Murder in Paradise (Paradise Series) (15 page)

My over-protective instincts of Miss January snapped into overdrive. She didn’t have an arrest record and hanging out with Carly was a bad idea. I pulled into the space in front of the office. The sign on the door read, “At the pool,” along with an arrow down the walkway.

Mac and Shirl lay on recliners by the pool. “You’ve got a cushy job,” I said to Mac, nodding at Shirl and pulling up a chair.

Mac rolled on her side, one boob a breath away from freedom. “It’s quiet here; the sheriff hasn’t been around in a while. Do you suppose they miss us?” Mac shoved her boobs back in place, giving them a reassuring pat, and adjusted her bathing suit top, if that’s what you call two pieces of string.

It’s hard not to stare, both women were large breasted, and curvy, both struggled to control their girls. “Why is Carly, the drunk, visiting Miss January?”

“I asked her, she mumbled something about pee,” Mac said.

“As in vegetables?” I asked.

Shirl giggled. “Urine. She didn’t want to talk about it and shuffled off to her cottage, slamming the door.”

“You,” I said, looking at Mac, “need to find out what the hell is going on. If she gets arrested you will be her ride home.”

Mac threw her arms out. “Why me? Besides, Miss J and Carly never leave the property together. Carly comes to visit once or twice a week, stays about ten minutes, and shuffles her way to a waiting car.”

“Yesterday, Miss January stood out at the curb and I asked her if she needed help.” Shirl stuck her leg in the air and rubbed lotion on one and then the other. “Last time the liquor store delivered her cigarettes she sat down to smoke a couple and needed help getting up. I helped her into the chair on the front porch. She asked me to go get Kitty, the cat liked the sun; told her I was allergic.”

“You deal with dead people,” I reminded her.

Shirl made a face. “They’re not hard and lumpy, with one eye staring at an odd angle.” 

“Find out what you can or I’ll go pay Miss Carly an unfriendly visit,” I said.

“Fab getting sprung anytime soon?” Mac asked.

“I’ve got a visit later. How’s work?” I asked Shirl.

“Last night we had a little excitement. Old Man Henry was back with a dildo stuck in his butt, and it was still turned on.”

“The last time I ran into the Henrys at Custer’s, the wife told me they still had sex every night and they’re eighty. I chalked it up to too many beers,” Mac said.

“They were both drunk last night, the missus sobbing by his side; started to tell me about their adventurous lifestyle and I walked away. You’d have thought he would’ve learned from the two previous times things went awry with their so-called adventures.”

Shirl’s story had my butt cheeks clenching. “Anything else I need to know?” I asked.

“I met Svetlana when I checked on Joseph––his ankles looked more swollen than usual. Do you think they make rubber boyfriends?”

“Take the new boyfriend to Custer’s and you’ll be the hot gossip by morning,” I said. Custer’s is a popular local hangout for the beer and screw top wine crowd. No food allowed, the health department told them. It was too dirty. Almost every night fists fly in the alley and most manage to connect a punch before the sheriff shows up.

Mac rolled her eyes. “Shirl, I know you’ve had crappy boyfriends, but a rubber one? I hear NA and AA are good places to meet people, and you being a nurse, that might work out.”

I knew a girl back home who went boyfriend shopping at Narcotics Anonymous. She said the trick to score someone “good” was to go to meetings in rich neighborhoods. “I have a number for a great matchmaker. She’d love to fix you up.” Keep my mother busy fixing up other people and she would stay out of my love life.

CHAPTER 21

I hung up the phone and called the jail to see if inmates could get visits today. Yesterday when I showed up, the jail was locked down due to—what I weaseled out of Brick—a fight over drugs. An inmate who had trash duty along one of Florida’s scenic highways decided to erase all that work time credit by taping contraband under her overly large breasts and sneaking it back inside. Prisoners knew they had to strip off their uniforms when coming back from work detail, though most guards were lax about body searches.

I wanted to throw a fit, but decided I didn’t want to end up getting arrested. Instead, I took myself home, gave my nerves a nap, and spent the day by the pool ignoring phone calls.

