Murder in Paradise (Paradise Series) (10 page)

Fab groaned and covered her face with her hands. She and Harder had issues. She’d been a thorn in his side for quite some time. He itched to arrest her but never had any evidence.

“I want Fabiana in my office at 9:00 a.m. and not one second later. She doesn’t speak to anyone about the case without me sitting beside her and that includes you,” Cruz admonished. “You need to let me handle her legal problems. It would be a conflict for me to take you as a client in the same case, so don’t get caught helping her.”

Fab listened to the conversation.

“Can you stand to stay here one more night?” I rang the buzzer on the table. “If I don’t leave soon, the sheriff outside might come in to investigate.”

Dickie entered the room so quietly that if he hadn’t cleared his voice, I wouldn’t have known he stood in the doorway. “Fab can stay another night. No one will look for her here. If they do, we have good hiding places.”

“One thing you two have in common,” I said and nodded at Fab and Dickie, “you both eavesdrop. Loan me an empty urn so I can walk out the door with it in plain sight.” Hiding a wanted person didn’t faze Dickie; his cheeks flushed with excitement.

“In the morning, she can lie down in the back of the Cadillac and I can drive her into Miami,” Dickie offered before leaving the room.

“I’ll call in every favor that I have, including Aunt Elizabeth’s, to help in any way.” There were a few people that all I had to do was ask and they waved their favor-doer wand and poof, done!

Dickie came back, an ornate urn in his hands. I stared at Fab, silently communicating, “The things we do for friends.”

 Fab gave me a half smile. “I’ll be waiting for your call. At least there’s not a dead body in that thing.”

“Fab and I both owe you and Raul.” Dickie and Raul had been long-time partners, and I’d forged an interesting friendship with the two of them. I took the urn, thinking that with the lid off, it could pass as an ugly vase.

I didn’t want to leave Tropical Slumber without my friend. At least I hadn’t been there to make funeral arrangements. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the sheriff car still parked at the tattoo parlor, the parking lot empty—his presence was bad for business. I made certain the officer could see the urn. I laid it on the floor behind the driver’s seat.

CHAPTER 14

I slid into the last space in the beach parking lot not far from my house. My first call was to Famosa Motors, and Bitsy informed me Brick had left for the day but would be in his office early in the morning. Next, I called Creole. He answered on the first ring.

“What’s new?” I asked.

“Where are you and whose phone is this?” 

“What’s going on at my house?”

“For someone without a rap sheet and no criminal record, well...sort of, you do think like a criminal. Madeline is there waiting for you. Heard you were at Tropical Slumber and left with a dead person, anyone we know?”

“A favor for Dickie,” I lied, “a dead VIP who needs to be delivered to Miami tomorrow.” I could hear in Creole’s voice that he was about out of patience with me. “What’s the latest on the Wright murder case?”

“Fab is a person of interest. Tell her she can’t run forever and what she’s doing now makes her look guilty. If you get caught with her, you’ll go to jail,” Creole said evenly. “Before you hang up on me, where are you?”

 “I’m on my way home.” I hung up and backed out, waving to the meter cop.

* * *

Mother stood in the front door waiting for me. “I’m glad you’re back.” She hugged me. “Is Fab okay?” she whispered in my ear.

“Yes and she didn’t kill the rich guy and her ex,” I whispered back. “Why are you whispering? Is my house bugged?”

“I wondered the same thing. Maybe I watch too much television. The sheriff stops by here every five minutes asking about her. The last time I didn’t open the door.”

“Everything is going to be fine.” I didn’t believe a single word of that but I’d keep repeating it to myself until I willed it to happen. I leaned forward. “Fab’s lawyer is Cruz. Starting tomorrow he’ll work his lawyerly charms and make her legal problems go away.”

“Are you hungry? I cooked, it just needs reheating.”

Mother never cooked anything, she ordered takeout and told people who didn’t know better that she slaved over the stove. “Okay, I’m in the mood to pretend. What did you whip up?”

“One of your favorites—shrimp scampi pizza and a Caesar salad.”

“Love you, and not just because you cooked my faves.” The doorbell rang. “I’m not answering.”

Mother tiptoed to the door. “I’ll lookout the peephole.”

Then came a cop knock, equal to one of my own; mine sounded like six cops were knocking all at once.

“It’s Creole.” Mother opened the door.

