Deborah Brown - Madison Westin 07 - Kidnapped in Paradise (10 page)

Mac grinned at her.

“I forgot about the Earls––the Canadian tourists. They stayed for two weeks and then paid for an extra week, failing to mention they had a plane to catch and were leaving their grandson behind. He has a shifting story about vague job offers and moving out at the end of the week. Not going to happen; he
’
s not qualified to do anything. I can smell it––he’ll stay until we toss him.”

“Whether Mr. Earl can come up with the money or not, he needs to get out. Give him one day to pack. If he avoids you or threatens you, call me and I’ll send an evictor over. I’ll call Spoon; he
’
s got a guy who specializes in quiet relocation. I
’
m tired of being burned, and he
’
s not staying for free,” I said.

“That
’
s not legal,” Shirl sniffed.

“Who’s he going to complain to?  The sheriff? He’ll be warned about the consequences of calling anyone. There
’
s an organized group of low-lifes that move up and down the Keys, looking for some unsuspecting landlord to rent to them. They pay a month
’
s rent and stay four more for free, while it winds its way through the court system,” I said with disgust.

“Get your cheap shoes on,” Fab pointed at me. “We’ve got stuff to do.”

I held up one of my flip-flops.

“They
’
re inexpensive, but aren’t they cute?”

Fab turned up her nose.

“Couldn’t you be a little nicer?” I made a sad face.

“No,” she laughed at me.

I stood up.

“See you later, ladies. Remember the new rule: If you need bail money, it has to be during office hours. No more late night jail runs.”

Mac walked up the steps of the pool and cannon-balled back in, sending water flying. Shirl screamed something about ruining her heavily-sprayed bouffant, and then started a water fight.

Chapter 11

I slid into a chair at our usual table at Jake’s. Recently, the ‘Reserved’ sign I'd put on the corner table on the deck had been replaced with a tasteful ‘Don’t Sit Here’ plaque. The ceiling fans whirred softly, and white Christmas lights hung from the railings and around the edge of the roof. Friends and family knew they could use our special table anytime they came into the bar.

Fab went to the kitchen and placed our order as I sat rifling through the mail. Phil came out and set down a pitcher of iced tea. Fab and I didn’t drink in the middle of the day, unless we happened to be arrested or shot at on that particular day.

“Anyone got a lead on the rest of the body?” Phil asked.

“How did you find out?” I looked up at her in her usual uniform of butt-cheek shorts, showcasing her long legs to perfection. The dress code at Jake
’
s was: wear what you want as long as you
’
re appropriately covered.

“I told you once, what I don’t know I can find out.” Phil looked over her shoulder, surveying the bar to make sure her regulars were all happy. Twelve stools sat at the bar, and she kept them filled with a disreputable mix of locals.

The enterprising law school student never failed to surprise me. She had informed me that she had a side business of selling information. Money back guarantee, she had boasted.

“Drug dealer. What do you suppose happened to the rest of him?” I looked at her as though expecting an answer.

Fab slid into the seat next to me. “I better not have missed anything,” she poured herself a glass of tea.

“Grisly.” Phil shook her head. “Anyone who would go to all that trouble would probably chop up the rest, sending anyone looking on a scavenger hunt for body parts.”

My stomach flipped over at the thought that the killer or killers might come back to my house and dump said parts.

“Or,” Fab spoke up, “if it
’s
a message, the next drop might be the rest of the body. You know, in one whole piece, sort of.”

I shook my head, trying to prevent the visual.

“We need to start locking the gate,” I said to Fab.

“They
’
d just do a pitch and roll, and that can make quite a mess,”
Phil smiled.
Fab and I exchanged looks. I could tell from Fab's expression that she thought Phil was crazy, too.

Phil positioned her chair so she could see into the bar.

“Who did you piss off lately?”

“Nobody!” I blew out a long breath. “Okay, Hot Shot. You want to be our main snitch? Find out everything you can about the dead guy and my ex-husband Jackson Devereaux, aka Jax, pronto. Jax
has a business deal going on in the area; find out the particulars.”  I flipped through my phone and sent his picture to her phone.
 

Chapter 12

My backyard was one of my favorite places to read, nap, or just do nothing. I used it year-round as a large entertaining space for family and friends. I found a table to accommodate the entire family with comfortable seating, double chaises, and a pile of pillows.

It was another beautiful day, with the warmth from the sun on my skin and a slight breeze blowing in from the ocean, making everything smell fresh and clean.

“Did you talk to Brick?” Fab yawned.

“He called me, yelling about Mrs. Ricci and the abusive treatment she sustained at our hands.” I pulled the back of the chaise upright. “She told ‘Snot Nose
’ Carmine
that we
’
d threatened her with the police and were adamant about taking her to jail. I knew we should
’
ve let the police deliver her to the mansion, but I wasn’t in the mood to make Carmine mad.”

