Executed in Paradise (Florida Keys Mystery Series Book 9)

by Deborah Brown

  “A couple of days ago, Scooch jumped out from behind the hedge at the end of the block,” Crum grumbled. “Clocked me with a flat object and knocked me on my ass. The little bastard laughed and ran off before I could get back on my feet.” He gazed at Shirl in adoration. “I wouldn’t tell this to anyone but you, but I got dizzy and had a hard time getting home.”

  “What does that sweet story have to do with how you got that black eye?” I asked.

  “We got into an argument over a woman at Custer’s—you know: who saw her first. While we were trading well-thought-out observations about each other’s parentage, the object of our affection slipped out the back.” He shifted forward, trying to sneak a peak down Shirl’s top, which everyone saw. “Scooch hit me with his fist, and I kneed his nuts in return.”

  Mac sucked in a loud breath.

  “No one would ever believe your background. I know I have a hard time remembering. If you lie in wait and start the next fight, he’ll call the sheriff. Then what?” I demanded.

  “Scooch is a bitch and a grudge-carrier,” Crum grumbled.

  “No damage.” Shirl patted his knee. “Ice it—that’ll make it feel better.”

  Fab pitched her empty water bottle in the direction of the trash; the bottle bounced off the wall, landing on the floor. “Why does Scooch have a hate-on for you?”

  “We… um… ” He paused. “We used the same girl for sexual services, and apparently she told him mine was bigger.” His cheeks turned red, and he looked away. “He shouldn’t have asked.”

  Mac hooted, kicking her feet on the desk.

  I stared down, my shoulders shaking with laughter. “Paying for sex can get your booking photo published in the throw-away. You know the police log is the only thing people read in that waste of paper.”

  “Honey,” Crum purred to Fab. “You could make Scooch go away.”

  Mac, Shirl, and I stared in shock. “Honey?” I mouthed. No one said a word.

  Fab trotted out her evil smile. “That would mean you would owe me, and when I collect—no whining.”

  “That smile—” Crum shuddered theatrically, “—makes my hair stand on end. It will work on Scooch, unless he’s more of an imbecile than I think.”

  Fab turned to me. “Do we know this Scooch fellow?”

  “Heard of… by weirdo reputation.” I knocked on the bottom of Mac’s shoes. “Got an address?”

  “I can draw you a map and give you a good description of the building.” Mac looked between Fab and I. “You two be careful, no matter what time of the day or night you go there; it’s a well-known squat house.”

  “Let’s get something straight.” I leveled a stare at Crum. “If I go along with Girl Wonder, you’ll also owe me. Smart man that you are, you’ll realize that equals two favors.” I lifted my skirt to my thigh so my holster was visible. “The boyfriend gave me a handgun, and I haven’t shot anyone… yet. Putting a bullet in your behind would qualify as my first.”

  Crum stood and executed a sweeping bow. “You ladies can count on me.” He mumbled “thanks” in Shirl’s direction, his cheeks turning pink, and beat it out the door.

  “I love it when I come home from a hard day nursing the sick and your SUV is parked in a space. I know that, whatever is going on, I don’t want to miss out,” Shirl said. “How’s the BF?”

  “When I left, Creole had decided his attendance was required at a meeting in Miami. He could barely hobble to the bathroom. I called out a chirpy ‘Have a nice day’ and slammed the door.”

  Shirl snapped her doctor’s bag closed. “Bruised ribs hurt like the devil. He won’t be wanting to do a lot of moving around. I’d be surprised if he made it out the door. Who knows, though; he’s stubborn. He’s like my Stephan that way.”

  I raised my eyebrows at the mention of her boyfriend. “How is your insurance salesman?” Stephan was Creole’s partner, and I wanted to ask a thousand questions but had to walk a fine line in order to keep my promise not to expose what I knew about the man.

  Shirl’s cheeks flushed. “He’s great.” She looked at her watch. “I have to make a phone call. Dinner later?” she asked Mac, who nodded. “Call if you need anything.” She waved goodbye.

  “Time to go.” Fab stood and flipped the back of my hair.

