Lottery in Paradise (Florida Keys Mystery Series Book 11)

by Deborah Brown

  In all-business mode, Fab ordered, “Get up. We can’t be late.”

  Noticing her tuxedo uniform, I grumbled, “Don’t want to go.”

  Fab yanked the sheet off. “Fifteen minutes. Your uniform is lying over the chair.” She stomped out of the room.

  Somehow, I managed to shower and get dressed and downstairs in fourteen minutes. Fab’s uniform fit her far better than mine did me. I ignored the dumpy ensemble when checking myself out in the mirror. Fab wore a hat, another in her hand that she held out.

  “Screw the hat; not wearing it.” I didn’t share that hats made my head sweat.

  Climbing into the SUV, I demanded we stop for lattes, preferably at the Bakery Café.

  Fab gave me the once-over, as though purchasing cattle from an auction. I half expected her to ask to check my teeth.

  “Too bad we didn’t have time to get your tux tailored,” she purred insincerely. “I had one of my own hanging in the closet.”

  If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t believe they just happened to have a tuxedo handy.

  Fab detoured to the condos, leaving the SUV parked underground, trading it for the limousine. I checked it out. There was leather seating throughout, and the back had S-shaped benches that would seat a gazillion. I checked the owner’s manual, which said “occupancy 20.” The bar, sink, and refrigerator area was built on top of a large aquarium with a sea-life background that held a few real fish. The ceiling had been fitted with flashing lights that, when turned on, gave it the ambience of a disco.

  Having sucked down most of my coffee, my attitude improved. I stopped staring out the passenger window and instead closed my eyes and leaned my forehead against the window, the drive up the Interstate boring so far. Fab hadn’t suggested an overnight bag, so I assumed we would be staying within state lines.

  I turned my head slightly. “So far, I haven’t gotten one detail about this job.” I did know that were headed north.

  “You’re lucky I speak to you at all.”

  “Yes, I know that.” I smiled at her scowl.

  “We’re picking up the daughter of one of my clients. She’s away at college, and I’m driving her and a friend home for break.”

  “Wouldn’t it be cheaper to pay for airline tickets than gas for this monstrous thing plus your rate, whatever that is? Another client rolling in dough, who I’m sure could afford that option.” As many times as I’d been backup, I knew zilch about her secret clients. At one time, I’d thought she made them up. I revised my opinion after I had to come to the rescue a couple of times. “Throw in my expenses too.”

  “I pay you well.”

  “You never pay me.”

  “You don’t pay either.”

  Point taken.

  “We’re picking up…” Fab shifted, reaching into her pants pocket and removing a sticky note. “…Chrissy Westmont and her friend Blaise in front of their sorority house at the University of Tampa.”

  For once, when Fab was ready to exit the freeway, she slowed down and used the blinker, not the horn. In fact, she’d driven just above the speed limit the entire way.

  “I’ll do the talking,” Fab said. Several turns later, she pulled up in front of a two-story brick house in a well-manicured neighborhood.

  “I’ll hang out here.”

  “You’re getting out. We’re going to look professional, which means you need to put your shoes back on.” She jabbed her finger in the direction of my feet.

  The woman once again sported a pair of heels, though not in nosebleed territory like her stilettos. I swore she could do a back flip and land on her pointy toed, spiked heels. I’d originally held up a pair of tennis shoes for her approval, but her look of disgust was priceless, so I exchanged them for a pair of flats.

  The walkway up to the Old Colonial home was littered with luggage. A bubbly blonde with shoulder-length hair introduced herself as Chrissy and informed Fab that it all had to be loaded in the back. “Try not to take any of our seating room.”

  I silently counted and wondered how two girls could come up with twenty-four pieces of luggage and where they stored it when it was empty.

  Fab’s eyes narrowed, but Chrissy didn’t seem to notice. Fab motioned for me to join her off to one side.

  “I don’t suppose you packed some kind of luggage cart?” I asked. When she shook her head, I said, “Let’s hope they all have wheels. You do know that if I had heels on, you’d be schlepping bags by yourself?”

