“How did she end up in the hospital?” Fab asked.
“After her successful keg stand didn’t kill her, she attempted a hand stand and fell on her head, knocking herself out.” Mac enjoyed being the first in the know.
“I don’t believe you.” I shook my head.
Mac stuck her hands on her hips, thrusting out her girls. “Thank you for thinking I could make all that crap up on the spur of the moment. I don’t need to make stuff up to entertain you. Have you met Joseph’s girlfriend?”
“Is she as hideous as the last one?” Fab asked.
“I’m not going to spoil the surprise. She’s quiet, has a pleasant smile, and she’s not mouthy like that last one.” Mac’s mouth twitched, clearly holding back laughter.
I looked at Joseph’s cottage. “Is the happy couple at home?”
“Svetlana doesn’t get out much,” Mac hooted.
I dreaded the short walk to Joseph’s door. The last girlfriend wanted me dead, so I hoped the new one would be an improvement. I used my cop knock on his door, knowing it scared him.
“I’m watching a movie with Svetlana, now go away.” He shut the door.
I banged again and yelled. “Let me in, or I’ll evict you.”
He opened the door. “You want a beer?”
I brushed past him. “You need to shine your manners.” The new girlfriend apparently didn’t have the same house cleaning skills as the last one. Newspapers were everywhere, he had a full trashcan, and discarded pants and shirts littered the floor. Sitting in the chair next to the couch, an attractive blonde in a green leather mini skirt showing off her long, sexy legs, wide open bringing attention to her matching G-string.
“Svetlana?” I stared at her, my mouth dropping open. A beautiful woman, with large blue glossy eyes, large breasts that peeped out from a lacy chemise also in green, skinny waist, round ass, and realistic hands and feet. I traced my finger softly along her cheek—one hundred percent rubber.
“Remember old dead Twizzle? He left me Svet in his will and all of her outfits.” He sucked hard on an electronic cigarette. “None of my other dead friends ever left me anything.”
I couldn’t believe how real Svet looked. “I’m happy for you, Joseph.” I didn’t know what other lame thing to say, I just wanted some fresh air.
“Best girlfriend ever,” He moved her to the couch, caressing her arm.
“Nice to meet her.” I reached for the doorknob, jerked the door open, and waved to Joseph. I covered my mouth and laughed all the way back to my SUV.
CHAPTER 11
Fab turned south on the Overseas toward the house. “I thought you were taking me to Brick’s,” I said.
“I’ve got a job that needs my attention––and before you ask, it’s for Brick and I can’t talk about it. He emphasized not telling you.”
I stared out the window. I didn’t want to let Fab out of my sight.
“Promise me that no matter what happens, you won’t call the cops. I know you’re worried about me but I’m good at slipping out of tight situations.”
“As long as I hear from you every couple of hours. You’d make me do the same thing if it was me eluding a crazy ex-husband.”
Jax Devereaux’s biggest crime is that he’s a drunk, which is preferable to Gabriel, who steals and threatens to kill people. I hadn’t seen my ex since he’d been released from jail for boating under the influence. A quick kiss on the cheek and Jax got in a car with his cousin and they went back home to South Carolina. I’d heard through the grapevine that he was sober and getting married.
“No need to start worrying. Besides, Gabriel’s in jail.” Fab pulled into my driveway and flipped me the keys. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Don’t worry so much.” She jumped in her Mercedes and squealed out of the driveway.
The sound of an engine revving came from my purse; an alert from my phone that Fab and I had a business call. We had really cool business cards, the only problem—we couldn’t come up with a name. Zach had seen the cards and rolled his eyes, commenting they weren’t professional; his partner, Slice, gave me the thumbs up behind his back.
I listened to the message; Tolbert Rich wanted a call back. I decided I’d return the message in person, and climbed over into the driver’s seat, a perfect day for a drive to Pigeon Key. The Overseas Highway was a one-of-a-kind two-lane highway that ran over water to the southernmost tip of the United States, Key West, surrounded by the Atlantic Ocean and Gulf of Mexico. I sang along with Jimmy Buffet, enjoying every mile. I’d met Tolbert when his son, Cosmo—who had been best friends with my brother—was murdered.
