Swindled in Paradise (6 page)

“Pay well?”

“It’s part-time, and I need the work.” He reached into his pants pocket, taking out his keys.

“How many of these people are professional mourners?”

He toed the grass, kicking up a small divot. “Half maybe. We’re forbidden to disclose any details, including anything about payment.”

“Did you know the deceased was murdered?” I asked.

“Eww!” He jumped back. “That’s bad karma.” He continued stepping backward. “Gotta go. Please don’t tell anyone about me or that we talked.”

Mother walked across the grass, a smirk on her face. “Did you know there are paid mourners here?” she asked when she got close enough that no one else would hear.

I was shocked that she’d found out and a little annoyed I couldn’t be the first to share that little detail. “Yes, how did you find out?”

She pulled a business card out of her clutch. “I got this.”

I grabbed it from her fingers and read it. “You’re forbidden to call.” I shoved it in my purse. “Don’t give me your innocent look. This is just the kind of weirdness you and your friend Jean would sign up for. Now tell me how you got the card.”

“This well-dressed woman who came solo sought me out – another woman alone, I suppose – and asked me if I knew the deceased. I told her no, that I’d come for the food.”

“Really, Mother,” I clucked. “Next time, we’ll rehearse appropriate responses ahead of time.”

“That funeral friend of yours serves food and lots of it. Anyway, the woman – Mali was her name – told me that this service is always looking to hire. The only requirement is dressing professional. She says you can wear the same outfit every time; it’s not as if you’re going to run into the same people.”

Once you wore a black dress to a couple of funerals, it would lose its appeal for any other function. I squirmed at the idea that being a professional mourner was a career choice.

“I’m starving.” I grabbed her arm. “Let’s get out of here. My guess is the ones that know her are in that small group over there.” I pointed to where a dozen people stood under a towering oak tree. “We won’t be able infiltrate and make headway with that bunch. Looks like a high school clique––invitation only. I don’t see Fab and Didier; they must have left already. Let’s go snag a window table at the Crab Shack.”

Chapter 8

The baby blue sky was filled with white, fluffy clouds; a great day for a drive. And the view only got better once we hit the Keys, the whitecap waves crashing onshore on both sides of the highway––the Atlantic and the Gulf of Mexico.

The Crab Shack was a family favorite; it sat off the main highway in Tarpon Cove and overlooked the darker blue waters of the Atlantic. The restaurant was low-key, decorated in nautical décor and served the best seafood in town.

The sun shone brightly through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Mother, like daughter, would only accept a waterfront table. Before sitting down, I took a moment to enjoy the waves, which were heavier than usual, breaking on the sand below and washing up under the stilted building. I ordered drinks while Mother had a short conversation with someone on her cell.

“Who did you just ask to meet us here?” I asked after she dropped the phone back in her purse.

“Your brother. It’s been a while since the three of us got together.”

I wrinkled my nose. This would be the first time I’d seen him since the incident with Striker, who, according to Mac, hadn’t been back. I’d suggested that if he showed his face, she should anonymously tip off Julie’s overprotective, cop brother. He tended to keep an eagle eye on his sister and nephew.

“Mother…” I winced at the whininess in my voice. “I need your advice.”

“Is it too much to hope that you’re going to announce that you’re getting married and need my help to find a dress? I suppose you’ll want to wear flip-flops.” She sniffed. “Did you know they have white ones with pearls?”

“Oh, Mother,” I sighed. “Your best bet for marriage and babies is Brad and Julie. You need to work that angle. I’m begging you, please don’t mention the ‘M’ word to Creole.”

“Most women my age have grandchildren.” She gave me a forlorn stare. “You and your brother need to work on it; think about making your mother happy.”

“That is so manipulative.” For the most part, I was hardened to her attempts to make me feel guilty and this was no exception.

She smiled and tapped her glass, letting the server know she wanted another Jack on the rocks.

Babies. I need to rent one and see how that goes first
.

“My problem is Julie.” I went on to tell her about Julie’s ex showing up and how she didn’t want me to say anything to Brad. My sixth sense told me she’d never say a word unless she was forced.