  Her look of disgust, which burned into the luggage, didn’t escape me.

  As it turned out, most of the bags had wheels. I rolled them to the road, and Fab heaved them in, not giving a damn about the best use of the space. The remaining bags were heavy, and I left them for Fab. The problem was we had run out of room.

  “Where did Chrissy go?” Fab demanded.

  “She’s your client. You should keep better track of her.”

  Fab’s heels clicked impatiently up the walkway, where she pounded on the door and alternated with the bell.

  The door opened wide, and a line of girls trotted out, following Chrissy, who led the way to the limo. She opened the door and ushered the giggling females inside. My count ended at ten! Ten coiffed, designer-clad college girls, mostly blondes, a brunette or two had snuck in. All with overly large shoulder bags that would have to be held on their laps or on the floor between their feet.

  I rearranged the trunk to maximize the limited space and had to come up with a few creative storage ideas, which also meant taking away a small amount of leg room from the inside.

  At first, I didn’t think Fab would close the door, assuming even she knew that it was part of her job. I motioned to her, laughed, and ran around to my side. The plexiglass privacy screen was still down, and I heard Chrissy apologizing to her friends.

  “I thought it would be fun to have a woman driver, but the downside is that they can’t handle the luggage.” She pointed to the bags sharing their space. “I’ll tell Daddy not to pay the bill. That woman should have been told the Westmonts demand exemplary service.”

  Fab had slid behind the wheel in time to hear her. She ground her teeth and stared straight ahead.

  I wasn’t sure if Chrissy knew that her audience had grown by two, but judging by her covert glance, she did. She moved to the front, precise in her movements, and before pushing the button to raise the screen, said to Fab, “If you have something important to say, knock first or call my cell phone; we don’t wish to be disturbed.”

  I’d already grown tired of her snotty attitude. “The order was for two girls,” I said, which I hoped served as a subtle reminder that it wasn’t our fault they’d exceeded the baggage limits. “Should we call and get an okay from your father?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Chrissy snapped. “Daddy loves it when I bring friends home.” She closed the window.

  “Thanks for standing up to her.” Fab started the engine, pulling away from the curb. “Until we get back to Miami, we’ll have minimal contact. Can’t imagine Chrissy and her friends are going to want to hang out at gas stations, and those are the only stops we’ll be making.”

  People made fun of my hair-tingling premonitions, but they’d never let me down. “I’ve got a headache.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Fab signaled, arriving at the ramp to the Interstate. One of the girls had located the stereo system, and music blared through the speakers, so loud that the plexiglass rattled.

  The intercom buzzed. “Bathroom break,” one of the girls shouted.

  “I’ll pump the gas; you cut the wires to everything,” I said.

  Fab had just crossed the county line. She veered off the freeway and into the first gas station. Well, the only one, next to a deserted hamburger stand. The rest of the block was weeds. The rundown place charged “ha ha, we’re the only station around” prices. On the side of building hung a crudely lettered “Bathroom” sign with an arrow.

  “I’d rather pee on the side of the road.”
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  Fab flashed her demented smile. The princesses in the back had met their match, but unfortunately, even if Fab won the war, she’d wind up being the loser.

  “We’re here,” Fab announced over the intercom. “Might as well fill up.” She stepped out from behind the wheel and sauntered around to the other side of the car.

  I powered down the window to offer my help, but catching sight of Chrissy, I hesitated. She faced the building, hands on hips, working herself into an apoplectic state, her friend Blaise at her side.

  Blaise marched up to Fab. “Is this your idea of a joke?” she hissed. “How dare you stop at a place like this? You don’t look stupid, but these days, it’s hard to tell. You should’ve taken us to a hotel.”

  Under normal circumstances, Fab would consider shooting her, or at the very least threatening her. To her credit, she maintained her cool. Even as a bystander, I was having a difficult time keeping my mouth shut.

  “In case you haven’t noticed, there’s not much out here. Unless you want to rent a cheap motel room, I suggest you pee now or get your clothes all wet.” Fab gave her a frozen glare.

