Christmas in Paradise (Florida Keys Mystery Series Book 13)

by Deborah Brown

  They were an unlikely couple, looking like grandmother and grandson when they were actually close to the same age. Miss January was a good example of hard living taking its toll.

  “What happened?” he asked, concern in his voice.

  “Drunk on the job. She got fired,” I said.

  “I knew it was bad idea, but she was so excited.” He scooped her up and carried her into the cottage, kicking the door closed.

  “Thank you to you too,” I yelled after him and flounced back to the car.

  “I…” Fab said as she slid behind the wheel, then appeared stuck as to what to say next.

  I waved my hand. “I’m mostly certain that whatever it is that is about to come out of your mouth isn’t the least bit holiday-ish, and I won’t stand for it.” I gave her a demented stare, trying to cross my eyes, which I wasn’t very good at. Probably a good thing.

  I flipped on the radio. Jingle Bells blared out of the speakers, and we both laughed.

  Chapter Two

  Halfway home, Fab’s phone rang. She glanced at the screen. “You answer it.”

  “Nope.” I flipped open the mirror on the visor, turning my head from side to side. I thought my red curls looked tame, considering the humidity. I didn’t bother to compare with my friend’s almost waist-length hair, never a brown strand out of place.

  The phone stopped ringing. Fab expressed her displeasure by making a noise I hadn’t heard before. “What are you doing?” she snapped.

  “Checking to see if I have ‘stupid’ tattooed on my forehead. Go ahead and look at me with a straight face and tell me that wasn’t a problem of some sort. Disgruntled client, perhaps—one that’s madder than one of those black bees with the red polka dots.”

  “‘Madder than hell’ would have been quicker.”

  “We don’t use those kinds of words during the holiday season.”

  “You’re taking this ‘cheery’ business way too far.” Fab’s blue eyes burned into me.

  “It’s only going to get worse,” I assured her. “So get ready.”

  Her phone started ringing again. “Answer it.”

  This time I did. “Deck the halls…” I started singing without looking at the screen.

  A male voice laughed. “I know this isn’t Fab.”

  I pulled the phone from my ear and glanced at the screen. “Just as I suspected. Hi Raul, it’s me, Madison.”

  Raul and Dickie owned the Tropical Slumber Funeral Home. Raul ran the business side, Dickie the final preparations, which he’d informed me once was an art and needed to be executed with care.

  “We have an emergency. Do the two of you have time to come by as soon as possible?”

  “Fab’s not feeling well—” I started.

  “I’m better now,” Fab yelled. “We’re on our way.” She jerked the wheel, making a sudden turn, a nearby driver expressing their annoyance by laying on the horn. She flew down Main Street past some of our favorite stores.

  “We’ll be there in less than five,” I said, successfully keeping the groan out of my voice.

  “You didn’t even ask what he wanted,” Fab said in exasperation.

  “I didn’t want to know, and if you did, you should’ve taken the call.” I turned to look out the passenger window, thinking about jumping out at the next signal. “Since he runs a funeral home, my guess is it has something to do with dead people. Maybe they ‘misplaced’ another body or one woke up from the afterlife again. I don’t know why I let you drag me into these things—he’s your friend.”

  “I can’t help it if people like me.”

  I couldn’t help myself—I laughed. Most people were afraid of the daunting Frenchwoman. A couple of inches short of six feet in the four-inch stilettos she favored, the woman packed some scary along with her sidekick – her Walther.

  “You’ve got one hour to solve whatever the problem is and get me back home. I have a contractor coming and don’t want to be late.” I’d just over-hyped my appointment, but I didn’t care as long as it got me back to the house on time. “Or let me out now, and I’ll walk.” I was happy that she didn’t pull over. Besides it being too far, I wasn’t in the mood for a hike; it was hot outside.

  “Contractor?” She pulled into the funeral home parking lot and parked alongside the red carpet—the official welcome mat that extended several feet out into the parking lot from the front door. Since there wasn’t a hearse parked on it, I assumed services were done for the day.