I shook my head “no,” but it was too late; he filled the entryway. If Mother hadn’t been there, the look on his face told me he’d hurt me. I looked away and opened the pizza box, putting two slices on my plate and giving them a quick nuke.

“Looks like I’m in time for a home-cooked meal.” Creole kissed Mother’s cheek. He fit into our family, he adored Mother and the feeling was mutual.

“Do you have good news? If not, go get yourself a hamburger.” I added salad to my plate and licked the Caesar dressing off my finger.

“Really, Madison,” Mother scolded, and handed him a plate.

“You better leave me a piece for breakfast,” I grumbled. Whoever didn’t like pizza for breakfast had a genetic defect.

“Hey, whiney,” Creole pointed out, “there are two pizza boxes and three people. Tell me what’s happening with Fab. I already promised anything I learn from her or you won’t be held against either of you.”

The silence hung in the air. I trusted Creole but he was a cop, and he’d taken an oath. “Fab has a good lawyer, so I imagine you’ll get to question her sooner rather than later.”

“Interrogation is not in my job description, Harder will handle that. I’ll review all the tapes. My expertise lies in undercover work, being every criminal’s best friend. I asked to be assigned to this case. My focus now that the crime scene has been processed is to follow the trail of the missing art, and the possibility of a third person being involved.” 

“That’s where Fab comes in?”

“I could see her shooting her ex-husband. Gabriel wasn’t a nice guy––but why Maxwell? And both men were shot with the same gun. Zach told me about her past in France, and she has no arrest record here in the states—not a whisper of her being a thief. She seems to have left her criminal ways behind, for the most part anyway.”

“We’re agreed that Fab didn’t shoot two people dead. Any ideas?” I asked.

“Gabriel was convicted for this same type of job. He’d steal what he wanted, no confrontation and no blood drawn. This time he ends up dead, which makes me think a third person double-crossed him.”

“Isn’t the first question you people ask, ‘who stands to gain the most’?” I flashed a phony, insincere smile.

“You people?” Creole snorted. “Do I have your permission to strangle her?”

“Ignore her,” Mother said. “We’re both worried about Fab.”

“News flash,” Creole said. “I’m not the enemy here. If Fab didn’t do it, then there’s a murderer running around feeling pretty confident right now.” He shook his head. “Chrissy Wright, the widow, she’s the one with the money and the social standing. Maxwell married out of his league. And she has an alibi.”

“Anything linking Fab to the crime scene such as fingerprints, her spit, something?” I asked.

“Honey, saliva would be considered DNA.” Mother looked proud of herself. She had cop shows on her television-viewing list.

Creole rummaged through the refrigerator, grabbing a bottle of water. “All we’ve got is security footage of her running down the back lawn, retrieved from outside cameras installed by Zach’s boys. He’s beating the bushes hard on this one; he has a lock on the security contract on Fisher Island and doesn’t want any backlash.”

“Doesn’t Zach know he’s wasting his time on Fab? He knows her better than any of us does; they had a relationship. The info he gave you on her background was learned while sharing the same pillow.” I guess all bets were off when the relationship ended. Beware what you share.

“Isn’t that a little messy, she bangs him and now you and her are friends?” Creole asked.

“’Bang,’ Creole?” Mother stared him down.

I’d never seen Creole blush, and I was enjoying his discomfort. “I didn’t know either one of them when they were ‘banging,’ as you so graciously put it. She told me she has no regrets and you men are not that emotionally deep.”

“One of these days I’m going to shut you up, get the last word, and enjoy every second.” Creole glared.

“Have you seen Didier?” Mother changed the subject. “They speak their own language, it’s so cute to watch. Seems as though he gets her.”

“It’s called French, Mother. He left a few days ago for Europe, his calendar is booked with runway jobs, and then he’ll be back.”

“Smarty, you’ve seen them together,” Mother said.

Yes, I’d seen them together. Saw plenty of ribbon on the door handle signaling hot sex. I never heard them argue or him tell her one time what to do. Just, “Cherie, be careful.”

“I’m going to bed. I have to be up early, time’s up on my turning in the Hummer. I’m going car shopping as soon as Fab can go and play hardball with the salesman.” I put my plate in the dishwasher and kissed Mother’s cheek, poking Creole’s back on the way out of the kitchen.

