Greed in Paradise (Paradise Series) (4 page)

“That’s not allowed,” Tolbert said pointing at the cookie crumbs.

“You know, I feel the same way when Fab feeds my cat, Jazz, bologna treats. And she ignores me every time.”

“You both are the sassiest little things.” He shook his finger. “Did you know,” he said to me, “I barely mentioned that the church bus took a while to start one morning and the next day, one of Mr. Spoon’s employees showed up with a pickup full of tools and had it running pretty by the afternoon. How do you suppose that happened?” He looked at Fab.

Pastor Tolbert Rich operated the Church of the Traveling Jesus, a school bus that had been renovated by one of Spoon’s guys, painted in patriotic colors. He picked up his parishioners on Sundays along the Keys, preached a feel good sermon, and served lunch. Far as I knew, every week he had a packed bus and no one said an unkind word.

“Doesn’t matter, the important part is that it runs,” I said. “You’re not very good at accepting help. It will be character-building for those guys to help the nicest man in Pigeon Key.”

Spoon hired recently-paroled felons, giving them a second chance. He had a high success rate; one guy in particular went into construction and I used him at Jake’s and for projects around my house. It was my lucky day when I discovered the man hadn’t overhyped his abilities and didn’t charge “screw you” rates.

Tolbert looked at his watch. “I have to go to Tarpon Cove hospital before visiting hours end. Yesterday I arrived late and they wouldn’t let me in.”

“You have to be kidding me. Did you whip out your preacher card?” I asked.

He laughed. “I’m a rule follower. I turned and left and vowed to be on time today.”

Fab sucked down the last of her water. “I’ll call Shirl. She’s a nurse-something there and I’ll tell her to be on the lookout. She owes me and will still owe me after this one.”

I winked at Tolbert and put a finger to my lips so that he wouldn’t lecture Fab. She got her phone out of her pocket and walked off the porch.

“Shh,” I whispered to Tolbert. “Shirl is one of my tenants and loves that she ‘owes’ Fab. She’ll be secretly thrilled to know there will be more requests in the future. Fab doesn’t need to know Shirl has a severe girl crush.”

“She wouldn’t force someone to…” He looked worried.

“If it makes you feel better, I’ve shot more people than she has during our friendship.”

He looked shocked and at a loss for words.

Fab interrupted, “Shirl’s on duty until ten tonight. Ask for her at the nurse’s station.”

I stacked everything back onto the tray. “Where will the funeral for Gus be held?”

“I’m going to talk to Violet about that, I’d like to officiate. I’ll let you know.”

Fab hugged him. “We’ll be there.”

I slipped Grover another cookie and accepted a dog hug.

We both looked at each other and said, “Tropical Slumber.”

Fab flew into the driveway of the funeral home, which had once been a hot dog stand, renovated several times over the years making room for multiple additions and, most recently, a crematorium. She screeched to a halt on the red carpet; the parking lot was empty.

“At least we won’t be interrupting a final send off.” I looked around. “I guess I won’t be grabbing a couple of those little sandwiches on the way out the door.”

“They have a refrigerator full of funeral food.” Fab kept her finger on the bell.

The front door pushed open and Raul stuck his head out. “Fabiana!” He smiled and pulled on a strand of her waist-length hair.

Dickie and Raul were co-owners and couldn’t be more different looks wise. Raul was a dark-skinned body builder, while Dickie was a string bean and pale just-a-shade-up-from-death color.

It felt awkward to ask Raul for favors, but Dickie owed me and I him. I had gotten into the habit of collecting IOUs; advice from my Aunt Elizabeth, who said one or two in your pocket were useful. “Is Dickie busy?” I knew Dickie took pride in dressing dead people for their final bow and I wouldn’t want to interrupt him.

“He’s on a body run.” Raul opened the door wide, motioning us inside. “You wouldn’t be here for another hand of poker, would you?” he asked Fab. “She stripped my pockets bare the last time she was here.”

I sat on the bench inside the door. Fab roamed around the room. Looking into each open viewing room, she refrained from opening the closed doors with name cards. “Did you pick up Gus Ivers?” she asked.

