Murder in Paradise (Paradise Series) (5 page)

“Gabriel’s dangerous! The fact that he’s disappeared without a word makes the situation worse.”

“If you feel the need to move out, come to my house,” Mother said. “Today, you’re coming with us. I’m looking forward to meeting this Brick character, and then we’ll go to lunch.”

I enjoyed watching Fab’s face. She itched to tell Mother that she’d do what she wanted, when she wanted, but good manners prevailed over her need to be in charge.

* * *

“Why couldn’t I have driven?” Fab sulked, resting her head on the back of the passenger’s seat.

We arrived at Famosa Motors. “I wanted to be an example to you, so you know that a person can drive within the speed limit.”

“Do you want to know how many drivers honked at you or gave you the finger? You’re damn lucky this isn’t a road rage state.” Fab sounded ready to explode.

“On the way back, you’ll both ride in the back seat and I’ll drive," Mother said.

I poked Fab, shaking my head. Mother had had enough of the “she touched me,”––“no I didn’t” bickering.

The doors to the showroom had been rolled open. “Hi, Bits.” I waved. “Brick is expecting me.”

“You think her back hurts with breasts that large?” Mother asked.

“You’ll have to ask her; I don’t have that problem.” I looped my arm through Mother’s and led her up the stairs to Brick’s second floor office. The power seat came with a 180-degree view of the car lot and pricey South Miami commercial real estate.

“These are the worst chairs in the office, but there’s nowhere else to sit,” I told Mother, pointing to four chairs in front of his desk. “The floor sucks just as much.” Brick once told me he chose the least comfortable seating he could find so that no one would stay long.

Brick hung up the phone with his traditional bang. “Give me the keys.” He held out his hand. “Hello, ladies. Not to be rude, Fab, but I don’t want you involved in this job.” He slowly looked Mother up and down.

“This is my mother,” I said, stressing the word ‘mother’, “Madeline Westin.”

Mother extended her hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”   

Fab gave me a soft shove.
Uh-oh, what had she heard, and from where
? I thought. It irritated me the way Brick looked at Mother, like she was a tasty morsel. “What’s the job?”

“Would you like something to drink?” Brick asked Mother.

“No, but I’ll take a cigar on the way out.” Mother pointed to an open humidor on his desk.

Brick nodded. “A few months ago my niece, Katy, met the man of her dreams while skiing in Aspen. My sister is worried because Prince Charming is married, says he’s getting a divorce. How many women have heard that line? Find out if the story is true.” Brick handed me a sheet of paper. “Here’s the name, address, everything I want checked out. I want this info yesterday.”

I looked at the address, it was in a nice neighborhood. “What? I just knock on the door and ask questions?”

Brick snickered. “You’re the wannabe PI, you figure it out. And don’t let on they’re being investigated.” Brick held out his hand. “My keys.”

I flashed my innocent smile. “Let me drive it for a week,” I said. “My Tahoe can’t stay gone forever.”

“I know that look.” Brick threw his pen on the desk. “I have a wife and a basketful of female relatives. I’ll end up having to repo it to get it back.”

Mother cleared her throat loudly, bringing all eyes on her. “Think of it as a nice way to say thank you after sending my daughter out on jobs where she got arrested and almost mauled by Dobermans.” She stared icicles at him.

Dead silence.

Brick stared at Mother and she continued to stare back. “A week. If they haven’t found your Tahoe by then, I’ll trade you for a different ride, under 50K.”

I wanted to jump out of my chair and do a toned down version of a happy dance. Ha-ha, he caved, go Mother! But there was still the issue of who ratted me out. It had to be Zach.

CHAPTER 7

Ramsey Sinclair lived in Gables by the Sea, one of the oldest, historical, and wealthier neighborhoods of Coral Gables. A private gated community, every estate boasts water views.         

Fab cut through the busy streets of South Miami in her usual reckless abandon. I had to remind myself she hadn’t been in an accident the whole time I knew her.

“How in the heck do we get in here?” I asked Fab, who stopped complaining now that she was behind the wheel.

“Watch this.” Fab opened her briefcase and extracted a blank credit card. She inserted it into the box at the resident gate.