“I can tell Brad,” Mother offered. “But let’s give her time to say something first. If she doesn’t, I’ll tell Brad, and if it comes out, you can blame me. I’ll throw myself in her arms and beg forgiveness. What’s she going to say?”

“That could backfire. She could get mad and refuse to speak to you. I’ll take your suggestion to wait, and then tell him myself.” I smiled at her. “It would be cowardly of me to make you the bad guy.”

“You’d owe me.”

It was clear that she liked the idea of me owing her, and I could tell she was already figuring out the best way to redeem such an IOU. “You want a wedding? An opportunity to play dress-up? What about Spoon making an honest woman out of you? Brad can walk you down the aisle.”

Brad had come a long way from wanting to throw Spoon in the Gulf. Now he could be in the same room with the man and not growl when Spoon hugged Mother or kissed her on the cheek.

Mother’s cheeks flushed hot pink. “I’m enjoying playing the bad girl. Ssh.” She looked around. “He bought me a black leather motorcycle jacket.”

Sometimes I wanted to strangle her for doing things she’d never allow me to do. “Okay, I’m going to be the mother here. Wear the jacket all over town, to the beach, wherever, but I don’t ever want you draping your body over his motorcycle and cruising around town.” I wagged my finger. “Do you hear me, young lady?”

“I never sound all bossy like that.”

“No,
you
can be scarier.” I leaned in and repeated the question, growling out each word.

“Oh, okay.” She pointed. “Look who’s here.”

I turned to see Brad and Fab coming through the door. Fab tapped his arm and pointed to our table. I found it amusing that the women at the table were dressed up and all in black, whereas my brother was in beach casual: shorts and a tropical shirt, briefcase in hand.

“What happened?” I stood and hugged Fab, who tried to hide a yawn behind her hand.

Brad pulled Mother out of her chair and wrapped her in a bear hug, letting go when she grunted.

Fab sighed. “Didier got a call from Cruz, who made him available to the police for more questioning. At least this time, it was at his office. Didier took the Mercedes, and Brad invited me to tag along with him.”

“You were in Miami today?” I asked Brad.

“I had business to take care of and called to ask Didier a question. I wasn’t far away, and offered the ride.”

“I’m intruding on a family threesome, aren’t I?” Fab asked.

“Don’t be ridiculous, sister from parents I’ve never met,” I said and gently shoved her into the chair next to mine.

Fab grimaced. She rarely spoke about her parents or growing up in France. They’d turned their backs on her adventurous lifestyle, slamming the door on a relationship, and I knew she wasn’t as blasé about the estrangement as she pretended. Their loss was our family’s gain.

She and I met officially when she picked the lock of my house and made herself comfortable. I’d had to harangue her to get her to believe that although other friends had let her down in the past, I would not. We had a good relationship of covering each other’s backs. Her skills outshone mine, but thankfully, most of the time I didn’t feel like a slacker.

Our initial drinks arrived while Brad and Fab placed their drink order with the hostess, who brought them in short order. Fab leaned over and kissed Mother.

“What are you doing to find the killer?” Mother asked Fab. “You know my services are always available.”

“No, they are not,” Brad snapped, and guzzled his beer. “What services?” He pinned me with a stare. “You’re not encouraging Mother to hunt criminals, are you?”

“Mother’s got a nice, silver-handled .22; why not put it to good use?” I teased.

Fab banged her glass on the table. “Of course we don’t. We take her on the flea market jobs. You don’t know how excruciating it is for me to watch these two shoppers comb through junk.”

“Yes, Miss Haggle Queen, and who steps in when the price isn’t low enough in her opinion?” I didn’t bother to remind Fab that Mother and I had told her she could stay home but she’d refused.

Fab turned to me. “You’re the planner. Do we have one yet?”

I gave Mother and Fab a quick recap of everything Brad had told me about Lauren. “Do you have anything to add, bro?”

“No, but I’m available to help out, and I’d prefer it be legal,” he said as he signaled the waiter. It only took a minute to order, as we almost always ordered the same thing. We knew what we liked and rarely deviated.

When the waiter had gone, Brad opened his case and fished out a contract, which he handed to me.