“Last night, and he’s been cremated,” Raul told us. “The daughter, Violet Ivers, barked orders that we were to be waiting to escort the body of her father as soon as the coroner signed the release. Then she demanded an instant cremation. Religious reasons I assume, but didn’t ask. Odd though, that she wanted to view the process. Dickie flipped, already upset his expertise wouldn’t be needed. He hates cremation.”

“We’re just checking to make sure Gus died a natural death and was not helped by anyone.” Fab finished looking around and stood by the front door, poised for a quick exit.

The waiting area was decorated in heavy ornate furniture, covered in brocade patterns, slip-covered in plastic. Not particularly comfortable, but one probably didn’t stay any longer than necessary. After a while the backs of your legs stuck to the furniture, leaving a sweat spot when you stood.

“Nothing unusual,” Raul said. “Death certificate said kidney failure. The coroner is a friend, so if there were irregularities he’d tell us. Gus’s doctor signed off. If they suspected foul play, they wouldn’t have released the body so quickly.”

Astro and Necco came barreling around the corner into the reception area. One of them had a leash in its mouth, skidding to a stop. Both Dobermans, I couldn’t tell them apart. The dogs lucked out; when they desperately needed a home, Dickie and Raul took them in and they had thrived.

“Thanks for the info,” I said. “You and Dickie stop by Jake’s any time. Spread the word—new owner.”

“We both liked Jake, but have you thought about a new name?” Raul asked. “We got Carlos Osa’s body. An envelope of cash arrived shortly after with instructions to bury him. Three well-dressed men in expensive black suits showed up for his farewell, looked him over, and left. Scared Dickie and I, but we tried to be cool. Not sure if we pulled it off. We triple-locked the doors when they left for whatever good that would have done. If they really wanted inside they’d shoot the locks off like I heard your friend here say once.” He looked at Fab.

I couldn’t muster any sympathy for Carlos. It still made me shudder to think about having my body parts sliced off.

“Maybe I’ll have a name that bar contest,” I joked, although I’d probably never agree to that, because I wouldn’t be forced into using some dreadful name. “Your dogs are about to run out of patience. Have fun.” Astro and Necco sat thumping their tails hard on the floor.

Fab waved to Raul and shot out the door, leaving me to say our good-byes. “Could Raul and Dickie be any different?” I said, climbing into the passenger side.

“Raul and I are both insomniacs. We spent late nights playing board games and talking when I hid out here. He told me he loves Dickie because he’s wicked smart, they like all the same things, and he’s got a gigantic—”

“Stop. La, la, la…” I covered my ears.

“I asked if it did tricks and Raul winked at me.” Fab belly-laughed.

“You’re so nervy.” I shook my head.

“I’ve already got my questions lined up for when I hear the first Creole-induced screams coming from your bedroom.” She continued to laugh.

My cheeks burned and I turned and stared out the window at the choppy Gulf waters, the waves pounding against the rocks. I fished my phone out of my pocket. “Hello, Mr. Harder, Detective, sir.” I put him on speakerphone so that Fab wouldn’t wreck trying to listen.

Fab had to know everything; she boldly snooped, eavesdropped, and had no shame. She’d stare a person down with a dare-me-to-shoot-you look on her face. It only annoyed me in that she didn’t always reciprocate.

“What do you want?” he half growled.

“Tolbert Rich’s best friend, Gus Ivers, just died. Cause of death is officially listed as kidney failure. Just for his peace of mind, would you have a thorough look-see at the toxicology reports when they come in?” Harder and Tolbert had become friends when he rode the church bus to catch a couple of criminals, and now he attended intermittently.

“I’ll look into that and go visit Tolbert myself. Thanks for telling me about Gus.”

“Tolbert could use a new best friend. I’m going to hook him up with some other old men, and you could do your part.” I knew perfectly well Tolbert had twenty years on Harder.

He snorted. “I’ll bring him in for free lunch at Jake’s. We’ll pay our respects to the murder spot. So sad, there is one less criminal no longer among us.”

“Phil painted a star on the floor and it’s become quite the attraction,” I said.

“I’m planning on arresting Zach.”

Fab and I looked at one another. I raised my eyebrow. She shook her head, indicating that it was the first she had heard the news.

“What for?”

“I’ll think of something. You okay?”

Since Harder and I had forged a friendship, he’d come through for me on a couple occasions. He never liked Zach; they’d clashed once on a big case and neither got over it.

