Executed in Paradise (Florida Keys Mystery Series Book 9)

by Deborah Brown

  I quirked my head down in time to see Ross jerk his leg back.

  “Sorry,” he said, clearly not. “I’ll double-check next time.”

  Didier put his arm around Fab and joined her in grilling Ross. “What do you do to workout – run, bike?”

  Fab snorted, giving Ross the once-over; her face let him know he came up short.

  Ross pretended not to notice. “I’ve got a trainer that comes to the house three days a week, and on the off-days, I shoot hoops, play volleyball, anything I can do at the beach, even bowl once in a while. You two should come out with Madison and me one night.”

  “I like to bowl,” I said. “But I’m not very good.” Turning to Fab and Didier, I added, “It would be fun, don’t you think?”

  “I’ll buy the beer,” Ross said. “The alley doesn’t stock these fancy European beers.” He held up his bottle. “Plenty of American ones, though. Even have that one that’s five dollars a case on tap.”

  “One of my tenants drinks that.” I shuddered. The beer aficionados in the family would never speak to me if I bought that.

  Silence descended on the table. No one seemed inclined to speak up, and we ate without saying a word. The others finished their dinner while I pushed mine around on the plate. Ross squeezed my knee; looking at him, I saw it didn’t bother him and was able to relax.

  Eventually, I’d had enough and stood. “Ross and I are going to do dishes since Didier barbequed.”

  Without bothering to ask if they were finished, Ross reached across the table and relieved Fab and Didier of their dinner plates, handing them to me. He ignored their dirty looks and swept the silverware off the table, piling it on top of the plates. “Come on, hon.” He steered me back into the house, saying over his shoulder, “We’ll be back.”

  Once we reached the kitchen, Ross turned to make sure we hadn’t been followed, then took the plates, setting them in the sink. “I thought undie boy was going to slug me when I passed the dishes off to you. Nice touch, don’t you think? Makes me even more obnoxious.”

  “My face hurts from holding back the laughter.”

  Ross hopped up on the counter and waved to Didier and Fab. “I’ll supervise while you show me how dishes get clean.”

  “Do you think they’ll wait until we get back outside to sneak off?” I laughed.

  “Escape plans are in the works. Neither of them likes me.” He grinned. “Fab would have stomped off in a huff already if it weren’t for her boyfriend. You know, she has this hair-raising look—scared me a couple of times. Didier doesn’t look like he can handle her, but he must.” He shook his head, obviously finding it hard to believe.

  “A lot of arguing in French seems to do it for them.”

  “If you’ve got any more applicants standing by, you need to give them a warning about her. Did you see when she locked eyes with me and licked the tip of her knife? My boy parts shriveled.” He shuddered. “They can hear us laughing; probably wondering what you find so interesting.”

  Didier stepped inside the French doors. “Fab and I are going for a walk on the beach. Nice meeting you.”

  Ross waved. “You want to work out sometime, give me a call.” He waited until the two of them left through the fence, then hopped off the counter. “I think they’re gone.” He walked to the patio and peered out. “They were sure in a hurry to disappear.” He chuckled. “You need me to stay? I warn you, though; I’m about out of obnoxious.”

  “Thank you. You ever need a favor, call. Next girlfriend, send over her name; we’ll run a background check. She goes psycho; we’ll relocate her for you. Free food and drinks anytime at Jake’s.”

  “This was fun.” He walked with me to the front door and kissed my cheek.

  I scanned the kitchen to see that everything was cleaned up, then raced out to the patio, wiping down the table and taking the centerpieces inside to the garden window. Once everything was put away and cleaned up, I texted Creole: “Confession. No one hurt. No bullets,” and hopped up the stairs to my bedroom before Fab and Didier got back.

  * * *

  Rugged hands ran down both sides of my body, wrenching me from a sweet dream that I struggled to hang onto. Recognizing the barking growl that permeated my consciousness, I murmured, “You’re annoying.”

  Creole flipped me over on my stomach, running his hands down my back and legs, then smacking my bottom.

  “Ouchie,” I grumbled.