The paved road ceased and became gravel as we turned off the main highway. I bumped along until turning into The Wild Bird Farm. The arch overhead comfortably sat fifty or more brightly colored parrots, all of them bright green, their under parts variations of very light green to yellow. In its usual parking space sat the church bus, named Church of the Traveling Jesus. Every Sunday Tolbert, a pastor, picked up his congregation along the main highway, preached an uplifting sermon, and followed it with lunch. Jimmy Spoon had been instrumental in getting the new bus and had it repainted in its patriotic red, white, and blue theme when the old one was vandalized beyond repair.
The Bird Farm was a snapshot into the Old South in its day of rambling old houses on large lots. The property boasted dozens of willow trees, their graceful limbs hanging to the ground, all filled with an assortment of birds. The private pond attracted ducks and egrets, walking along the shore. A pedal boat sat tied up to the short dock. There was a peaceful calm, no traffic racing by or noisy neighbors; the only sounds were that of nature and kids screaming and laughing when they were out of school.
Tolbert and Grover, a Golden Retriever, stood on the porch, probably wondering who was invading their peace and quiet in a gangster-mobile. As I came around the front of the Hummer, Grover barked and came running, skidding to a stop. I leaned down and hugged him, rubbing his neck. Grover and I bonded when he lived with me for several months after I rescued him from the side of the road and nursed him back to health. The worst day had been when I found out he had an owner who loved him and hadn’t stopped looking for him.
Tolbert waved. “You didn’t have to drive all the way out here. Come, we’ll sit on the porch. I always have tea in the fridge.”
“A little slice of heaven is just what my day needs and you offer that and more,” I said, and kissed his cheek.
I walked up the stairs of the sprawling white plantation-style home to the signature wide veranda with comfortable cane seating. I snatched up a couple of faded colorful pillows, sun-bleached over time, and relaxed in a wicker chair. Grover sat by my side, his head in my lap. I put my arms around his neck.
“You look great, big guy. Jazz and I miss you.”
Tolbert kicked open the wooden screen door and carried out a large tray of tea, ice, and those brown sugar cubes I liked. I noticed the plate of yummy looking shortbread cookies right away.
“Where’s Miss Fabiana?” Tolbert asked. He was definitely smitten with ‘Girl Wonder’. She’d charmed him with her stories of an all-Catholic, girls-only school education and trying to hold her own with the nuns.
“Fab’s off taking advantage of bad guys. I should feel sorry for them, but I don’t.” I hoped when I got home she’d be sitting at the island, tempting Jazz with people food.
Tolbert chuckled. “Speaking of bad guys, that’s why I called. You remember my neighbor, Gus Ivers? He’s got a business property in town and needs the tenant evicted. He’s older than dirt, like myself, but he can afford to pay full-price.” He handed me a glass of iced tea with orange slices.
“You’re lucky my mother isn’t here to hear you say that,” I said and wagged my finger, “since I know you’re close in age. You look great; having your grandchildren living with you will keep you young.” Tolbert, who was tall and lanky, had a big heart and still had a full head of hair. He won full custody of his grandchildren after his son’s murder.
The mother, a drunk, found herself “a daddy,” and left town on the back of a motorcycle.
“Thank you for referring me to Cruz Campion; he’s one heck of a lawyer. I know you’re the reason he did my custody case pro-bono.”
I tossed Grover a cookie. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Cruz can charge the next person double.”
A while back, some troublemaker tenants of Gus Ivers began terrorizing Tolbert. I’d never met Mr. Ivers, but I called Slice and asked for same-day eviction of the renters. I wanted them off the property and asked that they be tossed from The Keys. Thrilled, Slice sent them running for the state line.
“I’ll call Gus; he can be here in five, and he’ll give you the details. He kicked a fuss, wanting a man for the job, but I reminded him you were instrumental in getting rid of his old tenant faster than the law would’ve done.” Tolbert disappeared inside, the only person I knew who used a phone still hooked to the wall. It would only be interesting to me if I could listen in on a party line.
I felt bad for Grover, who fell asleep standing up with his head in my lap. I nudged him awake and slid over to the rocker couch. Grover jumped up and lay beside me, promptly closing his eyes. It took self-control not to stretch out beside him and nap.
