Executed in Paradise (Florida Keys Mystery Series Book 9)

by Deborah Brown

  Fab hated my choice of shoes but had stopped reminding me that I had no sense of shoe fashion. I laughed to myself, thinking that if I glued four-inch heels to the bottoms, she’d still hate them.

  “Let’s not dawdle,” I said. “We’ve got better stuff to do. Brick doesn’t need to know that we don’t know exactly what that is at the moment.”

  The glass door was unlocked, but I pushed the annoying night bell anyway. I looked up at the second-floor domain of the boss himself; he stood at his office window, from there, he had a view of the entire property and busy boulevard.

  “Good morning, Bits-ee,” I said and slowed in front of the receptionist’s desk. “You weren’t here the last time we came in. We’ve missed you.” I puckered my lips, a look of fake concern on my face.

  “I heard you had to leave town,” Fab said. “You screwed someone who didn’t care that you had Brick’s protection. Sucks for you when he decides to stop straightening out your life.” Fab stared her down.

  The heavily made-up blonde sat up straight in her chair, pushing out her double D’s. “You change your attitude, or I’ll tell Brick it’s you two or me.”

  Fab laughed.

  I flashed her a phony smile, knowing that when I overdid the expression, it turned into a lopsided sneer. “I wish you would. Just a word of warning: There are more big-chested pole twirlers where he found you.”

  Bitsy had been promoted from her job at Brick’s strip club for her obvious assets; she was here to swing her charms, to provide a distraction for male buyers.

  Fab tugged on my arm, and we went up the stairs to the inner sanctum.

  Brick’s muscled bulk was stuffed into a chair behind his desk, his feet on top, a cigar between his lips. He waved his arm toward the oversized leather chairs in front of his desk. “Why don’t the two of you sit down at the same time for once, instead of one of you lurking around the office?”

  Fab ignored him and took up her post at the window. I sat down and perused the walls to see if Brick had added another Cuban businessman plaque to his growing collection. He’d been awarded a few for his philanthropy, but not anything to do with his businesses, which ran to the seedy. He’d gotten his start with a local bail bonds office and soon after had opened locations up and down the state, then parlayed those into a string of pawn shops and his crown jewel, the strip joint in Alligator Alley that he’d named The Gentleman’s Club.

  Fab pushed away from the ledge, opened the refrigerator, and handed me a water. She took one for herself, then sat in the chair next to me.

  “What’s the job? We’ve got two other client appointments today.” I maintained eye contact, the first rule in selling a lie.

  “Car retrieval—Lamborghini. During the day, it’s parked at a deserted warehouse surrounded by barbed wire with Rottweilers on duty. At night, I never have an exact address. She’s constantly on the move; she did stop for two hours last night, but neither of you would answer the phone.”

  “She?” Fab arched her brow.

  “And here I thought you were sexist and only rented your lux cars to male criminals,” I said.

  Brick took a deep breath and appeared to be counting, resting his head on the back of his chair. “Go get the Lambo. I’ve got an app that can be installed on your phones so you can tail her; at some point, she’s got to stop for gas.” He handed me a folder that had been sitting in front of him.

  “Nice ride.” I admired the two-hundred-thousand-dollar red sports car in the photo. “Any info you can give us on this Tracy Corn? Such as—is she crazy? Dangerous?”

  Instead of shouting his usual insistence that this was a case of search and find, Brick hesitated.

  Fab noticed and jumped to her feet. “If you don’t fess up and we get ambushed, we’ll never work for you again. And I will sneak up on your ass some night and shoot you.”

  He shot to his feet. “How dare you fucking threaten me!”

  “Sit down,” I yelled, “both of you.” I stepped in front of Fab and turned to Brick. “I promise you she won’t kill you—my boyfriend will. Now let’s play nice.”

  “I had every intention of telling you.” Brick settled back down in his chair. “I… uh… oh hell, she’s Briscoe’s girlfriend, and he wants her back unharmed. He has a soft spot for the thieving witch.”

  Another man who didn’t need a last name. Unless it was “Scary Drug Dealer.”