I glanced at the paperwork for the new project, and it appeared standard. Nothing unusual stood out. “Is this moving forward, or is it on hold?”

“I knew Balcazar would be at the funeral, but I dropped by his office to see who was in charge in his absence. The doors were locked, and no one answered my knock,” Brad said.

“Good work, bro. I told our favorite investigator to blow the skeletons out of all the players’ closets, including the company’s. My hope was that we’d locate a friend or two of Lauren’s with inside knowledge that would help us.”

“I watched you and Mother flitting around the grave, haranguing people in their time of grief.” Fab barely succeeded in not laughing. “How many of those people did you unleash your charm on, getting them to spill their guts?”

“Madison’s had that annoying gift since her teenage years. She won’t ever cut anyone off and tell them to get a drink and sleep it off,” Brad said.

I ignored my brother. “Big dead end. The majority of the people in attendance were rented mourners.”

Brad laughed. “That’s a good one.”

Fab rolled her eyes. “Your made-up crap is usually better.”

The food arrived on a large tray, and my stomach grumbled at the veritable feast.

“Two appletinis,” Fab told the waiter. She handed over her glass. “I hate funerals.”

Chapter 9

Creole cruised into the driveway just as Fab and Didier were pulling out for a weekend getaway. He scooped me off my feet, put me in his truck, and sped off to his beach hideaway, secreted away at the end of a dead-end road that overlooked the western coastline of the Gulf, the nearest neighbor a half-mile away.

He had purchased a run-down house and ripped the inside walls doing most of the work himself to turn the choppy rooms into one large living space that included a kitchen, living room, and a king-size bed with a bit of privacy behind a bamboo screen. The side facing the road had no windows; the other side had sliding pocket doors that opened out onto the pool and private beach. The large bathroom was my favorite, with its sunken tub, walk-in shower, and decadent water view.

* * *

For the entire weekend, we’d blocked out the world and, best of all, turned off our phones. We stayed in bed until noon, walked on the beach, read, talked, and cooked our own meals. We worked well together in the kitchen, and we used all fresh ingredients that we’d picked up at the Farmer’s Market. Most meals were eaten outside on the patio overlooking the blue-green water. I wasn’t looking forward to ending our two days together.

The second we turned our phones back on, both of them beeped several times, letting us know we had messages. Creole was summoned to a big meeting at the Miami Police Department, and Fab had left me a message that Brick Famosa had called and demanded our presence in his office.

Fab and I had done many jobs for Brick, and they were seldom straight up, in and out, clean and no bullets. Fab had more tolerance for the man than I did.

Creole leaned over my shoulder to read the message. “I don’t like Famosa; he’s smarmy. He doesn’t look out for your safety, and his apologies after the fact are weak. Makes me want to pound his face in.” He turned me around. “Promise me you’re going to start saying no to your volatile best friend. You can assess a situation; you know when you’re in over your head.”

I sighed. “I’m working on that. It would help if you could install a tamper-proof GPS on the SUV that stays in working order.”

He picked up my bag, and we headed out the door. When we got to his truck, he swung me around, scooped me up in his arms, and set me on the front seat, planting a kiss on my lips. Then he reached around and fastened the seat belt in a sweet, protective move.

The GPS was a big issue between Fab and Creole. He wanted us to stay safe and had programmed an alarm into the GPS to alert us when we entered a crime-infested neighborhood, which was intended to prompt us to turn around.

Fab saw it as a control issue. The woman had more tricks up her sleeve to disable it and make it look like just another malfunctioning unit … except the times she removed it, threw it in the street, and ran over it several times. He never had to ask what had happened to the unit, as she finished by throwing it in his truck bed or on the front seat.

Creole’s snarky laugh surprised me, and I stared over at him, a little uh-oh bell going off in my head. “What have you done?”

“I’ve got a surprise for Miss Fabiana the next time the alarm goes off. You watch her reaction and report back in excruciating detail.”

“Promise me she’s not going to get hurt.” I frowned.

“If I wanted to hurt her, I would wring her neck.”

The traffic on the Overseas Highway was light this early in the morning – a few locals and tourists breezing through town to get to Key West and enjoy the day. I scooted over and put my head on his shoulder.