Murder in Paradise (Paradise Series)

by Deborah Brown

  Winston lapsed into a coughing fit, hawking spit on the sidewalk. “Some developers bought up the block. The suits came in with big plans to run out the old folks and rehabilitate the area, bringing revenue to the city and fat cat builders. There’s a bunch of greedy bastards in bed together.”

  I hated Brick. “Is everyone in the building a senior?”

  Edgar nodded. “We’ve known about it for a while but affordable places are hard to find and rents are ridiculous. It’s not the greatest building but we keep it up, fix everything ourselves, pooling money for parts.”

  “We don’t have anywhere else to go, do you get that?” Winston asked, his face red from his coughing fit and now anger. “We’ll be tossed out on the street. Happy then?”

  “Do you have a lawyer?” I asked.

  Fab caught my eye and shook her head. A warning look on her face that signaled, Don’t get involved.

  “We share an occasional cigarette; do you think we have money for a fancy mouthpiece?” Winston glared up at me.

  “We had a retired lawyer helping us out, but he died,” Edward said. He tried to light the cigarette again, nothing but filter left.

  “What are the plans for this neighborhood?” I pulled my hair off my neck and tried to put it back in a ponytail, but the rubber band broke, forcing me to let it hang.

  “Fancy boat marina, new docks, fish market, restaurant, and a T-shirt store,” Edward said.

  “Didn’t anyone official come by, offering relocation assistance?” I knew the law and they were entitled to moving expenses.

  “Don’t you get it, we can’t afford it?” Winston wheezed. “Some of us are looking as far away as Miami at pay-by-the-week motels.”

  I motioned to Fab to get me a business card. We kept extras in the ashtray along with spare change. Fab handed me a bunch along with a pen. I scribbled my name on the back and handed one to Edward. “Write down your number. Maybe I can find some help for you.”

  “What about your notices?” Winston looked at me with suspicion.

  “I’m not serving them. I can’t promise the bastard who sent me won’t hire someone else. If someone else does show up, call me,” I said. “You’ll have a couple days’ reprieve because I won’t tell my client I didn’t do the job.”

  “You might get in trouble.” Edward looked amused but worried. He knew his stay would be a short one.

  “I’m going to try to bribe a lawyer to help you. If that doesn’t work, I’ll contact the Herald newspaper and see if someone is willing to do a front page story.”

  “You always such a do-gooder?” Winston snorted. “Give me one of them cards.”

  “No promises. I’ll stay in touch.” I walked around to the driver’s side door. “Move over, I’m driving.”

  “You’re mean.” Fab sulked, crawling across the seat. “I take it you’re going to call Brick and tell him to stick the job.”

  “I’m going to string Brick along until I can find them a lawyer.” I squealed down the street, Fab style.

  “Brick miscalculated big time. He should’ve sent me on this job,” Fab said. “I would’ve taped the notices in the middle of the night and been gone. He probably thought I’d shoot an old person. Which I wouldn’t do, just so you know. I could’ve told Brick sending you would turn into a long-lasting migraine.”

  I laughed. “I know you don’t shoot people indiscriminately.”

  “You’re prolonging the inevitable.” Fab pointed her fingers frantically, doing her side seat driving, letting me know I could make a lane change. “Eventually, they’ll all have to move.”

  CHAPTER 39

  The Mercedes again. I recognized the car as the one sitting in front of my house on several occasions. Fab stood in the middle of the street, talking to a well-dressed man; must be a new client. Not a local, that’s for sure. The man popped the trunk, motioning to Fab. Fab got within a foot of the car and jerked away. He produced a stun gun and pressed it to her neck; she dropped to the ground, shaking violently. In a swift movement, the man bent over, pulled her hands to the front of her body, cuffed them, and pitched her body in the trunk, slamming the lid. He brushed his hands on his pants and slid behind the wheel.

  It happened so fast, I wondered how many women he’d kidnapped. I squealed around the corner after the rapidly disappearing car. My first instinct was to ram the back end, but Fab could end up seriously hurt or worse. I watched enough NASCAR to know that on the straight away I could spin him by hitting him in either rear corner. I jammed my foot on the gas and before he could turn the corner on to a main street of traffic, rammed the corner of the bumper. He went into a swerve, recovered, and shot out into traffic amongst screeching brakes and honking horns.

