I turned up my nose. “You need to get some social skills.” Fab was right. I’m not sure why, but I could be minding my own business and a random person would spill intimate details of their life into my ear.
Fab kicked the office door open. “Feet off the desk, that’s not professional,” she barked at Mac Lane, the manager.
Mac, a curvy middle-aged woman, had on her favorite light-up tennis shoes and was dressed in an unfashionable pair of culottes and a wife-beater shirt. Energy drink-addicted, she noisily slurped every last drop and threw the can across the room into the trash. I never regretted hiring her. She was tough, ballsy, and not afraid to use her Beretta to rid the property of undesirables.
“Just filled the refrigerator.” She put a fresh piece of bubble gum into her mouth, flinging the paper wrap in the direction of the trash, though it missed by a mile. “How was the bogus wedding trip?”
“Toe-curling, excruciatingly amazing,” I sighed. “And if you tell anyone, you’re fired.”
I plopped down onto a chair in front of the desk. Fab claimed the couch, stretching out and shoving pillows under her head. I redecorated the office tropical island style—rattan furniture covered in shades of green, with bright splashes of tangerine and cream. Office rule: A full snack bowl topped off with crackers, cookies, and mini candy bars.
Mac banged her feet against the desk, sending the running lights racing around the bottom of her shoes. The problem was that only the left one worked. “I knew Creole would be hot.” She frowned, staring at her shoe. “You’re a little skimpy on the details.”
Fab snickered from the couch.
I changed the subject. “Who’s the scurve at the curb?”
“Did you get a close-up look?” Mac crossed herself. “He’s creepy looking—his face scarred up from one too many fights. The most impressive one runs from his ear to the side of his mouth. Looks like he sewed it up himself. And he has mean, narrow, beady eyes. Heard him laugh once and it sent shivers up my spine.”
“Please, tell me you didn’t rent to him.” If she said yes, I’d need aspirin.
“Hell no!” Mac’s eyebrows came together in a scowl as she said it. “He doesn’t even live in the neighborhood, I checked. That’s Jami’s boyfriend, claims to work construction but I don’t believe him. He drives her to every job and stands guard.”
Jami had been the gardener since right after I took over management of the property. She rode up one day on her bicycle and insisted I didn’t know anything about planting; turns out there’s more to it than throwing a plant in a hole and covering it with dirt. She conducted her business from the back of her bicycle, carrying small tools around in its dual baskets. My green thumb was not a match for my father’s, I should have paid more attention all those times I followed him around his garden. Now I excelled at lugging plants home from the nursery with instructions for where to plant them. Jami was always outgoing and friendly but had two distinct personalities: the responsible one that showed up to her accounts every day and the other one, a hard partier by night.
“What happened to her husband?” I had met the man a few times. He was older than she was––I suspected he provided stability. He had a good sense of humor, which sold me.
Mac stuck her pen in the large bubble she’d blown and the sticky mess covered part of her mouth, a piece sticking to her brown hair. “She traded down, apparently he wasn’t exciting enough. She needs to be careful with this more sparkly model.”
I glared at Mac when she brought her shoe down hard on the desk again.
“Damn. I may never find another pair like these.” Mac patted her shoes.
Interrupted by a knock, Fab reached out and turned the knob, giving the door a shove.
Jami stood in the doorway in her signature, barely covering anything short-overalls, her hot pink hair pulled into a ponytail sticking out of the top of her head, wearing a T-shirt advertising her skills, and bathed in sweat. The last time I’d seen her, her hair screamed fluorescent red.
“I hate to ask,” she said, shuffling from one foot to the other, “but can I get a pay advance, we’re getting kicked out of our trailer?”
I raised my eyebrows. “I thought you and your husband lived in an apartment.”
“I got tired of being a boring vanilla wife.” She twisted a pink lock of hair around her finger. “I packed my clothes one day while he was at work and left a note.”
Ouch! “I’ll help any way I can,” I said. I liked her, but she made terrible decisions.