“That
’
s what we get for being nice and uncuffing her once we got to her son
’
s front door. Good thing it was only the bodyguard waiting on her highness.”

“I told Brick to calm his ass down and then relayed what really happened. She should consider herself lucky not to be charged with kidnapping, assault, and grand theft auto. I told Brick to messenger our quadruple fee right over.”

Fab kicked my foot, holding up her glass for a refill. The pitcher of iced tea sat on the table closest to me. I
’
d made sun tea earlier, slicing up oranges that my neighbor had left on the doorstep.

“What did he say to that?” Fab asked.

“He started yelling all over again, saying he never agreed to anything other than the standard fee. I told him I didn’t appreciate his attitude and that I wouldn’t shoot him for non-payment, but I couldn’t swear you wouldn’t
. He hung up on me.
” I stared at her. “It
’
s time for you to get serious about finding new clients.”

Fab hesitated, her expression serious. “I thought that could be your job. People like you, you have that annoying habit of talking to anyone.”

“So you
’
re saying I
’
m personable?” The groan she emitted made me laugh. “I’ll think on it.”

I knew the kind of jobs that she got on her own, and there was always an element that could be construed as illegal. She wouldn’t be happy when I informed her I
’
d only agree to be backup on straight-up legal jobs.

Fab lay back and closed her eyes.

“
If Creole kicks Brick’
s ass, that would solve the problem of whether I ever work for him again.” I smiled at the idea. “You
’
re his favorite anyway. He’ll get over himself and call you.”

“Are we going to have problems with Carmine Ricci?” she asked.

“The snot-nosed son?”
I laughed.
“I wonder if his mommy
’
s ever said that to his face. She definitely has the nerve.
I told Brick I’
d be happy to meet with Mr. Ricci. I reminded him I still had the option of pressing charges against Carlotta, since my witnesses were some of Miami
’s finest.
”

“In our new business, you’ll handle all customer service problems.”

“That
’
s probably a good idea.” I flashed back to the only time she handled a client complaint. After five minutes, she'd threatened to shoot the guy.

“I told Didier about our misadventure before your blabbering boyfriend could say a word. We got into an argument about safety issues, and it was a good thing I didn’t mention the GPS. We never stay mad at each other, which I like. We argue, I promise stuff, and then we have great sex.”

“Creole got a work call, so all I got was a great kiss.”

Chapter 13

I slipped onto a stool at Jake
’
s and banged my hand on the counter. “Bartender, margarita over here,” I said loudly.

Two of Phil's regulars glared at me. Both were old men who drank from lunchtime to dinner, then stumbled home and showed up the next day. Rumor had it they both had wives.

“You drunk?”
Phil laughed.
      

Mother roped me into helping her throw a surprise birthday party for Spoon. The deck was closed for the event, and she decided on a buffet, which made it easy for the kitchen. Then she ditched me, informing me she had to keep the birthday boy busy. She said that all I had to do was hang the bags of decorations she'd dropped off.  She must have purchased a hundred balloons, but nothing to blow them up with. I called the party store and cut the entire order in half, including ones that didn’t require any of my hot air, figuring everyone would be drowning in balloons. I also bribed the delivery boy to hang the banners. 

Brad and Julie walked in holding the margarita birthday cake that Mother made them pick up from The Bakery Café. Another pink box held the cupcakes I'd ordered so that everyone could take one home. Brad and Julie both looked like they'd just walked off the beach. Julie had on a black crisscross cotton dress and sandals and Brad in shorts and flip flops.

I was about to ask where Liam was when he walked in holding hands with a teenage girl with long blonde hair and big blue eyes. He said something to her and she laughed.

I felt sad for a moment. He was growing up and, soon, wouldn’t want Mother and me fawning over him. We
’
d only known him for a couple of years, which made me wish we
’
d been around from the beginning. Maybe when Brad and Julie got married, they
’
d have a baby.

It pleased me that Liam brought his friend right over to me. I wanted to like this girl.

Liam kissed my cheek.

“This is my girlfriend, Lindsey,” he introduced. “My almost-Aunt Madison.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said. Lindsey smiled back and made eye contact. Before Lindsey could say anything, Fab appeared at my side and stared at the young couple holding hands.

“Who are you?” Fab asked.

“
Ignore her,
” I said to Lindsey. “She can be abrupt.”

Liam made the introduction.

Fab looked her over. “We
’
ll take you out and grill you over lunch. I
’
ve got a connection for designer shoes for cheap.”

Lindsey squealed, clearly not intimidated by her first meeting with yet another unofficial aunt. “I
’
d love that.”

I refrained from an eye roll. I needed to remind Fab those shoes probably weren’t legal. I
’
d been to the warehouse twice. It sat behind barbed wire, and you could only get in by invitation, which meant I had to be with Fab to go. The last time the guy looked insulted when I asked if he had any flip flops.