Greed in Paradise (Paradise Series) (16 page)

“Why should I believe you? Your name?”

“Help,” he said, and laughed at his own joke. “Creole said to tell you he’s looking forward to dinner.”

I reholstered my Glock. “You have a business card?”

“Give me your phone.” He held his hand out. “Creole also said he’ll be mad if he hears there’s been another shootout in your backyard and you didn’t call.” Help couldn’t take his eyes off Fab.

Fab glared at him. “You’re lucky my boyfriend isn’t here. He shot the last guy who was mean to me.”

“Creole so owes me,” he mumbled and handed me back my phone. He withdrew his phone, stopped the ringing. “I got you here under ‘Crazy’ so I’ll know who’s calling.”

“Get off your ass and let’s go? Is that anyway to speak to your partner?” Fab fumed. She didn’t care about the scenic route, only the shortest. She’d make The Cottages in record time.

“Didier laughed,” I said, pulling my seatbelt tight.

“He and I will be having a talk about that later,” she sniffed.

“How is life with your beautiful boyfriend?” I asked. Having met her ex-husband, she seemed to have broken the pattern of choosing psychos.

“He’s the easiest to get along with ever, as long as I follow the rules.”

“What are the rules?” I wanted to laugh. Fab never thought that rules applied to her.

In the distance, traffic stacked up at the signal, so she cut a driver off and zoomed through the alley. If she drove fast enough, she’d make the intersection before it turned green again.

“Thank goodness there are only two or I’d forget. Do what he tells me and don’t get hurt.”

“How are you doing with rule number one?”

“There are perks to being very naughty.” She got a dreamy look on her face.

Didier really did get her, he was easy to get along with, and he cooked breakfast. He never created any chaos; quite the opposite, he had a way of calming everything down, especially the women in the family. I appreciated that he looked for ways to make me laugh, to bring me out of the grumpiest of moods.

I peeked through half-squinted eyes. Not having heard a string of bad words, I assumed we made the light and it was safe to look again.

“What kind of ridiculousness is going on here today?” Fab asked parking in front of the office.

“Catch-up meeting and then I have a case of my own to investigate. For which you will graciously offer your skills, for free.”

A car drove up and Kathy got out with a sack of groceries, waving to some ratty-looking guy behind the wheel. She looked surprised to see me and not very happy. Before I could say anything, she said, “I need a few more days on your money, my bank is investigating the check before issuing a refund. With moving and everything, I just don’t have the cash. I’m sure you understand.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw her husband Ron come out the front door. Spotting us in the driveway, he turned and went back inside. “The cottage is paid for until the end of the month. If you can’t get your money issues straightened out, move.”

“I’ll do my best,” she sniffed. She favored the slutty look; the black G-string under her sheer beach skirt showed off her butt cheeks and not in a flattering way. A low-cut top revealed ample cleavage.

A loud whistle caught my attention and I turned. Mac stood at the pool gate waving her arm and holding the gate open.

“Mac’s weirder than usual,” Fab whispered.

How can that be?

Mac stretched out in a chair in hiked up, baggy purple shorts and a tank top, her lit-up tennis shoe-clad feet stretched out in front of her. She looked over her sunglasses at me. “I really did check those two out.”

“Kathy doesn’t know this yet, but one way or the other, they are out of here by the end of the month,” I said.

Fab dragged a chair next to the fence, keeping one eye on the property. “I’ll evict them.” She pulled out her Walther, stroking it as she would with my cat, Jazz. “And no charge, you’ll just ‘owe me’ for the rest of your life.”

Mac laughed. “I got to work at dawn. Kathy and some bleary-eyed guy were having an argument, but she’d already cleaned the pool area and a garbage bag sat by the gate. They took one look at me and practically ran. There were at least four cars in the driveway and a few minutes later they left.”

“Any good news?” I kicked off my shoes and put my feet in the pool.

“I saved the best for last,” Mac said. “Apple and Angie left town, they said their good-byes when they got their checks earlier.”

“I’m not washing cars,” Fab said.

“It’s going back to all automatic.” I looked at her. “Where did they go?”

