Lottery in Paradise (Florida Keys Mystery Series Book 11)

by Deborah Brown

  “Watch our backs, is that your advice?” I asked.

  “Why not tell us all this the other night? Or were you too busy mooching beer?” Fab asked.

  “You didn’t ask.”

  Didier unleashed some words in French that had Fab laughing.

  “I hope that wasn’t about my parentage. I come from good stock.” Casio puffed up. “Anything else is probably true.”

  “What is your working theory anyway? It better not be that one of us did it. I’m sick of hearing that.” When he didn’t immediately answer, I pointed to the entry. “Get out.”

  “I have to clean my plate.” Casio held up his fork. “Let’s face it, you don’t have the best reputation with law enforcement.”

  “You’re a useless waste of our time and food.” Fab glared.

  “None of you were ever on my list. Satisfied?” Casio leered at Fab. “Now that that’s cleared up, you’ll find that damn car for Brick and he can stop blowing up my phone.”

  “Did Brick report this to the police? I already know the answer is no, so why not?” I asked.

  “You know how the paperwork is.” Casio looked me straight in the eye, trying to sell that piece of fiction, then switched his attention to Phil. “I heard rumors of a side business you have going. Heads up, I may use you sometime. If you’re any part in solving this case, I can make sure you have plenty of clients when you hang out that lawyer shingle of yours. That’s if you’re not too picky. All your clients can’t be innocent.”

  I had forgotten Phil was still in the kitchen, she’d been so quiet. She had pulled a stool to the side of the island and listened to the exchange.

  Didier crossed his arms and glared at the detective as soon as he took his last bite of food.

  Casio downed his beer. “I don’t suppose there’s dessert?”

  “We don’t eat dessert,” I said dryly.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “Would you stop fidgeting and sit in your seat like a grownup?” Fab honked and cut around an old sedan that should have been using the far right lane.

  “Calm your shorts,” I said, rolling down the window and counting slowly to see how long it took for Fab to start complaining again. “Humph.” I loved the part of the drive through the top part of the Keys, all green and lush. It never lasted long enough, and we slowed, hitting the concrete jungle crawling with cars, more going south than towards Miami.

  “I don’t know what that means, and I don’t want to. Now roll up the window. Why do I have to keep reminding you that you’re not a dog?”

  “Why are you letting this meeting with Brick get to you? Not even the double latte has made a dent in your mood.” I picked up her cup and shook it.

  “He’s such a bastard.”

  “I get to be Didier today. Tsk.” That earned me a smile. “You can always say no. Whatever you decide – I’m in. Have a line in mind that you’re not going to cross. I’d suggest that you replicate your old relationship, where you deal only with him; forget any other interference, such as his so-called bodyguard. No miscues that way.”

  Fab slipped into a silent funk, concentrating on the road, gripping the steering wheel like a woman about to have a fit.

  After the third signal where she honked the instant the light turned green, I snapped, “Stop that. Or I’m going to drive.”

  “That will make me nauseous.”

  “You? What about me? I’m tired of these long drives. Hopefully, I won’t barf.”

  “You know better than to do that inside the car.”

  I tapped her shoulder, pointing out a police speed trap up ahead. She slowed to the speed limit or a little above and kept her eyes peeled as she maneuvered through traffic.

  Famosa Motors was located on a busy corner in an upscale part of South Miami. Brick specialized in pricey autos for sale and lease. He’d gotten away from cash rentals, as they’d turned out to be more trouble than they were worth. The cars typically had to be tracked down and recovered, generally in terrible shape.

  The traffic was moderate for an early weekday morning. Fab rocketed across the highway and into the parking lot, pulling up in front of the roll-up doors, which were closed. I scanned the parking lot and, upon completion of a car count, determined that Brick and his bodyguard were the only ones at their desks. The salesman didn’t show up for another hour, and even then, malingered around the parking lot, drinking coffee.

  “Take a deep breath,” I said to Fab. “There’s two of us. We can take Brick.”

  “Bring your tote; that way, you can get our junk food bag refilled. It’s been empty for a long time,” Fab said, as we got out of the SUV.

