Murder in Paradise (Paradise Series) (9 page)

* * *

It felt like I only slept ten minutes, waking early the next morning to the smell of coffee brewing and Mother and Creole sitting at the island. Sitting on the counter was a pink box from my favorite place, The Bakery Café. Mother always over indulged so I knew it was chock-full of goodies.

“Gabriel’s dead,” Creole said.

Mother handed me a cup of coffee.

I gasped. “Where’s Fab?  Please tell me she isn’t dead.” I gripped the counter.

“Not one hundred percent sure, but my guess would be that Fab’s in hiding,” Creole said as he refilled his coffee. “She’s been labeled a person of interest.”

Creole shook his finger at me. “Don’t get arrested trying to help Fab. This is a double-murder investigation.”

“Double murder,” I whispered. “Who’s the other person?”

Mother sat next to Creole. I could tell by the look on her face that she already wormed the grisly details out of him.

“Gabriel was found dead on the back lawn of the estate of Maxwell and Chrissy Wright out on Fisher Island. Police found Maxwell face down in his study, both he and Gabriel with bullet wounds to the back of the head; twenty-five million dollars in art and jewelry stolen from the mansion. The security system was rendered ineffective, including the back-up systems, and the tapes from the cameras are missing,” Creole told us. “It mirrors a couple of heists Fab and Gabriel pulled off in France, although the murder angle would be new.”

“Fab would never kill anyone or Gabriel would’ve been dead a long time ago,” I said.

Creole stared at me. “Do you happen to know where Fab is right now?”

I shook my head. “Don’t take this the wrong way but I’m not helping you arrest Fab.” 

“Here’s the deal. I won’t use anything you tell me against her.” Creole grabbed my arm. “But if I hear it from someone else then I have no choice. I’m on Fab’s side until it’s proven beyond any doubt to me that she’s guilty.”

“I agree with Madison, Fab’s no killer.” Mother stared at Creole, refilling her coffee. She pointed to his cup, he nodded and she topped his off.

“Why would Fab murder Maxwell Wright? I’ve never heard her mention his name.” Anybody who didn’t live under a rock had heard of the Wrights. The über-rich made headlines all the time, mostly on the covers of the local magazines that catered to the wealthy. “Is there one piece of evidence that leads to Fab?”

I leaped for my phone when it rang; disappointed it wasn’t Fab’s name on the screen, but Detective Harder’s. I exploded at Creole, “I’m not helping the Miami police with anything to do with this case! You and your friend,” I said pointing to my phone that just landed in the living room, “Can call my lawyer.”

I stomped upstairs to shower.

* * *

I wiggled into my favorite jean skirt, which had two big pockets in the front for my cell phone and keys, and strapped on my thigh holster. In the shower, I had made a mental list of people I needed to call. I had no idea where to start looking, but I knew Fab would never come back here if she thought she were in trouble with the police.

Before I saw Zach, his voice boomed up the stairs and I groaned. His presence meant trouble. Coming down the stairs, I saw Creole hadn’t left. He sat by Mother at the island, and they looked like such a united pair that it made me want to scream. Zach stood at the sink pouring coffee into his travel mug.

“What’s new?” I stared at Zach.

“Looking for Fab, and your Mother assures me she’s not here and hasn’t been here.” Zach flashed me his superior smile.

I fought to stay calm. “That sounds like you wouldn’t take my word.” 

“I think you’d end up in a jail cell next to her if you thought you could help,” Zach snorted. “If you’d listened to me when I told you she’d make a poor friend, you wouldn’t be having cops sitting outside your house.” 

“What proof do you have that she committed any crime?” I asked. “And if she were here, would you arrest her?”

“We have her on video tape running from the Wright residence,” Zach said.

“I thought all the tapes were missing,” I said.

“Unprofessional of you to share information from a crime scene,” he said, sneering at Creole.

Creole shoved his stool back and pulled up to his full six foot four stature, almost eye level with Zach.

Mother jumped up. “More coffee, anyone?”

To look at the testosterone stare-down, you wouldn’t know that they had been childhood friends. I knew it annoyed Zach that Creole came and went from my house with increasing regularity.

“I’m sure you’ll share anything you find out with Miami P.D., Detective Harder has been assigned to this case,” Creole told him.

“I’ll make a note,” Zach said. “What’s your interest? I thought you consorted with drug dealers all day.”

