Psycho in Paradise

by Deborah Brown

  I ogled my boyfriend, Creole, over the rim of my coffee cup when his booted feet hit the tiles and he clomped into the kitchen, Didier behind him. Both were over six feet and dressed for construction work. I wanted to tease them about their usually groomed dark hair sticking up on end.

  The cats, Jazz and Snow, must have cracked an eye open and noticed Didier in the kitchen. He was their go-to soft touch for treats. The two single-filed into the kitchen and sat at his feet, Jazz’s howling translating to “hurry it up.”

  Creole stepped over the cats and pulled up a stool next to me. He cast a glance over my pile of paperwork, his eyebrows going up.

  “I’m trying to gather as much information on Brad’s case as I can before dinner tonight. I called my information guy—he’s got an in to find out what the cops know that we don’t.”

  “When do I get to meet this guy, GC?”

  GC was short for Gunz’s Connection, Gunz being a shady friend of Fab’s.

  “You know he’s holed up in a basement somewhere, working his magic. I haven’t even met him, if that makes you feel better.”

  “It doesn’t.”

  I bent forward and brushed Creole’s lips with my own. “Don’t worry so much. He’s really good at his job, and he did come highly recommended.”

  Fab pushed her paperwork aside, making room for Didier, and nodded in my direction. “If you guys need help down at the docks, I volunteer the two of us. I nominate myself as supervisor, with the understanding that I’ll be the one telling you what to do.”

  The guys laughed.

  “We’ve got a small section of one of the docks to repair before inspection tomorrow,” Didier said. “I’ve got hopes that by the weekend, all the slips will be leased. It was a good decision to increase the amount of available space and double the size of the guest dock.”

  A mutual friend, Corndog (beware: when you enter a hotdog-eating contest and win, the moniker could be with you forever), owned the highly sought-after dock area, which had stood empty and rundown for years. Despite being pressured to sell, which included threats and bodily harm, he opted to renovate it himself instead. I’d met him when he hired me to investigate who was pressuring him to sell, and when I realized he needed a partner for the renovation, I’d suggested Didier.

  “All thanks to Madison’s friend in the building department,” Creole said. “Turns out the man had more than a few good ideas.”

  “Another great connection from my aunt’s phone book.” I often thought she’d left it with her personal papers knowing I would need it. “It’s nice of you to volunteer.”

  “I need the exercise.” Creole flexed his muscles. He’d been asked by Didier to come in on the project because he needed someone he trusted and could work well with.

  Didier reached for the coffee pot that he’d refilled earlier, filling everyone’s mug except mine. Their strong brews were too much for me, and besides, I didn’t need hair on my chest.

  “What are you two up to today?” Didier’s blue eyes bored into Fab and me.

  “I’ve got a new client. I’m meeting him at his office in Miami,” Fab said.

  “New client” always gave me a bad feeling. Even if they were millionaires with penthouse views of the water, they were trouble and asked for the most outrageous services, almost always illegal ones.

  “Let me guess, rich guy got caught in his mistress’s bed and left his pants behind, and he’s hiring you to sneak past sixteen layers of security and retrieve them.” I mentally applauded myself for not ending in an eyeroll.

  Didier banged his fist on the countertop. “Once again, I’m having to remind you of your promise to run these jobs by me before you make a commitment.”

  “You didn’t share every detail of this dock project with me.” Fab’s whiney voice told everyone that she already knew there was something hinky about the job.

  “As a matter of fact, I did,” Didier said evenly. “Guess you weren’t listening.”

  Fab flinched.

  “I thought I made it quite clear that the sharing of details was to be before the job and not when you were on your way to jail.” Didier stood and crossed to the sink, rinsing out his mug. “Don’t let me stand in your way. If it’s that important, go ahead.” He headed to the front door, pausing to pick up his briefcase. “I’ll meet you at the office,” he said over his shoulder to Creole.

  Fab vaulted off her stool and ran out the door after him.

