Executed in Paradise (Florida Keys Mystery Series Book 9)

by Deborah Brown

  Leaning across the island and glaring at Bob, I growled, “Your turn. Get to the good part—really fast.”

  “Keep your panties on—it’s all counterfeit.” He stared at the money like it was a long-lost friend. “My partner—if he knew I lost the bag, he’d kill me. I didn’t pay my storage bill, and all the stuff got sold to that flea junker. I tried to stop the sale with some of the bills I had stashed, but the guy ran one of them special marker pens over them and threatened to call the police.” Bob shot Mother a dirty look. “If only the old broad had cooperated, I’d already be back on the road and no one the wiser.”

  “You’re treading on thin ice. Insult my mother one more time, and I’ll do something I have on my bucket list: shoot your little friend off.” I leveled my most hair-raising glare. “Explain to me how you ended up on my mother’s doorstep.”

  “I had to pony up a twenty for the buyer information on my storage unit. Found out from the neighbor that they had a regular booth at the flea market. I slept outside their house and followed them.”

  I shook my head. Some neighbors didn’t know when to keep their mouths shut.

  “A million people around and you, what, poked a gun in their faces?” Fab rolled her eyes.

  “No, I planned to buy it back. After a search of their tables didn’t turn it up, I approached them and gave them a story about being an undercover cop and that there was evidence inside the bag pertaining to a crime.” Bob looked pleased with himself.

  “You? Impersonated a cop?” I asked in shock.

  Fab laughed at him, not believing his story.

  “I showed them my badge and identification, and they were very cooperative. Your old lady, I mean mother—” his eyes flitted between me and Fab, “—left her phone number for something else she wanted, I don’t remember what; I didn’t care. A hacker friend owed me a favor and got me the address.”

  Well, that explained that. Now what do we do with him?

  I slid my phone out of my pocket. “Got a problem that needs your expertise,” I said when Spoon answered.

  “This is getting to be a habit.” He let out a growly laugh. “You now owe me. Where are you?”

  “Home and don’t dilly-dally.” I shoved my phone back in my pocket.

  “We can make a win-win deal. Cops don’t need to be involved. I’ll even apologize.” Bob flashed a greasy smile.

  “What was your big plan? Kill our mama?” Fab asked.

  “No…no,” Bob stuttered. “I’ve never shot anyone; not about to start now. I’d never get out of jail. It’s bad enough when you know you’ve got an eventual release date, but to never have one….” He shuddered.

  “If you get the bag back, then what?” I asked.

  “I’ll disappear. I promise,” Bob whined. “I won’t say a word to anyone. You’ll never see me again. Just let me go.” He crossed his heart.

  * * *

  Tired of listening to Bob, Fab ordered him to shut his trap. I moved to the kitchen sink and stared out the garden window, reaching out to pluck a couple of dead leaves off my baby-pink African violet. Didier’s Mercedes blew by our driveway and parked in the driveway across the street. The neighbors used the house as a second home and liked that we gave it a lived-in appearance when they weren’t around. Just then, Spoon’s truck screeched up to the curb. Creole and Didier had crossed the street and now waited in the driveway for him. After a brief exchange of words, the trio ran into the house, the door slamming behind them.

  “What the hell is going on? And who’s that?” Creole roared, pointing at Bob, who attempted to shrink against the wall.

  The kitchen seemed smaller with all of the testosterone from the three newcomers.

  Didier rushed to Fab’s side, whirling her around and checking her over from head to toe.

  Creole jerked me back against his chest. “Umph!” He whooshed out a breath, clutching his ribs.

  Spoon pulled Mother into his arms. She sighed and snuggled up against him, then smiled shyly at him, her cheeks turning pink. “Someone needs to start talking,” he ordered.

  Mother and I simultaneously pointed to Fab.

  She snarled in return before reciting the details in the briefest form possible.

  Creole fingered the money. Taking the paper band off a packet of bills, he chose ones from the front and back and held them up to the light. “These are crap. No one would ever take one of these bills.” He turned on Bob. “You’re not getting the chance to find out. Since you’re so stupid, greedy, or both, you’ll be spending time in prison.”

