Executed in Paradise (Florida Keys Mystery Series Book 9)

by Deborah Brown

  She popped the lock, drew her gun, and burst through the door.

  I drew my own gun and stayed on her heels.

  Crum lay on his side in the middle of the floor. I rushed over and dropped down next to him while Fab checked the bedroom, bathroom, and two closets. “He’s been stabbed,” I gasped, placing two fingers on the side of his neck. “He’s got a pulse, but not much of one. Call 911.” I ripped my shirt over my head and wadded it up, applying pressure to the blood-soaked area.

  Fab raced to the door, half-yelling into her phone.

  “Don’t you dare die on me.” I enveloped Crum’s hand in my free hand and squeezed it gently. “Do you hear me?”

  His eyelids fluttered. “Mac,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper.

  “Mac did this to you?” I asked in shock, finding it hard to reconcile with the woman I had come to know. No way she would stab someone, a friend no less, and leave them to die.

  “Help Mac. St—” He broke off. After a long pause, he whispered, “—got her,” and closed his eyes. “Crazy bitch,” he gasped out.

  I knew I had to stop asking questions; he needed his energy to live.

  Shirl burst through the door, black bag in hand, and dropped it and herself on the floor next to Crum.

  As I scooted back to give her room, I noticed a sparkly blue phone case peeking out from under a chair. I knew it belonged to Mac and caught Fab’s eye, pointing it out. She reached down and stuffed it in her pocket.

  “Let me know if you need help,” I told Shirl. “Please don’t let him die.”

  Fab burst out the door at the approach of blaring sirens. The 911 call would also bring deputies, but hopefully, the paramedics would arrive first. Crum’s skin tone had faded to a translucent white; his breathing took on a rattling noise.

  “Don’t worry.” Shirl patted my hand. “I’ll be riding to the hospital with him. He’s lost a lot of blood, but we’ll fix him up. You go outside and get a breath of fresh air.”

  “We’ll meet you at the hospital,” I said over my shoulder, stepping out of the way of the paramedics.

  Fab grabbed my arm and led me across the driveway to the hose, turning it on and washing the blood off my hands and arms. “Breathe. Nice and slow.” She rubbed my back.

  “Crum said, ‘Help Mac.’” I said, my voice trailing off. “Why wouldn’t she stay and help him?”

  Fab grabbed my shoulders, giving me a shake. “Repeat exactly what he said.”

  “I can’t remember exactly.” I tried to repeat it word for word. “There’s something wrong with people,” I whined and laid my head on her shoulder, nodding in the direction of the four guests lined up in beach chairs at the opposite end of the driveway.

  One of them motioned for Joseph and Svetlana to join them. The sexy blond was far more popular with the guests than Joseph. They always made it clear that any invitation included Svet and that he shouldn’t leave her home by herself.

  Fab took my hand and dragged me over to the Hummer. “You need to change your clothes. All the blood makes you looked unhinged, and it doesn’t help that your hair is a wild mess today.” She fluffed the ends, frowning and making a face.

  It had been my idea to keep a change of clothes in the back of the SUV for those “you never know” moments, like the current one. I peeled off my skirt behind the open driver’s door and swapped it for sweat shorts. Having left my t-shirt with Crum, I ditched my bloody bra and finagled my top over my head carefully, in case I had blood in my hair, not wanting to get it on my clean shirt. I rolled my stained clothes into a ball and stuffed them in the back corner of the SUV.

  Fab had stood watch while I changed, noting the comings and goings. “Hurry,” she whispered. “We need to get out of here before the deputy over there tells us we can’t go anywhere.”

  “We can’t. We’re witnesses. They’ll arrest us.”

  Fab switched her focus to the building next door. “Which one of those units is Starletta’s? ‘St,’ Crum said—obviously Starletta. But why would she stab Crum? Mac, I’d understand; Starletta hates her.”

  “You really think it’s her?”

  “It’s a good place to start, and she fits the crazy part.”

  “We need to text the guys.”

  “After.” Fab shook her head, giving the idea no thought. “We don’t know anything yet. Might turn out to be nothing.”