  I swiveled on my stool, wrapping my legs around Creole’s waist. “Want to place a wager that they make up before he leaves the driveway?”

  “You think you’re marrying a stupid man?” He lifted my right hand and kissed my knuckles right above the “friendship” ring.

  Creole had proposed a few months ago but was adamant that he didn’t want a large wedding attended by people we didn’t know. He wanted us to elope and say our I-do’s on the beach with the sand between our toes. I wholeheartedly agreed, except for the elopement part. I couldn’t do that to my mother and told Creole to figure it out with her. Thus far, he hadn’t broached the subject. The engagement ring had become a “friendship ring,” for which he took endless needling from my family.

  “I’ll remind you that Mother has never met a problem she couldn’t find a solution to. You two can work it out so everyone is happy and you don’t end up dead with Mother in prison.”

  “I’m working on a plan.” He grinned.

  “That scares me,” I murmured against his lips. “But to show my love, I’m in.

  “That’s why I love you.” He looked over my shoulder, surveying the driveway through the garden window over the sink. “I consider myself lucky that you’re not as crazy as she is. They’re kissing. That means Fab promised… again. Didier’s not going to back down when it comes to her safety. I don’t with you. Have I thanked you lately for not being as shifty as your friend?”

  “There’s enough crazy going on around here—we need a few sane moments.” I tried for a smile, but when I thought of my brother and his pending trial, it had me renewing my oath not to leave any stone unturned.

  “On my way to the docks, I’ll give the chief a call and see if he’ll put out a few feelers. You’re one of his favorites, so I can’t imagine that he’d say no. Though my old team has mostly retired—moving on to less stressful, more pleasurable jobs—I’ve still got a couple of friends on the force that can kick over a rock or two.”

  Creole had been an undercover cop for the Miami Police Department until his partner died in a shootout and he nearly did too.

  “Didier just pulled out.” Creole stood, bringing me with him, kissed me thoroughly, and set my feet on the floor. “Here comes Fab.”

  At that moment, the front door banged closed. Fab blew in and ran upstairs.

  I slipped my hand in Creole’s. “I’ll walk you out so we can smooch again before you leave.”

  Creole and I made our way down the driveway, sliding between Fab’s Porsche and my Hummer to cross the street to where Creole and Didier parked their vehicles in the driveway of the neighbor’s seldom-used vacation home.

  “Have a good day, honey.” I waved as he drove off.

  Going back across the street and up the driveway of my white, two-story Key West-style house, I saw that Fab had come back into the kitchen and poked her head between two plants in the garden window. From this distance, the fierce look on her face clearly telegraphed, “Hurry up.”

  When I opened the door, Fab stood in the entry, purse slung over her shoulder.

  “You might as well sit.” I crooked my finger and pointed to a stool at the island as I passed her. “We need to have a talk.”

  She huffed and grumbled the few steps across the kitchen and paused in front of the coffee pot, casting me a glance.

  “Fill your cup to the top.”

  Fab took my suggestion and sat across from me, sighing. “I’ve had a rocky morning.”

  “Do you want to stay made-up with Didier or not?”

&nb
sp; “Of course I do.”

  “Share the details about this new client of yours and the job I’m certain you’ve already accepted.”

  Exasperation poured out of her. She hated it when I could see straight through her schemes. “Mr. Worth is experiencing some security issues that he believes I’m a perfect fit to solve.”

  “What a bunch of drivel. Let’s skip to the illegal part. After picking the lock, disarming the security—assuming the building isn’t a high-rise with a guard, which is breaking and entering—and, let’s see…” I rubbed my chin. “Theft? There must be a couple of other felonies to choose from. They escape me at the moment.”

  “There are times…”

  “I know, you don’t like me. That’s old news. Now stop stalling.”

  “This case doesn’t involve the litany of activities you just ran down. Maybe.” Fab paused. “Mr. Worth’s girlfriend stole three million dollars’ worth of gold from his personal safe.”