  I reached out and flicked a bill from between Creole’s fingers. “I want one as a souvenir.”

  “Wait…” Bob begged. “No police. What do you want?”

  “Shut it!” Spoon roared.

  “You want me to call Kevin?” Didier asked.

  I groaned.

  “No cops,” Spoon said, adamant. “I’ll take care of this. It’s been difficult enough on Madeline.” He hugged Mother to his side, smiling down at her, then glared at Bob. “You’re damn lucky there’s not a scratch on this woman.” He appealed to Creole: “This will make the news, names will get out, and I can’t always be around to protect her.”

  I’d never seen Spoon do a modern day version of a caveman, and Mother was enjoying every moment of his attention. Remembering Mother’s foot to Bob’s lower region, I mumbled, “She’s got you bamboozled.”

  Fab nodded in agreement.

  “If Bob here turns up dead, you’ll be arrested,” Creole warned. “I won’t turn a blind eye to murder, even for a little pissant like him.”

  “I can offer redemption and the same to his partner.” Spoon looked at Bob. “Give me the man’s name. As of right now, you two are no longer in business, and you’ll be relocated for a second chance to do something non-felonious, which you’ll accept if you have a brain between the two of you.”

  “I can’t give you his name; he’ll kill me,” Bob whimpered.

  “That’s your choice, but one way or another—” Spoon cracked his knuckles. “—you’re going to tell me the name. Capisce?”

  Creole squirmed again, his face drawn. Mother turned her attention to him, staring him down. “What’s wrong with you?”

  I cut off any response he might have made. “Oh, nothing, Mother,” I said sarcastically. “Black-and-blue ribs, some faded to yellowy spots here and there, but don’t baby him or suggest he get off his feet and rest a little, like a certain registered nurse told him to do.” I looked up at Creole. “Go ahead and lie to her. Tell her it’s nothing and how great you feel; leave off the part where you suck in your breath at every other movement.”

  “Why am I the last to know you got hurt?” Mother demanded.

  Creole broke eye contact and turned to Didier. “Isn’t this where you say something about the weather?”

  Didier held up his hands as if to say, Sorry, pal. But he did change the subject. “What about the money?”

  “Burn it,” Spoon said. He pulled Mother aside.

  Fab and I strained to hear. The gist was that he was going to deal with Bob and his friend and Mother needed to stay put until he came back for her; he didn’t want Bob to even breathe in her direction.

  “Mother can come with us to Jake’s. We’ve got a staff meeting in a little while,” I said, not bothering to hide the fact that I’d been listening.

  “I’m staying here with Didier. You can fill me in later,” Fab informed me.

  I tried to hide my annoyance but failed. “Okay. Fine.”

  “Sorry, love.” Didier put his arm around Fab. “I promised to drive Creole to… somewhere. I’ll tell you when I get back.”

  “I guess I’m going,” Fab sulked.

  “That’s a nice offer, but no thanks,” I said to Fab.

  “Now I know you’re up to something, and I’m going.” Her militant expression amused me.

  Spoon kissed Mother, then flipped out a knife, advancing on Bob, who squealed. The big man laughed and bent dow
n, sliced the zip ties around his lower legs off, and jerked him upright. “Let’s go for a ride.” He hooked his hand under Bob’s forearm and propelled the man, who struggled to stay upright, out of the kitchen and out to his truck.

  “Do you think you can stay out of trouble the rest of the day, Mama?” I shook my finger at her.

  “Once the two of you showed up, it was fun because I knew you’d make toast out of him. He’s getting off awfully easy.”

  “Spoon’s probably right,” I said. “Whoever Bob and his partner were peddling their phony cash to might not have been happy to read about it in the news and might have taken it out on us, you in particular. We get in enough trouble without inviting it to the front door. Or the back.”

  “You doing okay?” Mother asked Creole.

  “He gets no sympathy,” I said. “He hurt my feelings, blew off my nursey skills; he doesn’t get to have you fawning all over him, making him your famous homemade chicken soup.”