  “Thieving?” I stared him down. “The Lamborghini? Or something much worse, like from Briscoe himself?”

  Brick opened his desk drawer, uncapped an aspirin bottle, and threw two in his mouth. “Tracy embezzled funds from Briscoe’s business. He’s willing to overlook her indiscretion. You know—a man in love.”

  “Love.” I rolled my eyes, mentally making a retching noise.

  Fab kicked the side of his desk so hard the bottled water he’d failed to screw the cap back on tipped over, the water running out and puddling on his paperwork.

  I enjoyed the look of irritation that settled on his face. “You act like he’s a respectable businessman. News flash—he’s not.”

  “How does some chick just walk in and rent one of your cars?” Fab asked, grabbing the file off the desk and flipping through the notes.

  I looked at Fab, rubbing my fingers together. “Cash!”

  “Anything we should know about her?” Fab asked. “Nutjob? Felon?” She slammed the file back on the desk.

  “Considering Ms. Corn’s boyfriend—a drug addict?” I asked.

  “I’m not hiring you.” Brick glowered at me. “The quality of her work has suffered since she hooked up with you.” He thrust his finger in Fab’s direction. “She used to be much more focused. Never made these petty demands; just went and got the job done. What is it that you contribute anyway?”

  That caught me off guard – reduced to a sidekick or worse. I’d put myself on the line for his stupid jobs more than once. I restrained myself from saying anything, not wanting to unleash an F-word tirade. I stood to storm out, but Fab grabbed my arm, propelling me back into the chair in an ungraceful sprawl.

  Fab leaned across the desk. “Back when I started working for you, I embraced danger and made many foolish decisions. At the time, I had nothing to lose. That has changed. You’re lucky we—” she gestured between the two of us, “—take your jobs. Hire someone else. I’m not going anywhere without backup and the only backup I’ll accept is Madison. Good luck getting anyone to work for you when word gets around that your jobs stink.”

  Brick growled out a sigh, running his hand through his jet-black hair.

  “We’re a team, and if you don’t like that—oh well. One more thing, if you ever again insinuate that Madison is a useless part of the team, our relationship, business and otherwise, is over.”

  Brick smiled conciliatorily and handed her a sticky note. “This guy will put the new app you need on your phones.” He held up his hand. “Before you go…” He reached into the credenza and pulled out a trash bag, then stuck his hand into the cabinet, withdrew the candy bowl, and upended it in the bag, which he handed to me.

  I smiled down at the bag, wanting to pet it like a beloved animal. This was way better than an apology.

  “Thanks for the sugar. I’ll call when we’re ready to go.” Fab tugged on my arm as we walked downstairs. “Peanut butter cookies in there?” She pointed to the bag.

  Once we got outside, I flicked through the bag. “Thanks for sticking up for me. Means more than the Oreos I spotted in here.”

  “What I said is true. Not leaving home without my gun or you.” Fab patted my head.

  I laughed and brushed her hand away. “I’m going to remind you that you said that the next time you try to sneak out in the middle of the night and leave me behind because you’re worried about a pesky felony or six.”

  “Didier made me promise not to go anywhere by myself under threat of punishment.” Fab grimaced.

  I squeezed my eyes closed. “If this is about your sex life, I don’t want
to hear it. And for heaven’s sake, don’t let Didier share whatever deviancy he dreams up with Creole.”

  Fab hit the key fob. “Probably make me go without.” She shuddered. “I hate that.” She slid behind the wheel. “What’s that look?”

  “Sympathy.”

  Fab threw her head back and laughed.

  Chapter 7

  As Fab turned the corner to The Cottages, I pointed through the windshield. “What’s that?”

  “Some skinny old woman humping a hose.” Fab slowed.

  I rolled the window down, hanging my head out. “Knock it off,” I bellowed.

