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Authors: Deborah Brown

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BOOK: Trouble in Paradise
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I pointed my gun at him. “No thank you.”

He walked back to his motorcycle and stood beside it, arms across
his chest, staring.

I picked up my cell and pressed an often used speed dial
digit. “Spoon, send someone out to Rock Harbor to change my tire.” He was my
go-to guy for all things auto related.

“I can walk you through the steps over the phone,” Spoon said.

“You’re not very funny. I’m scared. There’s a big guy here,
won’t go away, even after I pointed my gun at him.” I rubbed my temples, not
taking my eyes off the bad-ass on the motorcycle. At least he hadn’t produced a
gun.

“Are you out at Happy Endings?”

“Stop laughing. I’m at the end of the road, just left the
Q’s.”

“Why are you out there?” Spoon demanded. “Never mind.
Describe the guy.”

“First draft linebacker pick, bizarre hair, I don’t think
it’s real. Looks like paint.” 

“Why does he do that?”

“What are you talking about?” I yelled. “I need help!”
Bad-ass pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.

“Hang on,” Spoon told me.

“This is Spoon, where are you?”

“I just told you where I was,” I said.

“I’m not talking to you, Madison.”

“Will you change her tire?” Spoon asked. There was a pause.
“She’ll be nice and put her gun away.”

“Madison, that’s Gunz, leaning his big ass on that sweet
Harley of his. He’ll change your tire. He’s harmless unless you screw him and
then you’re dead. Play nice.” Spoon hung up laughing.

Gunz glared at me as he walked back to my SUV.

“I don’t like having a gun pulled on me when I’m doing
something nice,” he said. “Name’s Gunz by the way.”

“Madison. Looked in the mirror lately? You don’t exactly
look like the boy next door.”

“Good thing, ’cuz they’re the ones that turn out to be the
serial killers.”

Good point. “Gunz what?”

“That’s need to know.”

Gunz had limited small-talk skills. I had twenty or so
questions I could rattle off, starting with what was he doing out here? He had
the tire off the rim and replaced in record time. Looking down at his head
while he worked, I concluded that it was definitely hair paint. It looked
layered on and then a comb ran through it like some dreadful faux wall
treatment.

“Just so you know, I’m not prone to shooting people. I owe
you one.”

“What’re you going to do, change my tire?” Gunz snickered,
getting back on his bike.

“Hardly. But you never know.” I waved, as he rode off in a
cloud of dust.

 

CHAPTER 8

The Cottages appeared quiet but history has proven that that
could be deceptive. My SUV was easily recognizable. Once I was spotted in the
neighborhood, word would spread, and a few of the tenants would hide, hoping
that my visit would be short. I got out of my SUV, and heard loud music coming
from the pool area. I cut behind Cottage Two, and spotted several bikini-clad
women. They were lounging in recliners, smoking, passing a pipe, and sharing a
bottle of tequila, the gut wrenching kind with the disgusting worm. Barbie made
eye contact, mumbled something to the always present Angie, and everyone turned
in my direction. Barbie unlocked the gate to the beach and the women
disappeared across the sand like fleas…

I cut across the driveway to where Mac sat in the barbeque
area, her skirt hiked to an almost indecent level, feet up, not moving. I
suspected behind those large sunglasses she had nodded off.

“What the hell is going on here?” I tried not to yell but
barely succeeded. “They’re smoking pot out by the pool and you’re sleeping?”

“That Barbie bitch gives me a headache. I thought seriously
this morning about doing everyone a favor and shooting her.” Mac straightened
her skirt, tugging on her ill-fitting lime green polka dot top.

“What now?” I sat on a concrete bench opposite her, kicking
off my designer flip-flops; a must have to throw into the mounting pile in my
closet.

“The tequila and beer flowed last night. Drugs and screaming
sex equals noise complaints from the neighbors. Kevin and Johnson rolled up
with a flash of lights, no siren.”

“Why did you want to shoot her?” I sighed.

“Bitch got in my face and threatened if I breathed a word to
disgusting Kibble that she cheats on him, she’d kick my teeth in the gutter.
Then added he’d never take my fat ass word over hers.” Mac stood and turned.
“Is my ass fat?”

“You should’ve shot her. She’s jealous. She sports that
drugged out, hag look and you, girlfriend, are all curves.”