  “Sit down, sister.” Mac shook her finger at the couch. “There’s something I think you should know. Something Shirl told me. I’m trusting you to keep it to yourself.”

  “What already?” Fab snapped.

  “Stephan,” Mac whispered, “is an undercover cop.”

  It was unclear to me whether Stephan was his real name, though if there were a bet involved, I’d put my money on negative. Creole had told me that “Help” was his street name, but I suspected that was also phony and reserved only for me and unexpected trouble when I couldn’t reach Creole.

  “Why are Madison and I the last to know these things?” Fab asked indignantly.

  I turned and rolled my eyes at Fab, zipping my lips, then turned back to Mac. “Is Shirl sure?”

  “While he was in the shower, she rifled through his briefcase and found identification. She turned, and he was standing in the doorway, uh… naked, and he was pissed.” Mac paused. “They got into a huge fight, followed by the longest make-up sex she said she’d ever had.” She pushed her chair back, standing. “When are you two going to fix me up with someone?”

  Chapter 8

  I tiptoed into the kitchen of Creole’s beach house, certain he’d never made it out of the house; his truck hadn’t moved an inch.

  Creole had bought a beachfront house far off the main road, tucked away at the end of a dead-end road, his nearest neighbor a half-mile away. He’d hired a contractor to remodel the outside, and gutted the interior himself, turning it into a large, comfortable living space.

  “If you’re a burglar,” Creole called from the bedroom area, “bring me a cold drink.”

  Not looking at him, I slid onto a stool, tossing my keys on the counter and dumping my bag next to them, then laid my face down on the cool travertine and contemplated whether I should still be annoyed.

  “You were right,” he yelled.

  I smiled. Who didn’t like hearing those three little words? I crossed to the refrigerator and opened it, the cool air feeling good on this sweaty Florida day. My hand gripping the neck of a beer bottle, I leaned around the refrigerator door, catching his eye. “Did you take aspirin recently?”

  “Yeah, and I need two more,” he said, his voice strained.

  I put the beer back and grabbed two bottles of water, then found the aspirin in the bottom of my purse. “You got something to trade? My good will doesn’t come free,” I said, kicking off my shoes and crossing the room.

  He half-laughed. “Will you extend me credit?”

  I leaned down and brushed his lips, then uncapped the smaller bottle, shook the contents into my hand, and handed the pills to him along with the water. “The interest will be steep.”

  He stared while I stripped down to my lace cheekies and bra and slid onto the cool sheets next to him. We lay side by side, sharing a pillow. I looked up at the ceiling. “How do you feel?” I asked.

  “Like someone who’s been kicked in the ribs. Called the boss and told him I was taking the week off. He commiserated and told me to take as much time as I needed.”

  “That’s good news.” I rolled over, resting my head on his shoulder.

  “Is there bad news?” Creole kissed the top of my head.

  “Fab has a car retrieval job for Brick; she needs a getaway driver.” I shifted, curving my body into his.

  “Is he withholding details again?”

  “He made it clear today that I’m an irritant and he only wants Fab working for him. That was hurtful.”

  “He’s such an ungrateful bastard. I vote for never working for him again, but that would leave Fab hanging and you’d never do that.” He played with the ends of my hair. “If you scoot up so we’re nose to nose, I could take adva
ntage of your lips.”

  “One of the reasons I love you: you listen.” I wiggled my way up. “I don’t want you to stay by yourself.” I slipped one hand under his t-shirt and ran my fingers down his chest. “Think about moving to my house tomorrow.”

  “I’ve got something else on my mind.” He leered.

  “First groan on your part, and the fun stuff is over.” I tapped the end of his nose.

  Our lips had barely touched when my phone started ringing.

  “Do you hear that noise?” he asked.

  “No.” I hooked my leg over his hip. I knew from the ringtone that it was Fab. She knew that I was with Creole, so that meant it was an “emergency.” I looked up at Creole, making a face when it started ringing again. “I told Fab I wasn’t working tonight. She must have ignored me.” My phone had barely stopped ringing when Creole’s vibrated on the nightstand. “You know it’s Fab. Hand it to me, and I’ll take care of her.” I held out my hand.

