Greed in Paradise (Paradise Series) (6 page)

“I’m hoping if I appeal to them on a slutty level they’ll find me amusing.”

Fab watched open-mouthed. “I love that you’re back.”

“If I’m not back in five, I don’t know what.” I got out of the SUV. “How do I look?”

“Trashy, sexy.” Fab twisted her finger and I turned around. “It looks like you don’t have any underwear on.”

I rolled my eyes, mumbling, “Just great.”

I meandered up to the Impala, my eyes focused on the Mercedes and the house where it sat parked. Paulo and Grove hunched down in the seat eating chips, orangey dust on their cheeks. I leaned in the window.

“Hi, guys. Remember me?”

“Nice rack.” Grove wiped his mouth with his hand and rubbed chip dust on his pants. “Sorry, girlie, we’re not into hookers, and besides, it’s illegal.” He shook his finger.

“You need to leave,” Paulo barked. “Now.”

“That’s not very friendly, Paulo,” I said, helping myself to a chip. “We’re here to retrieve the Mercedes over there and it would be nice not to get shot at or arrested.”

“We?” They both said in unison and looked around.

“You remember the delicious Fabiana, don’t you?” I eyed Paulo. He needed a shower and so did his partner. Neither appeared capable of the jungle sex that Fab enjoyed.

“That delectable French chick hates him,” Grove snickered. “You could introduce me.”

I didn’t bother to tell them she’d said something with the word ‘pig’ in it. “Mind if I sit in the back? I’ll call Casio, ask him to ask you real nice-like to do us a favor?”

“I remember now. You killed the drug dealer.”

“No, I shot the drug dealer. He died in police custody a few days later, not from the gunshot, but because he tried to escape out the window and fell to his death,” I reminded them.

“We got a conflict. We want the car, so get lost,” Paulo said.

Grove and Paulo were now staring out the front windshield. I was sure Fab was wiggling her butt up the block. She crossed in front of the car, and leaned in on Paulo’s side. “We want the Mercedes. We’ve got the owner’s permission to pick it up.”

Paulo licked his lips, practically salivating. “The last thing you want to do is get in that car. The trunk is full of drugs.”

“If you don’t mind my asking,” I said, “do the drugs belong to Doug the bookie or the Swan brothers?”

“There’s a much bigger picture going on here,” Grove said, and wagged his finger. “You two need to sashay your lovely asses back to your car, leave Key West, and go shop or whatever women do.” He had run out of patience once he figured out he wasn’t going to get lucky.

“Fabiana.” Paulo flashed her a greasy smile. “Before you leave, give me your number.”

Fab gave him the finger and stomped off.

Poor Paulo looked crushed. Did he think he stood a chance after their first disastrous coupling?

“Thanks, guys. If you’re ever up in Tarpon Cove, stop by Jake’s and tell them free drink on Madison.” I waved.

I beat it up the street and jumped into the SUV. “That could’ve been way worse, like prison for years. Florida takes a dim view on drugs; a whole trunk-load could draw life. What are you going to tell Doug?”

“I should’ve known. Doug never does anything that anyone involved in doesn’t get screwed. I’m telling Brick he can take care of the situation or I quit. It’s his friend or whatever. The bright side is that we get paid and no shots were fired.”

“You know, Paulo’s kind of hot. If he had a shower, washed his hair, and had on clean clothes…” I managed to say with a straight face.

We left The Bakery Café, the last of my latte clutched in my hand, Fab well into her second cup. The guy ahead of us in line told the cashier that he drank seven cups of coffee a day, and it made me jittery thinking about the hot mess I’d be after all that caffeine.

My phone vibrated on the dash. Damn! I hated when it flipped to silent all on its own. Not recognizing the number, I answered it anyway and hit speaker. “None of your business,” didn’t apply to Fab, and I was now in the habit of letting her listen in since it was easier and faster than repeating every word.

“This is Ann, Tucker Davis’s assistant. The reading of Gus Ivers’ will is tomorrow afternoon here at the office. Mr. Davis asked that I call and inform you.” She had worked for Tucker since he opened his practice, and carried loyalty to a new level. I suspected she was also in love with him and still as snotty and condescending as I remembered.