  “They might buy that excuse. Probably not. If they pitch a fit, I’m blaming you. I’ll say I was traumatized and only did what you told me.” I returned her scowl with one of my own.

  I followed Fab, who scooted through the opening in the hedge, made sure the coast was clear, and signaled to me. A young guy was skateboarding down the driveway of the apartment building next door. I recognized him from The Grill restaurant, where he worked.

  Fab flagged him down. “Which one does Starletta live in? She’s not answering her phone.”

  He pointed. “Upstairs, back one on this side.” He flew out into the street and off down the middle of it.

  “I think we should knock first.” I tugged on the back of her shirt as we walked up the stairs. “If we kick the door down or shoot the lock off, she could have us arrested. And would. I’m not on her favorite-person list either.”

  “You let me handle this,” Fab said in her superior tone, which made me smile. She slipped her pick out once again, along with her latex gloves, and nudged me to put mine on. She picked the lock quickly and quietly pushed the door open. Empty.

  It was a small, one-room efficiency, and it wouldn’t be hard to spot someone if they were there. Starletta could have hidden in the bathroom, perhaps, but the door was open. She kept it neat and clean, the bed covered in colorful sheets. There was a strip kitchen, the counters clear, and one oversized chair in front of a television with rabbit ears.

  The desk and chair in the corner drew our attention, and we stared in open-mouthed shock. Hanging on the wall was a bulletin board covered with newspaper stories about all the recent murders, along with pictures of the deceased that had been cut out with a jagged instrument, probably the serrated knife that affixed several other articles in place. Lined up along the bottom were candid color photographs of the year-round tenants of The Cottages, plus Mac, Fab, and myself. Bullseyes on every face and a knife in the throat of Mac’s picture.

  “This picture makes me look fat, don’t you think?” Fab leaned in to inspect it closely. “It’s not my best side.”

  “I’m fresh out of ‘you’re hot and sexy’ compliments.” My eyeroll behind her back was lost on her.

  “As much as I hate to admit this, for once we need to call in law enforcement. I don’t know what I expected, but not this.” Fab pointed at a picture on the board. “This is the dude from The Cottages trash.” She flicked up the photo to show the post mortem close-up underneath, then tapped another snapshot. “This one was found at Jake’s.”

  It took everything in me not to turn and run out the door. “We found the serial killer?” I didn’t want to believe that the pictures of the men were all of the unsolved murders. Maybe Starletta was just a weirdo following the cases. But the glossy pictures did not come from any newspaper, and where could she have gotten them? “It’s unusual for a serial killer to be a woman; this will make headlines.”

  Fab pulled out her phone and photographed every item on the wall and desk, then walked around, snapping pictures of every inch of the room. “Got a burner phone in the office?” she asked.

  I nodded. Mac always kept a couple of throwaway phones on hand, charged and ready.

  “We’ll leave the door ajar, giving the deputies cause to enter. When we get to the office, I’ll call 911 and report hearing screams.” She motioned for me to follow.

  Fab led me on a silent trek down the back stairs and along a footpath that ran along the rear of the building. Stepping around trashcans, we reached the end and squeezed through an opening in the fence into the driveway of the house next door, then cut across the street and
down a weed-strewn path. Coming out on the next street over, we looped around and through a grove of eight-foot-high banana plants and back to the office.

  I breathed a sigh of relief that no one had spotted us trespassing, triggering another emergency call. So far, no sirens in the distance.

  I stole Fab’s space on the couch and stretched out. She found a pre-charged phone on the shelf and made the anonymous 911 call. She hung up and handed me a bottle of cold water. Just then, someone banged on the office door. I put a finger to my lips, but Fab shook her head and opened the door. An officer I hadn’t seen before stood there. I breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn’t Kevin.

  “Madison Westin?” he asked Fab. “Deputy Walker.”

  Fab pointed to me.

  “I need to ask you a few questions.”

  I appreciated his calm demeanor and that the first thing he said wasn’t, ’Did you stab Crum?’ “Can we do it in here?” I asked. “I’m feeling a little faint. Would you like a cold water or soda?” I was overplaying the drama, but I felt safer inside.