  I beamed with pride; my friend had dropped a bodily function word. Now I’d be the one to remind her that such references were unladylike.

  “If you pee on the floor of the limo, you clean it up,” Fab went on. “Chrissy’s father will be picking up the tab for the damages, and I’ll be happy to tell him that you girls refused to use the bathroom.” Her eyes flashed a “don’t mess with me” warning.

  Blaise leaned in. “Bitch face.”

  To Fab’s credit, she didn’t flinch.

  I leaned halfway out the window. “Problem, ladies?”

  Blaise rolled her eyes and mumbled, “Another stupid one,” then stomped around to the other side.

  Half of the girls decided to brave the bathroom conditions and walked back to the car laughing and catcalling. They appeared to have been drinking. One had tucked a pint of spicy rum in the front of her barely butt-length skirt. I recognized the colorful label before she pulled it out and whisked it out of sight. She didn’t buy the bottle here—Florida had explicit liquor laws and prohibited its sale in gas stations.

  Fab stood ready to close the side door, and Blaise jerked on the handle. “Cut over to the coast; we’ve decided to have lunch in Ft. Lauderdale. You have a problem with that, call Chrissy’s dad.”

  “I’m not doing it,” Fab said as she got behind the wheel, slamming the door.

  “Calm down.” I handed her a cold coffee from the cooler bag I’d brought along. “We’ll just say we forgot. Besides, I think we have bigger problems.”

  “What?” Fab eased back onto the road.

  “They’ve been drinking, and a couple them are showing signs of being unsteady on their feet.” I looked in the rearview mirror in time to see one of the girls pull the drape across the plexiglass window. “Is the bar stocked with liquor?”

  “When I picked it up, I had to go through a checklist, and there wasn’t a bottle of anything back there, including anything in the refrigerator.”

  “I’m not a lawyer, but I know a few. If we get pulled over and they’re stinking drunk, or even smell like liquor, we’re in big trouble. They are under age.” I let out a long breath, trying not to let my anxiety run wild. “I hate jail and know you share the same sentiment.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “With no authority to stop them, we don’t have a lot of options. They’d laugh in our faces.” I paused. “Call your client and rat out his daughter. Let him deal with it.”

  Fab didn’t like that option.

  “Or pull over and demand they dump out their bottles, but I believe they’d call our bluff,” I said. “I vote for leaving them on the side of the road.”

  Fab smiled at that.

  “I’d need to know that Chrissy is drunk; Milton Westmont isn’t going to give a damn about the rest of the girls.”

  “We could lower the partition to eavesdrop, but they’d notice,” I said.

  “There’s an intercom button.” Fab pointed to the dashboard and flipped the button up. Rock music filled the cab, and she turned it off just as fast.

  An hour outside of Ft. Lauderdale, she took the turnoff onto a road that ran through a Wildlife Management area to the coast. A shortcut, according to the map. The girls had come prepared to party hard, not caring it wasn’t even noon yet. Those large totes of theirs held more than I’d imagined.

  I kept a steady watch through a gap in the drapes. Tired of gyrating around in their seats under the disco lights, they finally lowered the volume on the music. Fab flipped on the intercom, but it was still hard to make out their conversation.

  Blaise figured out how to open the sunroof, and several of them stood on the seats, heads hanging out the opening.

  Gunshots rang out.

  Caught off guard, Fab swerved, quickly regaining control.

  “You pay attention to the road,” I said. “I’ve got this.” Glock in hand, I lowered the divider and demanded, “Get. Down.”

  One girl tripped into another, who was hanging out the window. She swayed, a Baby Browning dropping to the floor. I recognized the model, my brother having one in his collection.

  “Put it away,” I yelled.

  The girl snatched it up, stuck it out the window, and fired several more shots.

  Blaise, armed with a handgun, joined the girl, firing indiscriminately.

  “I’m not telling you again,” I barked. “One more shot, and I’ll call Chrissy’s daddy. He might not give a damn about you, but he’s smart enough to know that his daughter will go to jail along with the rest of you.”

  Two of the girls whispered and snickered.