When Tolbert reappeared, he had more iced tea and an extra glass. An eighties white Cadillac, with large steer horns on the hood, pulled into the driveway. Grover lifted his head, checked the car out, and went back to sleep.
As Tolbert introduced us, Gustav Ivers removed his Fedora. “The dog likes you, that’s a start.” He reached for a glass of tea, four sugars, and lemon slices, making himself comfortable across from me. “Call me Gus.”
Unsure what to say, I kept the “What the hell?” comment to myself.
Gus looked me over. I clearly came up short. “How are you going to evict the drug dealers?”
The heck with good manners.
“I’ll start with this,” I said once I pulled my Glock from my thigh holster. I’d jump up and down later at how smoothly and impressively that went. “And why don’t you call the sheriff to do your dirty work? They might point out that you like to rent to drug dealers since this isn’t your first go-round.”
Tolbert laughed and offered Gus a cookie.
Gus nodded, clicking his dentures. “The sheriff’s part of the problem. They’re putting together a case against Quirky and his sister Vanilla as we speak and by the time they’re done shuffling through the process, I’ll lose my car wash. I’d have evicted them long ago if it weren’t for Quirky threatening to kick my old ass.”
This ought to be good, I thought.
“Car wash, drugs, maybe you should start at the beginning,” I said.
“Don’t forget the raccoon meat side business,” Gus added. “I hired the Poppins siblings to run my car wash, two doors down from Jake’s bar. I did a little checking on you, heard you might be opening up the poker room. Still a ten percent buy-in? Give me a call. I can keep my mouth shut. I don’t have any friends except Tolbert; the rest are dead.”
The poker room was the worst kept secret; he’s the fourth person who had mentioned it to me and asked why wasn’t it open for play yet? He’d have to check out before getting an invitation.
“The car wash? Clean Bubbles?” That property had caught my interest since taking over Jake’s. Transform that two-block strip and it wouldn’t be a haven for late night entrepreneurs.
“Before Quirky took over, Clean Bubbles had never been what you’d call a money-maker, but it paid for itself and was all cash. Now it only makes him money. I have a soft spot for the property; it’s my first investment. Now I own the block. In addition to the occasional wash and wax, Quirk-ass and Vanilla sell fresh raccoon meat out of coolers and the occasional assortment of other road kill.” He downed his iced tea, pouring another glass.
“People actually eat that?” I suddenly felt nauseous. “Is that legal?”
“None of it is legal, including the home-grown hydro; Munger bragged he’d been supplying them for a hefty cut.”
Munger, an old curmudgeon, lived in a shack in a woodsy area off the Overseas with a much younger hard-as-nails wife. He was one of the handfuls who boasted that their weed kicked ass. Someone should sponsor a weed-off so they could crown the true champion.
Tolbert spoke up. “Gus got word today from a friend in the sheriff’s office that they started staking the place out, waiting for a new shipment of evidence, and then they’ll raid the place. Supposed to happen soon.”
“I want Clean Bubbles cleaned out today; this week anyway. If you don’t have the nuts to do the job, tell me now.” Gus banged his glass on the table. “You get this done, I’ll sweeten the pot.”
I bribed Grover with another cookie to jump down. I stood, taking a business card out of my pocket. “I’ll go check this out now.”
“This is a cheesy business card.” Gus stared at me.
“It’s got the pertinent information you need to get a hold of me. Leave a message; I’ll get back to you.” I waved to them both. “Call you tomorrow. I’m on my way to get my car washed.”
“Be careful!” Gus yelled. “Quirky Poppins is a mean bastard and Vanilla does what her brother tells her. My guess is that some inbreeding went on there.”
“Miss Madison, if you think you’re in danger, walk away. This old fart can hire someone else,” Tolbert said.
Grover walked me to the Hummer. “Would you eat raccoon?” He sat patiently while I scratched his neck. “No, me neither.”
* * *
I scanned the street before pulling into Clean Bubbles and spotted Johnson and Kevin doing a stakeout half a block down. Two skinny, pale, six-foot bookends approached the Hummer. I’d bet money I was staring into the sullen faces of the Poppins siblings, Quirky and Vanilla.