  He shook his head. “What do you want?” he growled into the phone. “She’s busy.” His shoulders started shaking with laughter and he held the phone away from his ear. Fab was calling him a litany of names, one that I recognized—her favorite: Neanderthal—coming through loud and clear.

  I shrugged at him and mouthed, “What?”

  “Brick wants the car picked up tonight, and she’s yammering on that she doesn’t want to go by herself. I think she should use Didier.”

  My eyebrows shot up, and I shook my head. “That’s not a good idea. I can’t imagine him shooting someone.”

  Once again, my phone started ringing. “I think she hung up on you.”

  Creole looked at his screen. “Yep.”

  I slid off the bed on my stomach until my feet hit the floor and went in the direction of the irritating noise, retrieving my phone off the counter. Before I could push the “return call” button, it beeped with a message: You promised.

  I texted back: Be home soon.

  Creole sat up on the side of the bed, huffing from the exertion of something that normally wouldn’t be any effort at all. “Will you help me dress?”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, shaking my head. “Damn her.”

  * * *

  “You’re a piece of work,” I grouched at Fab as she veered off the Turnpike to Ft. Lauderdale in pursuit of a missing Lamborghini driven by a drug dealer’s girlfriend. What could go wrong? We’d ridden most of the way without talking. I had her phone and was trying to figure out the app she’d managed to get downloaded with the help of someone she refused to name, which had me suspecting one of her more scurrilous acquaintances and hoping they hadn’t come to the house.

  “I got a call from Brick earlier.”

  She paused for too long, which had me worried. “Just blurt it out.”

  “Brick wants us to call as soon as we pick up that car. He’ll call Briscoe. We’re to keep an eye on the girlfriend until he shows up. Under no circumstance is she to up and disappear on her own.”

  “I guess I don’t have to feel bad about leaving her with no ride, then. I missed the part during the job pitch about dealing with Briscoe.” My stomach formed a hard knot.

  Fab muttered, “I mentioned the same thing to Brick; he tripled our fee. He did say he would remind Briscoe that we better come out of this job unscathed.”

  “If anything goes awry, we bail. The hell with this job.” I sighed in frustration.

  “Find Miss Corn yet?” Fab asked.

  “She’s this little dot right here.” I pointed at the screen.

  “That’s so helpful,” she said, her voice laced with sarcasm. “Did you happen to notice that it’s dark outside, and also inside, this car?”

  “Hmm…” I shook the phone, tapping the screen. “The screen lights up.”

  “Do you have an actual address?” she barked.

  I smiled sweetly. “Atlantic Boulevard, right past the Hilton on the left, is the best I can do. It would be good to have a plan about now.”

  “Shouldn’t be hard to locate a bright red quarter-of-a-million-dollar sports car once we get in the vicinity. If whatshername is driving, we’ll follow until she stops. At some point, she’s going to need gas, food, something. I’ll jump in and drive off. You stay and do surveillance; make sure she can’t see you. I’ll stash the car and come back. After I told Brick I’d bill extra for hotwiring skills, he messengered a set of keys he’d forgotten to give us.”

  “I hope it’s as easy as you just mapped out,” I said. “You should use word association to help you remember names. For Tracy Corn—think peas. Or vegetables.”

  Fab eyed me as if certain I’d suffered a head injury. “And you look so normal. Life is short, some smart person said for a reason. No shots fired,” she stressed. “That would set Briscoe off for sure. I’m certain he wouldn’t appreciate us maiming his girlfriend.”

  “Let’s hope we don’t see her pic on the news in a few days, deader than a doorstop. Hopefully, Briscoe doesn’t want her back just to kill her.”

  “There’s the car.” Fab pointed excitedly.

  The Lamborghini sat at a metered parking spot along the beach. The time to replenish it with quarters had long expired. Two surfer types were drooling over the car, bent at the waist and leaning in the driver’s side window; a quick swipe of the Hummer to the right and they’d be butt-less.

  “Now what, hot shot?”

