Murder in Paradise (Paradise Series)

by Deborah Brown

  “I’ve thought about that. But if I did I wouldn’t be here, and honestly, I’m happy. I’m not so sure I could say that if I were Madame Ricard right now.” Fab stood up, offering her hand.

  “We should go back inside. If Zach is sitting in the living room with his arms crossed, you’re on your own. I’m racing upstairs.”

  “Thank you, and Didier. I love these girl convos. Next one we’ll do in the middle of the day.”

  Fab went into the house ahead of me and looked in the living room. “Coast is clear.”

  “See you in the morning,” I whispered, and followed her up the stairs.

  Zach lay on his side, his back to the room. He never moved, though his breathing indicated he was awake. I swapped my clothes for a Miami Dolphins T-shirt and climbed into bed. I suppose if I didn’t feel guilty, I’d snuggle up to his back and fall asleep. Instead, I kept to my own side of the bed.

  CHAPTER 37

  Zach woke up early, took a shower, and went downstairs without a good morning nibble on my neck. I feigned sleep until he left the bedroom, not wanting to start the day with any serious conversation.

  Black storm clouds were rolling in across The Gulf, making me wish I could just snuggle under the covers until I had the house to myself. I forced my body out of bed and into the shower. With a full day ahead of me, I stepped into a white cotton skirt with big pockets and a bright coral sleeveless top. Carwash class day! The boss needed to learn to run all the equipment and for that, I grabbed shorts.

  Fab’s door was closed and nothing hung from the doorknob. Leaning against the stair railing, I saw Jazz curled up asleep, the living room to himself. Zach had his back to me, sitting at the kitchen counter.

  “What the hell?” Zach yelled. “Put some pants on, asshole,” Zach said to Didier.

  Didier, clad in an apron and black briefs showing a peek of his cheeks at the top, had eggs in his hands. Setting them on the counter, he stuck his leg out and nudged the refrigerator closed. He pulled himself to his full height, he had Zach by a smidge, both over six feet tall.

  “Go fuck yourself.”

  I figured Didier would back down, but the look on his face told me with the slightest provocation, he’d punch Zach.

  “Good morning,” I said way too cheerfully. “I’ll start the coffee.” That would be a trick since every person in the house liked their coffee different.

  Zach pushed his bar stool back. “Just make yours and join me at the pool.” He headed for the French doors.

  I started my day with a French coffee mix and water nuked for two minutes; I couldn’t tolerate the swill Fab called coffee.

  “I’m sorry, Didier. You’re making one of my favorites, save me a bite.” I grabbed a piece of cheese.

  Didier stood at the counter chopping ingredients for one of his masterful frittatas. “Bon jour, Madison.” He winked. “You look lovely today.”

  I blushed and almost giggled. Zach would flip if he heard that come out of my mouth.

  “Zach leave?” Fab suddenly appeared, kissing Didier.

  “He’s on the patio. I’m going out there now.” I mixed the hot water into my cup and threw the spoon in the sink.

  “He walks around in his underwear?” Zach demanded. “Where do you draw the line on offensive behavior?” The muscles in his jaw tightened.

  I leaned across the table to kiss him. “Do you want to fight or could we maybe start over and enjoy our coffee together?” Now probably wasn’t the time to remind him that Didier had an apron on.

  Slice squeezed through the space in the fence, from the super-secret path everyone knew about and used.

  “Hey, boss.” He winked at me.

  Zach glared. “Slice and I need to go over client issues,” he said to me.

  “Food, drink, help yourself,” I said to Slice as he walked into the house. “I need to go to The Cottages. Mac and I are having our weekly meeting. I won’t be home until later.” I stood up and bent down to kiss Zach; it could be called lukewarm, since it lacked any participation on his part. “Why don’t I get take-out tonight? We can eat out here by the pool and go swimming?”

  “We can talk later.” Zach didn’t make eye contact.

  Slice passed me coming out the door with a bottle of orange juice in one hand and a plate of Didier’s eggs and fruit in the other. He sat opposite Zach and proceeded to wolf down his food.

