Greed in Paradise (Paradise Series)
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Authors: Deborah Brown
Tags: #Book 5, #Paradise Series
GREED IN PARADISE
PARADISE SERIES, BOOK 5
DEBORAH BROWN
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted, materials.
Copyright © 2014 by Deborah Brown
Published by: Paradise Books April 2014
Cover: Natasha Brown
Crazy in Paradise
Deception in Paradise
Trouble in Paradise
Murder in Paradise
Greed in Paradise
I leaned back and breathed in the fresh scent of the rain that beat relentlessly on the tin roof overhead, bringing welcome relief from the heat. The walkways were puddled with water. Looking for any excuse to avoid the paperwork in front of me, I stared at the inlet that ran along the back of Jake’s bar. Since buying Jake out, I evicted the roaches and became the owner of my very own dive bar. We served the best Mexican food and margaritas in town, which were two of my personal favorites.
My new routine consisted of showing up to the bar every morning to check shipments in and organize receipts from the previous day. Rain or shine, I could be found sitting at the corner table on the deck enjoying my coffee. A dreary, gray day outside was a good excuse to turn on the white Christmas lights that wrapped around the railings, the roof overhang, and flickered in the palm trees.
It surprised me to hear heavy footsteps coming up the back stairs. Jake’s wasn’t even open yet. Even the hardcore drunks were still asleep, and we still had another few hours before the lunch drinkers arrived.
A man with several days’ worth of facial hair, mean slits for eyes, and dark hair standing on end appeared at the top of the stairs. A chill rolled up my spine.
“We’re closed.” I tried to smile.
“Hands up,” he said as he whipped his gun from behind his back. “Now!”
Furious at myself for leaving my Glock in the nightstand next to the bed, I said, “I’m sure we can work something out without anyone ending up hurt or dead.”
“Twenty-five thousand and I’ll be on my way.” His eyes flitted around and, popping his head inside, he saw the bar was empty. He screamed desperation.
“We don’t keep that kind of money on the premises. I can give you about a thousand dollars,” I said, my voice calm; it wasn’t the first time I’d had a gun stuck in my face. If I was able to get the safe open, a loaded Beretta sat inside.
“Jake owes my boss and I’m here to collect.” He shook his gun at me. “I know he always has piles of cash on the premises.”
Damn Jake
.
“He’s no longer the owner and I don’t run anything illegal out of here.” Jake had run out of town, knowing he’d been marked as a dead man over his non-existent repayment plan for his massive gambling debt. A few other attempts at collection had been made by other gun-toting thugs, but I’d been able to convince them that the bar was under new management and they went away quietly.
“Get up, let’s go and check out that safe of yours. You’d better be lying about not having cash. Boss man is tired of waiting on payment that is long overdue.”
I stood up.
“Why me? I’m not Jake.” After being on the run for months, Jake had finally made contact and I bought out my silent partner. We used our shared CPA to construct a fair deal and he helped me set up private, legal financing. I had several illegal options, but passed.
“Bet you’ll find the money if I tie you to a chair and listen to you scream while I slice off various body parts. How many will it take, one, two…?” He whipped a blade from his back pocket, kissing it tenderly and shoving it in the front of his pants.
The chilling, matter-of-fact way he threatened me scared me more than his gun. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Phil, the bartender, drop behind the bar. I hoped she had the sheriff on speed dial.
“Just know that if you touch me, Jimmy Spoon will track your ass down and kill you. You do know Spoon don’t you?” I asked.
Jimmy Spoon was
the
badass of the Keys and claimed boyfriend status with my mother. He was reformed from his criminal days, but still inspired fear amongst the low-life element. I also knew this man would die a slow death if Spoon got ahold of him, but I stayed focused on getting out of this alive and with no missing body parts.
He laughed. “Get moving.”
As I moved slowly across the wooden floor inside, he knocked me in my lower back with his gun, and I felt hot pain spidering up my back. I reflexively turned, jumped, and kicked him in the arm. When he dropped his gun and scrambled to retrieve it, I hopped to my feet and headed for the door, where I tripped.
“Damn.”
Phil popped up from behind the bar and racked her shotgun. “Drop the gun, asshole.” Thankfully, Jake left behind his Mossberg when he split town.
The man snaked his fingers out and, pulling his gun back into his grasp, rolled onto his back. He pointed the barrel toward Phil, but she pulled her trigger first. There was blood everywhere from a gaping stomach wound and he lifted slightly off the floor just before he died.
I leapt up, “Are you okay?” I fished my cell phone from my pocket to call Kevin Cory, a local sheriff. I only had his number because his sister, Julie, was dating my brother, Brad.
“You never call, what’s up?” Kevin asked when he answered.
“There’s been a shooting at Jake’s. No need for an ambulance; call the coroner.” I wouldn’t tell Kevin this, but I was glad the shooter had been dispatched to the afterlife, or he’d get out of jail and be back.
“Who’d you shoot this time?” Kevin asked. “Don’t touch anything, we’re on our way.”