  “Just making sure that you don’t have so much as a scratch on you. What the heck happened tonight? Another job for that dick, Brick?” He nuzzled my neck.

  “That rhymes.” I giggled. “Just take off your clothes, slide under the sheets, and be open-minded.”

  He groaned and dumped his clothes in a pile on the floor.

  “I love you.”

  Creole eyed me suspiciously. “Jump to the good part,” he said gruffly.

  I snuggled up to his side. “That’s not a good idea. Starting from the beginning would be better.” And I related every detail, beginning with why and ending with running up to my bedroom.

  “I think, under the snarky attitude, Fab likes me a little.” He chuckled. “We’ve worked well together on a couple of cases.”

  “I’m hoping that, after she gets a taste of what it would be like if I chose someone neither of them liked, she’ll have a new appreciation for you.” I laughed. “Ross was great. If only I had video.”

  “Is this the end of my replacement search?” He watched as I scrunched up my nose. “Didier will clue me in on it tonight. What do I say?”

  “I’ve got one more date, which will be the last. I need Didier’s disgust to be real. My last resort is to beat the stuffing out of Fab, and I’ll probably get hurt.”

  “All this for me?” He moved closer and kissed me. “Don’t do anything that might get you hurt. Not even a little bit,” he grouched. “If you think you’re going to replace me, all I can say is: poor guy. I’ll warn him that I know where the hungriest alligators live.”

  “I’ve always wanted to know if alligators will eat a whole body.”

  “Alligators don’t chew like humans. A while back, Fish and Wildlife had it on good authority that a particular alligator had eaten a man—well, parts of him. They captured the gator and found the man’s leg and shoe inside.”

  “I suppose that’s why the signs say: Don’t feed or pet the gators.”

  “Young lady.” He bit the tip of my nose. “This is horrible foreplay.”

  I pressed my face against his neck and laughed.

  Chapter 12

  I lay sprawled on a double chaise positioned to overlook the pool and the rest of the backyard. Past experience had taught me to always sit where I could watch the comings and goings in my vicinity. Over the top of my book, I spied Fab standing in the doorway, staring in my direction with a wary look on her face. I pointed to the pitcher of iced tea and extra glass, motioning for her to come sit on the chaise next to me.

  Fab filled a glass with ice and an orange slice, pouring tea for herself and refilling mine before sitting. “We’ve got a job.”

  I already knew but asked anyway. “Who’s the client?”

  “It’s Brick.” She held up her hand. “And since I know your next question, it’s a skip on a bond.”

  “Bail jumper?” I wrinkled my nose. “No, thanks. I can give you a list of ways this job could wrong… fast. Starting with the fact that the person is a criminal, or a suspected one anyway, and running out on a bond makes him or her look… hmm… guilty!”

  “It’s just backup.” Her voice rose, headed into a full-blown snit.

  “When do I ever say no to you? Never. This time I am. You know that sixth sense I have? It’s telling me—no, screaming—that this one is a bad idea.” I waved my hand, cutting her off before she launched into defense mode. “If you don’t tell Brick to shove the job up his rear, then I’m going to tell on you.”

  Fab crossed her arms and glared for a long moment before saying, “You wouldn
’t.”

  “Oh. Yes. I. Would. If something were to happen to you, where would I find a new best friend?” Trying to lessen the tension, I said, “I would compare them all to you, and they’d come up… well, lacking. Please…” I sighed at the familiar shifty, sneaky look, knowing she was about to spew forth the comforting words I wanted to hear and not mean a one of them.

  But Fab changed course, offering no justifications and instead shrugging. “I’m not committed, so I’ll think about it. And you do the same. We have a couple of days to decide.”

  Translation: The job starts tomorrow. Who’s going to wait days to track someone on the run?

  Fab and I engaged in a mini stare-off.

  My phone beeped, announcing the arrival of a text. “Hideaway—lunch time.”

  “Oh! Ross.” I giggled at the screen. “He wants to meet for lunch. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” I jumped up. “If you’re not here or not answering your phone, I’ll have Creole’s boss put out an APB on you.”