“Angie fell in love with a homeless pimp. He got them all bus tickets to the good life in Tampa. Angie’s going to strip at some classy joint called the ‘The Pole,’ and he got Apple a job washing dishes at a pancake house.”

“I’m not often rendered speechless. I don’t know what to say,” I said.

“Oh, I do,” Fab said. “Good riddance.”

“Do you know Kathy’s schedule?” I asked Mac. “Next time she has a day off work let me know.”

“When you pulled into the driveway,” Mac said, “Joseph took Svetlana inside and slammed the door. He’s mad because he doesn’t want to rat on his neighbors. He’s sided with Kathy since she brings him dinner every night.”

“Next time we do one of these meetings, we need food,” I said, standing up and waving to Mac.

I held out my hand to Fab. “Keys, please. Before you complain, you need to get out in a few blocks and snoop around a construction site.”

“What am I finding out?”

“Is the house that the contractors are working on actually owned by Kathy and Ron? If so, when is the move-in date? Find out what you can. Take your phone, just in case.”

* * *

“Thanks for the heads-up,” Fab complained, climbing into the driver seat. “Ron and Kathy came in the front door. I heard her voice and slipped out the back.”

“They didn’t come up in a car.” I parked halfway down the block in the driveway of a triplex and there had been no traffic.

“The construction company is actually owned by Ron’s father who drinks every afternoon at Pete’s Tavern. Ron is only an employee. I asked who the owner of the house was and the guy couldn’t remember the client’s name and it’s not the Stones. Every once in a while, a BMW shows up, three people get out and walk around, inspecting the job, never say a word, and leave.”

“Let’s go to the big yellow house on Gulf Boulevard across from the Beer Garden. They just sold that house, plenty of time for the new owner to have moved in.”

A few minutes later, we drove past their previous residence.

“That’s interesting.” I pointed to the big For Rent sign in the front yard, from a big-time rental agency. I called the number on the sign.

“Give me the phone,” Fab said, and asked for Donna. After a pause, she said, “What do you know about Kathy and Ron Stone?”

Donna talked non-stop for a couple of minutes and Fab hung up. “They never owned the house. They were dead-beat renters who got evicted. She told me Kathy has anger control issues when she’s not on medication.”

“How do you feel about staking out The Cottages at midnight?”

“Why are you driving the speed limit?” I asked.

“When we get to the curve, look left and you’ll see a sheriff’s car parked. He’s there almost every night. Writes a fair amount of tickets,” Fab said.

It surprised me that she ever drove slowly enough to catch a speed trap. We didn’t make it to the curve when the sheriff flew out of his hiding spot, lights flashing, hot on the trail of a sports car flying down the Overseas.

“What’s Didier going to say when he finds out you snuck out of the house in the middle of the night?”

“I didn’t sneak anywhere. I told Didier exactly what we’re doing. And also that since stake-outs are mind numbingly boring, we wouldn’t be gone long.”

“I only feel a little guilty dragging you away from your warm bed.”

Fab laughed. “I told him no guns and no dead people, so let’s try and keep my promise.”

“Explain to me how a person can party every night, all night long, and manage to get to jobs and run a business? Some of Kathy’s guests pass out by the pool; it’s all fun until one of them drowns. And not one guest or tenant has called to complain and she has thus far managed to stay off the sheriff’s radar.”

“How would you get the pool cleaned? Does a body stink in the water?” Fab asked.

“Call that creepy crime scene cleaner friend of Kevin’s. Once the floater is fished out of the pool, he can come over and work cleaner magic. His business card says he can get stains out of almost anything.”

“Have you been to Kathy’s store?” Fab asked.

“I’ll wait until she’s sunning her overly-tanned body by the pool and go find out how much fun she is to work for.”

“I smell drugs,” Fab said. We knuckle bumped. “Great minds. You got a plan or do I need to throw one together in the next minute?” She turned the corner to The Cottages.

“Circle the block and park on a side street, we’ll sit on the porch of the rental house across the street. The previous tenants didn’t steal the patio chairs.”