  I had just finished relating the details about finding Crum when a siren raced by the window, barely clearing the property before it shut off. More guests. Fab and I exchanged raised eyebrows. That was a fast response to her call; law enforcement wasn’t wasting any time.

  Deputy Walker excused himself, saying, “I’ll be right back.”

  Fab hustled to the window, lifting the blinds. “There are two squad cars parked in front of the building next door.”

  “Where do we start? Mac left and took nothing. Based on the knife stuck in Mac’s picture, she might not even be alive. On the other hand, other than the pics of the dead people—already-dead people, I mean—everyone else on that board is still alive and well.”

  “You’re Dickie-pale.” Fab felt my forehead, then pushed my legs over and sat down.

  “That was mean.” Dickie’s skin tone could easily be described as pasty, a lack of color that I still found creepy. “We have to find Mac, and I mean alive and not dead.” I grabbed one of the throw pillows and hugged it to my chest.

  “If Mac were dead, the deputy probably would’ve mentioned it. But then, only if the body has already turned up. For now, we’re going on the assumption that Mac’s still breathing.”

  “Starletta’s display might not mean anything other than that she has a fascination with unsolved murders. No way she could hoist a body into a dumpster by herself. Maybe we’re on a goose chase.”

  “We need to warn the guys to be on the lookout. Your house is the only one of your properties that hasn’t been used as a dumping ground.” Fab was back on her feet, pacing the room.

  “What do we do if Starletta shows back up? Pretend we didn’t snoop around her place? If she sees the police cars out front, she’s apt to make a run for it. What does she have to lose? Unless she’s innocent.” I wanted to close my eyes and block out the day.

  “Sitting here doing nothing isn’t going to help find her anytime soon. Starletta may be our only link to Mac. We have to find her before the cops take her in for questioning, and they will put an APB out on her once they get a look at her wall.” Fab ignored my scathing look. “You’re forcing me to come up with a plan.”

  I squeezed my eyes tighter, wanting to stick my fingers in my ears.

  “First stop: Mac’s house. We’ll check out that murder scene ourselves. What about her ex?”

  “That’s a dead end. The marital house got sold, and they split the proceeds; he’s moved to a new place with his barely legal girlfriend.” I rolled on my side. “Bet you your idea comes with police tape, and you know how law enforcement hates it when you ignore the keep-out warning.” I handed over her phone, which had fallen out on the couch cushion. “Forward the display of Starletta’s photography skills to the guys and include a ‘we’re fine’ message. The pic that woman took of me… I had no idea she was anywhere close by. That creeps me out.”

  I’d only just hit send when my phone rang from where I’d left it on the desk. I flinched at the ring tone—Creole’s. He’d found out that we hadn’t texted, telling him of our new destination. I held out my hand, and Fab slapped it into my palm.

  Not giving me a second to say hello, Creole boomed, “Damn it! You better be okay, or I’m wringing your neck.”

  Fab rubbed her ears, laughed, and mouthed, “Say hi to Creole.”

  “I’m fine,” I whispered and related the details of our breaking and entering next door. I told him that I was lying on the couch, awaiting the return of the deputy, not wanting to risk arrest. I hoped that would earn me points with my irate boyfriend. “If you look at the pics Fab sent you in order, it’ll be like a tour. Girlfriend is very organized about her picture-taking.”

  Fab waved and slipped out the door.

  “You should have called before you entered whack-job’s apartment.”

  “It was all so shocking, we didn’t think about it.” That part was true.

  “You’re coming straight home after you finish answering questions.”

  I knew an order when I heard one. “I want to stop by the hospital and check on Crum.” I heard Creole’s sigh.

  “Call and inquire about him first. He might be in surgery or just out and not his obnoxious self and ready for visitors.”

  “I’ll call Shirl and remind her to keep me posted on his condition and let me know when I can go and say hello.”

  “Do I need to come get you?” Creole grouched.

  “What’s your professional opinion? You deal with lowlifes all day long.”