  “I’ll be here.” She refilled her glass, checking her watch. “I’m waiting on a call from another client. You know, he’s not so bad.”

  “Ross? You like him?” I pasted on a smile, trying to appear pleased.

  “Creole. Free advice, which you know I never give: Don’t mess up your relationship with Creole for the likes of Ross. He’s not the guy for you.”

  I tugged on one of her long curls. “Don’t get in any trouble while I’m gone.”

  She raised her glass in a salute.

  * * *

  The Overseas Highway headed south was quiet, my SUV and a few cars sharing the four-lane highway that connected the Keys to the mainland. The drive to Key West never got old, passing the blue-green waters of the gulf, which glittered from the sun dancing across the small white caps, the palm trees swaying in a gentle breeze.

  I patted the steering wheel and asked, “Do you remember me?” Fab drove my car more than I did, despite having a fancy sports car of her own.

  The exit approaching up ahead appeared to most people to be just a turnaround in a desolate area, a way to get back on the northbound side of the highway. To the right, there was one side street. The pavement ended after several hundred feet, and the road wove through a bank of trees and wound around to a secluded street running along the beach that boasted five houses a half-mile apart from each other.

  The lie to Fab about Ross nagged at me; it had slipped too easily from my lips. I owed her a trip to the high-end boutiques she liked that, much to my disgust, rarely had a sales rack. And I’d have to do it without a grumble. But no matter how guilty I felt, I drew the line at the six-inch stilettos she kept insisting I buy.

  I squeezed the SUV in next to Creole’s oversized truck, leaving just enough room to get the door open. An eight-foot fence ran across the front of the property and down the side. Creole had recently installed a keypad, and I entered my code and slipped in, securing the gate behind me. The front of the house had no windows, but the back had a solid wall of pocket doors running from one end to the other with an amazing view of the Gulf.

  The door opened before I could insert my key. I paused, then—remembering that Creole’s ribs had finally healed—launched myself into his open arms. He bent, putting one arm under my knees, and lifted me, carrying me to the king-size bed and dumping me in the center.

  I wiggled backward.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” He latched onto my ankle, dragging me closer.

  “I need an expedited super favor.” I tried to shift away. We needed to talk before his one-track mind put the conversation on hold.

  “You and I—” He wagged his finger. “—we don’t have a need for favors. You ask and I do. You’re overdressed,” he scolded. “Let me help you off with your clothes while you tell me what it is you need.”

  He pulled me into a sitting position, dragged my top over my head, sending it flying across the room, and shoved me gently on my back.

  I launched into a recitation about the bail jumper job and my worry that something could and would likely go wrong. I didn’t point out that our track record substantiated that comment. “Would you call Brick and tell him to find someone else, or else? I think he’s a little afraid of you anyway. And don’t tell Fab.”

  Creole sent my skirt airborne. Picking up my leg, he lightly massaged my calf, nibbling on my big toe. “I’m so proud of you. You recognized a dangerous job and said no to her. Cops get shot all the time rounding up those bastards.”

  I sighed as he rubbed my arch with his knuckles.

  “Feel good?” He grinned. “I’ll take care of Brick this afternoon. It will be my pleasure.”

  “Pleasure, I love that word.” I lifted my legs and wrapped them around his waist.

  Chapter 13

  On my way back from my afternoon tryst with Creole, I got a phone call from Mac that Miss January had gone missing. No one had seen her since that morning, including her drunken boyfriend, Score. According to Mac, he was still drunk from the previous night, passed out in a chair out by the pool. He’d tumbled out of the chair, which he took with him; it’d ended up straddling his body, but he never moved. I sighed with relief when Mac assured me he was still breathing and luckily hadn’t rolled into the water.

  The beanpole-thin man didn’t look a day over one hundred but claimed to be a bit younger. He’d found himself a girlfriend who was less than half his age, although she didn’t look it—looks-wise, they were a matched pair. You’d think they could both sober up and enjoy more than smoking and drinking.

