Trouble in Paradise

by Brown, Deborah

  “Stop worrying. Let’s be clear, you both owe me. I ask, you do, got it?”

  They both nodded.

  * * *

  Mac stood in the driveway, waiting for me; her painted on pair of bright yellow shorts barely covering her cheeks, her girls screaming, ‘let me out of here!’ in her purple shirt.

  “You wore that to work?” I asked.

  Mac looked down. “Oh crap, I forgot my skirt again. I’ll get it out of the car.”

  I took out my phone and called Moron. “I need a favor.”

  Moron was an unfortunate nickname from high school but one, as it turned out, he liked. He could fix anything with an engine, his specialty being boats. Yet another interesting friend of Elizabeth’s.

  “What now?” Moron grumbled.

  “That’s not the right attitude for favor doing.”

  “I’ll do it, doesn’t matter.” Moron said with a snort. “You’re the only person that doesn’t treat me like the weird fuck I am.”

  “Anyone calls you weird, give me their name. I’ll beat them up for you.”

  Moron laughed. “Hmm, I might do that.”

  “Liam, my soon-to-be nephew if my mother and I have anything to do with it, will be calling about repairing my lawnmower that he and his friend smashed up.”

  “Some piece-of-shit push mower or something?”

  “Riding mower, they can fill you in on the details. Don’t charge them. Send me the bill but don’t tell them. Instead of cash, tell them they have to work off the bill. Most importantly, don’t scare them.”

  “You’re never a dull moment. I’m never disappointed when I pick up your calls. Everyone else goes to voicemail and I never listen to my messages. Happy for the entertainment.” Moron hung up, chuckling.

  Mac had pulled on a white skirt, her shorts showing through, looking like dreadful underwear. “What did I miss?”

  “I’ll show you.” I crooked my finger, to follow. I unlocked the shed, flipped the light; the John Deere sat in its usual spot. “Wow.”

  The front ride side was bashed in, the tire hanging at an odd angle. “What the hell?” Mac gasped.

  “Liam and his friend Harvard needed to practice for the lawnmower races and went one-on-one with a tree. Moron’s coming by to pick it up.”

  “Man we love those races, they’re fun. We’ve been to the Big Daddy races in Indiana. The Cove version is much smaller. Stupid kids, you don’t race a regular riding mower, it needs serious modification.” Mac shook her head. “A group of us go, drink shots, and place bets, hoot and holler. They’re in two weeks; you should come with us. Hell, you like NASCAR.”

  Mac couldn’t possibly be comparing a lawnmower redo with a drunk driver to a thirty-five hundred pound stock car with a skilled driver who finessed their machine at two hundred miles an hour.

  A loud bang startled us; we both looked out the shed door. The little yellow shed sat in the corner of the barbeque area making it impossible to see anything going on around the rest of the property, which meant Mac and I had to go out into the driveway, the only clear view of all the cottages.

  Kibble had banged the door of his cottage open, his mass filling the doorway. “Why in the hell don’t you mind your own business?” He had all the signs of a severe hangover.

  “Who are you talking to?” I asked.

  “You, you dumb bitch,” Kibble snarled, clearing the steps, landing in front of me.

  Mac pulled a baby Glock from the front of her skirt. “Step back,” she ordered, pointing it at him. “If you don’t, I’ll be happy to shoot you,” she added, lowering her aim to between his legs. Kibble stepped back, his face red with rage. “You’re not going to get away with turning us in to DCS on a bogus complaint.”

  Surely, there wasn’t enough room to keep a gun in Mac’s shorts. “I didn’t call child services or anyone else about anything.” I went back, closed and locked the shed, happy to have Mac guarding my back.

  “The cops showed up a little while ago with one of those DCS bitches wanting to check on Kibble Junior. Johnson told me that you,” Kibble pointed at me, “were the one who called, telling a bullshit story that I cooked meth in the kitchen.”

  Paranoia is a wonderful thing! That’s why they hung the ugly black out stuff on the window. “Is that why you and Barbie are so fearful? Why would I call the sheriff? You’re out of here soon.” Now the rush was on to get them out before Kibble blew up The Cottages.