  I whistled, trying to imagine what that kind of a haul would look like. Bars? Coins?

  “Girlfriend didn’t make any attempt to cover up what she’d done either. He wants her found… or more accurately, he wants his money.”

  “That couldn’t have happened unless he gave her the combination.” I shook my head. “Why? There’s some stupidity that hiring a security expert can’t fix.” It must have been some safe to hold all that gold.

  “I can hardly point that out to him in such succinct terms.”

  “When you find said girlfriend, then what? You break into her place and hope that she’s also stupid and kept the gold in her possession? If, after ransacking it, you come up with zip, then what? You bring out your bag of torture tricks?”

  Fab grimaced. “Too messy for me. Before you ask, I’m not going to have any part in turning her or anyone else over to be hurt. My luck, the person would die, and prison for me.”

  “Easy fix. You meet with your client and go over his expectations. Better yet, all of this can be taken care of in a phone call. In the meantime, I’ll give the woman’s name to GC. He can track her down with a few keystrokes.”

  Fab not making eye contact meant there was more.

  “What else?” I asked.

  “You were right about Mr. Worth wanting her apartment searched. First priority is the gold, and the second is to make sure that there’s nothing left behind that would suggest a relationship of any kind between the two. Seems I wasn’t his first choice—he hired another firm, but without a key, they wouldn’t go in.”

  I grabbed her mug and mine and put them in the sink. “You need to follow their example. Where do you find these clients? They have the worst taste in mistresses, and when they end the relationship, they tend to leave behind incriminating evidence. How did they get to be bazillionaire businessmen with stupidity like that? Just goes to show that, no matter their net worth, they tend to think with their little brain.”

  Bored with my observations, Fab checked her watch. “I’ve got just enough time to make my meeting with Mr. Worth.”

  I leaned against the counter and crossed my arms.

  Fab glanced into the entry. “You steal the keys again?”

  “Both sets.” I smiled smugly. “Enjoy your walk.” After she was done growling, I said, “Call Worthless. Tell him you’ll do your best to track the girlfriend down. If she’s left any kind of trail, you’ll find it. As for the breaking and entering part—forget it.”

  Frustration poured out of her.

  “If you need some extra incentive, you have a wedding coming up once you and Mother stop giggling over the details and make some decisions.” I tended to tune out those discussions, liking Creole’s elopement idea better every day.

  My phone rang, interrupting her response, but I knew I’d gotten through to her. Mac’s face popped on the screen. Macklin Lane was the manager of The Cottages, a beach property that I owned. Somehow, the units had a tendency to fill up with misfits, and it was her job to keep them in line, which she mostly succeeded at. But every once in a while…

  “Good news first,” I answered.

  “That will have to wait until later.” Mac whistled and yelled, “Over here.”

  “That’s my ear,” I grouched.

  “The cops are here, and they’ve surrounded Miss January’s cottage.”

  Chapter Three

  Before racing upstairs to change into a jean skirt and tennis shoes, I reached inside my bra and took out Fab’s car keys, handing them over. Halfway up, I yelled, “I wish you’d wait until I get back to meet with your client. It’s much faster to post bail if I’m close by when you get in trouble.”

  In record time, I was taking the steps back down two at a time and running out to the SUV, where Fab waited impatiently behind the wheel.

  I slammed the car door, and Fab shot me a disgruntled look. Did she think the door would fall off? “I’m coming with you,” she said. “I took your suggestion and called Mr. Worthless. I wish you’d stop giving people rude names. I have a hard enough time remembering names as it is.”

  “And he said?”

  In true Fab fashion, she squealed out of the driveway and up to the corner. “The call took all of a minute. He had nothing new to add. What a colossal waste of time it would have been to drive to Miami for a meeting. Once I assured him I’d get right on it, he seemed satisfied and told me the next phone call better be to say that I retrieved the gold.”

