and you’ll never know he’s seated behind you.”

  “Bye, Uncle Brick!” Alex yelled out the window and waved.

  I exited the parking lot. “Are you excited to be going to your grandmother’s?”

  “I’m busy,” he replied and stuck out his tongue.

  I looked in my mirror and he stared out the side window.

  As soon as I hit the Tamiami Trail, on went the DVD player and he started yelling dialogue at the screen.

  “Alex, can you yell quieter?” I knew it sounded ridiculous but it was better than ‘shut up.’

  He totally ignored me, so I turned on the radio.

  “Turn that off, I can’t hear!”

  “Alex, I can’t drive with you screaming.” Thank goodness, traffic was light. I held my foot steady at just over the speed limit.

  “You can call me Mr. Famosa!” he yelled.

  I reached into my glove box and pulled out my aspirin bottle.

  “You take drugs,” Alex accused.

  “If you’d stop screaming I wouldn’t need aspirin.”

  “I’m telling.” He shook his finger.

  I ignored him and concentrated on driving as fast as I could without being reckless. Not long after we made the turn onto the interstate, he got out of his car seat and jumped into the cargo area.

  “You know you have to ride in the car seat. Please get back in.”

  “No and, if you try and make me, I’ll tell my dad you hit me.”

  I cut to the right and just made the off ramp. I reached for my phone and listened to Brick’s number ring; no pick up as promised. Bitsy answered the direct number to the dealership and told me he wouldn’t be in all day due to meetings.

  “You’re wasting time.” Alex gave me a Cuban hand gesture. “My grandmother’s going to smack you.”

  I pulled to the side of the road on the off ramp, and jumped out of my SUV. I yelled in the window, “Get in your car seat now or I’ll drag you by the hair and put you in it myself.”

  “Shut up!” he yelled back, sticking his fingers in his ears.

  “Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I jerked open the rear door.

  As I reached for him, he crawled over the back seat and got back in his car seat.

  I breathed a sigh of relief, slamming the door.

  It only took a few miles down the interstate before he was out of his seat again. I looked in my mirror and watched as he crawled into the cargo area, this time staring out the back window, moving his arm up and down, trying to get truck drivers to honk. “Get back in your seat or I’m pulling off again and you can explain to your grandmother why we’re late.”

  Alex unlatched the back window and hung half way out, yelling and waving at passenger cars.

  “Get your ass back in the car!” I slowed, intending to make the next exit, with one eye on Alex to make sure he didn’t fall out the back window. Sirens blared. I looked in my rearview and the cops were in pursuit of me.

  I pulled off the interstate and onto the shoulder. My good driver record vanished as I rolled down the window. The trooper approached on the driver side. “Do you know why…,” he started.

  “Help, she kidnapped me!” Alex yelled.

  The trooper’s gun came out in an instant. “Hands where I can see them.” He opened the door and ordered, “Get out slowly, hands in the air.”

  “He’s lying,” I said, doing what I was told. The trooper wasted no time reading me my rights.

  He gave me a shove up against my Tahoe and cuffed me. “Is that why you gave me the finger?” he asked Alex. “What’s your name?”

  “Alejandro Lopez. I’m afraid of her; she took me from my house in Miami.”

  “His name is Alejandro Lopez Famosa. His father, Casio Famosa, is a detective with the Miami police department. Casio can clear this up with a phone call. His brother hired me to drive Alex to his grandmother’s in St. Petersburg.”

  “She threatened to kill me, and pulled my hair, and punched me in the stomach,” Alex yelled. “She scares me. I was afraid.” He started crying.

  I’d put money on fake tears but he’d sold his story like an A-list actor kid.

  The trooper led me to his car, holding my arm steady as I wobbled, hands cuffed behind me. It wasn’t easy getting in the backseat.

  “The kid is lying. Please call his father,” I practically begged.

  “Don’t go anywhere.” He shut the door and walked back to Alex. Alex sat in the cargo section, swinging his legs out the rear door.

  The trooper made a phone call, then he and Alex got into an animated chat. Two local cop cars sped up, lights flashing and sirens blaring, both marked, Springs, Florida. One was a K-9 unit, giving the newest child abducting felon priority. Two gas stations at the end of the ramp gave no indication of how far out in the middle of nowhere we were.

  The K-9 cop opened his car door, signaling the dog, who jumped out and ran to my SUV sniffing over every inch. I expected him to lift his leg and mark his territory. Through the open rear door I saw one of the local cops toss the interior, upend the contents of my purse and go through Alex’s suitcase. The other one went through my wallet, took my license and disappeared back inside his car.

