Executed in Paradise (Florida Keys Mystery Series Book 9)

by Deborah Brown

  * * *

  I wanted to gloat that our adventure had gone off flawlessly. But today wouldn’t be the day. Double damn. I knew it wouldn’t count in our favor that we had nothing to do with Miami PD showing up. Thankfully, no one got shot.

  Fab had just wound up her negotiations on an old leather doctor’s bag, a birthday gift that Mother wanted for her friend Jean. Once Mother determined that it was similar to one in Jean’s collection, she ordered Fab like a drill sergeant to get it for her at the lowest possible price and not allow anyone to slip in and overbid. Fab scrutinized the piece and pointed out that it was locked and didn’t have a key. She assured Mother that it wasn’t a big deal; she could pick it without any damage and get a new key made.

  Fab barked at the vendor, “Any idea what’s in here? It must weigh fifty pounds.”

  The vendor waffled around and spit out, “Books.”

  I refrained from calling him a bald-faced liar. He didn’t have a clue what the contents were and didn’t care. Without lock-picking skills, he would destroy the lock getting it open, and then he wouldn’t be able to sell the bag to anyone.

  Mother was pleased at the negotiated price and cash exchanged hands. The four us were headed down the aisle when the police arrived en masse. Dressed in jeans and identifying t-shirts, with Glocks holstered at their sides, they scattered in different directions.

  As soon as they passed, Fab cocked her head and motioned for us to follow as she cut down a different aisle. At the end, we slipped through a space between the tarps and hustled across the broken concrete to the parking lot. The police who’d passed us must have been the backup crew because the cops were already herding a line of people in our direction—mostly men, a few women, all in zip cuffs—heading toward the police bus that had just pulled in and parked next to a row of unmarked sedans. Business came to a standstill, shoppers and vendors alike stopping to gawk. There were a few others who, like us, had bypassed the excitement and were hustling to their cars, and some swarmed for the exits already.

  Liam took out his phone to snap pictures.

  Fab waved us around the drama; she too had her phone in hand.

  “I don’t think so.” I jerked on Liam’s arm. “If your mom sees pics, she’ll think we were ringside for the trouble. Besides, Fab is the picture taker.” I pointed to where she was doing just that.

  Liam shook his head. “Mom caught me looking at the close ups of the dead guy in the trash. She thought Fab left her phone on the counter in the kitchen and told me never to touch her phone again. She doesn’t know that Fab said I could look at her phone anytime, but if I got caught, I wasn’t to rat her out. Pretty much decided I don’t want to end my life in a dumpster.”

  “That’s a good goal.” I smiled at him.

  I used the key fob on the back of the SUV, clicking it open. Liam threw the doctor’s bag in the back. It was then I noticed that Fab had disappeared.

  “Get in the car,” I told Mother and Liam. “We’ll wait for Fab behind tinted windows.” She was in a big hurry to hustle us out of the tents and now she disappears. “Wonder why she took off?” I knew her well enough to answer my own question; she wouldn’t leave without knowing why the police had been called out.

  Finally Fab came out through the entrance and ran back to the SUV. “The cops are conducting a crackdown on counterfeit designer goods,” Fab announced, out of breath, as she slid into the driver seat. “They hauled the vendors off to jail and are confiscating their merchandise.”

  “Fab, did you get pics?” I winked at Liam.

  I got a snort in response that I translated as a yes.

  Mother had hopped in the front seat and hung her legs out the door while we waited for Fab; now she shaded her eyes with her hand, surveying the parking lot. “The front entrance has got a backup of cars trying to get out on the busy boulevard, which doesn’t have a signal. There are two exits at the back with no wait; if we hurry, we can get out before other cars start to converge on them.”

  “Get in the car, young lady,” I said to Mother, sliding in next to Liam. “I’m not going to ask how you know these things.”

  Once Fab maneuvered out of the lot, Liam cleared his throat and said, “I see no reason to mention that we had a close-up view of a police sting. If we don’t say anything and Brad or Mom hears about it, they’ll think we left before the arrests went down.”