“Sheriff Johnson wanted to talk to the Mrs.,” Mac said. “But
Barbie’s a slippery one. She climbed out the bathroom window and took off. The
sheriff told the ones who were too stupid to run to go home and if they came
back, they’d be arrested. My guess is that the runners had warrants.”

“Why the hell don’t you call me when you have these
problems?” I shook my head. “If you ever feel threatened by Barbie I say take a
clear shot.”

“Barbie’s reckless, running around manic, pushing the
limits, she scares even me. Threats about consequences fall on deaf ears.”

I stood, smoothed my tropical print skirt, and slipped my
flip-flops back on. “I’m going to have a girl chat with Barbie. Clear the air.
First I need to talk to Joseph.”

“He’s home, keeping a low profile since he hooked up with
that old woman. Sick of her and being talked to like I’m six years old.”

“I haven’t met her yet.”

“Good luck!” Mac yelled, as I walked towards Joseph’s
cottage. I checked out every flower bed; they were flourishing and screamed
tropical color, thanks to the liquid fertilizer we added to every watering.

A barbeque smoker had been fired up, sat to the side of Joseph’s
front door, which stood open. “Came by to check on you, Joseph,” I called out,
walking in and coming face-to-face with the girlfriend. Skinny, with grey hair
pulled into a tight bun; my guess a twenty-five year age difference.

“This is my girlfriend, Veta Lindsey,” Joseph introduced
from where he lay on the couch. His cottage was cleaner than I had ever seen
it; no beer cans or old newspapers on the floor and newish slipcovers over the
stained furniture.

“Nice to meet you.” I smiled. So this was his first grade
teacher, dressed Amish-looking in an ankle length skirt and ruffle blouse, but
no bonnet in sight.

“You can call me ‘Miss Lindsey,’” she scolded.

Joseph acted nervous, didn’t offer a seat, or bottled water.
“Joseph, can we talk outside?” I asked.

“Joey and I don’t have secrets,” Veta said. “Whatever you
have to say can be said in front of me.”

“Not to be rude but I prefer not to share. I’m here on
personal business.”

Joseph sat up and put his bare feet on the floor. One good
thing about the girlfriend, it looked like she’d even cleaned the carpet.

“You stay right there,” she ordered Joseph. “He’s not
helping you with anything. I know all about you running around like a crazy
person, inviting trouble. You will not involve my Joey anymore.”

“He’s a grown man. Doesn’t he get to decide for himself?” I
asked.

“Stand up straight, for heaven’s sake, and listen,” Veta
reprimanded. “He’s not helping you. We’re getting ready to have dinner.”

“I’m sorry,” Joseph mumbled.

It took every ounce of restraint not to slam the door. Mac
met me in the middle of the driveway. “How did that go?”

“How he stands that whiney voice, I don’t know. Do I
slouch?”

“That Miss Lindsey has told me to stand up straight three
times now. I never slouch because it’s not the best view of the girls.”

Thinking about the encounter with Joseph, I said, “I feel
like I’ve lost a friend.” Not to mention an informant.

“Some good news: all of Barbie’s friends just left, and
she’s alone in her cottage.”

“How’s Miss January doing?” I asked. “I notice she’s not out
and about as much as usual.”

“She took her dead cat inside to take a nap.” Mac sighed.

I’m not sure how long Kitty had been dead, but long before
I’d taken over control. A friend had the cat stuffed and it turned out lumpy.
Miss January didn’t seem to notice or care, she liked to sit on her porch with
Kitty in her lap and talk to it.

I crossed the driveway and knocked politely on Barbie’s
door, restraining myself from my best cop knock.

The blinds moved and Barbie opened the door. “How are you?”
Her tone was sweet but her eyes snapped anger, her long blond hair pulled into
a ponytail.

“You and I need to come to an agreement.” I enunciated my
words. “Knock it off with the noise, only residents use the pool and, more
importantly, don’t threaten my employee.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The saccharin
sweet disappeared from her voice. The living room behind her was like a cave,
blacked out, since they’d hung blankets over the windows.

“Clearly posted is a ‘no trespassing, resident only’ sign.
The next time your pack of trouble making girlfriends show up, they’ll be
arrested. If I have to, I can send a couple of friends over to explain to you
and Kibble, in small words that you can understand, the pool rules and the no
threatening my employee policy.”