Fab parked on the opposite corner so that we could keep an eye on the Hummer. This wasn’t a high crime area, but auto theft went in cycles and was on the rise again along with the occasional burglary. The thieves broke in when no one was home; they didn’t want to get hurt, they just wanted to steal the good stuff and head straight for the pawn shop. We walked down the street, sticking close to the bushes, not a single light on.

“How long are we stuck here?” Fab fidgeted in her chair.

“An hour, we should have a pretty good idea what’s going on. Then you can sneak back to bed.”

“Thank goodness Didier is not an overprotective ass. This is the first relationship I’ve had where I don’t screw with the truth. I lied to him once at the beginning and it almost ended us before we got started.”

I had a vague relationship with the truth when it came to Zach—always with the good intention of not wanting to start a fight—and that had been a constant irritant. “I don’t believe in the boogey man but I’m glad I didn’t do this by myself.”

“These are crappy chairs but it beats the ground,” Fab said. She tipped the chair, hoping to dislodge the dirt. “Are you sure it’s empty?”

“I know everything that happens on this block, except for my own property.”

“Let me guess, you know all the neighbors names and their complete life history?”

“If you’d put on your happy face once in a while, people would talk to you too,” I told her.

“No, thanks. Party time,” she said and pointed.

Five people emerged from Kathy’s cottage and piled into the cars; three backed out and two of them went in opposite directions, the third pulling back in. A pickup truck cruised around the corner and pulled in alongside.

“Who knew you could cram eight cars in the driveway? Good thing code enforcement doesn’t drive by at night. Will you check out the pool area, since I’d be recognized in a second?” I pulled the Glock from my thigh holster. “Just in case.”

Fab pulled her Walther, repositioning it in the back waist of her jeans.

“Try not to shoot anyone,” I said.

“I’m more in the mood to kick someone’s ass. Keeps me from getting rusty.”

I knew no one would see me. There were no lights on this side of the street and no moon. Right before Twizzle died he got drunk, and when a few friends cheered him on, he shot the street lights out. By the time the sheriff arrived, everyone had scattered, leaving piles of broken glass every few feet. I called the city to find out where we were on the list for new light bulbs and had been told tersely, “At the bottom.”

My eyes continuously darted up and down the street and I caught Fab’s movements when she came around the side of the office between the bushes and ran back across the street.

“That was fast,” I said.

“You need to get out the chlorine. A couple is doing it on the top step of the pool and another are getting started in one of the chaise lounges. There are remnants of a barbeque, piles of beer bottles, and cigarette butts everywhere. Apparently they haven’t heard about ashtrays and threw trash all over the ground.” Fab laughed. “The best part is, Joseph had his face pasted to the window, and was so glued to the sex action that if there hadn’t been a screen, he’d have fallen out.”

“If he’s only watching, does that qualify as cheating on Svetlana?”

“Next time someone tells me I’m crazy, I’m going to tell them, ‘Wait, meet my friend, I bet you’ll change your mind.’”

“Five dollars you never get anyone to change their mind,” I said.

“Guess who just turned the corner?” Fab pointed. “Just as two of our little partiers back out.”

The sheriff car’s lights went on and screeched to a halt in front of where we sat. Officer Johnson got out of the car, pointing his flashlight in our faces. We got off on the wrong foot when he transferred to the local sheriff’s office, a case of instant dislike. He figured no one rents to criminals and is squeaky clean.

“This ought to be interesting,” Fab whispered.

“Hands up where I can see them,” Johnson ordered.

We both stuck our hands in the air. “Surely you remember me, Madison Westin.” To my credit, I managed to sound respectful. “I own The Cottages across the street.”

“Public records show that you don’t own this property, so that makes it trespassing. Do you have a good reason for sitting here, or do I haul you in and let you explain it to a judge?”

The remaining cars left the driveway.

“I’m just doing what you asked, trying to keep nuisance calls to a minimum. I come by from time to time at night, to check and make sure all is quiet,” I said.

Johnson shone his light in Fab’s face. “And you have a criminal record a mile long.”

“You must have me confused with someone else. I don’t so much as have a ticket for jaywalking. If you need a reference, call Detective Harder, Miami police department.” An ordinary citizen would have felt her foot in his smaller friend.