  “That’s because everyone knows that forbidden sweets don’t taste as good if you have to pay for them.”

  Fab looped her arm in mine.

  “We’re back,” I announced as we walked in the side door. “You don’t look happy to see us,” I said to Everly, noticing her pinched features.

  Everly Lynch was Brick’s receptionist/bodyguard/not sure and not asking. Her spiky hair was the same virulent shade of fluorescent red it had been the last time we met and her dress was just as skimpy.

  Brick stood in the picture window of his second-floor office, bulky frame on display, and beat on the glass. He motioned with his hand, breaking up the silent love fest. His bellow of “hurry it up” floated down the stairs.

  Brick waited in the doorway of his office. He hugged Fab and shot her a crooked grin. “Missed you. Happy you’re here.” He acknowledged me with a nod. “You too.”

  I settled into one of the massive leather chairs in front of his desk. Leaning forward, I emptied the candy bowl into my bag. So much for my usual handful. Fab gave me a thumbs up and perched on the ledge of the window overlooking most of the lot and the boulevard below. Brick grunted as he settled himself behind his desk, brushing back his dark hair.

  I perused his shelves and noticed he hadn’t added any new philanthropic awards, Cuban business dude of the year plaques, or trophies for his exploits in the boxing ring. For a shady fellow who owned a string of pawn shops, bail bonds offices, and recently added check cashing joints, plus his baby, the strip joint in Alligator Alley, he had an impeccable reputation. As long as he didn’t generate negative headlines, he’d retain his status. Although there had been more than one South Miami felon who, after a stint in the federal pen, was able to reclaim their social standing.

  Brick leaned sideways, reaching into the refrigerator, and then pushed water across the desk.

  He beat his fist on the blotter. “I want the damn car back.” He let out an exasperated sigh. Jerking open a side drawer, he tossed a file on his desk and took out the top document. “This is the car. Sweet baby.” He pushed it into my open hand.

  I glanced at it and handed it to Fab. Fancy sports cars were lost on me; whether on the road or parked, I couldn’t tell one from the other. Fab was the one with the car savvy, and she let out a low whistle.

  “Do you really think a man who can afford a 200K custom auto is going to steal it?” Fab asked.

  “It’s the thrill of getting away with something. Besides, it’s low risk. He knows I don’t want word getting out that I was scammed; then I’d be overrun with cockroaches.”

  “Any other possibilities?” Fab handed me back the photo.

  “I suppose.” Giving it some thought, he groaned. “Yeah, one of my employees. But where would they get the connections to unload the damn thing? Unless one of them is stupid enough to let it go for a couple thousand.”

  “We find it, then what? You want me to steal it back?”

  “You call me, then stand guard until I arrive, and I’ll have it hauled away on a flatbed.” He handed me a couple of sticky notes, which I pressed to the back of the photo. “Check out his home. He disrespects you, tie him up and threaten the fuck out of him.”

  I looked down and squeezed my eyes shut, wanting to rub my temples.

  “Nothing illegal,” Fab shot back. “First off, you’re
not sure that it’s him anyway. There will be no gunplay. Your client brings fire power, and we’re out of there.” She gave him a warning look. “I had to get special permission to come here today; if you want me to come back, don’t screw it up by withholding anything.”

  He grinned at her. “Thanks, babe. Bill me whatever. I know you’ll be fair.”

  The audacity of that statement had me contemplating a dramatic faint. The man protested every cent and always threatened to withhold pay, eventually coming through, but only after much grumbling.

  “Can I talk to Fab for a minute?” he asked, tilting his head and motioning for me to leave the room.

  I nodded, grabbed the photo and my tote, and went out into the corridor, closing the door behind me. I wanted to slide down the bannister, which was forbidden with the excuse of jacked-up insurance premiums, but didn’t want to sit at the bottom and risk having to engage in small talk or a glare off with Everly. Instead, I made my way quietly down the stairs and took the long way around back to the SUV.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  It didn’t take long for Fab to finish her meeting, and she was soon back downstairs and sliding behind the wheel. “Brick made an apology of sorts. I stressed the new working rules. I threw out marriage and babies as a major hint for him to start looking for someone else. He didn’t say anything, but it was clear he didn’t think I’d excel at either.”