  I struggled to keep up as he sped up the Overseas Highway, threatening to disappear at any minute. When the Mercedes veered off Highway 1, I breathed a sigh knowing he’d have to slow down, because it was a cop trap. Anyone from around here knew that stretch of highway to be lucrative for the city, in speeding tickets.

  I hit speed dial and the phone started ringing on Zach’s end. Two rings later, it went to voicemail. He diverted the call or it would have rang longer before going to voicemail. I hit the button again, hoping he’d realize it was important and pickup. No such luck; he turned his phone off.

  “Wait until he asks me, ‘Why didn’t you call me first,’” I said to myself.

  I settled in behind another car and followed the Mercedes up Highway 1 at a distance. I was clearly out of options, except for shooting out the tires, and that might land me in jail. I instantly hit Creole’s number. He answered on the first ring.

  “I need your help,” I said, almost hysterically. “Fab’s been kidnapped–– zapped with a taser, and thrown into the trunk of a black Mercedes, body style sedan, brand new, no plates, rear end damage.”

  “Where are you?” he yelled. “You’re on speaker. I’m in Harder’s office, he’s calling it in.”

  “I’m following two cars behind on Highway 1, traveling northbound, getting close to Miami.” Thank goodness for speed traps.

  “Go home. We’ll take it from here,” Creole said.

  “You can go f—That’s my best friend. If I left, how would you know the Mercedes is about to get on the turnpike?”

  “You got a description of the driver?” Harder chimed in.

  “Not as tall as Creole, under six foot, jet black hair, overly tanned, and has an expensive-looking suit on in the middle of the day, even with humidity off the charts.”

  “Help’s on the way,” Harder said. “Creole just slammed out of the office. What’s your friend gotten herself into now?”

  “I’ve never seen the man before, but I’ve seen the car outside my house on several occasions, assumed he was visiting the neighbors. Fab’s kept a low profile since her ex turned up dead.”

  “Hang on, this is probably Creole.” Harder put me on hold and returned in less than a minute. “Wants to know where you are on the turnpike?”

  “Mercedes just turned onto MacArthur Causeway. He’s headed to Fisher Island. Does this have something to do with that double murder you can’t solve?”

  “This is probably a disgruntled, disreputable client that Miss Merceau screwed. Besides, we have our girl; we just need to build a case.”

  “Fab did not kill anyone!” I screamed. “How do I get on the ferry without a pass?”

  “You don’t. There’s plenty of law enforcement around the ferry area to handle this situation. Have some faith,” Harder said.

  “Well, I don’t.” I threw my phone on the passenger seat.

  I had too much on my mind to enjoy the drive over the bridge, with its pristine green waters. There were private islands on both sides of the highway, home to movie stars, sports celebrities, and trust fund babies.

  Where were the flashing red lights? I knew Harder loathed Fab, but would he go so far as to refuse assistance? My stomach clenched. I knew first hand, if someone tasered you into submission, they had n
o intention of letting you go alive. It surprised me when the Mercedes turned into a parking structure not far from the ferry. A ticket jerked from the machine, the gate arm rising. I had three cars in front of me before I got into the parking lot. The Mercedes was nowhere in sight. The structure wasn’t attached to anything else, so the car had to come out the way it went in ... or did it? He had a head start on me and could be anywhere. “Where the hell are the police?” I mumbled, and retrieved my phone, calling Creole. It went straight to voicemail. I pulled over to the exit gates and the bank of elevators, backing into a space. If he were headed over to the island, he’d have to come out of the garage eventually.

  A shadow passed by the driver’s side window, then the sound of breaking glass, small pieces hitting my back and arm. I jerked around, at the same time reaching for my Glock attached to my thigh. The last thing I saw were bursts of electricity flashing before my eyes.