The double gates opened. “Where do I get one of those?” I asked.

“Make sure you get two,” Mother said. “You never know when I could use one some time.”

I called Mac on the drive over, gave her the address, and told her to get me the name of a previous neighbor on either side, and approximately when they moved. She called back as we turned into the gate. William and Lucille Cardinal owned the house across the street and sold it two years ago.

Every estate sat back from the street, with miles of front lawn and parking pads at the front door. Fab pulled up in front of the circular drive belonging to the Sinclairs. “Park in the street, I’ll hike up the driveway.”

Fab turned in her seat. “What are you going to say?”

“I’ve worked up a vague plan.” I exhaled. “If I come back to the car with a person, Mother, you act like you’ve got dementia.” I pointed to Fab. “You help her practice.”

Houses in divorces usually got sold. If I were Lisa Sinclair, I wouldn’t be happy. This house had it all; I guessed it to be ten thousand square feet, and the backyard was a tropical oasis that boasted a pool with a waterfall and tennis courts.

You know how to talk to people.
I rang the doorbell and it reverberated throughout the house. A friendly looking middle-aged woman answered the door, small pruning scissors in her hand. This woman took care of herself; she was petite, tanned, and in great shape.

“Hi, Lucille Cardinal?” I smiled.

“No, dear, you have the wrong house. They used to live across the street,” she said and pointed to a peach Spanish-style home. “They moved a couple of years back.” 

“Lucille was a friend of my mother’s,” I said, keeping my lying smile in place. “She’s visiting from California and I thought I’d surprise them with a reunion lunch.”

Lisa Sinclair’s phone rang from somewhere in the house. “Just one moment.” She ran down the hall.

I stood at the door, uncomfortable with what I’d already done. The living room reeked of wealth, decorated in comfortable-looking upholstered furniture. Lisa had been pruning a large arrangement of flowers that sat on the coffee table. Stems and blooms lay in a neat pile. I wondered if the roses and hydrangeas came from her yard. Dozens of rose bushes were planted along the entire front of the house.

Lisa returned carrying a phone book. “The Cardinals moved to St. Augustine to be near their children. I thought I had their new address, but I don’t. We talked about getting together and never followed through.”

A white Carrera Porsche pulled up to the front door and parked. The door opened and a middle-aged man got out, briefcase in hand.

He winked at Lisa. “Hello,” he said to me, and kissed her cheek.

“This is my husband, Ramsey Sinclair. Where are my manners? I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Lisa Sinclair.”

“Madison Westin.” I extended my hand to her outstretched one, despite the fact that I hated the whole hand-shaking ritual. “You’ve been incredibly nice. Thank you for the information and I’ll tell Mother. I’ll let you get back to your flowers.” I backed up onto the walkway.

Ramsey set his briefcase down and put his arm around his wife’s shoulder. “That’s my wife, nice to everyone.”

“Nice to meet you both, thank you again.” I gave a friendly wave. I didn’t know Katy but I’d be shocked if Sinclair left his wife for her or anyone else. If those were his current plans, Lisa Sinclair had no inkling.

“What an ass,” I said, opening the car door.

“Damn,” Mother said. “I was practicing being absent-minded without overplaying it and looking suspicious.”

Fab rolled her eyes, happy I came back without any more drama in tow.

“It’s my opinion Katy had sex in Aspen, not love. Lisa and Ramsey Sinclair look happy together and are a good fit, and it didn’t appear to be an act. He didn’t have the look of a man with one foot out the door; that, or he’s a better actor than I give him credit for.”

Mother said, “Men are stupid. Sinclair’s mistake was choosing a woman to cheat with who can drive to his house. You should’ve scared Ramsey and told him to break Katy’s heart gently, if there is such a thing, and keep his pants zipped.”

“I didn’t ask Brick, but if Katy is his brother Casio’s daughter, Ramsey might want to watch his back,” I said.

“What are you going to tell Brick?” Fab asked. “Let him break a few of Ramsey’s bones and he’ll skip the next Aspen trip.”

“I’d almost rather run from dogs than be involved in this messy drama, especially if Ramsey ends up in the hospital.”