  “Something you forgot to mention to your best friend?”

  Fab shook her head. “Just creating drama. Got that from you.”

  “For the record, you’d be a great mother. They wouldn’t get away with a damn thing, but they’d be the coolest kids in town. After mine, of course.”

  Fab half-snorted. “The Naples address plugged in?” She eyed the GPS.

  “South Beach first, then over to the west coast. South Beach because I called Mr. Westmont’s office and tricked out of the receptionist the fact that he’s the first one in the office when he’s not out of town, and he’s not. I’m putting him on notice that he’d better replace that unsigned check he messengered over with cash, as agreed to in the original deal.” I pulled the envelope out of my purse and put it on the console.

  After ranting over the phone, blaming Fab for his daughter’s undisciplined behavior, Westmont threatened not to pay and sent over a check that he’d failed to sign, with a big “0” for the amount and a note that read, “This is what the job is worth.”

  “He’ll never see you.” Fab scowled.

  “I’ve planned for that contingency. I promise I’ll get my message across.”

  “Westmont was so adamant about not paying one red cent, how did you get him to send a check, even a useless one? To think I thought you were full of yourself.” Fab grinned. “A reminder not to bet against you.”

  “I haven’t collected – yet. Called a mutual friend, explained the situation, and asked for legal advice.”

  “I thought your lawyer dumped you?”

  “Look.” I pointed through the windshield. “There’s one of Cruz Campion’s billboards.” It said ‘When you want the best lawyer in Florida’ over a picture of his smiling mug. “He leaves off the part that he’s not a bargain.” Early on, I’d made a deal to trade services, which had saved me a lot of money but resulted in some serious aggravation. “Mac kissed and made up for the both of us, same terms as before. Either of us gets arrested, and he shows up and sprinkles his magic ‘get out of jail’ dust.”

  “How does that work when someone else does the apologizing?” Fab asked.

  “Didn’t ask.” I’d paid Mac a huge bonus for all the groveling she said she did, said her knees were sore. “Hit pay dirt with Mac. The woman can handle anything. I think she missed his relatives crowding into The Cottages, demanding fights and such.”

  “I’m letting you know now: if you ever get rid of her, I’d be unsuitable for the job.”

  I laughed. Put Fab in charge of the tenants, and they’d be afraid to come out of their cottages.

  The traffic was in our favor, and we made it across to Ocean Boulevard in record time. Fab pulled up in front of Westmont’s office building, pulling into a red zone.

  “Don’t go far,” I admonished. “This won’t take long. Don’t make me hang out on the sidewalk with my thumb out.” Getting out, I barely set my feet on the ground before she took off on a joyride.

  As I walked up the steps of the all-glass building with a view of the Atlantic Ocean, I inhaled the sea air, hoping to calm my nerves. Entering the lobby, I looked around and realized I couldn’t get to the bank of elevators without checking in at the reception desk manned by an armed guard. His job was to keep people like me from going upstairs.

  The guard looked up from his magazine, asked my destination, scanned his clipboard, and picked up the phone. “You have an appointment?” he asked after speaking to someone on the other end.

  “Tell Mr. Westmont that I have a check for him.”

  The guard’s eyebrows rose at that, and he shook his head at me.

  “I’m happy to leave it here.” I tore the envelope in half, helped myself to his pen, wrote, “This wasn’t the deal,” and handed it to the guard. “Thank you.” I turned toward the exit but not before seeing the man’s smirk.

  Fab had found a legal place to park at the curb.

  “You going my way?” I asked, sliding into the passenger seat.

  “What happened?” She pulled away, hanging a u-turn.

  “Just as you said. He wouldn’t meet with me. Left a message that I expect the cash to be delivered posthaste. Wanted to give him a chance to do it the easy way, before calling in the big guns. I’m sure he has enough to pay the bill in his change jar, so I expect the cash soon.”