Jami looked around the room and back at me. “If you’d let me stay at the Trailer Court, I wouldn’t need much of an advance.”
Fab burst out laughing.
The estate of Gus Ivers had just settled. We’d been business partners for a short time, and his bequest left me the owner of an entire block of commercial real estate, except the portion I already owned, Jake’s. Most of it run down and in need of repair.
“The place is a dump and I haven’t decided what I’m going to do with it yet,” I told her. “There’s only one person living there and he has a bad attitude.” Becoming a slumlord was not in my future.
“I know the professor.” Jami smiled. “Caught him prowling around the yard of another client, stealing apples. Now I take him a bag at least once a week.”
“A professor? Why am I the last to know?” Mac smacked her gum. “What’s he like?”
“He’s a piece of weirdness in underwear,” Fab said, and rolled her eyes.
Jami gave Fab a dirty look. “He’s really large and pants are too confining.”
Fab started laughing again, rolled on her side, and almost fell off the couch.
Mac looked at Jami. “How would you know?”
“One night after a few beers and chasers I asked him.” Jami pulled out her phone that had just beeped, read the message, and turned it off.
I held up my hands. “Stop. You can have the advance and I’d like to meet your new boyfriend.”
She pulled on my arm, walking me over to the Vega. The back seat had been removed, and suitcases were piled up. The man reclined back, his head blocked from view by the steering wheel. He looked me over and then hung his head out the window and spit a wad of chew, barely missing my foot.
“Edsel, honey, this is Madison. She owns The Cottages.”
“It’s Ed!” he snapped at her. “Don’t forget again.” His nostrils flared with anger, eyes dark pinpoints.
Oh, great! There went the hairs on the back of my neck, standing straight up. I’d bet one of his body parts he was full-on trouble. Another policy of mine: Never wager one of my own body parts. My radar was on high alert. This man didn’t appear to have a single redeeming trait—I never wanted to end up anywhere alone with him.
I stepped back. “Ed…”
“Ed Winer.” Jami ran her fingers down his cheek, an adoring look on her face. “She’s going to let us stay at the Trailer Court.”
Ed smacked his lips together, hanging on to his anger, and stuck out his long tunnel tongue, running it slowly around his lips. He never took his eyes off me, continuing to stare. I reached under my boxy top in the back and patted my Glock reassuringly. “You need any man work done, give me a call.” He winked.
Jami waved. “I have to run to my next job, but I’ll be back this afternoon,” she said, and jumped into the passenger side.
“Mac will be back from the bank by then,” I told her. I didn’t want anyone to know we kept cash on the premises.
People around here preferred to be paid in cash; they couldn’t qualify for bank accounts and check-cashing places charged loan shark rates. We issued a check, had them endorse, and then handed over cash.
Edsel turned the key and the loud backfire made me jump. I walked slowly back to the office, keeping an eye on the Vega as it rumbled down the street. Already it was a block away and could still be heard.
“Run a check on Edsel Winer.” I grabbed the bottle of water from Fab’s outstretched hand. “I’ve got a real bad feeling about
him. Reminds me of a tenant who stayed here briefly under an assumed name. The cops arrived to pick him up on an outstanding warrant and he eluded them, escaped down the beach. Under no circumstances can those two move into the Trailer Court. Tell Jami the place was red-tagged and give her extra money.”
“I’ll ask around about Ed, and hit up a lowlife or two; I know one I can buy off with a 12-pack. If they don’t know the man then they can get the information,” Mac said.
I rolled my neck around trying to release the kinks and it didn’t work.
“Are Miss January and Joseph still alive?”
The two tenants requiring a ton of patience came with the property, tenants of my aunt’s, and I had a soft spot for both of them. They’d both been diagnosed with cancer and were served death sentences by doctors a couple of years ago, but they flipped the medical profession the bird and enjoyed life to the fullest, boozing and smoking.
“Joseph wants to marry Svetlana, even though I told him it isn’t legal.” Mac snorted. “He copped a ’tude and pulled the sick-old-man card, telling me I made stuff up to make him feel worse. He ran to Shirl and she fawned over him until he felt better.”