  “I’ve got more free advice.” I took my phone out of my pocket. “Tell Didier the job could be done in-house. That’s the truth.” I hit redial. Voicemail. I’m going to kill her. Just figuratively, as Mac was too good at her job and life would be darn dull without her. I texted, “On my way.”

  “This should be interesting.” Fab raced through a yellow light. “What do you suppose that feeble old woman could do that would require more than one cop?”

  I’d inherited Miss January as a tenant along with the property. Yes, she was feeble, but not old—she only looked it. Cancer had ravaged her body, and it didn’t help that she medicated with cigarettes and alcohol. Her favorite was a fifth of vodka, which got delivered midday and she drank until she passed out.

  “I’m sure it’s all a misunderstanding.” One could hope. “Not that she wouldn’t commit some crime, but she’d have no idea that whatever it was could get her in trouble. We can hope she gets a sympathetic judge who’ll consider that flimsy excuse.”

  Fab laughed, cutting through a field, swerving around a pile of beer bottles, and turning into a driveway that turned out to be an alley, another shortcut that shortened drive time.

  The street to The Cottages was blocked by a police car. Fab parked around the corner, and we cut down the walkway alongside one of the houses, where she claimed to know the owner. “Know” was used loosely—probably an older gentleman she flirted shamelessly with before going on her way, leaving him with high hopes that she’d come around again.

  Mac slid around the side of the duplex that she and her friend had bought across the street from The Cottages. Her commute time to work was less than a minute. She’d told me once that it was the ideal location for spying on the late-night activities that often took place across the street.

  Wearing a colorful muumuu that a friend had brought her back from Hawaii, she waved frantically, hurrying in our direction. Her clothing and shoe choices seldom made sense—instead of a pair of sandals on this warm day, she had donned a pair of high-top, fur-trimmed rubber boots.

  “Kevin drew the short straw.”

  Instead of the whisper I suspected she was going for, her words came out in a shriek that had the man turning, a glare on his face—a familiar look to everyone that knew him.

  “Surrounded?” I snapped. “There’s two cars here.”

  “Is that all?” Now standing next to me at the end of her driveway, Mac looked up and down the street.

  Kevin Cory, a local sheriff’s deputy and also a tenant of The Cottages, was still looking at us from where he stoo
d conferring with another officer at the end of the driveway of the u-shaped, ten-unit property. Miss January’s cottage was in the middle.

  “Where did your friend go?” Mac tossed her head in the direction we’d come from.

  I turned, and the street was empty. I needed a wrist leash to keep track of Fab—she had a habit of vanishing.

  “Stay back,” Kevin ordered.

  “If this has to do with Miss January, I can help and no one needs to get hurt.” I surveyed my property. All was quiet. My guess was that as soon as one cop car drove up, anyone outside bolted back inside. “Please don’t shoot her.”

  Kevin rolled his eyes at me. “I’ve got a warrant for Nestor. My partner knocked respectfully, and someone poked a gun between the blinds. My money’s on Nestor.”

  “Yeah,” Mac said. “This time of day, Miss January usually takes a snooze, getting rested up for her next drunk-on.”

  The officer who’d knocked, and was now standing on Miss January’s porch, waved and shook his head.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Fab running across the street at the corner. She reappeared a minute later from the back of Mac’s house.

  I ran over to her. “They’re looking for Nestor. Is he still in there?”

  Fab smiled coyly.

  “You make my head hurt. Don’t even pretend you don’t know.”

  Fab cut around me and approached Kevin. “I’ll deny it if you tell anyone you heard it from me.”

  What part of “he’s a cop” did she forget?

  “Nestor somehow shoved his butt out the bathroom window, and he’s en route to the beach.”

  Kevin’s face registered disbelief.

  “Seriously, he’s headed that way.” Fab pointed. “Probably over the fence by now.”

  “Mike,” Kevin boomed as he took off running and met up with his partner. After a short discussion, Kevin cut over to the pool area, disappearing through the gate that opened onto the beach.