I hung up abruptly before he started to lecture. I’d tell him we must have gotten disconnected when I saw him. “I’ll be upset if you quit over this,” I said to Phil, taking a seat at the bar.
Curvy, blonde Phil, short for Philipa, had walked into the bar one day wanting to be the new bartender. A straight A second-year law school student, she was good for business in her butt-cheek baring jean shorts, tank tops, and tennis shoes. She handled the overly-obnoxious in an efficient manner; she’d had to ban a couple of men permanently.
“My daddy didn’t raise no quitter.” She laid the shotgun on the bar. “Wait till I call him tonight and give him the grisly details, he’ll be bragging to his friends. Hell, he taught me and my brother to shoot—refused to have a helpless girl for a daughter.”
Tarpon Cove is a small town that sits at the top of the Florida Keys, so the sheriff could get from one end of town to the other in a matter of minutes, depending on tourist traffic. Sirens could be heard in the distance.
“We’ll need to close today,” I sighed.
“I’ll put out a sign: ‘Death in the restaurant.’ There’s an upside—dirtbag’s death could bring in the gawker crowd and it’ll be good for business.”
Phil grabbed two waters and shoved one across to me. “What did he want anyway?”
“Jake owed him money.” I downed half my water, twisting the cap back on and rolling it across the back of my neck. “Maybe I need to put up a big neon sign that says, ‘New owner.’”
“I’ve had a few collectors in here. Explained to them in small words that Jake left town, comped them a beer, and they left.”
My hair clip snapped in half when I rolled on the floor, so I scooped my long red hair off my neck and fashioned it into a makeshift ponytail.
Kevin and his partner, Johnson, rushed through the door, two paramedics with a stretcher right behind them. “They don’t listen very well. I told them the dude was dead,” I said to Phil.
“Madison Westin, you’re nothing but trouble, aren’t you?” Johnson eyed me with his tight-ass smile firmly in place.
Johnson was the most uptight sheriff on the force and he even looked the part. We had a well-documented dislike for one another. It frustrated him that I never gave him an excuse to cuff me and drag me to jail.
“He walked in, pointed a gun in my face, demanded money, and threatened to cut off body parts. Phil saved my life. End of story,” I said.
Phil walked around the bar, extended her hand to Johnson. “Philipa Grey.” She turned to me. “I advise you to call your lawyer before answering any more of the officer’s questions, since there seems to be animosity between the two of you.”
“Is that all you have—annoying, snotty-ass friends?” Johnson glared.
Kevin cut in. “I’ll question these two, Johnson. You make sure the paramedics don’t screw up the evidence. Jake’s is closed today.”
While Johnson stomped away, I gave the middle finger to his back. Kevin slapped my hand down and shook his head. Kevin had two personalities. Personally, I liked the out-of-uniform, easy-going, laughing, beach-boy good looks Kevin. Johnson turned back. “Madison, sorry to hear your boyfriend left you for that beautiful Italian model.”
I sucked in my breath, but ignored Johnson. “Would you like something cold to drink?” I asked Kevin as I walked behind the bar.
Kevin nodded. He questioned Phil and I separately and took very few notes. He looked bored. “Dead guy is Carlos Osa—long, violent rap sheet. Good riddance.”
“When can we reopen, capitalize on the bad publicity?” I asked.
“Once we haul his body out of here, we’ll be done with our investigation. Pretty cut-and-dried,” Kevin said. “I’ve got a crime scene cleaner on speed dial.”
“I used him once at The Cottages. He did a good job; you wouldn’t know the stain was blood unless someone told you.” I owned a ten-unit building on the beach that had seen more than its fair share of excitement.
“Try being nice to Johnson, he’ll come around,” Kevin said.
“I’ll bake cookies,” I said, struggling not to make another inappropriate gesture. “I’m going to send everyone home and I’ll be out on the deck until you’re done.”
I pushed the gas pedal of my SUV as I raced home from Jake’s. All I wanted was a long, hot shower. I raced upstairs into my bathroom to stand under the rainfall showerhead, using mango body wash to ease the stress of the day. My first choice would be to crawl under my clean, soft sheets, pulling them over my head. Instead, I rooted around in my closet for something to wear to dinner. It would serve Mother right if I climbed into my ultimate comfort clothes: ankle-length sweats and a T-shirt. The only thing stopping me was the long and tortuous lecture that would follow.
Mother called with a dinner invitation and I ran several excuses through my mind before, finally, flat-out refusing. Of course, she’d been prepared and pulled out the guilt card. Beyond irritated, but resisting total defeat, I demanded we go to my favorite restaurant, The Crab Shack. She sounded excited and happy, which consumed me with guilt after we hung up. I wished that I’d been more gracious and just agreed from the beginning. I temporarily forgot Madeline Westin doesn’t take no for an answer.
I threw a tropical-print slip dress onto the bed, followed by a hot pink bra. I didn’t go out without cleavage. I’d outgrown my totally braless phase, saving it for lazy days.