  The painfully thin woman in spandex shorts and red stilettos was in the same age range as Mother, perhaps, but life hadn’t been kind. Her face was leathered and lined, a blondish-grey bun was pinned to the nape of her neck, and her bugged eyes made one wonder about her mental competency. She blocked the entrance to the driveway, spraying water everywhere as she danced in a lewd fashion with the hose between her legs. When I shouted at her, her face turned bright red and she could barely contain her anger, yelling back at us as Fab backed her down the driveway with the bumper of the SUV. She jumped the hose and turned the nozzle on the Hummer, blasting a jet of water through the passenger window. I ducked in time to keep from getting a face full of water, which at that setting would have felt like an assault, instead ending up with water shooting down my back, soaking my top.

  “If Mac gave her permission to move in, she’s fired,” I barked, shaking the water from my t-shirt.

  Fab hit the windshield wipers as the woman continued to batter the Hummer. She revved the engine, the woman jumped to the side, and Fab slid into a parking space. “That’s an empty threat. Who the hell else would you hire that enjoys dealing with these people the way she does?”

  Fab and I watched as Mac flew across the driveway, hollering at the woman. “What in the hell?” She shook her fist in the woman’s direction.

  In return, the woman’s middle finger shot in the air.

  Mac drew her Beretta.

  I jumped from the SUV and ran to her side. “Calm down.” I put my hand on her shoulder.

  “Bitch.” Mac stalked towards the woman in her soaked shorts and plaid button-down shirt and yelled at the woman. “I already warned you about trespassing. This is the last one you get; next time, I’m calling the sheriff and banning you from the property.”

  The woman whipped out her cell phone. “I’m calling them and having you arrested for threatening my life.”

  “That would piss me off,” Fab growled, stepping between her and Mac. “You want to wake up tomorrow in Kentucky, you make that call.”

  “Besides, it’s your word against the three of us.” I smiled at her.

  She mumbled something under her breath and started to stomp away, tripped, and kicked her heels off, sending them airborne, one after the other landing on the sidewalk.

  “Put your gun away,” I whispered to Mac. I nodded to Fab, and she flanked Mac’s other side as we escorted her back to the office.

  “What the hell was that all about?” I asked as soon as the office door closed behind us.

  The unshuttered windows kept the soft green room from feeling claustrophobic. When open, as they were now, they made it easy to monitor coming and goings in the neighborhood. Fab sat in her reserved place on the couch and did just that; I settled in one of the two brown leather chairs in front of the bamboo desk.

  Mac slid around the far side of the desk, retrieved her jean jumper, and pulled it over her head, covering her down to her shorts, then plopped into her chair. She picked up the wad of bubble gum she’d left on a notepad and stuck it back in her mouth. “You thought I rented to her, didn’t you?”

  The door flew open, and Shirl bounced in and threw herself in the only available chair. “I didn’t miss anything good, did I?” she huffed breathlessly.

  Shirl, an overly endowed female, sported short shorts and a bright-yellow t-shirt and matching flip-flops. She lived directly across the driveway from the office, and whenever she saw the Hummer parked in front, she hustled over to get the latest news. “Better firsthand,” she’d explained once. “Good stuff always gets left out in the retell.”

  “Madison stopped me from shooting that Starletta cretin.” Mac beamed at me.

  “Why don’t I get any credit for sticking up for you?” Fab grouched. She stretched out on the couch and pushed a couple of pillows under her head.

  “I’m always available to return the favor.” Mac smiled at Fab.

  I knew that if Fab called, Mac would do any ridiculous thing she asked and enjoy it.

  Mac continued after banging her hot-pink high-tops on the desk and brushing the dirt off the toes. “Starletta pranced in here one day, her Impala stuffed to the gills, demanding to rent a cottage. I laughed and told her that she scored high on my loon radar; she looked confused, so I explained. Turns out, she doesn’t have a sense of humor. She threw a hissy fit, strung together several variations on the F-word that I found impressive. When she was done, I told her to hit the bricks. Just my luck, they had a vacancy next door, and she must have had cash because she moved in that day.”

  The windows started reverberating with the sound of drums punctuated by the crashing of cymbals. Fab sat up, readjusting a shutter to look out. “Party across the street. Setting up for a live band on the porch. The drummer and his sidekick are the only ones out there.”