  * * *

  I moved my neck from side to side and opened my eyes, not happy to be unable to move my arms and legs, bound with rope to a chair in what appeared to be someone’s basement. Judging by the light that came in from the two small windows near the ceiling, it was still daytime.

  “It took you long enough to come around. I thought you were dead,” Fab said.

  I turned in the direction of her voice. “What the hell happened? And where are we?”

  Fab had her arms cuffed to the chair and her feet to each leg. “Bruno is our host. His party manners blow. No last name that he was willing to share.”

  “Who the hell is Bruno? And how are you going to get us out of here?”

  “No idea. My guess, he’s the third party we’ve been speculating about. Don’t piss him off, he held me up by my hair and did an invasive body exam.”

  “Any ideas what Bruno wants?” I looked around the large basement, the owner not big on clutter; it smelled of mildew and without the small windows, the darkness would close in on you.

  “Bruno’s short on conversational skills. He stopped to change cars and when he opened the trunk lid, and before he could stun gun me again, I got a sharp kick off to his arm,” she groaned.

  “Be careful down there. Then what happened?”

  “He dropped the gun. I took a swan dive, my fingers inches away from the gun, but he kicked it away and slammed his fist into my stomach, pressed the gun to my neck squeezing off full voltage. I think I spasmed a couple of times.”

  “It’s a weird feeling, that jerky drop to the ground.” I shuddered, suppressing memories.

  “I woke up in the back of a different car, drool and snot running down my face. I knew because I had kicked out one of the tail lights on the first car.” Fab winced. “I’m working on these plastic cuffs. There’s a jagged piece on the bottom of one of the chair’s back bars, but its slow going.”

  Shaking my head didn’t clear my thinking. I still felt twitchy from the electric shock.

  “The next time I heard the key in the lock, I had my legs in position to kick him in the face. Imagine my surprise when you came flying into the trunk, passed out. ‘You’ve been a bad girl,’ Bruno said in his slimy accent. ‘You won’t be giving Bruno anymore trouble.’ He dug his fingers into my breasts, half dragging me over the rim, putting a rag over my nose; chloroform, I believe.”

  “Being stun-gunned doesn’t leave you feeling permanently stupid. It goes away. Hug if I could reach you.” I twisted my ropes, hoping for leeway.

  We stared at one another, thinking the same thing—were we going to get out of this alive?

  Hearing her side of the story sent a chill up my spine. “I saw Bruno kidnap you and managed to stay behind a couple of cars all the way to the ferry.” I related the details.

  “You had to chase us down. Why not call the cops?”

  “I did call the cops, Creole in fact. He was hanging with Harder who called it into Miami P.D. I got no lights, no sirens, and no police action. There were no cops at the ferry, either, as far as I could see, and there were only a couple of cars in line. Harder told me Creole donned his cape to come to the rescue. I stayed on with Harder until I got to the causeway, then he made me mad and I tossed my phone. He knew we were headed to Fisher but if we changed cars, they’ll find the Mercedes and think we could be anywhere.”

  “So we’re on Fisher.” Fab frantically rubbed her cuffs on the back of the chair. “You couldn’t shoot out his tires?”

  The door at the top of the stairs opened, the light switch clicked. Bruno stood looking down at us with hate-filled eyes. Without a miracle, I knew we wouldn’t get out alive. I hoped for something quick.

  “Don’t give up,” Fab whispered.

  Bruno clicked his tongue. “If only you’d stayed in jail, Miss Merceau. Then your friend wouldn’t be in this predicament. Gabriel planned to frame you for the murder of Maxwell. He liked the idea of you rotting in jail. He didn’t favor the death penalty, criminals are executed too swiftly in this state.

  “Hi, ladies.” The widow, Chrissy Wright, stood next to Bruno. “You were always so busy trying to break in, Miss Merceau.” She shook her finger. “Now that you’re my guest, how do you like the accommodations?”

  “Why are we here?” Fab asked.

  Bruno walked slowly down the stairs, his mouth set in a hard line. “Let’s kill them now.”

  Chrissy Wright gracefully descended the stairs, looking like she walked off the cover of a Miami glossy magazine, ready to greet her guests. “Why am I not surprised Gabriel’s taste in sex partners turned out to be so common.” She stood in front of Fab, raking a manicured nail across her cheek.