  No one said a word. We all liked the idea, but if we were found out, we’d be sent to major time-out.

  “Mother, call Brad and find out if we need to bring dinner. Or are they fetching the kid and running out?” I made a face at Liam and he laughed. “So, what did everyone get? I got a clamshell purse. Dickered the price down from twenty to ten. My mentor would be proud.” I pulled gently on a strand of Fab’s long hair.

  “I got a couple of DVD’s. One is a movie that just came out.” Liam shot his fist in the air. “But I was long gone before the police showed up. You know, just in case.”

  “Brad’s barbequing,” Mother announced, ending the call.

  “Do we need dessert?” The whole Westin family was dessert-obsessed. If left to decide, my brother wouldn’t buy any, but if it was sitting on the counter, he never said no. “I wanted another one of those strawberry shortcakes on a stick this morning, but they were gone. Even the bakery box had been tossed.”

  They were half-dollar size shortcakes with bright-red ripe strawberries and whipped cream tucked inside. Not standing on ceremony, I always ate mine off the skewer, licking the confection off my lips so as not to waste a bit of it.

  “Didier’s on his way home,” Fab announced.

  Mother grabbed her phone out of her hand. “No talking, texting, or anything while driving—ever!”

  “Encourage her to get an earpiece. I did, but she ignored me.” In Fab’s defense, she never texted while driving; I read incoming messages to her.

  “Hang on, everyone.” Fab waved her arm. “We’re going to break the record getting home.”

  “Yeah!” Liam stuck out his knuckles for a fist bump and I reciprocated.

  Before closing my eyes and leaning my head back, I saw Mother poke Fab’s arm and point at the dashboard, so I knew we would stick close to the speed limit.

  Chapter 5

  “I made you coffee,” I said, hearing Creole’s footsteps behind me. I had my feet propped up on one of his double chaise lounges as I soaked up the view of the Gulf from his patio.

  I hadn’t bothered with party manners the night before, when the whole family showed up for the second night in a row. I packed a picnic basket with two plates piled high with food and wrapped for transportation, stuffed in Creole’s favorite beer and a flavored water for me, yelled, “Good-bye,” and flew out of the house before anyone could stop and question me. A sweet tooth to satisfy, I’d stopped at The Bakery Cafe on my way to Creole’s house.

  Creole had returned after I’d gone to sleep. Now he shuffled slowly through the door and sat down next to me, coffee in hand. “Sorry I wasn’t any fun last night.”

  “You feeling better?” I put my palm on his forehead. “No fever. Go back to bed, and I’ll be your private nurse.” I playfully smacked his ribs.

  He hunched over with a low, groaning growl.

  I jumped to my feet, trying not to yell and barely succeeding. “What the hell is the matter with you?”

  “Too loud,” he whined. “It hurts my head.”

  “Baloney on your head hurting. What’s wrong with your ribs?”

  “You need to improve your bedside manner.”

  His labored breathing shot my anxiety level through the roof. “Take off your shirt,” I said softly.

  “Don’t flip out. It’s only some bruised ribs.” He unbuttoned the single button on his shirt.

  My knees went weak. I covered my mouth, taking in the bruising on his entire right side. “Is the other guy dead?”

  He took so long to answer, I wanted to smack his head but didn’t, knowing that would hurt too.


  “Stakeout last night—I wasn’t paying attention and took a fall over a fence,” he said.

  “You’d be so mad if I lied to your face like you just did to me. But then, maybe it doesn’t count when it comes from you. You need to get tips on selling a lie from Mother. She can recognize one before you get the whole BS story out.” I flounced inside.

  My tote still sat on the floor where I’d left it. I shoved my hand to the bottom and fished out my phone. Scrolling through the numbers, I found the one I wanted, pressed the call button, and went back to the patio, the phone ringing.

  “Who are you calling?” Creole demanded. “Hang up.” He tried to take the phone from me, but the sudden movement left him hissing and leaning back against the chaise.

  “Is now a good time?” I asked when my call was picked up.

  “Shoot.” Shirl laughed.