Tucker had been my Aunt Elizabeth’s choice of probate lawyer and a big pain in my butt; not to mention he almost got me killed because he wanted to get his greedy hands on her property. “What does that have to do with me?” Ann was about to find out that two could have a surly attitude.

“I’m sure it doesn’t come as a surprise that you were mentioned in the will,” she snorted. “Relay this same message to your criminal friend, Miss Merceau. I don’t have a number for her.”

Fab gave the finger to my phone.

“I dare you to say that to Miss Merceau’s face. I’d enjoy watching you get your ass kicked.” I smiled at Fab.

“Elizabeth Hart didn’t know you very well or she’d never have left you her estate.”

“You can go—” I started, but heard the click of her phone.

Fab rolled her eyes. “Good thing your aunt’s estate is settled and you don’t have to deal with her anymore. Why do you suppose old man Ivers mentioned us in his will?”

“Could be the car wash. Our contract stated that I get to purchase the other half,” I said. “We’re certainly going to show up and find out.”

Tolbert had called with a simple request to evict a brother/sister combo who had moved into Ivers’ car wash. When the deal went awry, as some of them seem to do, I ended up owning half the business.

“Have Apple and Angie managed to get arrested yet?” Fab asked.

I hired two slightly reformed drunks to wash cars half naked and they rapidly became the new tourist attraction. “They manage to stay sober in the daytime and make a small profit slithering over cars covered in bubbles. They think I don’t know that they took up residence in the storage room. I’m hoping they’ll move before I have to be mean and kick them to the curb.”

“They selling sexual favors yet?”

I shook my head. “I got an interesting complaint from a disgruntled customer, angry because first time he got his truck washed, Angie gave him a hand job. Next time he showed up, she refused him and his auto because he didn’t tip.”

Fab rolled her eyes. “You made that up.”

“I’m not here to entertain you. Anyway, I laughed at the guy, told him he was a cheap bastard and hung up.”

“What happens when they get arrested for prostitution?”

“It goes back to coin-operated.” And I would put up a for sale sign.

My phone rang again. I looked at the screen and thought this can’t be good. “Hi, Kevin.” Kevin Cory, a local sheriff, was friendly with my brother but not the rest of the family. My guess, he hoped his sister would move on and not make the relationship permanent.

“Miss January has been arrested. Do you want to come down and bail her out here at the office or should I have her transferred to the women’s jail?”

“Why? And who would arrest her?” I asked. Miss January had been a tenant at The Cottages since Elizabeth bought the place. She was a young drunk who looked double her age, riddled with cancer, and managed to stay alive on a diet of chain smoking and vodka.

“I did,” he snapped. “Are you coming or not?”

“I’m on my way,” I said, and he hung up. “You need to drop yourself at home. I need to make a jail run.”

* * *

It didn’t take long to cruise down to the docks where the sheriff’s office is located. A small building with a dozen employees, they had a few jail cells and used them primarily as a holding area until the arrestee could be transported to the county jail if not released.

“What are the charges?” I demanded when Kevin stepped up to the front desk.

“Let’s go outside,” he said, and pointed to the door. “I’m fine, thanks for asking. You can lose your patronizing attitude; better me finding her drunk ass than Johnson.”

I took a deep breath. “Thank you for not booking her into the scary girl’s jail.”

I’d never actually been inside the women’s jail. The closest I’d gotten was video chat, which had a view of the inside of prison life; men’s or women’s side, they all complained about the food.

“She’s hanging out with people who have felony rap sheets. Carly Martin, her newest best friend, has two pages of arrests. They stole Carly’s mother’s car and went joyriding and were found inside, passed out drunk down by the docks, motor running. Mrs. Martin has since recanted, mumbling something about a misunderstanding.”

I thought I had gotten rid of Carly, the neighborhood drunk, by threatening bodily harm. “What happens now?”

“Miss January is free to go. But that’s not the way it’s going to play out.” He glared at me. “She thinks she’s been officially arrested. I personally put her through fingerprints, had her picture taken, and made her change into jail issued clothes. She’s currently taking a snooze in a cell. I told her I contacted you to bail her out and you said you’d think about it. Then I told her if you didn’t show up soon I’d put her on a jail bus, where she’d go through another booking process, strip search, and sit in a cell for a month until her trial.”