“You say one word to Kibble and I’ll kick your ass,” Barbie
said with a growl. “For twenty-five bucks and a case of beer, a person can be
made to disappear.”

“Thank you. Threatening me gives me the legal reason I need
to fast track your eviction.”

“It’s my word against yours. No one will believe your ass.”

“There’s not one person in The Cove that would take your
word over mine. Just in case, I taped this conversation.” I pulled my phone out
of my pocket. 

Barbie lunged forward, and my foot shot out kicking her to
the ground. “Don’t even think about getting up.” I shoved her back down. “Pack
your stuff and get out.”

“You won’t get away with this!” Barbie yelled, shooting spit
that landed on her top. “Go ahead and evict us, bitch. We’ll live here free for
a few months. I know my rights. We’ve screwed every landlord in this town.”

“You
are
moving. I’ll post an armed guard here if
that’s what it takes to keep your bullshit to a minimum.” I restrained myself
from kicking her in the butt.

Barbie scrambled up off the ground, her white shorts covered
in dirt. “This isn’t over!” she yelled, as I walked back to the office.

I locked the office door behind me, and sat in one of the
bamboo chairs in front of the desk.

“How did that go?” Mac set her book on the desk.

“Barbie’s eyes were bloodshot, her skin pale for someone
with a tan. She was barely able to control herself. I suspect recent drug use.
Any problems you can’t handle, call the sheriff, then me.  If not
sheriff-worthy, then I’ll bring my own muscle.”

“I really am sorry,” Mac said.

“Stop with that. If these late night shenanigans keep up,
I’ll hire one of Spoon’s boys to work the overnight shift. They’ll salivate at
the potential ass kicking opportunities. When Kibble docks from his current
fishing trip, I’m demanding a meeting for a talk about how we all need to get
along.”

“I need to work on my crappy tenant radar detector.” Mac
adjusted her top that had bunched up under her girls.

“This isn’t their first screw the landlord rodeo. They’re
pros. It’s part of our learning curve. Next time, we’ll spot one of them before
they get off their bicycles. We’re finally booked up, so it’s important that we
don’t have any problems. I don’t want to be forced to give refunds,” I said,
with a growing smile.

“What are you laughing about?” Mac asked.

“All the self-defense classes I’ve been taking and Barbie’s
the first one I got to kick her feet out from under. It was fun.”

“Watch your back,” Mac warned. “Where are you off to?”

“The gun range. I need to practice my draw and shoot. It
doesn’t do me a damn bit of good to aggravate myself over how poorly this gun
belt fits, if I can’t get my gun out before getting shot.”

“You’ve always got a skirt on. Get one of the spandex
holsters that fits around your thigh. Easier than reaching around your back.”
Mac lifted her skirt demonstrating the right spot.

“Yours?” I looked her over. Not a bulge in sight.

“My preference is shoulder holster. Pre-foreplay, I put it
between my boobs.”

I waved and left, laughing.

CHAPTER 9

Fab raced into the kitchen. “In the future you’re not
allowed to use the phone until I’m here to listen,” she said. “Why are you
trying to get back a donation you made to charity? Who does that?” 

I watched as she poured herself a cup of coffee and took a
drink. She sniffed the inside of the cup, took another drink, and spit it out.
“What the hell is this?”

“I thought I’d do something nice and bought you some grocery
store coffee.” Why tell her I was running late and didn’t have time to go to
the coffee bar.

“This tastes like dog pee.”

“How would you know?” I asked. “You could’ve said ‘thank you
for the nice surprise.’”

“I hope it didn’t ruin the coffee pot.” Fab jerked open the
refrigerator door, took the bag of coffee out and, in one smooth move,
slam-dunked it into the trash. “What did this cost, one dollar?”

“You need to work on your gift receiving skills.” Then
changing the topic, “ I could use your help.”

“It depends,” Fab said. “First, I’m going to need a double
espresso.”

Ignoring her, I said, “Brick called with my first client,
I’m retrieving a missing item. Looks like I have a lead.” No way would I tell
Fab the contents of the box. She’d never help me. “My client mistakenly put out
a box for charity pickup. The problem is that it was also trash day. Hopefully,
it didn’t get picked up by Waste Recycle. I already talked to them, and
apparently once at the dump, everything gets burned same day.”

BOOK: Trouble in Paradise
11.33Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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