  “Listen, bitch, you mess with me and it’ll be the last stupid bitch thing you do.” Spit flew out of Kibble’s mouth.

  “If he calls me bitch again, go ahead, and shoot him,” I told Mac. “Anything ever happens to me, Kibble, Jimmy Spoon will make you wish you were dead. You want to solve this problem of yours, move the “f” out!”

  Mac still had her finger on the trigger of her Glock, never flinching.

  Kibble took two steps back. “Did you bang the dead Cosmo? It’s all over the docks that you’re asking questions. Trying to catch yourself a murderer, are you?” He snickered.

  “You listen to a lot of gossip,” I said right before his door slammed shut.

  We hustled across the parking lot. Mac took her keys out, and unlocked the office door. “He creeps me out.”

  “Would you have shot him?” I asked.

  “You bet his fat ass and it would’ve been self-defense. You need to be careful.”

  I double locked the door, looking up and down the drive for any more trouble. “What the hell was Kibble talking about? I would never throw a match in a gas can and that’s what I’d be doing if I called the sheriff on him.”

  “I was about to tell you I saw Johnson drive out of here about an hour ago and Kevin was nowhere in sight.”

  “I loathe Kevin’s new partner. Everyone around here likes Kevin, he does his job, and he doesn’t go around stirring up stuff. Do you think Johnson would lie to gain entry to Kibble’s cottage?”

  “I think he’s sneaky and will do whatever it takes to get an arrest. Johnson’s apparently not losing any sleep over the fact he’s not winning any popularity contests.” Mac picked up a pair of binoculars. “Street’s clear except for old man Keen. He’s started peeping in windows lately.”

  “I’m leaving and you should leave early today, let everything calm down,” I told Mac.

  CHAPTER 27

  Three streets over, Johnson had stopped Cheesy to harass him for walking home drunk, giving him no credit for not driving.

  This must be help-a-drunk-out day. I pulled into a parking space. “Excuse me, Officer Johnson, can I speak with you?”

  “Stand back,” he ordered. “You’re interrupting official business.”

  “Hi, Cheesy. How’s your mother?” Cheesy was an underachieving, grown man whose mother doted on him.

  “I, uh…,” Cheesy looked at Johnson and then me. He barely made it to the bushes, before hunching over, making retching noises. “I have to go to the bathroom.” He grabbed his stomach.

  “Get the hell out of here,” Johnson said to Cheesy with disgust.

  We stood in front of an old, run-down cottage-style house, with six cars squeezed into the driveway overlapping on the lawn. Four of the occupants rocked on the porch, hoping to hear every word.

  “It’s nice to know you’re protecting the streets from a harmless drunk like Cheesy, who’s nice to everyone. No other sheriff bothers him.”

  “Drunk in public is illegal. My job is to enforce the law. If you don’t like it, too damn bad. Don’t ever interrupt a conversation of mine again.”

  Could they have gotten a tighter-ass sheriff for this town? “I understand you just left the Shiner’s, telling them that I called DCS for a child welfare check.”

  “The department has a policy of not discussing open investigations with non-employees. That makes it none of your business.”

  “It is my business, if you lied and told him I’m the one who made the call. By the way, Kibble threatened me.”

  “Did he hurt you
?” Johnson looked me up and down. “When he does, we’ll arrest him.”

  “I want you to tell him that I didn’t make the call.”

  “If you have any problems, you call and we’ll respond like we would for any other citizen.”

  I refrained from giving him the finger, got in my SUV and stuck to the speed limit. I wasn’t going to give Johnson a reason to pull me over.

  * * *

  Two blocks later, my phone rang. Thank goodness I had my earpiece on. I knew my limitations and I needed two hands on the steering wheel. “Are you okay?” I asked Mac.

  “Fine. Just ran into lame-ass Apple, and she told me to give you a message. When I told the bitch ‘no,’ she chanted, ‘You’re gonna get in trouble.’ What the hell was she drunk-mumbling about?”