  I ignored her question, thinking the element of surprise was my best bet. Before she could question me further, I hopped out of the SUV. Twin Dobermans, Astro and Necco, bounded out the door, skidding to a stop at my feet.

  “No sandwiches.” I held out my hands, and they took a sniff. I scratched them behind the ears, and both seemed content.

  Raul and Dickie stood in the doorway, Raul with an indulgent smile on his face, Dickie appearing tired. It surprised me when they came outside, closing the distance between us—that rarely happened, if ever. Usually, we sat inside. I’d have to poke my head inside later and check for leftover funeral food that I could share with the dogs. The little sandwiches were a favorite.

  The funeral duo couldn’t be more different looks-wise. Raul was brown-skinned, with a body builder physique, and Dickie was tall and thin, with a pasty pallor. They were loyal friends to me and Fab and would do anything for either of us – all we had to do was ask. When we had in the past, they’d delivered. I just didn’t have the same fascination with all things dead as my bestie, who’d just slammed the driver’s door and now stood next to me.

  “We’ve been robbed,” Dickie said.

  Not again. I tried to follow the dramatic flourish of his hands, but they went wild.

  “Someone stole our Christmas decorations,” Raul said.

  Fab and I turned to the large grassy lawn. Sure enough. We’d driven by a couple of nights ago to check out this year’s design, and since then, the area had definitely been vandalized. The thieves had left the artificial tree—my guess due to the stakes that kept it from falling—but the train set, candy cane village, lights, even Santa and the other inflatables… gone.

  “Any obvious suspects?” Fab asked, taking her phone out of the pocket of her black jeans and snapping pictures.

  Raul shook his head. “When we woke up this morning and took the dogs for a walk, we couldn’t believe our eyes when we saw that most everything was gone. The thief obviously didn’t take care about preserving the condition of anything and even damaged some of the decorations that were left behind.”

  “We called the police. Deputy came out, took a report. Shocked me when he said it wasn’t uncommon at this time of the year.” Dickie sighed heavily. “After he left, Raul and I cleaned up the debris. We couldn’t figure out why the reindeer were left behind until we found out the vandal had poked holes in them. They’re completely unusable.”

  “Did the cops by any chance suggest a motive for these types of thefts?” I asked.

  “There’s money in used decorations, both high-end and cheap,” Dickie said sadly. “They get resold online or at flea markets.”

  “Get this.” Raul snorted. “Some of these thieves steal to decorate their own houses.”

  I couldn’t picture decking out my house with stolen decorations, only to have someone compliment one and ask where I got a particular item. Oh, I stole it from the funeral home.

  “Hopefully you took pictures of your display before you cleaned up.” At his nod, I said, “Forward me copies and a list of the missing items, if you have one, and we’ll check it out.” I had little hope of recovering anything. It could come down to a case of: “That’s my Santa. No, it’s mine.”

  Fab hugged Raul. “Be prepared to have to replace the stuff on your own.”

  Dickie and I looked at each other awkwardly. Neither of us did touchy-feely, my emphasis being on the touch part, as in don’t unless I initiate it.

  “I know a couple of people that might be able to sca
re up a few items, as long as you don’t mind gently used,” I said. Old finds were a passion. I tended towards wrought iron and metal items but knew I could rustle up some yard decorations.

  Growing bored, either Astro or Necco nudged my hand, a ball in his mouth. Wrestling it from his mouth, I threw it. Both dogs took off in a chase. One dog beat out the other, which had me laughing. They snagged the ball back and forth as they made their way back for me to throw it again.

  “We’ve got another appointment,” Fab said. “I’ll keep you updated.”

  I threw the ball once more and followed Fab back to the car.

  As Fab pulled back out onto the street, I asked, “You’re the PI, what’s the plan?”

  “As backup, that’s your job.”

  “We could hit the yard sales this weekend, snap up anything we find. Replace the inflatable Snow family as a gift, offer our condolences, and close the case.”

  She stared, unamused. “You need more caffeine?”