  Creole enveloped me in his arms. “When I don’t feel so hot, I’m irritable,” he confessed. “I’ll make it up to you. You wouldn’t happen to have a tight-fitting nurse’s uniform, would you?”

  Mother coughed. “We’ll bring dinner back; speak now if you’ve got a preference.”

  “You need to call Brad and tell him what happened,” I told Fab. My brother and I had agreed after experiencing being the last to know too many times––no more secret keeping.

  “I don’t like to deliver bad news. Well, sometimes. But not in this case. Probably a good idea if Julie doesn’t find out about today anyway; then it doesn’t put her in an awkward place with her brother. Kevin wouldn’t appreciate that we disposed of the problem ourselves,” Fab said.

  Chapter 10

  Judging by the parking lot, Jake’s regulars must have gone to another dive bar to drink their beer today. I had acquired it from its namesake owner, who was on the run from the kind of debt collectors that made house calls rather than harassing people on the phone. He could never come back to the Cove; these folks had long memories.

  As we pulled in and the two guys I’d hired to do maintenance came into view, I bit my lip, waiting for the fireworks. Fab screeched to a halt; lowering the window, she hung her head out. I didn’t remind her that she loathed it when other people did that—said it always made her think of a dog.

  “What in the…” Fab yelped, bumping her head, which earned me a double glare as she stared at her lighthouse getting a bath.

  “I’m over you waffling over whether you’re going to use your new offices or not. You’ve barely looked at that gorgeous old lighthouse since you had it trucked here as though it was stolen.” I’d discarded that idea since plenty of sheriff’s deputies had parked behind it to eat or chase speeders.

  “When I asked you about the lighthouse—” Mother punched Fab’s shoulder. “—your story was such a pitiful lie, I didn’t know whether to laugh or be mad.”

  “What’s your aversion to it being cleaned? Do you plan on ever using it as office space?” I asked. “Since I met you, the only client of yours I’ve met is Brick, and he won’t come down here. The rest of your clients thus far are just voices on the phone.”

  The lighthouse was original and not some pre-fab knock off. Fab and I had talked about that location for her offices, and I’d pictured an old house renovated for her use, but her vague reasoning for the lighthouse was that she couldn’t let the hot deal pass her by.

  “You never did tell me how you got it delivered and off-loaded in the middle of the night.”

  “Friend of a friend who moves mobile homes for a living. Just because some of my clients pay in trade doesn’t mean it’s stolen.” Fab sniffed. “No one wants to go in there. A few potential clients have complained it smells like a dead body; it’s not like I can tell them it’s dead animals and mold.”

  “Didn’t you call that crime scene cleaner dude? He always leaves the jobs he’s done for me smell-free.”

  She shook her head. “He hung up on me after reminding me that I’d pulled a gun on him and then told him he was weird. I almost called him back and told him it was his own damn fault for sneaking up behind me.”

  Mother looked at her open-mouthed and then laughed.

  Fab glared out the windshield in silence.

  “Let’s make a deal on the lighthouse,” I suggested. “Joint custody. You can use Jake’s anytime you want.”

  “You want to turn it into a stupid gift store.” Fab careened up in front of Jake’s, slowing and finding an empty space next to the kitchen door. “What kind of deal does Phil have?”

  “I’m not asking you to pay rent,” I huffed. “Here’s my offer—no store, but I do get to have it repainted and give it curb appeal. I’m in the process of giving the property a makeover: a little strip mall with character. A bunch of run-down buildings doesn’t work for me.” Jake’s had been first on my list. The outside renovations had recently been completed. It got a new paint job, copper roof, and plenty of outdoor lighting, and I’d supervised the planting of some new palms, both small and large, wrapping the trunks in white lights.

  “You should have asked me.” Fab sniffed.

  “Like you did before it arrived? Have a little trust; a powerwashing isn’t going to hurt its charm.” I’d known she would hate my surprise, which was why I’d decided to spring the first part of the process on her… after the fact.

  “No damn gift shop.” She got out of the SUV and slammed the door.

  That went pretty well. She’s not stomping across the lot with her gun drawn, scaring the workers.

  Mother turned and looked at me. “Could’ve been worse.” She laughed again.