  Chrissy had no idea how lucky she was that Fab was cuffed to a chair.

  “We can come to a mutually agreeable arrangement and we’ll leave. My skills could be quite useful to you,” Fab said.

  Chrissy ignored her and turned to me. “It’s a shame you couldn’t mind your own business, now you’re going to die with your friend. Gabriel told me about Fab’s puppy dog friend. ‘Dumber than dirt’ were his exact words.”

  “Are you at least going to tell us why you’re willing to commit double murder?” I asked.

  “Quadruple, but who’s counting?” Chrissy laughed. “Gabriel,” she sighed. “I will miss the sex. Afterward, lying in his arms, planning the robbery to the last detail.” Her eyes glittered. “I made the list of items to steal, pieces I had become bored with and knew their value. Everything had been removed and transported that afternoon to a house rented for the purpose of storage on the opposite side of the island. It was so delicious, stealing my own property,” she licked her lips. “Especially knowing I’d collect the insurance and continue to enjoy the pieces. I had tired of Maxwell and had no interest in giving him a settlement or cutting him a check every month. The bastard would never remarry if he had a monthly income,” she sneered.

  “You’re one of the richest women in South Florida,” I said. The greed astonished me.

  Chrissy moved to me and looked straight down her nose. “Who has enough money? That’s something rich people say to make you little people feel better about your vanilla lives.”

  “You will never get away this,” I said angrily. “Creole, your current bed mate, will drag you to justice.”

  Chrissy slapped my face. “You really are quite stupid. I handle the men in my life and he will be dealt with. Where do you think I’ve been getting my inside information? That’s why I know if this one disappears,” she said, and pointed to Fab, “they’ll stop investigating. She’s their only suspect, and when she goes missing, they’ll think she ran.”

  “The hole in your convoluted plan is that Creole will never give up,” I said.

  “I can be quite persuasive when I have a man between my legs.” Chrissy held my face between her claws. “Enjoy your last few hours together. At dusk, Bruno will take you out on the boat to the middle of the Gulf and dump you both over. It’s my idea that you be weighted down properly. With luck, only a bone or two will wash up on shore.” She dug her
nails in my cheeks. “Don’t worry about Creole, I’ll take care of him.”

  “Why shoot Gabriel?” Fab asked. “Didn’t you have two more jobs planned?”

  “Gabriel turned out to be a big disappointment. He couldn’t be satisfied with one big job; he wanted to pilfer from the neighbors like a common thief. He had to go. Gabriel promised me your fingerprints would be all over the gun that shot Maxwell. Imagine my surprise when it turned up clean,” she laughed.

  Bruno grabbed her arm, but she twisted free. “Let’s go upstairs.” He inclined his head.

  Chrissy continued to brag. “The sad part, Gabriel knew I would shoot him and he ran––ran for his larcenous life, forcing me to shoot him in the back. I could hardly let him get away. He’d never have gone away quietly suffering a double cross. In the end, he cheated me out of staring into his eyes when I pulled the trigger, watching him crumple to his death.” Her face glowed as she relived those final moments.

  “I thought the reason you were never a suspect is that you had an ironclad alibi?” Fab asked with more calm than I could muster.

  “Bruno, my pet,” Chrissy said, stroking his arm, “took care of all that. We dined out the night before at a friend’s restaurant, catching it all on video. Bruno had the tapes swapped. He has numerous talents.” She waved and started for the stairs. “See you later. If you make a sound, I’ll send Bruno back down to knock your teeth out with a hammer. Shhh...” She touched her finger to her lips.

  As soon as the door closed, Fab whispered, “Where are the cops? Creole? Harder? Anyone? We’re stuck here with crazy bitch and time’s running out.”

  “Last contact I had was on the causeway. Seems like if they’re any good at their job they would’ve found us by now. Neither Harder nor Creole is stupid. I realize there are other islands along the way, but wouldn’t they start with Fisher? And this house?” I asked.

  “We’re going to get out of here,” Fab said.