“I have a personal interest,” Creole smiled. “And what’s yours?”

“The Wrights are clients of AZL,” Zach said evenly. “We will retrieve the stolen art and jewelry.” He turned to me. “Who are you anyway? Have you decided that stealing property and leaving behind two dead people is somehow romantic? That bother you any? You believe in Fab so much, and her innocence, then you need to tell her to come forward and turn herself into the police.”

The doorbell rang, which meant more trouble. I raced to the door before anyone could move. “Kevin, what’s up?” From the look on his face, he’d drawn the short straw.

“Here to speak to Fab,” Kevin said, not quite making eye contact.

I opened the door wide. “Come on in, look around.” Kevin walked into the kitchen. I grabbed my purse off the bench and scooted out the door. I cleared the driveway when Creole came running out the front door shaking his head. Two seconds later, my phone rang. The screen said “Mother,” but my guess was that Creole would be on the phone. I pushed “ignore” and threw my phone on the passenger seat.

Looking in the mirror, I noticed Officer Johnson sitting on my bumper; guess he didn’t know tailgating is illegal. I stuck to the speed limit, making a quick turn to drive along the beach. I needed to channel my inner Fab and figure out her hiding place. I led Johnson straight to The Cottages. I pulled up in front of the office; he skirted the lawn, which annoyed me. Who rolls their tires on someone else’s green grass? 

Hiring Mac turned out to be a stress reliever. Head phones on, she gyrated in the barbeque area to her latest workout routine, Zumba.

Mac whirled around and waved. “I see Mr. No Personality is back.” She pointed to Johnson. “FYI, he stopped by earlier looking for Fab. I told him he could look around as long as he didn’t touch anything.”

I pulled my phone out of my pocket. Brick would help Fab and so might his brother Casio, if there were something in it for him. “Are you using your own phone?” Brick barked. “I don’t know anything.” He clicked off.

I didn’t get a chance to hang up before my phone started ringing.

“Hi, Dickie.” Dickie Vanderbilt co-owned Tropical Slumber Funeral Home with his partner, Raul. I’d met him at My Aunt Elizabeth’s funeral and we’d become friends.

Mac moved closer to listen. This was a bad habit she picked up from Fab.

“I’m cashing in one of those IOUs you gave me. I need you to escort a body to a funeral in Miami this afternoon. Raul and I need to arrive ahead of the deceased to make sure everything goes smoothly. This is a VIP burial and they are demanding all the bells. I had no one else to call.”

A dead body! I wanted to pass out. “Dickie, I...uh…no!”

Mac made a face. “Eww,” she whispered.

“You won’t have any contact with the body, it’s a ride along. I wouldn’t ask you, but I have no one else I trust––and you did promise.”

“I’m on way,” I sighed.

My phone rang again and this time it was Creole. “Did you find her?” he asked.

“I’m being followed. Is my phone tapped?”

The long pause gave me my answer. “I don’t know,” he said.

I hung up on him. “Can I trade phones with you?” I asked Mac. “Before you answer, mine’s being listened to, or whatever they do, by the cops.”

“Follow me.” Mac crooked her finger and headed to the office. She pulled open her desk drawer and handed me a phone and a charger cord. “This is an extra office phone I keep on hand since the jerk ran into the electrical pole and phone service was out for two days. I keep it charged so it’s ready to use. It’s pay-by-the-minute and not registered to anyone.”

“I’ll see you later. Dickie’s waiting for me.” I reached in the drawer and put two aspirin in my pocket, just in case.

“Why do you get the dead people jobs?” Mac asked.

Good question.

I shook my head. “Just lucky I guess.”

“I’ll take an IOU and use it right now,” Mac said. “You know Shirl, she broke up with her boyfriend. He kicked her out after telling her she could stay until her new place was ready, and that won’t be for a few days.” Shirl worked as a nurse at Tarpon Hospital, was a little crazy, and Mac’s best friend. I liked her directness. You never had to wonder what was on her mind; she’d tell you.

“You know my rule—no more long-term tenants. Give me your word she’ll be out in a few days and won’t be fornicating in the pool.”

“You’ll never know she’s here,” Mac promised, holding up her hand.

As I drove out of the driveway, I noticed a brand new sheriff car parked half way down the block. The city had bought several unmarked Ford sedans, but the limo tint was the giveaway, the windows were totally blacked out.