  The block was no longer the eyesore it had once been. The gas station had been turned into a garden antique store. I’d partnered with Junker, and he’d hired his wife, “The Mrs.”—a no-nonsense slip of a woman, barely five feet, with waist-length grey-black hair and enough character lines on her face for several lifetimes—to run the place. It gave me a place to drag the occasional roadside find that I had to threaten Fab into pulling over to retrieve.

  The Twinkie Princesses lime-and-yellow mobile kitchen had been parked parallel to the road since before I owned the property. Their slogan was “We fry anything.” The only problem was that they were never open. The two women paid their rent on time and, so far, had no arrests. I’d sent them an email saying that the place was a bit seedy-looking and could they spruce it up. I never received a response, but a few days later, a work crew had showed up, cleaned the place, and given it a fresh coat of paint, which spurred my plans for the lighthouse.

  Fab ignored me as she went into Jake’s, settling out on the deck with phone in hand. Mother spotted her cigar vendor and went to meet him.

  I looked around the large open area; besides a couple of familiar faces at the bar, the place was empty. I craned my neck to look out on the deck, and with the exception of Fab, it appeared empty as well. Too subdued for me; I flipped the switch on the back of the jukebox as I crossed the room to kneel on a barstool, acknowledging Phil with a smile and leaning forward, trying to keep my voice from carrying as I whispered hoarsely, “You can make this happen?”

  “Consider it done. Just remember: I get details.” Phil poured a shot of whiskey and slid it down the bar.

  “What do you need done?” Fab, who had ended her phone call—most likely with Didier, because if it was business, she’d be jerking on my sleeve—appeared out of nowhere, sliding onto the barstool next to me.

  I gave her a blank stare, then nodded at two regular customers who had just walked through the door. “The meeting has been moved from outside to here at the bar; Phil’s attendance is mandatory.”

  When I bought Jake’s, I’d thought about a “Name the bar” contest but discarded it as a bad idea. I’d shuddered at the thought of telling some drunk I refused his name idea and having a full-scale fight break out. Now I couldn’t imagine it being named anything else.

  I’d made
several changes to the interior, starting with a floor-to-ceiling cleaning, then turned it into a popular place to come drink, watch sports on the big-screen televisions, and have fun. An arcade basketball machine, a recent flea market find, now sat in the same corner as the pool tables.

  Mother came in and slipped behind the bar, stashing cigar samples under the bar. She poured a sparkling water, added a lime wedge, and gave it to Fab, then made one for herself.

  “I need your help,” I told Mother while Phil busied herself at the other end of the bar. “Phil’s birthday is coming up, and she doesn’t want the party I’d planned to throw for her here.”

  “So much for the surprise.” Mother snorted.

  “When I find out who told her, I’m going to tell their ass off.”

  Fab put her glass back on the bar with a thump, garnering everyone’s attention. Of the three men and one woman in the place, none would object to a tussle between two women.

  Phil finished ringing up a customer and came back to stand next to Mother.

  “The dead guy. Did you get anything good?” I asked Phil.

  “Couldn’t find anyone who wanted him dead. According to neighbors, he always said hello but kept to himself. No one had anything bad to say or any clue why anyone would shoot him and ditch his body in the trash. The only thing missing is his car, which hasn’t turned up. He had a little money, but it goes to a grandchild when the boy turns thirty.”

  “Random?” Mother raised her brows. “Wrong place and time?”

  “Those are impossible to solve unless the killer slips up and talks.” Fab pushed her glass across the bar to Mother. “I’ll take a refill.”

  “You might consider a sign for the trash bin: ‘Dump your dead bodies elsewhere.’” Phil smiled.

  “Or ‘Dead bodies get dumped around the corner’ and an arrow,” Fab said.

  I grimaced. “Neither of you are funny.”

  “You’re no fun.” Phil laughed.

  “One of us has to be the stable one, and today it’s me.” I poked my chest.

  “Maybe your funeral friends have some information. Surely the coroner takes their calls,” Mother suggested, spiraling Fab’s drink back to her and frowning when it almost tipped over.