  “How do I figure out if ribs are just bruised and not broken? If the former, what’s the treatment?” I ignored the dirty look Creole flashed me. He closed his eyes, but I knew he was hanging on every word.

  “I can come to your house, check you out myself,” Shirl offered.

  “It’s not me.”

  Creole’s eyes snapped open, and he glared at me.

  “Aww…” She paused and told me to lightly run my hands over Creole’s ribcage. The area around a cracked or bruised rib might feel swollen, but she said I shouldn’t notice any huge protrusions or dents.

  I put her on speakerphone so Creole could hear. “Are you going to do it or do you want me to?” I asked him.

  “Already did,” he said gruffly. “They’re bruised. I’ve had broken ones and know the difference.” He ran his hand gingerly over the affected area.

  “Ice, aspirin, and rest,” Shirl advised. “And do not wrap his chest with a bandage or anything like that. Keep him off his feet for the rest of the week.” She giggled. “I remember how attentive you were the time he was in the hospital.”

  “Madison’s bossy,” Creole complained.

  “I’m sorry I was such a nuisance, but at least I’m not as bad as Mother.” I sighed. “I felt like I held my breath the entire time until he regained consciousness.”

  “You weren’t so bad. Now your mother…” Shirl laughed. “Call me if you have any questions, no matter what time it is. I’m like a cat and can go right back to sleep. One more thing: no jungle sex.” She laughed again and hung up.

  “You in pain?” I asked.

  He brushed off my outstretched hand. “Kind of,” he mumbled. “I want someone nicer.”

  “Piffle!” I ignored his raised eyebrows. “Me is what you get. And you’re going to rest, like Shirl said, or I’ll take advantage of your weakened state and cuff you to the bed. I know you have a pair here and where you keep them.” I disappeared inside without waiting for a response. Not happy that his beautiful bathroom held only the basics, I’d remedied that by filling the vanity with sweet-smelling soaps, lotions, and bath gels to make bubbles in the clawfoot tub, which had an amazing view from the picture window. I’d also stocked the necessities, which was a good thing or there would have been no aspirin for his banging head.

  I heard him groaning as I crossed the threshold back out to the patio. “Here.” I thrust a bottle of water at him along with the painkillers. “You don’t have any ice. Anything you want from the store?”

  He unscrewed the top and sniffed the inside.

  “You and Fab need to stop that sniffing nonsense,” I grouched. “The damn bottle was sealed.”

  “I just need a nap, and I’ll be fine.”

  It took two adjustments to lower the back of the chaise into a position where he was comfortable. “Listen up, grumpy, you better be on your best behavior while I’m gone, and that means rest. Don’t think you’ll pull one over on me; I’m Madeline Westin’s daughter, and I’ll know.”

  “I’m not six.” He hissed when his crossed arms put pressure on his chest.

  I leaned in and brushed my lips across his. “If I didn’t love you, I’d tell your whiney-ass self to call me when you were feeling better. Here’s your phone.” I took it out of my pocket and laid it on the table.

  “Bring me tacos,” he yelled after me.

  * * *

  When I walked in the door, I found him on the couch, one leg slung over the back, the television on and the sound muted. I made a face when I realized that, despite trying to be quiet, I’d woken him up.

  On my way back, I’d called Jake’s for a takeout order and had them put together a plate of all Creole’s favorite foods. Before I could hand it to him, both of our phones rang, so I left the food on a table next to the couch where he could reach it. I walked out on the deck and dropped into a chair to give us both privacy.

  “I can hear you breathing,” Fab said

  She never appreciated my juvenile antics. “This better be good.”

  “Brick wants us in his office tomorrow morning.”

  “Why can’t he send job details in an email?” I cut off her response. “I can’t—Creole’s hurt, and I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Hangnail?” She laughed.

  I hung up on her.

  My phone rang again, and once again, I answered without saying anything.

  “Sorry. I’ll stop with the jokes.”

  “Have you thought about how our foursome would work if I were to trade him in for another model? He and Didier are best friends. I guess I need to remind you that Creole tolerates you and has never once suggested that you move out,” I said with an edge.