  “Apple trades info for cigarettes and liquor.” My deal with her gave me tremendous guilt; it depressed me that she chose life on the streets because she felt safer.

  “Anything good?” Mac asked.

  “I guess I’m going to find out.” I sighed. “Where is she?”

  “Told me she hangs out at the public launch area at the end of Pelican. Can’t miss it, the docks are rotted and falling into the water.” The neighbors and the city had been fighting for a year over who’s going to pay the tab to fix them.

  “Thanks for the call. Anytime Apple relays a mumbly message, let me know,” I said.

  “I gave her a pack of cigarettes and my cheapest lighter.”

  “You softie. See? You’re not such a hard ass after all.” I chuckled.

  “Just remember, you tell anyone and I have plenty to tell on you.”

  * * *

  Every neighborhood has a launch area for the locals. The docks that got maintained were done so by boat owners who used them to launch their boats into the water. Apple lay sound asleep on a cement bench by the trashcan. I lightly tapped her shoulder, “Apple, it’s Madison.”

  She jerked awake, wrapping her arms around herself in a protective mode. She visibly relaxed when she saw me. “I was hoping she’d call you.” This was a quiet neighborhood in the day; the night might be a different story. Nowhere was safe for a woman asleep by herself.

  “What’s up?” I decided to stand; I didn’t want to get bird poop on my legs or my skirt.

  “Same deal as before?”

  I nodded.

  Two twenty-somethings in a big pickup flew into the boat ramp area, skidded to a stop, their boat trailer snapping from side to side. They both downed the last of their beer, threw the bottles out the window and got out laughing. They wouldn’t think they were so funny if their boat trailer snapped off the hitch, possibly dumping the boat.

  Apple had gotten some sun, looking less like death than when I saw her last. “That old-ass girlfriend of Joseph’s is walking around town asking all kinds of questions about you. A fisherman was ready to give her your home address when I told him your mother’s banging Spoon. That got rid of him.”

  “The next time you speak about my mother, it better not be with the word ‘banging’ in the sentence. Got it?”

  “Sorry, I just meant…”

  “Anything else?” I interrupted.

  “Veta’s telling people that you’re asking questions about Cosmo and reporting back to the cops, and said flat out that you’re the reason cops have been snooping around in packs.”

  “What’s her game?”

  “She’s a mean trouble maker; a control freak. Huge hate on for you and it’s all about Joseph. In her delusional mind, you want her Joey all for yourself, wants Joseph to move out of The Cottages and he won’t. Don’t know why, he kisses her ass on everything else. He checked his goods for that relationship. Probably small anyway.”

  I closed my eyes forbidding that visual. “So that’s her problem.” Thank you, Joseph, for bragging all over town that you can nail anything female.

  “I may be a drunk but I’m not stupid.”

  “Hey, girls, want to go for a ride, have some fun?” One of the boaters yelled, pointing to the boat they managed to get into the water in one piece. The other one hit the accelerator in his truck sending the empty trailer flying out of the water. Dust and gravel flew as he did a crappy park job, leaving no room for another truck.

  “No thanks,” I yelled back. To my surprise and relief he didn’t pursue the issue. Apple shoved her dirty jacket and baseball hat into her knapsack. “Do you want a ride to the liquor store?” I asked.

  “No, I’m using a little of what you give me for a shower and to wash my clothes. I’d like another crossword book. I finished the other one already, too easy.”

  “If you change your mind about life on the street, you can move into a woman’s shelter right away. You’d have to give up drinking. They have a great sobriety program.”

  Apple recoiled, fear on her face. “I’ll think about it.”

  I handed her extra cash. “Thanks for the info.” Who knew when she’d call again? These encounters with Apple saddened me but her information was useful.

  CHAPTER 28

  “Honey, I’m home.” I kicked the door shut, carrying two pails of seashells into the kitchen. I threw an empty bread bag on the counter that I’d used to feed the egrets.

  “Who’s she talking to?” a male voice asked.

  In the living room, Creole sat across from Fab. “He rang the doorbell.” Fab said.

  “I’m surprised Fab answered,” I said to Creole. “No one knocks, except my mother and brother. Fab picks the lock.”