  “Don’t get surly.” Fab pulled over and rested her head against the steering wheel. “We wait. The more I think about this job… We can do it sans guns. No need. If she runs, we’ll message Brick with her last location and go home, make it his problem. This case shouldn’t be that difficult. She’s young; we’re hardened private investigators.”

  I bent over, face in my lap, and laughed. Once recovered, I said, “There’s only one of us with a license, and that would be you.”

  There had been a time when I wanted a license, wanted to be cool like my best friend. But it entailed working for Brick on a “snap of his fingers” basis. We didn’t have the same rapport as he and Fab. In fact, based on our last discussion, he was as tired of me as I was of him.

  “Don’t sweat the little details.” Fab’s reassurance fell short.

  “I don’t like this––”

  “If this is where you tell me the hair on your neck is standing on end, I don’t want to hear about it.” Fab stuck her fingers in her ears.

  I punched her shoulder.

  “At some point, Corncob will be on the move, we’ll follow and I’ll snatch the car with a friendly wave out the window as I drive off. You stick around to see where she goes. It’s not like she can call the cops.”

  “You have to stop with the charming nicknames.” I shook my finger at her. “I never liked the cob part; Mother always cut my corn off the cob or I wouldn’t eat it. To this day, it doesn’t taste good unless she’s the one to do it.”

  “Don’t look at me. Do you think my mother would allow any food to be served that is eaten with one’s fingers?” she asked in mock horror.

  I’d never met the Merceau family, and considering their non-existent relationship with their daughter, I probably never would. In addition to being unforgiving of their daughter’s lifestyle choices, they weren’t the touchy-feely, warm sort, from what I gathered in conversation with Fab.

  “I’ll cut your corn.” I beamed at her.

  “You’re so weird. I don’t eat things that stick in my teeth,” Fab said haughtily. “Lookie.” She pointed. “Corncob is on the move.”

  “Got to give Corncob credit—she’s sticking to the speed limit, probably trying not to attract any more attention than the car itself already garners.”

  The Lamborghini signaled and pulled into a liquor store.

  “Why does every town have the requisite pink liquor store, a flamingo or two in front?” I asked.

  “Get ready,” Fab ordered and opened her door. “Once she parks and gets out, I’m jumping behind the wheel.”

  “Not so
fast.” I reached across and grabbed the back of her shirt. “This is a drive-thru. Let’s hope she’s not going to drink and drive.”

  The Lamborghini curved around the side of the building, pulling up to the order window. Fab yanked her door shut, made a U-turn, and pulled to the curb just off the exit.

  Minutes later, the sports car exited the parking lot, pulling out onto the busy boulevard, and we followed. In less than a mile, she signaled and turned into a beach parking lot, pulling into a space that gave her a front-row view of the ocean. Or what little you could see of it with only a quarter moon. There were a handful of cars in the lot, parked and empty. We pulled into a space one row behind her.

  Fab bounced impatiently in her seat. “How long have we been here?”

  “A minute, maybe two. She has to know Brick’s looking for the car; maybe she’s afraid to leave it.” I rolled down the window, eager for a big breath of ocean air.

  “I say we confront her while she’s in the car. We’ll give her options: get out or we’ll call the cops. If all else fails, we put a bullet in one of the tires.” Fab scowled over the steering wheel.

  “You ever notice that Brick never calls his cop brother in on any of these cases? Casio could have issued an APB on the car, and it would already be back in Brick’s clutches. And Casio could’ve personally delivered Corncob.”

  Fab ignored me. “Let’s get this over with.” She jumped out of the SUV.

  I lagged behind, making sure to stay in Corncob’s blind spot.

  Fab’s idea of a one-on-one chat might have succeeded, except for one minor detail. When she walked up, the driver’s door flew open, and Corncob stepped out and pointed a gun in Fab’s face. An unidentifiable stench wafted from the inside of the car, and the interior light illuminated junk food trash littering the floor, clothing flung across the passenger seat, her purse open with wads of money sticking out the top, and a blanket and pillow partially stuffed behind the headrest.

  “Don’t move.” Finger on the trigger, Corncob wagged the gun back and forth. “Might be fun to shoot you. Get over here.” She pointed the gun at me. “You two are lame; I saw you following me.”