My finger hovered on speed dial for Cruz. I wanted to scream, “Get Fab out of jail already!” As nervy as I could be, I didn’t dare continue to make a nuisance of myself. Besides, I’d get the lecture about attorney/client privilege and a not-so-nice reminder to stay out of his case. I hadn’t talked to Susie since ambushing Cruz at the courthouse. I planned to ignore her until she forgot.

Jazz sat on the floor, rubbing his face on my leg. I picked him up and put him on the counter, which I had to constantly remind Fab was not allowed. He stuck his face in mine and meowed as loud as he could.

“I didn’t hear a please.” I scratched him behind his ears, forcing a kiss on him.

I opened the refrigerator door, taking out a butcher-paper wrapped package. Whoever said humans were servants to cats couldn’t be more right. We had run out of mystery meat, so I substituted the sliced turkey Fab bought before getting arrested.

Jazz and I sat at the island and I fed him a piece at a time, fidgeting, kicking my foot. Jazz stopped after a couple of bites, not impressed, time for a nap. He looked at me and meowed, a reminder he was too old to jump off the counter. I picked Jazz up, hearing the roar of a motorcycle outside my kitchen window. I held on tight, sliding open the kitchen drawer where I kept a handgun amongst the rarely used utensils.

Big, burly Gunz walked by the kitchen window, his hair sticking up. It surprised me it didn’t blow off if he’d been riding without a helmet. Jazz licked my face to remind me he wanted down. I set him on the floor, and pushed the drawer closed. I started for the front door when it opened.

“You need to knock, dude.” Gunz had never been to my house before and my open door policy didn’t extend to everyone. I remembered locking the door behind Mother, which meant he could pick a lock every bit as fast as Fab.

Fab walked in looking like she could sleep for a week. “Gunz can’t pick locks.”

“So happy to see you.” I ran and hugged her. “Cops after you?” 

“Charges were dropped for now. Tests came back and neither my fingerprints nor my DNA were on the gun or anywhere in the damned house. Cruz said the clincher, a video tape from a security camera several houses down, showed me driving away in the boat around the same time of the shooting.” She pulled my hair. “Don’t you dare cry. If I’m not doing it then you sure as hell aren’t either.”

“You got any beer in here?” Gunz had the refrigerator door open, his head halfway in, rooting around.

“Bottom shelf, help yourself.” I shook my head at Fab. Gunz, a triple-X-sized man, experimented with hair concoctions; today he decided against his au natural bald and donned a black wig that he’d trimmed with pinking shears. I would’ve bet money that nothing could look worse than the faux hair paint he favored, but today was a jump ball.

Gunz took the bottle opener I had in my hand. “Sorry about telling you to mind your own business. Did that sound nice?” He looked at Fab. “Let me know what you find out.” He left, sat on his bike, and downed his beer, the bottle flying into the recycle bin.

“Why didn’t you call me, I’d have picked you up?” I asked.

“I had no idea I’d be getting released until they called my name. I wanted out fast in case they made a mistake. Gunz rode past me while I stood in front of the jail, he’d just finished posting bail for a client. I bummed a ride. Good thing. I didn’t have any money or my phone. I’d have had to walk or stick my finger out.”

“What does Gunz want?”

“A personal item got stolen, he needs it retrieved. It’s currently being held for ransom, but he sniffs a double cross. He’s running out of time, this job needs to be done tonight. I need you to come along and create a distraction if needed.”

“You look dreadful. Don’t you need a night off? Besides, you have calls to make, letting people know you got sprung.”

“I’m showering. And a double latte, espresso, whipped cream is all I need.” Fab disappeared up the stairs.

I picked up my phone and called Mother. “This is your prodigal daughter. Fab’s out; the charges got dropped.”

“I’ll drive down and take the two of you to dinner.” 

“We’ll take a rain check. She’s got a job tonight she committed to before going to jail and needs to get it done,” I told Mother. “It will be an early night. She looks dreadful and needs a good night’s sleep. Jail isn’t conducive to sleep with twenty-four hour noise.”

Mother sighed. “Have you two thought about keeping a low profile?”

I went upstairs to my bedroom and strapped on a thigh holster. My knee-length tropical-print skirt covered it. I changed into a long sleeve T-shirt and grabbed my jean jacket. It would be sheer stupidity not to be prepared on a job with Fab.

CHAPTER 22

Fab rocketed up the Overseas Highway to Miami. “What do you know about Mango?”

