Greed in Paradise (Paradise Series) (25 page)

I sighed when we veered off the Overseas Highway into Tarpon Cove and pulled up in front of Jake’s Bar; yellow crime scene tape was laid across the driveway. An assortment of law enforcement vehicles filled the street. The bomb squad had turned out, outfitted in riot gear, the local fire department and sheriffs pushed to the side in favor of their more illustrative counterparts. Several K-9 dogs patrolled the property in bulletproof vests, sniffing every square inch of the property. My employees filed out of the building in a single line, their hands in the air. Mother looked frazzled, her blonde bob wind-whipped, and the ever-cool-under-pressure Fab was behind her. Both of them were cuffed and each had their own police escort.

I peered through the passenger-side window, “Somehow this will be my fault,” I said to Creole.

He squeezed my hand, “I’ll give you a written excuse. You’ve been with me for the last five days.”

“Shh, you need to get my story straight. I’ve been at my childhood friend, Marcy’s wedding in Myrtle Beach.”

He shook his head, “I don’t understand why you didn’t just go ahead and tell your family you left town to take your cousin on a sexual test drive.”

My Aunt Elizabeth willed all of her colorful friends to me. It turned out she’d known Creole long before I did. He’d been neighbors with my aunt growing up and she had loved him like a son and now so did my mother. His real name is Luc Baptiste, but when you’re an undercover detective you get a street name, so we keep his real identity a secret. He had been as close as family before we started sneaking around.

I groaned, “Some people would hear that and think, ‘that’s why she’s so weird,’ then begin the inbreeding jokes.”

“What kind of trouble have those two gotten into now?” he laughed.

“Can I get another kiss? Who knows when we’ll get another chance? This looks like a long afternoon.” I stuck my hand under his T-shirt and ran my nails up his chest.

It still amazed me that I’d finally agreed to having a relationship with him. The words barely left my lips before he rushed me out of town for a week on the beach in Key West. We never left the hotel room for the first two days, opening the door only to room service. My favorite moment was on the last day. He took me to a secluded spot on the beach on the pretext of a picnic and swimming and we spent the afternoon entangled in each other’s arms surrounded by nature’s beauty.

Creole’s blue eyes sparkled with amusement, pulling into a parking space in front of the trailer court I had recently acquired. “I don’t recognize a single officer. I’ll give Harder a call; he can get us a quick update.”

Chief Harder of the Miami Police Department is Creole’s boss. Their relationship extended outside the office and they always had each other’s back. Harder and my relationship had improved considerably from when he thought I was criminal. He helped me on several occasions and I returned the favor whenever he asked.

I ran my fingers through Creole’s shoulder-length black hair, pulling his face to mine, “I had a great time.”

We both jumped at the pounding on the window.

“What in the hell?” Creole yelled.

Professor Crum glared at him, “I’m having you towed,” he snarled.

I threw open the passenger door and slid off the seat of Creole’s black over-sized pickup and onto the ground, managing to keep my sundress covering my butt.

“You have anyone towed off my property and I’ll evict your old ass. No court hearing,” I said, “just a special friend or two to tie you up and deliver you to Minnesota.”

“Didn’t see you there, girly. Who’s he?” Professor Crum stood ramrod-stiff, with his usual good posture, dressed up in his cowboy boots and boxer shorts, his white hair sticking up on end.

“Her boyfriend,” Creole growled. “If you ever look at her like that again, I’ll blacken both your eyes and I won’t care if you’re one hundred.”

“And to think, you could’ve had me,” Crum winked. “Too late; I’m taken. Got a new lady. We’re going out to dinner.”

Creole threw his head back and laughed.

I bit my lip; he’d clearly usurped the title of most colorful tenant. “Is that why you’re dressed up? I found out your first name is Ernest––or do you prefer Ernie?”

Crum’s eyes turned to dark slits and said, “You do not have my permission to call me anything but Professor or Crum.”

Crum’s condescension didn’t bother me anymore since he looked down his nose at everyone.

“What’s going on at the bar?” I asked.