  The cop who tossed my SUV opened the door. “Do you need help out?” His name tag read Duno.

  “Did you talk to his father and get this straightened out?” I asked.

  “You’re being transferred to the Springs Police Department.” Duno held onto my arm as I stood up.

  “Why are you taking the word of a bratty seven-year-old and not checking out his story?”

  “Alex fits the description of an Amber Alert out of Miami. We’ll check out his version of events. In the meantime, we’re not sitting on the side of the highway.”

  “What about my purse and SUV?” My arms ached from being restrained, my shoulders pulled into an odd angle.

  “Your purse has been bagged. A tow truck is on its way.”

  “And when you find out he’s a liar, then what?” I asked, on the verge of hysteria.

  Duno led me to a Springs patrol car. He shut the door without a word. Alex and I made contact through the window. He smiled at me and gave a quick wave good-bye.

  Springs turned out to be several miles down a two-lane road to nowhere; Main Street was three blocks long. A dot on the map, it was comprised of a three-in-one motel-restaurant- bar, a gas station, a fire department, police station and the required liquor/check cashing store.

  Duno walked me into the police department. It was an ugly cement building, with a large office area containing several desks. The building showed its wear, but it was clean; a throwback to an old western movie. Through an open door at the back, I spotted several jail cells.

  “I’d like to make a phone call. If you let me use my cell, I have a lawyer I can call.”

  “Why doesn’t it surprise me that you have a lawyer on speed dial?” Duno stared at me with disgust. “We weren’t able to reach Detective Famosa. He’s out on assignment. Anyone else who can back up your story?”

  “How about his uncle Brick Famosa? Private detective, bail bondsman.”

  Duno was clearly not impressed with my second reference. “I suggest you call your lawyer.” He handed me my phone. “We’ll keep you here until the transport bus comes by and then you’ll be transferred to the women’s jail. We don’t have the facilities here for overnight company.”

  I struggled to stay calm. “Susie, this is Madison Westin. This is an emergency. Can I speak to Mr. Campion?”

  “He’s in court. Can I help you?”

  “I’ve been arrested for the kidnapping of Casio Famosa’s obnoxious son. Alex made up the story and lied to the cops. I’m being held in Springs,” I explained, my voice rising with each sentence. “If someone doesn’t get here fast, I’m going to be transferred to the women’s jail. You tell your boss to use his superstar talents to get me t
he hell out of here and to send the bill for his services to Brick Famosa.”

  “Try to stay calm. Don’t worry, we’ll get you of there. I promise,” Susie said.

  “Please hurry.” I had a hard time comprehending what happened but I knew the jail cells were a few feet away behind an open pair of steel doors.

  Duno put me in one of their holding cells. The only upside was that they weren’t entertaining any real felons; no worries about advances from someone named Bertha. Seating was limited to the bunk bed, or the toilet. I spread the scratchy wool blanket over the stained mattress, keeping one thin layer between me and the giant spring sticking up my butt, not to mention possible bed bugs.

  The outer doors slammed. I reined in my panic, leaning against the wall, closing my eyes, knees pulled to my chest, trying to pretend I was walking on the beach. The eerie quiet unnerved me.

  CHAPTER 18

  The outer door creaked open. The noise startled me and my eyes flew open. Disoriented, I thought I must be having a nightmare. Not only was I in jail, but Detective Harder stared at me from the other side of the bars.

  “I’m here to get you out of this mess,” Harder said.

  My eyes filled with tears. “I’ve never been happy to see you, but right now I could kiss you.”

  “Oh no you don’t,” Harder said, shaking his finger at me. “You better not cry.”

  Duno unlocked the cell door.

  “I vouched for you with Officer Duno here, verified your story that Alex concocted the kidnapping story. As Assistant Chief of Homicide, I’ve got clout.” Harder blew on his knuckles, rubbing them on his shirt.

  “Sorry for the inconvenience, Miss Westin. We had to hold you until we checked out Alex’s story,” Duno said. “As I mentioned, we thought Alex could be the missing kid from Miami, but that young boy had already been found at a friend’s house. Early on, we decided he could be full of himself, overly dramatic, suffering from too much television but he never retracted a word of his story. He detailed the abuse he suffered at your hands which got more vivid each time he recounted his story. It didn’t go unnoticed that he didn’t have a scratch on him.”