  “Thank Cruz for me. Surprised he’d get involved with collection.”

  I waited until Fab took a drink of her water to answer. “Actually, it was the chief who came through.”

  The woman was good—she didn’t spit any liquid out, but she did cough. “I suppose I’m going to jail?”

  “You’re so dramatic. I would never do that to you, and you know it. Knowing that he and Westmont were friends, I called him for legal advice, and the chief graciously offered his help.”

  “This is your favorite non-felon,” I said, a little surprised that my call had gotten put through without delay.

  “I know I’m being set up, but I want to hear what you want. Must be good,” the chief said gruffly.

  All of the chief’s friends called him Harder or Chief. Even Phil, who had one of those friends-with-benefits deals, called him Chief.

  “I need some legal advice.”

  He snorted. “That’s what your hotshot lawyer is for.”

  “You remember that little incident the other day with Chrissy Westmont and her friends?”

  “I suggested Westmont bring his daughter in for an overnight in a holding cell, so she’d re-think her behavior before landing in one for real. Westmont didn’t appreciate my parenting advice.”

  Now that was some tough love, I thought. “Now that Westmont’s gotten his beloved daughter home, he doesn’t want to pay up. I suppose I could threaten to sell the story to a gossip rag, tell anyone who wants to listen, but I’m thinking that falls under blackmail.”

  “Funny thing is, I figured out what you want all on my own. What’s in it for me? I don’t want to hear about my good heart, as I don’t have one.” The chief laughed.

  I didn’t remind him that we’d already helped him out once. His goddaughter – another woman getting involved with a crappy boyfriend.

  “I’d owe you,” I said.

  “Does Creole know that you’re shaking me down?”

  “No, and it would be nice if you didn’t mention it. And your description isn’t apt, as you just offered your help.”

  “Send over the bill.”

  “I just pushed the send button on the fax machine.”

  “Hold on a second.”

  I could hear shuffling around but coul
dn’t identify the noises.

  “Damn.” He let out a low whistle. “Your friend charges enough. Once this invoice is taken care of, that’s the last we ever hear about this situation.”

  “You’re a damn good friend, and if Westmont doesn’t know that, you should remind him.”

  “Thank you, I think,” Fab said. “I can’t believe he’d help.”

  “According to Creole, who I confessed to after… never mind, Harder already wanted a favor that I can make happen. This makes it easier for him to ask. Creole didn’t know the nature of said favor. I told Creole that even if Harder said no, I’d do anything he asked, considering how many times he’s helped us.” I glared at Fab. “Any favor-doing extends to you also. No excuses.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  I punched up the address on the GPS and muted the sound. Fab and the anonymous voice had a tendency to fight. “Samford Kasey lives in Port Royal, a pricey waterfront subdivision in Naples. According to this realtor website—” I tapped my phone. “—the community isn’t gated, but his house has a massive set of gates. There’s no street parking, so I’m not sure how we’ll handle that.”

  Only half-listening, Fab revved the engine, impatient for the light to turn. She used a little-known shortcut to the highway that ran through the Everglades, shooting across and making it to Naples in record time, veering off on the road that ran along the Gulf Shores.

  I pressed my feet against the glove box in an attempt to relive a cramp and stared out the window, wishing I had a reason to yell “stop,” so I could go for a walk along the sugary white sand and dip my toes in the water.

  “Put your feet down,” Fab barked. “This is a nice car.”

  “I know. It belongs to me. How about I roll down the window and stick my feet out? They’d like some air.”

  Fab hit the window lock button. “Have you come up with a plan yet?”

  “I’ve got some questions and no answers. According to the realtor site, it’s a mansion with a five-car garage. Stashing an auto wouldn’t be an issue. But if I were to steal a pricy sports car, the last place I’d hide it is inside my garage. My hunch is Brick does more than ‘suspect’ this guy is involved; wouldn’t be surprised if he sent Everly out here already and she got zip. Probably couldn’t climb the fenced-in compound in spiked heels.”