“Your mother and that delicious French girl opened the back room for poker. I don’t know if they couldn’t keep their mouths shut or what, but word spread like a sex disease,” he then pulled a condom from the back of his boxers. “I never leave home without one of these babies. I sew pockets on the back of my nice shorts.” He turned, wiggling. The pocket turned out to be a piece of mismatched material, this one a piece of a red bandana hand-sewn in place with sloppy stitches.

Creole’s phone rang and he stepped away to answer.

“I haven’t been gone long enough for them to commit felonies.”

“The cops have been there at least two hours,” Crum said.  “My opinion: They chased a couple of dirtballs out a few nights ago, and the guys came back to get even, Bistro the loan shark and his sleazy muscle, Jethro. I overheard the hot one threatening to shoot them.”

Creole walked up in time to hear. “I know Jethro. I can make sure he never bothers you again.”

“Let’s go see how much bail money is needed.”

Crum tossed his head in Creole’s direction, “I think you can do better,” he said.

I tugged on Creole’s hand. “Can you make this go away?”

It was a short walk to the bar; the trailer court sat at the opposite end of the same block and was set back from the highway. Mother and Fab had been separated off to the side, away from the other employees and were not able to communicate amongst themselves without shouting. If I’d summed up the situation correctly, no one would be going anywhere soon because at this point there was more standing around than action.

“I’ll call in favors to make sure no one in the Westin family goes to jail––and that includes Fab. Or I’ll make sure that they don’t stay long,” he gave me a wry smile. Creole drug me behind the dumpster for a long, slow kiss. I stretched up his chest, standing on tip toes, a moan escaping, begging for more.

Kevin Cory called out my name. He was almost a family member and I knew he hated that idea. He liked my brother Brad, and approved of him dating his sister Julie, but he thought Mother and I were crazy and unsuitable role models for his teenage nephew, Liam.

When we drove by, I’d seen him questioning Philipa, the bartender. Arms across his chest, he didn’t look happy about whatever answers she was giving him. We called the bartender Phil—a second-year law student who dazzled the customers with her bubbly personality, long blonde hair and butt-cheek shorts.  I didn’t worry about what she’d say.

I heard my name called and turned to see Mother waving, Fab next to her, sporting an angry scowl.  Before I could take a step a female sheriff stepped in front of me.

“No lookers,” she said as she pointed to the street, “this is an active investigation.”

I checked out her uniform. It turned out she was local; her badge read, ‘Tarpon Cove’.

The Cove sat at the top of the Keys, the first small town to greet you upon entering the Overseas Highway and after leaving Miami far behind. We had a small sheriff presence and I knew most of them by name.

“We haven’t met––I’m Madison Westin, the owner.”

Her eye arched a bit at what I assumed was my not offering a courtesy handshake. Anyone who knew me also knew I didn’t observe that nicety, but most people just assumed I was ill-mannered. I disliked the term “germaphobe,” but I also hated anything slimy, murky, green, watery, and abhorred all bugs in general.

“I’ve heard about you,” she looked me over, amusement on her face. “I’m Kevin’s new partner. Officer Ivyliss Sotolongo but you can call me Ivy.”

“Johnson’s replacement,” I smiled. “I heard he got kicked…or transferred somewhere far from The Cove.”

“He had a lot to say about you before he left,” she laughed. “It had been his dream to lock up your criminal ass which, to his disappointment, was a wish unfulfilled.”

“Do you mind if I speak to my Mother and make sure she’s okay? Her health is fragile,” I said, and managed to maintain eye contact to sell the blatant lie.

Ivy looked over at Mother, who stared back, “She might want to cut back on the cigars. You can have five minutes.”

Mother loved a hand-rolled Cuban cigar, she found a family run store in Little Havana that she frequented often. She’d been to the factory and knew everyone by name.

I didn’t want to hear the answer to my next question, fearing the worst––but I asked anyway, “Is she under arrest?”

“It’s not my call. But evidence is missing, along with a couple of witnesses, their stories are full of potholes, and did I mention they barely agree on anything?”

Damn!

“Jake’s caters to law enforcement; they have a special area in the corner of the back deck, one of the best views in the place. Hope to see you soon.”

I walked over to Mother, enveloping her in a hug. “What in the hell,” I whispered in her ear. “Brad will flip when you tell him.” One thing for certain, I wasn’t going to be the one to tell my brother and wanted to be out of town again when he found out.