I groaned. “Drive Svet and Joseph to the courthouse and let the clerk tell him he can’t marry an inflatable latex woman.”
I relaxed my rule about locals and had allowed Shirl to stay for a few days and, of course, it became permanent. Best thing that could have happened; The Cottages now had its very own medical professional. She worked at Tarpon Cove hospital as a highly respected R.N.
I shook my finger at Mac. “Since she’s your best friend, you need to tell Shirl that she’s never allowed to move. She sneaks off and I’ll send Fab after her.”
Both Mac and Shirl had a girl crush on Fab and never complained about her gruff attitude. They loved when she called for favors. I knew Fab availed herself of Mac’s lowlife black book—which, in her case, was purple with stickers—for information on cases.
Mac pulled her gum out of her mouth, stretching it out as far as it would go, and then thankfully threw it in the trash. “Miss January’s feeling a little down. Her drunken girlfriend, Ruby, is home sick, so she has no one to make a spectacle of herself with in public. Hence, no arrests while you were gone.”
Nothing changed since I left. “Can you find a muscley guy with a car for tonight? He meets us here”—I looked at Fab and she nodded—“follows us to the airport, schleps luggage, and leaves. Negotiate an hourly rate and let him know there’ll be more waiting time than actual work. And not one word of complaint that there’s not much to do.”
“Try for someone normal,” Fab spoke up. “At least no drunks.”
“Come on, Girl Wonder, I’m hungry.” I pulled on Fab’s arm. “I can drive.”
She gave me a dirty look and wiggled her way out the door. Mac and I laughed.
Chapter 4
Dragging a chaise poolside, I grabbed a colorful beach towel and lay back, coffee in hand. There was originally a small patch of grass that ran alongside the house, but I had it dug out and replaced with bricks. My brother and I had spent summers with our aunt Elizabeth and, together, we’d search out new tropical flowers for the garden. Slowly, I’d repainted the pots a variety of art deco colors, and replanted and mulched them with seashells from the local beach. Occasionally, I would cheat and buy a sack of shells from The Shack. When having a crappy day, I found gardening a great way to sweat out my I-hate-everything attitude.
I dove into the water. Hating traditional exercise, I swam, biked, and walked the beach. After huffing out twenty-five laps, I relaxed on one of the plastic blow-up rings that floated nearby. The sound of an engine revving—my newest ringtone—interrupted my peaceful moment. Someone was blowing up my cell phone before I’d consumed my morning coffee. Multiple calls this early meant trouble of some kind.
Slowly, I made my way up the pool steps, wrapping a towel around my waist while searching for my phone.
“How did the job go the other night?” Didier asked, and winked.
He sat, feet up, in the most coveted chair in the living room because it was so comfortable, in shorts and a T-shirt that stretched across his well-defined abs, his jet black hair a mess. With Jazz stretched out along his thigh, Didier was immersed in his laptop.
“Your girlfriend didn’t pull her gun once.” I smiled. “So uneventful it was hard to believe the job came from Brick.”
Fab had left the house early to go meet with one of her smarmier clients. She needed to dump those accounts since she rarely escaped unscathed. If Didier knew how many times she had to jump out windows, he would put a stop to it.
My phone revved again, and I struggled not to hit the ignore button. “What’s up, Mac?”
“Just want to know what to do with the dead body in the shed? The old man next door already called the sheriff, almost fell off his ladder when the head kind of fell out. I’m expecting lights and sirens soon.”
I sunk down onto the barstool. “The what?”
“You remember loser Edsel Winer? Well, he’s dead in the shed––that rhymes by the way.” Her deranged little laugh indicated she was ready to go home and have a drink. “Found him just inside the door with his head bashed in, his face uglier than before, as if that were possible.”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “Do not touch anything. I’m on my way.” I threw my phone down and raced toward the stairs. “I have to get to The Cottages,” I yelled to Didier.