“If this works, I’ll make an effort to be nice to your partner.” Miss January didn’t used to take her drunkcapades off the property until she started making new drunk friends.

“Johnson’s put in for a transfer and I hope he gets it. One more thing, I think Carly is stealing from Miss January and that’s why she’s always out of money. Carly drunk-mumbled something about getting money from Miss January and when I asked her about it, she didn’t know anything. I will admit it’s damn hard to get reliable info out of drunks.”

I felt bad for Kevin. I know my attitude changed toward him because of his partner. “I’ll play my part to the hilt and let her know she owes me for bailing her out.”

The door opened and Miss January came shuffling out, swollen red eyes, looking scared.

“Thanks, Kevin.” I walked over and put my arm around her boney shoulder. “Ready to go home, little jailbird?” I asked her.

Life had been hard on Miss January. Starting with her husband’s murder, she took to alcohol to numb her grief and never looked back. Now at forty years old, she looked eighty and her days were numbered since being diagnosed with cancer, which she medicated with vodka.

“It’s terrible here, they don’t let you smoke or drink,” she sniffed. “Carly wanted me to say I stole the car, but I didn’t.”

“I know you didn’t, Miss J.” I hugged her, opening the SUV door and helping her in. “Listen to me, no more fun and games with Carly, you got that, or I’ll be quite angry with you and send my mother over to lecture your ears off. She’s very good and won’t let you nod off until she’s finished.”

“Don’t you worry, missy. I’m going to behave myself.”

If only I believed her
.

Shirl came out of the office door just as I pulled into Miss January’s parking space to the side of her cottage. She had fallen asleep as soon as I buckled her seat belt.

Joseph, my other long-term tenant, had rented his space out in the past as temporary parking for stolen cars. Once the sheriff vacated the neighborhood, the car wanted for questioning would magically relocate itself. Threat of eviction put a stop to that enterprising operation.

“Can I get your help?” I called to Shirl. Renting to a nurse had its perks; she kept a watchful eye on the tenants. Recently, one of the guests from the UK cut his foot at the beach and she cleaned and bandaged it, which made her an instant favorite.

We woke Miss January and helped her inside her cottage. We put her on the bed and she went right back to sleep, snoring softly. I marveled that her cottage was spotless, nothing in the way of knick knacks. The only oddity, her dead cat that had been stuffed by an amateur, lay on the couch. We left quietly and I told Shirl what happened.

Mac joined us in the driveway. “Carly Martin doesn’t set foot on this property,” I said.

A red two-door pickup piled with an assortment of junk blew into the driveway, going way too fast, scraping the underside. Three people were crammed into the front seat, Kathy on the passenger side. They blocked the driveway and seven people in total piled out of the truck. Kathy got out, dressed in a bathing suit skirt, flashing cotton underwear and a button-down blouse.

“That’s her husband, Ron,” Mac stage-whispered when the driver’s door opened and a thirty-something-year-old man got out, with boy-next-door good looks.

“At least they don’t look like mother and son,” I said. His wife looked older, but not by twenty years. “You triple swear you checked these two out?” I asked Mac.

“Here she comes.” Shirl nudged me.

Kathy approached us with a big pile of cheap beads around her neck, looking like she just returned from a Mardi Gras celebration.

“Hello, everyone,” Kathy cooed. “The store got in new necklaces.”  She ran her fingers through them, removing three green strands of dyed shells and handing them to us. They still had the price tag hanging off the clasps. I wondered if she expected payment, in which case I’d hand mine back.

“You’re so nice to us,” Shirl said. “I wore the scarf you gave me to work the other day and got so many compliments.”

Something about Kathy made me suspicious; all that niceness, the sincere looking smile but hard, calculating eyes, which once again scanned the property and the street. The price tag also hung off the side of her skirt. Did she wear the clothes from her beach souvenir store and then return them?  Or her idea of a quirky advertising idea? I watched the three women talk, realizing Kathy Stone had charmed my manager and tenant.

“Stop by the store sometime,” Kathy said to me. “We can get to know one another better.”

“Sounds great,” I said. It didn’t, but “hell no” sounded unfriendly.