* * *

This early in the morning there were no lookie loos at Famosa Motors. I envisioned Brick’s criminal clients rolling a suitcase of cash through the front door, dumping it on his desk, and driving out in a Lamborghini or some other sexy sports car. Brick recently hired two new salesmen. They stood talking, an overdose of beach boy good looks, and both came up short in the brains department. One of the mechanics told me they were relatives of some sort and good with the ladies.

Brick’s office encompassed the entire second floor and when I got out of the Hummer, I cupped my hands over my eyes and made out Brick sitting at his desk. It surprised me that Bitsy wasn’t sitting at hers, her smile and big boobs firmly in place. I hopped up the stairs making a bunch of noise and a nuisance of myself.

“What the hell?” Brick glared. “You need to be announced.”

“Bitsy wasn’t at her desk, did you want me to stand down there and yell for permission to come upstairs?” I leaned over and knocked on his desk. “Can I come in?”

Brick rolled his eyes, my charm lost on him. “You didn’t bring the cops with you, did you?”

“If Fab needs bail money, will you give me a good deal?”

“That depends on the amount.” He scribbled on a notepad. “If it’s reasonable, we can work something out. If they hit her with two counts of murder, she’ll never get bail.”

Brick didn’t offer, so I sat in one of his uncomfortable chairs. “If that happens, I’ll be asking you to use your connections to break her out.”

He sat silent. “I can’t remember the last time someone broke out of jail.”

“Oh, I can. The last one took me hostage and almost beat me to death.” After that, I started carrying a gun and took self-defense classes.

“You’re a lot more resilient than you look. Do you really need a PI license? You’ve got enough on your plate. This is a crappy business.”

I sensed a lecture coming and I wasn’t in the mood. “Since you insist, you can have the Hummer back. Loan me something else for a couple of days to give me time to go buy a new car. My insurance check is in the mail.”

“Change of plans. You keep the Hummer and when I want it back, I’ll call and give you a heads up. I’ll work you the same deal I do Fab.”

My mouth dropped open, I snapped it shut. “You look like Brick, but who are you really? You’ve wanted the Hummer back from day one and now you’ve changed your mind. What’s going on?” 

He leaned forward. “Listen up, anyone asks, you bought the Hummer. You don’t tell anyone any different. Got it?”

“Am I going to end up in jail?”

Brick sighed. “My sister, Margarite, wants the Hummer but let it slip my seventeen-year-old nephew would be driving it. She’s out of her mind. That’s not going to happen.”

The only family member I’d met was his brother, Casio. I completely blocked out meeting his seven-year-old spawn. Casio, a decorated Miami police officer, dragged in the criminals one way or another. Gossip had it Casio made his own rules.

“He’s not your favorite nephew?”

“He drag raced his last car down the Overseas, spun out into a 360, and flipped into the water. Stupid ass. He’s lucky he didn’t get hurt or worse, and the other guy took off without a look in the rearview mirror. I told Margarite it sold. If she sees it parked on the lot, she’ll organize the rest of my sisters to gang up on me. You drive it until I find an interested buyer.”

“How many sisters do you have?”

“Three and they’re a pain in the ass.” Brick tossed a key, and pushed papers across his desk. “I need a car picked up at the Fontainebleau Hotel. I trust you know where it’s located.”

“I can find it,” I smirked.

“Why do you keep checking your watch?”

“Fab’s in Cruz’s office. Wish she’d call.” Then reality set in that I’d never done one of these jobs without Fab. Now would not be the time to whine about that little issue.

“Check the VIP lot first. After 10:00 p.m. would be a good time,” Brick said. “Don’t screw this up.”

I breathed a sigh of relief; I’d have picked Fab up by that time. “If the car’s there, I’ll have it back tonight.”

“Katy announced to the family that she and lover boy had an amicable breakup. I knew you were the right one for the job.”

I had worked up a good sob story for Ramsey Sinclair. Thank goodness he followed my advice and that drama was over with no broken bones.

Brick’s phone rang; he answered in Spanish.

I waved and left Brick’s office.

I plugged my phone into the cigarette lighter, pushed speed dial for Creole, and put him on speaker. “Have you heard anything?” I asked as soon as he answered.

Total silence. Then, “Not good news.”

I didn’t want to freak out, but it was too late. “What the hell are you talking about?”