  “Of course I answered. How was I going to find out what he wanted?” Fab sniffed. “The answer is no. I didn’t get a word out of him.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t pull your gun, threaten to shoot a random body part and force it out of him.”

  Creole looked at Fab as if she was one of his shifty street informants. “Thanks for the warning.”

  “Let’s go out by the pool. There’s no way for Fab to listen in without us seeing her,” I said.

  Once we got outside and out of earshot we pulled our chairs next to the pool. “Madeline called, she wants me to have lunch with her tomorrow,” Creole said. “At her house.”

  “You’re in trouble,” I said. “Or she’s planning our wedding. We did go out on a date after all.”

  “What do you think she wants?”

  I felt bad he looked so unhappy. “My guess is that Zach told her to get her daughter away from you, and fast. Cheer up. What’s the worst that can happen?”

  “Madeline could throw me out of the family.” Creole frowned. “I like being a part of the Westin family. Damn Zach Lazarro.”

  “Listen to me. I’m giving you my best advice: fix your relationship with Zach.”

  Creole ran his hands through his hair. “Why couldn’t he just mind his own business?”

  “First off, you have unanimous approval of the Westin family. Mother is every bit as understanding as Elizabeth. You can tell her anything, she’d never betray you. And neither will I. You tell Zach what you want and we’ll back you up.”

  “How did I get so lucky?” Creole tugged my hair.

  “Number one son spot is taken but if you want to slide into number two, confide in Mother and more importantly ask for her help in solving your Zach problem. She won’t let you down.”

  Creole lowered his mouth to mine. “No more of that.” I put my fingers on his lips.

  He nibbled on the tips of my fingers.

  “Want to stay for dinner?” I asked.

  “I’m starving.” Creole stared into my eyes.

  “Focus. I’m talking about food.”

  “I have to go, meeting a low life for beer. I’m setting up a drug buy with a low link on the chain, to inspire confidence so I can work my way up the dealer network.” He stood up, pulling me into a hug. “Fair warning: I’m going to kill your boyfriend,” he whispered in my ear and left out the side gate.

  Creole barely cleared the patio, when Fab appeared in front of me. “I can’t believe you wouldn’
t let me listen.”

  “You tried though, didn’t you?”

  Fab’s phone rang. “You promised tonight!” she yelled into the phone, as soon as she put it to her ear.

  I wondered what the other person was saying.

  “Don’t screw this up,” Fab said. “Timing is everything. We only get one chance. Tomorrow at Bakery Café. You don’t deliver and you’ll be the one explaining to Brick.” Fab disconnected, threw her phone on the table, and sat in Creole’s vacant chair.

  “The final phase of our plan happens tomorrow. We’re moving Rachel and her son, Michael. Instead of driving her son to school tomorrow, she’ll stop at Chunkster’s, park around the back, jump into your SUV and we’ll drive them to their new life.” Chunkster’s was a gas, beer, and donut dump on the Overseas.

  “Where are we taking them?” When I had met Rachel at the school, she looked like a woman who lived in fear. Her right eye had faded yellow bruising and there were also faint bruise marks on her neck.

  “A private airstrip in Palm Beach.” Fab scribbled more notes into a ratty notepad she always carried. “This has to go off like clockwork, no mistakes. We have a limited time before the school will call Sabrosa and tell him his son didn’t show up. We need to be at the airport before that happens. If Sabrosa alerts the cops, it’s Casio Famosa’s job to derail any potential law enforcement problems.”

  “This is a good thing you’re doing.” It scared me to think about what Sabrosa would do if we didn’t make that airstrip before he found out.

  “I’ll feel better when they’re both safe,” Fab said. “Sabrosa gets his hands on them again, he’ll make good on his threat to kill her. We’ll leave early and pick up the new identification for our travelers and I figure we can hit the turnpike and be in Palm Beach in less than two hours.”

  My phone started ringing from inside my pocket. “I’ll be happy when the plane takes off, with Rachel and Michael safely inside.”

  “Are you going to answer?” Fab asked. “Who’s on the phone?”