  I grabbed my tote bag and looked at Fab with green-eyed jealousy, sitting at the counter, Didier feeding her strawberries.

  “I’ll see you later,” I called, closing the front door behind me.

  * * *

  “Where are you?” Fab asked when I answered my phone.

  “Eating breakfast at The Bakery Café.” I had finished my scrambled egg concoction and started on a pecan roll.

  “Don’t go anywhere.” Fab hung up.

  I scrolled the internet looking for storage units in the über-wealthy section of Miami Beach. They were everywhere, like hamburger stands. But would the rich allow them in their neighborhood? They didn’t allow the fast food restaurants. With a little digging, I found one storage place within a mile, off the beaten path according to the aerial. It appeared to share a lot with a boat storage place. I typed the name of the condo unit, The Pointe, into the search box to check the amenities they advertised. Extra space to put your junk would qualify.

  Fab set her laptop on the table. “Do you want anything?”

  I looked at my watch. “What did you do, blow every stop light?”

  A creature of some habit, she never passed up a double latte, skinny something, extra stuff, coffee. To me I might as well pour it in a hypodermic needle and shoot-up. The high would be great, but the down would suck.

  “Didier told me to tell you he thinks you’re fabulous and to have a great day.”

  “I apologize for Zach’s rudeness. I could only risk a quick peek at those tight buns of Didier’s—nice! Very impressed Didier stood up to Zach.”

  “You think Didier’s a sissy?” Fab looked horrified.

  “I wanted to yell, ‘Go, Didier!’ Such a beautiful face, and of course the rest of him. I can’t see him throwing punches and rolling in the dirt.”

  “Why are you looking at The Pointe?”

  “Got an architectural drawing of the place which includes the underground parking, nothing about extra storage listed anywhere. There’s a storage place nearby, two others a couple of blocks away.” I clicked on the file and showed her everything I found.

  “Let’s go check them out. We’ll start at the condos, Gabriel wouldn’t be that obvious but if he could use someone else’s storage, he’d think that was clever. The cops would check the one associated with the unit, but they wouldn’t get a warrant to check every one. It’s not like they’re looking for a body that’s unaccounted for.”

  “Where is Gabriel’s final resting place?” Maybe my invitation to a stranger’s funeral had gotten lost in the mail.

  “Dickie set him on fire and what was left got shipped back to France. His uncle footed the bill, according to our weird little friend.”

  “I thought you were going to be nice to Dickie since he helped you out in a big way,” I reminded.

  “There’s a statute on that promise.”

  I shook my head. “First stop is Brick’s; he’s got a job for me.”

  * * *

  Fab squealed into the driveway of Famosa Motors and slammed the brakes.

  “I’m driving when we leave here,” I said, thankful my seat belt never failed me, jerking me tightly against the seat.

  “No you’re not,” Fab pitched a mini fit. After two or three unintelligible words, she took a breath. “Oh, okay, I’ll slow down.”

  We walked through the front doors, Bitsy nowhere in sight. I couldn’t remember a time when her pesky self hadn’t been preening behind the desk.

  “Hey, Brick, you up there?” Fab yelled.

  Brick’s head appeared in his office window, where he knocked on the glass
and motioned us up.

  We raced up the stairs, pushing each other to see which one of us would get to the top first. Fab won with a last minute hip swing.

  “I can’t believe you have the balls to yell in my place of business!” Brick yelled back at Fab.

  I grabbed the back of Fab’s shirt before she jumped on his desk kicking everything on it to the floor. “Where’s Bitsy? Isn’t she supposed to announce us?”

  “She heard you two squeal into the driveway, ran and locked herself in the bathroom.” Brick looked disgusted.

  “That’s what she gets for screwing us on a straight-up information transaction,” I said.

  “Easy!” Brick yelled again. “Whack job there,” he said, and pointed to Fab, “pulled a gun on her, scared my girl.”

  Fab stood at his window and surveyed the car lot. From her view, she had a several-block view of an upscale commercial district.

  “Bitsy got off easy,” she said.