  I called Fab and asked if she wanted to ride along; although she didn’t like to deal with the problems at The Cottages she hated to be left out. She was waiting in the driveway when I pulled up; marching to the driver’s side, she glared when I suggested that I wanted to drive, so I moved to my assigned seat to keep the peace.

  “I suppose you’re going to insist we find Miss January?” Fab snarked.

  “You know damn well that you’d feel bad if something happened to her.” I turned away and stared out the window. “Mac called all Miss January’s usual haunts, and she’s not at a one of them. Damn that friend of hers for showing her how to use the trolley. She could be anywhere.”

  “Doesn’t she have a cell phone?”

  “Dead. She can’t remember to charge it and only knows how to use it the five minutes a day she’s awake and sober. Probably a good thing. If she ever discovers drunk dialing, she’ll never get off the phone. And guaranteed the sheriff’s department would somehow get involved.”

  Fab half-laughed. “That could be entertaining.”

  “Over there.” I pointed and swiveled in my seat, keeping an eye on the truck we’d just passed.

  “Don’t screech,” Fab said irritably. “That racket hurts my ears. What am I looking at?” She looked in the rearview mirror.

  “Slow down, pull over, something. You need to get back behind that pickup you just careened around. I’m pretty sure that was Miss January hanging onto the tailgate. Whatever you do, don’t scare the driver; he brakes suddenly and the woman might fall off.”

  Fab eased to the side of the road a block ahead of the old battered Dodge truck. When it passed us, she pulled back out behind it. We both recognized Miss January, sitting on the edge of the truck bed, one hand clutching the spring. At that moment, the driver swerved—must have not been paying attention, as there was no other reasonable explanation—and Miss January rocked back and forth.

  “Do something,” I squealed. “We’ll run over her if she falls off.”

  “I’m going to pull alongside. You yell to him and give him a reason to pull over; car problems or something.”

  I rolled down the window and leaned out, waving to the man behind the wheel. I cupped my hands around my mouth, pointed, and yelled, “Tire.”

  The scruffy-faced man looked at me in confusion, then nodded, slowed, and pulled to the curb. Fab parked several feet farther down the road, and I jumped from the SUV and
ran back. “There’s nothing wrong with your tire,” I assured the guy, who was getting out of the truck. “I just needed you to pull over. If that woman falls off the back of your truck and is killed, you could do a serious amount of prison time. I’ll take her with me, and next time you offer someone a ride, they ride in the cab with you; anywhere else is illegal.”

  His face glowed beet red. “If you think I’m going to let some scrawny bitch barf in my truck, you’re crazy,” he yelled, waving his arms. “She’s not going anywhere.” He shoved Miss January back and slammed the tailgate. “She made a deal with me: if I drop her off at the corner up a ways, Junior gets sucked.”

  The man stumbled forward—propelled by an expertly placed kick to his backside, courtesy of Fab—throwing his arms out to catch his fall. “She’s coming with us.” Fab stepped around him and snapped the gate back down, reaching out a hand to Miss January, who huddled in the corner. Over her shoulder, she said to the man, “You’re going to keep your mouth shut. Do you want to know why? You say one word, and I’ll shoot you.” She lifted her shirt, showing off her firearm.

  The man grumbled but managed to stay silent.

  “Hi, honey,” Miss January slurred, crawling out of the truck on her hands and knees. “Sweet man, got me almost all the way home. Forgot his name,” she rasped.

  Until both of her feet were flat on the ground, I maintained an iron grip on her bony arm, happy that she’d chosen tennis shoes for her latest adventure. I led her to the driver side of the SUV, helped her into the back seat, and ran around and slid in after her, shuddering at the thought of her getting sick. She leaned her head against the window and, judging by the slight snore, instantly fell asleep.

  I watched out the rear window as money exchanged hands between the man and Fab. They must have made up; he waved before he got back in his truck and shot back onto the road in a blast of black smoke.

  “If she gets sick,” Fab said, looking over the seat as she climbed in, “can the crime scene cleaner dude get the smell out?”

  “He works wonders with dead-people odor.” No one else in the neighborhood could boast having such a contact on speed dial.