I laughed.
Wait until he had to report back about my next stop, Tropical Slumber Funeral Home.

CHAPTER 13

Unless you were a long time local, you wouldn’t know that the funeral home got its start as a drive-through hot dog stand. It had three previous owners and each one added an addition to make it an architectural oddity. I parked opposite the front door in the vacant parking lot, and walked across the red carpet. At least I wouldn’t be crashing someone’s funeral.

Dickie opened the door and looked around before letting me in. “Were you followed?” He triple locked the door.

To say Dickie was odd would be an understatement. Today, he seemed downright paranoid. “What?”

Fab walked out of one of the slumber rooms disheveled and looking tired. “How’s my cat?”

I rushed over and hugged her. “I’m so happy to see you. I gave Jazz bologna, but I think he likes it better when you feed him your meat surprises. You’re hiding here?” I turned to Dickie. “Are you okay?”

“Miss Fabiana’s a good guest,” Dickie said.

Much to my surprise, he didn’t look like the scared rabbit that he usually did when Fab came around. His usually pale face had a hint of color today.

Fab, hands on her hips, had a shocked look on her face. “Really, Madison, you’re not the only one with party manners. Besides, who would look for me here?” Her laugh brittle, she sounded overwhelmed.

I looked around the main entry at its heavy ornate wood furniture and brocade fabrics on the chairs, slip covered in plastic. “This place never made my list.”

“I’ll leave you two to discuss her problems. If you need anything just ring the bell,” Dickie pointed to a small writing desk.

“No dead body escort job?” I asked Dickie.

“I made it up to get you over here,” Dickie preened. “I thought I did good for a last minute lie, no time to practice.” 

I wanted to yell, “Yes!” The whole idea of driving around with a dead body gave me an upset stomach. “Do you have any final send-offs tonight? We might borrow one of your hearses since the sheriff is parked over at the tattoo parlor.”

“We have the night off,” Dickie said.

He left, and Fab and I sat on a bench next to the front door. “What the heck happened?” I asked. “Did you shoot Gabriel or the rich guy?”

“Once we reached the island, the job whiffed of a set-up. Gabriel went crazy when I told him I changed my mind and I tried to run. He tangled my hair in his fist and shoved me to the ground face first, planting his foot in the middle of my back and holding me down with his knee. He snarled at me, saying that if I tried to get away he’d break my arms and legs and let me swim back to The Keys. You and Madeline to follow.”

 “I’m going to call Cruz.”

“I can’t afford him,” Fab said.

“We can work out something, short of sex.” My luck, he’d want a refund since I’d lack the appropriate enthusiasm for indiscriminate banging.

 “You can’t run for forever. Zach and Slice are looking for you. The Wrights are clients.” I fished the burner phone out of my purse. “Since you didn’t shoot anyone, then you need a lawyer and he can inform you of your next step.”

Cruz Campion enjoyed the title of Best Criminal Defense Lawyer in South Miami; just ask him, he’ll tell you about the cases he’s won and his perfect track record, with not a single lost case. He wore his conceited I’m-better-than-you look like a badge of honor. What did he care? He was a winner. For some reason he liked me, so I tried not to abuse the relationship. I never said no to beachfront requests for his relatives.  

His assistant, Susie, answered. “This is Madison Westin and it’s urgent that I speak with Cruz.”

Susie laughed. “Are you in jail again?”

Susie must think I’m a train wreck; it’s always some emergency or another. The last time I talked to her, I’d been booked, photographed, and headed to the women’s central jail. “This is for a friend who needs a lawyer. She’s in desperate need of legal counsel; she’s wanted for questioning in a double murder.”

Susie put me on hold and came back in less than a minute. “You have five minutes and then he has an appointment.” In their game of bad cop/good cop, I pictured her in black leather with a tasteful-sized whip in her hand. Susie relished her role; she laid down the rules and expected you to follow.

“Does this have anything to do with Fabiana?” Cruz asked.

“She needs a good lawyer and you’re the best. She didn’t kill anyone,” I told him.

“You know I never ask that question. And I don’t want to hear that you’re hiding her from authorities either.”

“Well, I’m not.” Technically that’s the truth. I crossed my fingers just in case. “What does she do now? Harder’s lead investigator.”