  Brick tossed me a large manila envelope. “These eviction notices need to be served in two days. Get it done and then you’ll have some paperwork you need to sign.”

  “Not so fast.” I narrowed my eyes. “What’s the trick?” I rested my butt against the corner of the desk and flipped through the envelope’s contents.

  “Simple job. I bought a new building and want the tenants out. Try for personal service, it makes it easier in court; last resort, tape it to the door.”

  “I’m going with her.” Fab turned on Brick. “Neither of us better end up in jail.”

  “Both of you get out of my office. The damn phone is ringing and Bitsy needs to get the hell out of the bathroom.”

  Brick yelled, “BITSY!”

  Fab slid down the banister and laughed when she veered off over the side. I cut around her, tugged on her shirt, and detoured her away from the women’s bathroom.

  “Hey, Bitsy,” I yelled. “You can come out now, we’re leaving. See you next time.”

  Fab laughed. “Brick’s standing in his office window, I dare you to turn and give him the finger.”

  I turned and waved up to him. “You didn’t really think I was going to do that, did you?”

  “A girl can hope.”

  I stopped at Bitsy’s desk and took a huge handful of wrapped chocolate peppermints; I shoved them in my pocket and gave Brick the thumbs up. “You get me in trouble and Mother won’t let us play together.”

  “Your mother would’ve given him the finger. She told me once it makes her face hurt to be nice to him, holding a silly smile in place.”

  I threw the envelope on the back seat. “The Pointe for a quick look around?”

  “Program that thing.” Fab pointed to the GPS and said, “Quickest route so I’m not forced to stop at red lights.”

  “Who do you know with computer-hacking skills?” I asked. “We can’t try the key on every unit at a storage place. Give your hacker the names Gabriel would use, and see if he has a unit anywhere, get us the number. If we have to, we’ll rent a unit close by while we check out Gabriel’s.”

  Fab picked up her phone. “Gunz needs to get on that.” He rarely answered his phone, so she left a message.

  CHAPTER 38

  The beach along Ocean Drive is spectacular, with endless white sand. I watched the joggers sweating on the jogging path. A barrier island of Miami Beach, in the heart of the art deco district, it dominates with its preserved buildings, outdoor restaurants, and shopping.

  “We could stop and go for a walk,” I said.

  “The only time I did that, I wanted to shoot you, picking up shells every stinking step. I’ll buy you a damn bag.”

  “You’ve promised that before and not a single shell, let alone a whole bag, showed up in the kitchen.” I made a sad face at Fab.

  “Your phone’s ringing.” Fab hit the brakes, just missing rolling over the biker who pulled into traffic without looking.

  “It’s Creole,” I told her, looking at the screen.

  “Why are you two headed to Gabriel’s condo?” he asked as soon as I answered.

  I caught my breath and hung up on him. “He knows we’re headed to the condo. How? Is he behind us?”

  Fab checked her side and rearview mirrors. “I always have an eye out for tail.”

  My phone rang again. “Answer it,” Fab hissed. “Speaker.” She shook her finger.

  “Did you hang up on me?” Creole demanded.

  “We get disconnected and you take it personally?” I rolled down the window so air would blow in his ear and he’d hang up.

  “What the hell are you two up to now?” Creole asked.

  “We’re checking out the garage to see if they have storage places. Satisfied? In and out, less than five minutes.”

  “I can save you a trip. I’ve already checked out the garage from one end to other. Now turn around and go home,” Creole said.

  “You have my word,” Fab spoke out. She pulled into the beach parking lot, jumped out, and started looking around the underside of the Hummer.

  “Next time you put me on speaker phone, give me a heads up,” Creole said.

  “Here’s a heads up—good-bye,” I said. “What are you looking for?”

  “Just a hunch.” Fab grabbed a beach towel from the back and got down on the ground on her back. “Look what I found.” She withdrew a small black box and threw it on the ground. “Tracking device.”

  Fab got behind the wheel and drove over it and then backed over it again for good measure. I picked up the flattened mess and got back in on the passenger side.