* * *
I dressed in my uniform—skirt and T-shirt—in less than five minutes and flew out the door. Normally, I drove like an old woman, but in case of duress, I could stomp on the accelerator with the best of them. Two sheriff cars blew by me at the signal, so I followed discreetly and arrived right behind them.
The little house across the street was vacant again, the latest round of drunks evicted. I often parked in their driveway and sat on the front porch, watching the drama unfold on my own property. Kevin and his partner, Ivy, stood just outside my shed. I got off on the wrong foot with Kevin’s old partner and was determined it would not happen with Officer Ivy.
“Did the deceased live here?” Kevin asked as I joined them. “Notice my first question wasn’t ‘Did you kill him?’” He looked at his partner. “Don’t get me wrong, she’s shot a few people, but she hasn’t murdered anyone, yet.”
“And to think I had plans to invite you to the next family barbeque,” I said. I wanted to give him the finger but didn’t think it would promote a harmonious relationship. “And no, he didn’t live here, but he had a relationship with the gardener.”
“Someone wasn’t very happy with him. His brains were beaten in using your shovel,” Ivy commented, keeping an eye on the old man from next door as he strolled by yelling at himself. “I assume it’s yours, since it’s covered in blood and lying next to the deceased.”
“If Mac needs a lawyer, he’s in court right now but will be calling shortly.” On the way over, I called Cruz’s office and his assistant told me court would be in recess soon and she’d send a message.
“If Mac wanted him dead, she’d have shot him.” Kevin waved to the coroner wagon.
“You’re new here, Ivy. There are drinks and junk snacks in the office, nothing healthy,” I said, and pointed to the door.
“I was just telling her to get used to stopping by this property.” Kevin pursed his lips, arms folded across his chest.
“Edsel showed up here a couple of days ago, not enough time to become friendly with anyone. So why kill him? Joseph could find someone who knew him but don’t be surprised if he doesn’t answer the door. I can go with you, threaten him if he doesn’t.”
Ivy’s face turned chilly and she said, “With what?”
“No more rides home in the middle of the night after being released from incarceration.”
She laughed.
The coroner wheeled a gurney over to the shed. I didn’t want to be standing here when they hauled his body out––cove
red or not. “I’ll be in the office.”
I found Mac lying on the couch when I opened the door. “You okay?”
She lifted her head. “I called Shirl and she’s bringing take-out and beer.” She and Shirl met in high school and had remained best friends. “There’s more to this story.”
I sat behind her desk for a change. “I’m afraid to ask.”
“You want to see dead Edsel?” She took out her cell phone.
“You didn’t!” I gasped.
“Don’t tell. It might be illegal or something. You know what else? The shed had been plucked clean, miscellaneous tools and bags of potting soil were all that were left; no lawnmower, blower, or other equipment.”
I finally sold the riding lawn mower after it had been stolen, pawned, and crashed in practice for a race. Besides, the two little grass strips we currently had weren’t big enough for the mammoth mower.
“I’ll tell Kevin so that I can get a report number in case someone commits a felony with the yard tools. Do you think Dead Ed interrupted a robbery? Why would he come here by himself?”
Thank goodness we both have alibis.
“He’s a first-class dirtball. Got the background check back and it was the worst I’ve ever seen. I asked around quietly about his life in the Cove, not wanting the snooping trail to lead back to me.” Mac got up and pulled the aspirin bottle out of the drawer.
“I hope Jami’s okay.” I picked up my phone and called her number, which went straight to voicemail. “Hit the highlights of the report.”
“He’s a convicted sex offender, drug dealer, and has pending charges of assault and battery.”
“Wow! I wonder if Jami knew?”
Mac looked at some notes she’d scribbled. “He’s forty and, according to his rap sheet, was recently released from prison where he’s spent most of his life. Originally he’d been sentenced to life for aggravated kidnap and rape, but the parole board felt sorry for him since he committed the crime at sixteen, so they reduced his sentence to time served for a total of fifteen years.”
Deborah Brown - Madison Westin 06 - Revenge in Paradise Page 3