  “No, this is my way of telling you there’s no happy ending here.”

  Chapter Three

  Fab blew into the driveway, sliding in next to her pristine black Porsche 911. There were times she came within a hair’s breadth, and I’d grit my teeth, hoping not to hear the unmistakable scraping sound of sideswiping vehicles.

  I had inherited the white two-story Key West-style house from my aunt and put my mark on the property inside and out. I always had a potential project floating around in my thoughts, which was what had brought me home early today.

  As soon as we turned the corner, I noticed our boyfriends’ cars parked across the street in the neighbor’s driveway. At their insistence, we used it for parking whenever they weren’t in town for the occasional weekend getaway.

  “Let’s hope one or both of the guys has an apron on with plans to feed us,” I said.

  “There’s always take-out.”

  I turned up my nose. “We should surprise them and cook one night.”

  “That’s a terrible idea.” Fab got out, slamming the door, and headed to the house.

  I was about to follow when a pickup blocked the driveway. I changed course and walked over.

  Fab skidded to a stop and called, “You need help?”

  “This is my appointment.” I waved her away and waited until the door closed behind her.

  Jake Lawler, an electrical contractor who specialized in hanging outdoor lights this time of year, climbed out of his truck. In his fifties and friendly, the man could start a conversation with anyone. I’d met him via a referral from a customer at Jake’s, a tropical dive bar I owned.

  “Good news,” he said. “My guys just finished up your property on the Overseas Highway this morning. Looks good. Tested everything myself; you shouldn’t have any problems. Next will be The Cottages. Per your request, we’ll try not to make it too gaudy.”

  Before I could answer, the front door banged open. Both of us turned as my boyfriend, Creole, came out of the house, pulling a t-shirt over his head, not giving me a second to ogle his muscular chest before he stalked across the driveway to where we stood.

  “Creole” was his undercover moniker, which we all used despite the fact that he was currently on leave from the Miami police department. If we ever started calling him by his real name, no one would know who we were talking about.

  “Who are you?” Creole demanded in a deep, bossy baritone. He grabbed my arm, pulling me to his side.

  I sighed. “Whatever Fab told you was probably highly exaggerated, or possibly an outright lie.” I made the introductions.

  Didier, Fab’s boyfriend, stuck his head out the door, yelled, “Hey Jake,” and waved. The chilly air that had engulfed the three of us despite the ninety-degree heat warmed considerably at that acknowledgement.

  I stepped in front of Creole and stared up into his face, demanding his full attention. “This is a surprise. You can go back and finish your… swim?” I glanced down at his bathing trunks and did a slow sweep up to his dark hair, sticking on end.

  “I don’t like surprises,” he said, his tone not as deep as before.

  “Me neither. That’s one of the reasons we’re perfect for one another.”

  Jake tried to disguise a laugh, but we both heard him.

  Creole leaned forward and whispered, “I’ll be watching out the window.”

  “Later,” I said, full of promise.

  Once the door closed, I reached into my purse, retrieving an envelope and handing it to Jake. “This is what I want. My drawings are crude, but you’ll get the idea. The gate code is at the bottom.” I tossed a glance over my shoulder. “It’s one assigned only to your guys. Anyone asks any questions, you don’t know anything.” I zipped my lips. “Refer all nosiness to me.”

  “You’ve got to be the most organized client I’ve got, and I’m liking it a lot.” He ripped open the envelope and took out the sheet of paper, reading my notes. He flipped it over, chuckling at the drawings.

  “I want you to test the code, make sure it works okay.” Taking the lead to the side gate, I paused briefly in front of the kitchen garden window and waved.

  To my relief, the gate opened without a hitch. It was my first try at the guest-code thing. When Fab heard it was the latest technology, she didn’t hesitate to have it installed on our security system. I’d reminded her to keep it simple for those not electronically minded, which as it turned out was just me.

  Inside the gate, I led him down the path, and once in the backyard, did some finger-pointing, speaking in low tones about what I wanted where, all under the watchful eye of Fab, who glared from a chaise. She had to have broken the speed record for changing into her bathing suit.