“He doesn’t need to know,” she snorted. “It was a huge misunderstanding.”

“Mother,” I mimicked her no-nonsense voice, “I’m sure it wasn’t. Who knows you better than I do?”

I looked at my best friend and roommate and stage-whispered, “You couldn’t stay out of trouble for a few days?”

“Get your lawyer on the phone. I’m not up to another trip to the big-girl jail,” Fab’s dark eyes shot Mother hate-filled looks. “I’m so glad your home. I want details.”

“Mother,” I continued to whisper, after noticing Ivy had moved closer. “You’re in frail health if anyone asks. You can have a miraculous recovery once we get you out of here.”

Mother dabbed her eyes.

“Stop, you don’t fool me. What the hell happened?” I shook my head. “The truth, not the cleaned up legal version.”

“When Fab and I were on a recovery job, we discussed opening the back room for a friendly game, to a select group of friends. Things didn’t go as planned,” she sighed.

I snapped around and glared at Fab, “You took Mother to boost a car? Were guns drawn?”

“It was an easy job for a change. Found the BMW at the girlfriend’s house, I got in and drove away.”

“There is no such thing as an easy recovery job. I’ll bet cash there’s more to your story.”

“I didn’t have anyone else,” she hissed. “You know I need a driver, all she had to do was follow me to Brick’s for the drop-off, what could go wrong?”

Brick Famosa owned a high-end car sales/rental lot, Famosa Motors. I thought he stopped renting to people without a credit and background check, especially when they paid with all cash. But apparently not; he kept Fab and I busy driving all over South Florida recovering cars that failed to be returned.

“You’re asking me that with a straight face when ninety-percent of our jobs end up with threats of violence?”

“You exaggerate at ninety-percent,” she huffed. “Have you ever tried to tell your Mother her idea is a sucky one? She has voices in her head and only listens to them.”

“Since when do all these different agencies show up for an illegal card game?”

“Some jackass called in a bomb scare. They burst through the doors, I wanted to run but got down on my knees, like they told me.”

“Officer Ivy informed me that no evidence was found. I’m assuming she meant evidence about the card game. How did you make that disappear? Nice job, by the way.”

“I texted Madeline, she took care of it; swept everything off the table into garbage bags and sent the men out the secret back door.”

Fab must be mad––she called Mother by her first name.

Mother put her head on my shoulder and said, “I had everything covered since I’d run a couple of practice drills before we opened.”

Creole walked up behind us, scooping Mother off her feet into a bear hug. “Since when are you in the habit of ticking off drug dealing pond scum?” he asked.

Kevin joined Ivy, and together they glared in our direction.

I cut in, “Mother, did you give a statement to anyone?” She shook her head in the negative.

“Don’t say one word until I get Cruz on the phone.” Cruz Campion was a hotshot lawyer I kept on speed-dial for just such occasions.

Creole and I exchanged looks.

“Bistro needed a get out of trouble card for a violation of his parole conditions,” he said, “so he concocted an elaborate story about guns, gambling and bomb making.”

Fab groaned, “I picked up Bistro’s car. The BMW belonged to him.”

The jail bus rumbled into the driveway. I recognized it as the one they used for special occasions like drunk-driving check points. I watched as my employees filed on board.

“Break up the love feast, ladies, time to get yourselves a seat.” Ivey yelled, advancing on us. She looked at me, “We’re going over the bar one more time and unless anything new turns up, you can reopen tomorrow.”

“No more questions,” Creole advised Ivy. “Everyone one of them is lawyered up.”

“All of them?” she asked in astonishment.

I smiled at her, “If you ever need a criminal attorney, Cruz Campion is the best in South Florida. He boasts the whole state.”

Kevin, who had stood quietly at Ivy’s side, spoke up, “It will be a while before they’re released and you’re not welcome to hang around.”

He grabbed Mother’s arm, “You might be my nephew’s grandmother one day. Why can’t you be a good example and bake cookies or something?”

“I don’t need to bake as long as there are bakeries.”

Deborah Brown is the author of the Paradise series. She lives in South Florida, with her ungrateful animals, where Mother Nature takes out her bad attitude in the form of hurricanes. You can contact her at
[email protected]