  My phone rang as Fab inserted her card in the underground garage security box, the gate opening.

  “You’re a bastard,” I told Creole. “You want to know what hanging up on you sounds like?” I pushed the End Call button and turned off the phone.

  We drove around the garage and Creole was right, nothing but a couple of large trash areas. I looked around. “Don’t you think it’s odd that with a bunch load of units, there are five cars parked down here? A couple of them junkie.”

  “Beach pads for millionaires. Creole told me he checked out the owner list, most had questionable connections.”

  I looked at my watch. “I need to get back to The Cove for car wash class.”

  “I’m coming with you. You’re not going to know something I don’t,” Fab said.

  “Are you my driver today, because after the class I need to go out to Pigeon Key to see Mr. Ivers?”

  “That old man is going to walk all over you. Aren’t you under budget on the renovations? And where’s the money?” Fab stuck her palm out.

  “I’m terrible at demanding money. What I really want is to buy the entire property from Ivers. I could own the whole block: trailer park, roach coach, that cute abandoned building, and the car wash. I already own Jake’s.”

  “And do what with it?” Fab felt my forehead.

  “It has potential.” I knocked her hand away. “Watch where you’re going! If someone puts a bullet hole in my vehicle from road rage, you’re paying to get it repaired.”

  * * *

  We pulled into Clean Bubbles and saw that the new sign had been installed. It would glow neon pink, white, and green at night, a Flamingo in the corner. The building itself was freshly painted turquoise and white, with a pink roof. All the equipment was new and shiny silver. The gang had assembled. Mac waved and put her phone away. Apple and Angie huddled together looking scared, poised for flight.

  “Why did you hire those two train wrecks?” Fab asked.

  “Who else do I know? Look at them, cut offs, butt cheeks showing, and tight T-shirts. Sexy looking girls sprawled across a hood, bubbles everywhere, now that will sell.”

  “You so owe me. Next sixteen jobs, you’re my backup,” Fab said.

  “Stop with the faces. Everything is automated; we learn how the machines work and leave.”

  * * *

  I grabbed Brick’s manila envelope from off the backseat. “This address is down by the docks, not f
ar from Mercy House.” I thumbed through the eviction notices. “Must be an old apartment building, there are twenty-five notices here.”

  “We’ll drive by and check it out, but it might have to wait until morning.” Fab cut straight across the two lanes of the Overseas, making a left turn.

  The area was old and run down, mostly commercial. We turned the corner. The street ran along an inlet of water on one side, water views for abandoned buildings. The other side had a couple of dilapidated buildings that would blow down in the next hurricane. The building in question had a faded sign that read, “Rooming House.” It was a three-story red brick building with plastic chairs lined up in the front, a couple of gray-haired men enjoying the cigarette they passed between them.

  The building looked quiet, along with the neighborhood. No undesirables loitering. I walked over to the gentlemen enjoying the sun. “Do you live here?”

  “Yes, honey, we do.” One of the men smiled at me. He enjoyed a full head of hair and a friendly face; he’s probably someone’s grandfather. “You need help? We don’t get anyone pretty in this neighborhood.”

  “Who lives in this building?” I asked, a bad feeling settling in the pit of my stomach. Looking up, most of the windows were open; a few with flowers on the sill.

  “What’s it to you?” the other man asked. A hard life stripped his charm, it showed in his heavily lined face.

  I held up the envelope. “In here is a stack of eviction notices and before I go banging door to door, I’d like to know what to expect.”

  “Edward,” the first man said, holding out his weathered hand. “We’ve been expecting them. How much time we got?”

  Fab stepped up and shook his hand; I saw the confusion on his face. Fab leaned in and whispered to him, he smiled at her. “What’s the story?”

  The other man held his hand out to Fab. “Winston.” He looked her over and liked what he saw. He hung on a little too long for Fab. She jerked her hand back and gave him her creepy smile. Winston laughed, clearly smitten.

  “Turns out we’re squatting on prime real estate,” Edward told us. “Not sure when they made that decision. Last fifty years it’s been a flop-hole for folks with limited means.”