  She dropped her teasing tone and said, “Bring him here, and we’ll have your mother look after him.”

  “You know Mother will drive him crazy with her hands-on nursing approach. Besides, his moving around is not a good idea.” I gave her a quick rundown.

  “He’s not half-dead,” Fab said in exasperation. “It’s only a couple of hours.”

  “I’ll get back to you.”

  “I’ve got a meeting in the morning,” Creole informed me as I crossed the threshold.

  “Fine,” I said in annoyance. “Me too. But the difference is: I can walk to the bathroom without shuffling and stopping to catch my breath.”

  Men!

  “You can drive that ridiculously big pickup truck of yours in pain?” I yelled from the kitchen. I grabbed my plate and slid onto a stool, fishing my phone out of my pocket. “Turns out my calendar is empty,” I said when Fab answered.

  “Be here early. I’m buying the lattes, and I’ll throw in one of those iced scones you love.”

  “Two scones and you’re on.” I grinned at the phone.

  “Heck, I’d buy a dozen to get you back here and to the meeting on time.” She made a kissy noise and hung up.

  I only made it halfway through my dinner before I had to stop because I had an upset stomach. It wouldn’t go to waste; I was a big fan of leftovers. Creole had gone silent, so instead of going back outside with a book, which would have been my first choice, I settled in a chair across from him. We stared at each other like we were on an awkward first date. Finally, I decided on a Westin family trick in an uncomfortable situation and changed the subject. “Anything good on television?”

  Chapter 6

  Fab and I rounded the corner from different directions. I braked so that she could pull into the driveway ahead of me, then rolled up behind her Porsche. Instead of getting out and going around, I slid over into the passenger seat. I gave her a thumbs up through the windshield when I saw the lattes resting on top of the pink bakery box that meant more than two scones. I restrained myself from licking my lips.

  Fab opened the driver’s door and handed me the drink tray, and I transferred the cups into the console. “Am I the best friend or what?” She smirked.

  “Even without coffee.” I lifted the lid and licked whipped cream off the top.

  Fab hopped into the driver’s seat and took a swig of her dark brew before pulling out; most people said double espressos put hair on their chest – lu
ckily, Fab had escaped that side effect.

  “How’s the BF?” Fab asked, making a complete stop at the sign. Everyone in the neighborhood now knew we were right around the corner from one of the sheriff’s speed traps, since Fab had passed the word around.

  “He’s a stubborn old mule. I wanted to shout, ‘I told you so,’ when he could barely get out of bed this morning. I ignored his groaning, gave him a crappy kiss, and banged the door behind me.”

  Fab shrugged. “Hmm… I don’t know what to say.”

  “Try something sensitive.”

  “Um… can I get a hint?” Noticing the foul look I directed at her, she said, “He’s not going to die.” She patted my shoulder.

  “That’s the best you can do? If I said that about Didier, you’d shoot me.”

  “Listen up. In this duo—”she pointed to herself then me. “—I’m not the nice one; that’s your job. And a crappy, thankless one it is.”

  I chuckled. “What would I do without you and these sensitive tidbits you feel compelled to share?”

  “Grab the sissy bar,” she said and jammed on the gas. “You know Brick hates it when we’re late.”

  * * *

  Hitting the signals just right – all green, well mostly, but none were red – we blew into Famosa Motors in record time. The high-end luxury car lot situated on some pricey real estate in a highly sought-after commercial area also did a brisk rental car business. Fab made a grand entrance, skidding up in front of the rolled-up doors where new cars were on display. It was too early for car buyers, and the renters, I suspected, showed up in the dead of night with freshly printed bags of hundreds.

  “I love how you always get us the best parking spot.” I slid my feet into my red flip-flops; the straps lined in petite conch shells, they matched my sleeveless top. My work attire rarely deviated from skirt and top, only changing to crop sweats and tennis shoes for those jobs where I might need to run to avoid getting arrested, or taking a bullet, or some other unfortunate surprise.