I pulled my seatbelt tight. “You would’ve thought when Mango tried to amputate Gunz’s nose with her teeth that would’ve put an end to that happy relationship.”

“They did call it quits. On her way out the door she lifted his book of contacts and wants a half-million to buy it back, or she sells it to the highest bidder.”

I gasped. “Does Gunz have that kind of money?”

“In assets, but not cash.”

Never judge a person’s bank account by their looks.

Fab cut over to the toll road. “Mango strips nights at Brick’s place out on the Tamiami Trail. I bought information from Bitsy before getting arrested. She told me Mango just moved into a condo in South Beach. She’s working tonight, so we’ll search her place.”

“We need to verify that Mango showed up for work before we barge in uninvited. What makes you think she’s keeping the black book in her condo? She hasn’t quit her job so she must not be one hundred percent about her extortion skills.”

Fab cut around another driver and received a horn and a finger wave out the window. “The doorman at the club told me he knew for sure she hadn’t moved from her old place. My guess is she knows Gunz is going to come retrieve the book or send someone else to do it and what better place than the address no one knows anything about?”

“How does Bitsy fit into this story? I bet you cash Brick doesn’t know about her side business, selling info on his other employees.” I gripped the hand rest; our exit to the expressway coming up next.

“Mango needed a reference, so she paid Bitsy to pretend to be her current landlord. Apparently, it’s well known that Bitsy’s favors come at a price. She keeps her mouth shut unless paid more.”

To my surprise, Fab turned on her blinker while exiting the toll road, not forcing anyone behind us to slam on their brakes.

We pulled up in front of a boldly painted pink, blue, and yellow 1920s art deco apartment building; ultra-modern, sleek lines. We circled the block four times before finding a parking place.

“You’re lookout,” Fab informed me.

“For what? I don’t know what Mango looks like. Do not open the car door without a plan.”

“Mango is a six-foot tall bleach-blonde, good-sized, has huge boobs, and never goes anywhere without her six-inch stilettos.” Fab jumped out. “My plan is to find unit 3B, search it quickly, and get out. Don’t leave without me.” She slid a lock pick out of the back of her jeans before reaching the security door.

The sidewalk was crowded with tourists and locals making their way over to Collins Avenue, where all the action happened. South Beach came alive at night, the bars and restaurants filling with partiers, lasting into the early hours of the morning. Two street vendors passed me, both loaded up with colorful neon flashing beads around their necks. One carried a sign with an assortment of pins, lit-up and blinking. The other had a pole stacked with baseball caps, hanging precariously. My favorite: “I threw up in South Beach.”

Two beefy men slithered out from between the buildings, wearing shorts and way too tight T-shirts to emphasize their muscles. They stopped under a spotlight at the door to Mango’s building and accessed the security pad; the door buzzed, allowing them entry.

A minute later, my phone rang. “What’s up?” I answered.

“Two guys just walked in,” Fab whispered. “Get me out of here. Don’t shoot them.”

“Last resort, a bullet to their leg will slow them down.”

I dug through the junk in my purse to find my lock pick set. I removed a pick and shoved it into my skirt pocket. I took a breath to calm my nerves. Although I’d been practicing, my skill level would be considered pitifully slow. “Thank you,” I said when the security door opened. A dark-haired young woman with huge dark glasses blew by me. I slipped in after her, and she never looked my way.

The elevator doors opened immediately. Punching the button for the third floor, I tried not to freak out.

Think. You’re good at outrageous lies.

When I stepped off the elevator and came face to face with the fire alarm, I pulled my shirt up, wrapped the material around my hands, opened the clear cover, and jerked the alarm. The screaming noise reverberating through the building would freak out the residents, but they could consider it a practice run like grade school. The noise would wake the dead. I ran down the hall and banged on 3B, yelling, “Fire alarm!”

Both men pushed their way out the door. “What the hell’s going on?” 

“Fire on the second floor, you need to get out.” I ran toward the exit sign. Both men hit the stairwell right behind me. I let them go by and followed them down the stairs. Several owners of the units had already gathered on the sidewalk, talking, pointing upward. I heard one say, “I hope the fire department gets here before the building burns down.” Neighbors across the street had their windows open, hanging out, some on their balconies.