  Creole didn’t answer right away, which had me worried. “I think you found the serial killer. As for Mac, my guess is Crum’s last words, coupled with the knife in her picture, mean she’s in trouble. Which means that you two need to let law enforcement do their job. Go home; I’ll call a couple of my contacts.”

  A small detour wouldn’t hurt.

  “I can hear you thinking of ways to get hurt or worse. Promise me you’re going straight home.” Creole had clearly come to the end of his patience.

  “That’s the plan,” I reassured him.

  Fab opened the door and slipped back inside as I hung up. “Talked to Joseph. He was unhelpful.” She shook her head in disgust. “Called Shirl. Crum’s out of surgery, in stable but serious condition. She’ll call as soon as he wakes up.”

  “Did you ask about Mac?”

  “Of course.” Fab sighed out her frustration. “Here and her house are the only places she’d hide out, which Shirl assured me that Mac would not do. The only way she’d kill someone is if it was self-defense. Shirl was quite certain there’s no relationship between Mac and Starletta. Mac can’t stand the woman, and the feeling is mutual.”

  Fab stopped to answer a knock on the door.

  Deputy Walker came back in, made himself comfortable in one of the chairs, and started his questioning, mostly about finding Crum. Then he switched to Starletta Wells and did I know her and what did I know. He wanted a run-down on the area in general and who lived where. He said he’d just transferred in and wanted to catch up.

  Short straw. I filled him in on everything I knew about the neighbors, most of whom minded their own business and stayed out of trouble. I also handed him a card for Jake’s and told him to stop by the bar for the law enforcement discount—which meant free, but I didn’t want to suck up too much.

  Finally, he turned to Fab. “You have anything to contribute?”

  I answered for her. “She’s not friendly. Unless you’re an old man.”

  Fab flashed a slightly deranged smile and shook her head.

  The deputy checked her out from head to toe, then turned back and handed me his card. “You think of anything, call me.”

  Chapter 36

  Fab swerved to miss a car that shot through the stop sign. “We’re going to drive by Mac’s, check it out for ourselves, and possibly catch a clue that someone might have missed. And if that doesn’t work, we’re out of options. I know you promise
d that we’d go straight home, but the guys will never know about a little detour.”

  When was she going to learn that they find out everything?

  Several turns later, Fab slowly circled Mac’s street. There was no sign of activity anywhere on the block. The yellow police tape strung across the driveway was noticeable a block away.

  “Look.” I twirled my finger, twisting in my seat as we drove by the house. “Right there in front. I’m sure that’s Starletta’s lowrider Impala. No one else around here drives that particular eyesore.”

  Fab doubled around the block and pulled into a vacant space at the curb. She glanced at me and said, “We’ll walk.”

  “Hold on a second.” I grabbed her sleeve. “Why would Starletta be here? This doesn’t make any sense. It’s one of the first places the cops will check when looking for Mac.”

  “We’ll check out Mac’s, then the neighborhood. Maybe we’ll luck out and find someone sitting on their porch. And hopefully get the kind of person that knows every time their neighbor sneezes. Mac probably knows all of them, so that could work in our favor.” As we neared Mac’s place, Fab sidled up next to me. “Pay attention. Last thing we want is to get caught off guard. Starletta is dangerous. You watch the street, and I’ll check the place out. If I’m not back in two, shoot your way in and try not to hit me.”

  If Starletta’s in there, we call 911. Fab crept down the side of the house and around the back, out of sight.

  I barely had a chance to give the block a once-over, checking for a porch-sitter, before Fab appeared at the far corner of the house, finger over her lips, and motioned me forward.

  “Mac and Starletta are both in the living room. Mac’s hands are bound, and she has a black eye and marks on her cheeks. Starletta is pacing frantically back and forth, wringing her hands, a gun stuffed down the front of her jeans. The window’s cracked open, but I couldn’t make out her mumbling, only that she’s becoming more agitated. It sounded like she was arguing with herself. I can’t imagine what ramblings are going on inside her head—the woman reeks of desperation. Starletta is on the edge; on some level, she knows she’s compromised her killing spree. Anything could set her off. We’ve got to get Mac out of there.”