“What do you want?” Quirky demanded. He’d written his name in black marker on the pocket of his dress shirt, rolled up his sleeves, and was wearing boxer shorts and flops.
Vanilla checked me over, yawned—running her fingers through her knotted hair—and disappeared inside the far stall.
“That’s not very friendly.” I stepped behind my Hummer, not wanting to be seen by the local sheriff. “I’m here with a friendly request for you to pack up and get the hell out tonight.”
“Get out of here before I call the cops.” Quirky stepped forward.
I whipped my Glock from my thigh holster. “Don’t move or I’ll shoot you. Just listen and then I’ll leave,” I hissed. “Put your hands down.”
“I’m not going to forget this.” Quirky glared.
“Sheriffs are across the street staking you out as we speak. Don’t be stupid or you’re going to end up in jail.” I wanted to beat the snotty look off his face. “You have until midnight.” I got into my SUV.
Quirky gave me the finger.
I rolled down the window and yelled, “How does a person know they’re getting real raccoon meat?”
“We keep the feet and tail. Without them you can’t tell the difference between coon and house cat; they taste the same.”
“Let me guess. They both taste like chicken?”
Quirky snickered, “Come back tomorrow, me and Vanilla will still be here.”
“You want to play hardball?” I winked at him. “You’re on.” I rolled up the window, happy the door was locked.
Another crap case.
As soon as I rounded the curve, the sheriff car pulled up behind me, lights flashing. “Get out of your car,” Johnson yelled. “What were you doing at Clean Bubbles?”
I didn’t know who was stupider, the Poppins for committing felonies while they knew the cops watched from across the street, or the sheriff for doing a stake-out in plain sight. Must be Johnson’s idea; Kevin looked bored and irritated.
“Booking an appointment for a detail on the Hummer,” I lied boldly.
Kevin circled the Hummer, looking in the windows. “The tint on this thing is too dark.”
“It’s a rental. You need to s
peak with Brick Famosa, you know, of Famosa Motors. I have the phone number.”
“No one rents a Hummer,” Johnson said with a tight, phony smile in place. “What’s the daily fee?”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Quirky pull a rope across the driveway, attach a homemade “closed” sign, and jump into a pickup with Vanilla at the wheel.
“My insurance company is paying the bill. Why was I pulled over?” I asked.
“Looked like expired plates, but I was wrong. You’re free to go,” Johnson said. “One more question, you didn’t happen to pull a gun on Quirky back there, did you?”
“Why would I do that? I can pay for the wash and wax.” My phone rang as soon as I opened the door.
“Bad news,” Creole said. “Gabriel got released from custody.”
“Thank you for all your help. We both owe you. I need to call Fab and warn her.”
“Stay in touch,” Creole warned. “I’ll stop by tonight for an update.” He hung up before I could answer.
I hit speed dial, but Fab’s phone went straight to voicemail. “Call me as soon as you get this message. You don’t, all promises are off.”
* * *
Jazz started meowing the second I opened the front door. I picked him up and nuzzled his neck until he squirmed. He’d had enough.
I hit redial all the way home, getting Fab’s voicemail every time. Now I had the Quirky situation to worry over. He’s too stupid to pack and leave town, even with the sheriff watching and making a case for an eventual arrest. My Aunt Elizabeth loved to collect IOUs from people and willed hers to me, along with instructions to get my own. I figured it was time to pull an Elizabeth IOU out of the drawer, since my favor was huge and last minute.
I sat at the kitchen island, laying my cheek on the cool countertop, mulling my choices. I could call Slice, but then Zach would find out. Slice and I had an unspoken agreement that he didn’t hide things from his partner. Evicting coon-meat-selling drug dealers would definitely erupt into a fight. My only other choice was Jimmy Spoon, Mother’s boyfriend; it felt sneaky but I knew Spoon would never rat me out. I met him dropping off Zach’s 1957 convertible Thunderbird for maintenance, a car that circled the block a few times only to go right back to its parking space overlooking the water, behind locked gates. Spoon told me he could fix “anything.” Time to put those skills to the test.
Murder in Paradise (Paradise Series) Page 6