“I’m fine. If I was standing in front of you, and we were huggers, I’d think about it,” I said. We both shared the same aversion for handshakes and body touching.

“You’ve wasted enough of my time. You and that crazy girlfriend of yours, stay out of trouble.” He hung up.

“Who knew he could be human?” Fab said. “You’re getting your old sparkle back.”

I looked at her. “Shh, don’t tell anyone. I even miss Brick a little. I’m sad I can’t take the Hummer to Famosa Motors to get serviced.”

“You never did tell me what happened between the two of you.”

“Brick summoned me to his office. I marched in full of nerve and threw the envelope of eviction notices on his desk and told him to go to hell.”

I had worked for Brick Famosa to get the hours needed for my own private investigator license. My last assignment had been to serve eviction notices on an apartment of retired seniors living on fixed incomes. He should have known that would backfire. Instead of serving the notices, I stalled for a few days and then called in a few favors to get them a pro bono lawyer who would stall the process even longer and get them relocation money.

Bitsy sat in her usual place at the receptionist desk when I cruised through the doors of Famosa Motors. The stripper-turned-receptionist looked confident. Ever since she screwed Fab by selling bad information, we’d both taken a dislike to her, knowing that she couldn’t be trusted.

“He’s expecting you,” Bitsy said with disdain, and went back to filing her nails.

I stood inside Brick’s door waiting for him to get off the phone, surveying the busy street below. I never tired of staring out his window. His office encompassed the entire second floor and had an amazing panoramic view of his luxury car lot and the surrounding area.

“Here, sign these.” He pushed a stack of proof of services across the desk; he needed my signature to get the legal ball rolling.

“What in the hell made you think I’d be a part of evicting senior citizens?”

When he opened the envelope and saw they were unserved, his face tightened, his dark eyes snapping with anger. “You dare to screw me,” he bellowed.

“The decent and legal thing to do would have been to hire someone to help relocate them, which they are entitled to by law. What the hell is the matter with you, the family man? Does your mother know?” I stood on the other side of his desk behind the chairs so that he couldn’t grab me.

He sent the notices flying through the air. “Get the hell out of here.”

I stopped and turned back. “If a single one of them ends up on the street, I’ll make sure it’s front page news in the Herald. Try living up to your Cuban man of the year award.”

I walked by Bitsy and she had a huge smile on her face. “So sad,” she purred, “that we won’t be seeing you again.”

“Careful, Bits, or I’ll snatch that ugly blonde wig off your head and stick it in the toilet.” I stepped forward, hand out.

Throwing herself out of her chair, she yelled and ran for the bathroom, locking the door.

“Sorry I missed that,” Fab said.

“Yeah, well, there goes the Private Investigator license. I don’t think I really wanted it anyway, just wanted to be cool like you.”

Fab held out her knuckles. “You’re cool, in your weird little way.”

Fab zipped into the driveway of The Cottages and parked in front of the office. I had inherited the property from my Aunt Elizabeth and along with it two dying tenants, Miss January and Joseph. They had both flipped the bird to their doctors, continuing to smoke and drink long past their expiration dates. Julie, my brother’s girlfriend, and her son, Liam, were long-time tenants and the only normal ones.

The Cottages is a ten-unit, three-sided square, separated from the white sandy beach of the Gulf of Mexico by a wrought-iron fence. After all the construction on cottage ten was completed, you’d never know it had been burned to the ground by a meth head in pursuit of the good life, selling drugs.

I received a text from my property manager Mac Lane; new tenants were moving in today. We had a proven terrible track record when it came to scrutinizing renters, but she still ignored my edict on not renting to locals. I preferred the snowbirds from Canada and Europe, since tourists kept us booked well in advance.

Mac sat reading in the barbeque area with Shirl, another tenant. They were to the right as we drove in the driveway, with their chairs positioned so that they could scrutinize everything that happened on the property. Both were good-sized, dark-haired, curvy women who liked to stuff themselves inside clothes that were clearly too small, like the short shorts and tanks they had on now. Shirl stood and waved, bent over, and stuffed her boobs back inside her shirt. Mac pulled on a prairie-looking dress over her outfit and slipped into flip-flops with feathers attached to the tops.