  Shirl tossed one of her flip-flops in the air, catching it on her toes. “The property management company rented to a single man: showed up in a suit, said he owned a tech company.”

  “How did you find all that out?” Fab asked.

  “I knocked on the door, told them I was from the neighborhood welcome committee. That’s how I found out that what actually moved in was four party boys in their early twenties.”

  “We need to use that story?” I asked Fab. “‘My cat’s missing’ is getting old. Better to say dog anyway. The cat story irritates some people.”

  Mac snorted. “E-v-e-r-y night they ratchet up the noise; cars fill the street, blocking driveways; and a deputy drops by at least twice before the party breaks up. I heard the sheriff’s department gave the rental company notice to clean up the problem.”

  “Isn’t it part of their job to check these people out?” I asked.

  Mac kicked back in her chair, tussling with her top to get the girls covered and continued. “Turns out the guy who did the renting had set up an extensive phony profile. When their phones started burning up with complaint calls, the property manager hired another company to run a check. What came back was a detailed report showing that all the information belonged to an eighty-year-old man, not a twenty-something. Makes me think the rental company never does a thorough job, hence all the ass clowns that occupy the place. References were rechecked and the phone numbers went to an answering service that read a prepared speech. Whoever set the scam up wasn’t stupid, and when more inquiries started coming in, they disconnected the phones.”

  “All that work to rent a house. That tells me that if a real check were done, no one would rent to them. Except for pay-by-the-week places.” I turned up my nose. “Call in a noise complaint,” I said to Mac. “We’re not going to be forced to give refunds to our guests. Party boys can take it inside and close the door.”

  “With our luck, Kevin will show up,” Fab grumbled.

  “Last night, when I got home from my shift at the hospital, Kevin was tramping across the street barefoot, big hole in the butt of his jeans. I waited for him to walk under the streetlight for a better look.” Shirl licked her lips. “Still too dark.”

  “Focus.” Fab snapped her fingers. “What happened next?”

  “Kevin went in, the music went off, and he left. On his way back, several guys and a girl flipped him the bird. When he reached the driveway, they screamed ‘FU’ in unison, laughed, and ran inside. Kevin never broke stride.”

  “All the good things happen when I’m not aroun
d. Thank goodness,” I mumbled. “Aren’t you Head of Security?” I stretched out my leg, kicking Fab’s shoe. “You go take of the problem.”

  “Oh darn,” Fab said sarcastically. “The police just rolled up.”

  The three of us jumped up, trying to squeeze in around the window.

  “Sit back down,” Fab ordered. “If anything good happens, I’ll let you know. It’s not like you have far to go. I get irritable when I’m crowded.”

  The door blew open as if hit by a hurricane and banged into the wall. “I need you, nursey,” Crum whistled, out of breath.

  I grimaced at the sight of him in a cut-off muscle shirt and very large boxers over his tighty-whities. It made me wonder if once you reached a certain level of intelligence, it got its revenge by eating your brain.

  “You poke a hole in my wall, and you will pay for the repairs. You won’t get off with one of your do-it-yourself jobs.” I pointed to his face. “Aren’t you a little old for a fistfight? Have a seat. Nursey can you check you out, and we’ll watch.”

  Shirl jumped up. “Don’t say one word until I get back.” She raced out the door.

  I had a hard-and-fast rule—no renting to locals. It had turned out to be a stupid rule since my brother and Mac, and occasionally myself, did it anyway. Shirl was one of the first to show up after the rule was instituted. She was only supposed to stay for a couple of nights, but drama broke out and she showed off her talents, bandaging the scrapes. She also had people skills; men in particular loved her chairside manner.

  “You got a good story?” Mac opened the refrigerator, handing him a cold bottle of water. “If the only thing you can come up with is contact with a doorknob, save your breath.”

  Shirl burst back through the door, black bag in hand. “What did I miss?”

  “We’re waiting for the professor here to come up with a good story,” I said.

  Shirl gave the black eye a cursory glance, patting his hand as she took out her stethoscope and thermometer. No wonder the people around here loved her. She went beyond the “suck it up” advice Fab would dispense, giving them her full attention.