  Chrissy wobbled over and tugged on Blaise’s shorts, looking up and shaking her head.

  The drunkest of the lot, a redhead, took out a shelf of glasses with one shot and dropped her gun. “Oops, I had my finger on the trigger.” She covered her mouth.

  Only one girl took cover, wiggling under the bench; her dress rode up, bare butt hanging out.

  “Sit down.” I channeled Mother’s no-nonsense voice. “One of you is going to end up dead, and the rest of you will spend the rest of your lives in prison, and that’s if you escape the death penalty. Ten years is your life span if that happens. No mani/pedis, no designer shoes. Scratchy cotton and recycled shoes.” I made eye contact with each girl.

  They ignored me completely.

  “Last call,” I yelled. “Sit. Down.”

  Not a one of them moved.

  “Ride’s over. I’m calling the police.” I tapped Fab’s shoulder. “Pull over.”

  Fab screeched over to the side of the highway, slamming on the brakes and coming to a stop in a puff of black smoke.

  “My tummy aches,” one whimpered, clutching her stomach.

  Blaise pushed open the side door and directed two of the others. Each one grabbed an arm and hauled the sick one out, where she dropped to her hands and knees and emptied the contents of her stomach.

  “Retta, why are you always the one who ends up puking?” one of the girls asked unsympathetically.

  Fab got out and stood by the driver’s door, watching as the girls gathered and talked amongst themselves. I joined her.

  “I’m not going to jail,” I said to Fab, who nodded in agreement. I walked back around to the passenger side, leaned in and fished my phone out my purse, and texted Creole. I got in and rolled up the window.

  My phone rang almost immediately. I skipped hello and relayed the events.

  “Where are you?” Creole asked.

  Looking at the GPS, I gave him our location.

  “Don’t move. You did the right thing, pulling over. I’ll call in a favor and send an officer your way. I’ll request that he scare the devil out of those spoiled girls. Then you have Fab hightail it to their destination, no stopping.”

  “Love you,” I said before we hung up.

  Fab, who was sitting with her butt on t
he seat, feet on the ground, made a gagging noise.

  Blaise pressed her face to the passenger side window and banged on the glass.

  “Ignore her,” I said to Fab, hurriedly relating Creole’s side of the conversation. “You’re pretty much screwed.” I knew she wouldn’t accept it lying down. “You’ve got choices to make, and my advice, unsolicited as it is, is to put yourself first. It’s only money, and you have plenty of that already.”

  Thanks to her ex-husband, whose name was never mentioned. He was a gigantic… Well, not a nice man, a criminal in fact, but he did leave her well provided for.

  “That’s enough,” Fab yelled. Chrissy had joined her friend in licking the windshield and banging on the glass. Laughter overcame them, and they paused for five seconds, then started up again.

  I reached for Fab’s arm, but she brushed me off and launched her body out of the limo. Fab rounded the front of the car and, in one move, dumped Blaise onto the dirt. Chrissy followed.

  “Knock it off, you two,” Fab said icily.

  “You’re buying me new pants,” Chrissy whined, brushing her hands down her previously all-white outfit.

  I got out of the car. “Hold your breath.”

  Blaise stood and helped Chrissy to stand, looping their arms together, appearing united.

  “No more drinking,” I said.

  Unsteady on her feet, Chrissy confronted Fab. “You better not call the police. You do, and I’ll tell them you bought the liquor.”

  My phone rang, and I was happy to step away. “Tell me something good,” I said when I answered.

  “Officer Tarlow’s on his way,” Creole answered.

  “How do you know people out in the middle of nowhere?” I asked in awe.

  “Not me. The chief. I was with him when you called; he’s worse than Fab when it comes to eavesdropping. I could hardly say, ‘Mind your own business.’” Creole half-laughed. “Turns out he golfs with Chrissy’s father. The Westmont family is stinkin’ rich and well connected. The brat can expect a call from Daddy.”

  “You tell Mr. Chief Sir that I said, ‘Oh my gosh, thank you.’ And a big hug.”

  “No wonder he likes you; you know all the right things to say to stroke his ego.”