  “Turnaround on this is one to two days.” He waved and left.

  “I know what you’re up to,” Didier said to me, sitting down next to his girlfriend. The French duo were a made-for-each-other couple.

  “Listen up, you three,” I said as Creole appeared behind me. “You’re going to get into the holiday spirit. No excuses. Don’t think I won’t whisper to Santa that you three should get coal.” I gave brief thought to punctuating my words by stamping my foot, but that would only invite laughter. “I’m going to change.” I turned to go inside, but Creole produced a sprig of mistletoe, holding it over my head and swooping in for a kiss, claiming my lips.

  “You sure know how to make a guy look bad,” Didier grumped.

  “Catch.” Creole tossed it to Didier, who caught it in one hand. “It’s not a one-use-only deal.” He scooped me off my feet and carried me through the French doors into the house.

  ~ ~ ~

  We’d just finished the dinner Didier had prepared, his choice of food much to Fab’s disgust – barbequed hamburgers with a platter of vegetables, every imaginable choice to pile on top. I inquired about french fries and got a blank stare.

  The doorbell rang. Within a second, the ringing began again and continued non-stop.

  “That’s one of Fab’s friends,” I said.

  “She has friends?” Creole asked, his mouth twitching in amusement.

  “Me, and I’m accounted for.” I smiled at her.

  When it became clear no one was going to find out who was playing on the bell, Didier stood.

  “There’s a gun in the junk drawer,” I said to his retreating back.

  Didier returned with Kevin Cory in tow. The deputy sheriff was waved into a chair. Knowing his drinking habits, Didier got a soda out of the outside refrigerator and put it down in front of him.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Kevin said. He was decked out in his uniform, which could only mean official business. That and the fact that he never came to my house for any other reason.

  “Sure you are,” Fab snarked.

  “Good evening, officer.” Creole nodded. “Before you get started, we all have alibis.”

  “I tend to forget how funny the bunch of you think you are,” Kevin said dryly. “No arrest warrant.” He held out his hands. “Looking for Crum. Thought
you might make my job easy and tell me where to find him.”

  “You thought you’d find him here?” My tone of voice conveyed that he’d lost his mind.

  “Eww.” Fab followed up her declaration with a choking noise.

  Kevin sat stoically. The guys laughed. I’d have to have a talk with them… let them know that laughter only encouraged Fab’s outrageousness, and in truth, mine.

  “You might want to start with where he lives,” I said. “The same place you live. He doesn’t have a bell,” I said, expressing my disapproval at Kevin’s antics. “If you don’t get an answer after incessant knocking, check with Mac. If she doesn’t know, then you’re out of luck.”

  “What’s he wanted for?” Creole asked. “I’m assuming that’s the reason for the house call.”

  “Questioning in a bank robbery,” Kevin told us in his official voice, so I knew it wasn’t some weird prank.

  “He wouldn’t do that,” I said adamantly. “You’ve got the wrong man.” I didn’t think it would be helpful to remind Kevin that it wouldn’t be the first time he’d fingered the wrong person. I’m a good example of him doing that. “He doesn’t need the money, and besides, he’s got a job as a mall Santa.”

  “Santa.” Kevin snorted.

  “What makes you suspect him?” Creole asked.

  “The suspect’s been holding up banks in a Santa suit. The top part, anyway. On the bottom, he had on red bathing trunks.”

  Didier, the ex-fashion model turned real estate developer, winced at that description. He had on red swim trunks, but there was no confusing the intense, dark-haired, blue-eyed Frenchman for the white-haired, cantankerous man in question.

  “If it were red tighty-whities or a skirt made from a bath towel, I’d say you have your man,” I said. “Did your robber have on rubber boots or worn flip-flops?”

  Kevin shook his head. “That wasn’t in the police report.”

  “I’m telling you, it’s not him,” I defended Crum.

  “Just missed Crum on the job—he doesn’t hang out there after hours,” Kevin said. “So where’s he now?”