“Where’s my daughter?” Mother snorted. “You’re the master of believable nonsense. Call Ramsey with a made up sob story in place for him to tell Katy, to break it off with her, one that’s so sad she’ll be forced to back away gracefully.”

“You’re the best, Mother.”

CHAPTER 8

Mother’s phone rang and she glanced at me before answering. “It’s about time.” She listened, said okay a few times, and ended with, “I’ll tell them.”               

Fab lay on the couch, the most coveted place to sit in the living room because it was so damn comfortable. Mother and I sat in over-sized chairs facing her; I flipped my legs over the top and looked at the two of them from upside-down. The only thing on my mind, the raspberry cheesecake on an Oreo cookie crust waiting in the refrigerator. I knew the caller was Creole; the only question to be answered: what the heck happened to Gabriel?

Mother shook her head. “Madison, if you hit your head, I’m sending you to your room.” She turned to Fab. “Gabriel’s in jail. You have a three-day reprieve to figure out your next move, five if the paperwork gets lost.”

“That’s impressive,” Fab said. “Any way to lose the key?”

“Creole was at Jake’s when you called and let us know you were on the way over with your ex. He made this happen,” I said. “You owe him.”

Mother snapped her fingers. “You listen to me, Fabiana Merceau. We love and care about you. You damned-well better not do anything stupid. I will be extremely disappointed if you end up in prison.”

Feeling light-headed, I’d had enough of my childhood regression. I wanted to make a splashy finale by flipping over and standing up. Instead, I slid slowly to the floor, intensifying Mother’s glare. “I agree with Mother.”

My phone rang, breaking the awkward silence. I almost groaned out loud. Mac never called for anything fun, like, “Want to go get some ice cream?”

“The sheriffs are here snooping around, asking questions,” Mac said. “They’re tracking a black convertible Mustang that took out two cars and a pedestrian at the end of the block.”

“I’ll be right there.” I thought about throwing the phone across the room, but I’d need it later. “Either of you want to tango with local law enforcement?” I asked Mother and Fab.

“You need to kick those tenants of yours to the curb,” Mother said. “I’m going home while we have a reprieve from the Gabriel drama. Call me if you need extra muscle.” She flexed her bicep and did a couple of air fists.

“I’m driving,” Fab said.

Mother covered her ears. “Stop, you two.”

“It’s my car and you’re doing all the driving. I call ‘dibs’ on the way home.” I walked with Mother to her car. “Stay out of trouble,” I whispered and hugged her.

Fab backed out of the driveway and pulled up alongside Mother at the stop sign and revved the engine.

“Stop it. Mother will take the challenge.” The words had barely left my lips when Mother squealed her tires and took off.

We followed Mother to the Overseas and I breathed a sigh of relief when we turned in the opposite direction.

“I’m on call for a car repo job. Brick got smart and started outfitting his high-end rentals with GPS locators.” Fab slowed as she went by The Cottages and continued down the side street. “Do you want me to pull into the driveway?”

“Looks like part of the street’s blocked off.” I turned in my seat and stared out the back window. “Let’s park in beach parking; quicker getaway.” Purchasing a parking tag enabled me to park in any beach lot without a pocketful of change.

“What would we be running from?” Fab looked interested.

“You and I both know stuff comes up at the last minute.” We both laughed, a nice tension breaker from the specter of Gabriel.

“I’ll wait in the office. I like Kevin, but his partner gives me a rash.” Fab barely had the door closed when she sprinted off.

I cut back to the street and walked up the driveway. I didn’t want anyone to know about my alternate parking choices. Kevin and his partner, Johnson, stood where cottage ten used to be, the rubble cleaned away and the framing had begun. Couldn’t they conduct their investigations in someone else’s driveway? Two first time guests from the UK sat on their porches, taking in the excitement.

“Kevin, Officer Johnson.” I nodded. “Does this accident involve anyone at The Cottages?”

“You wouldn’t happen to know anyone who owns a newish black convertible Mustang?” Kevin asked. “Sideswiped two cars and hit a young woman. She seems to have disappeared, along with the driver of the car.”

“No one here owns a Mustang.” I wanted to add,
now leave
.

“We’re not done here. I have a few questions about your involvement with Koozie.” Johnson stared at me. “You seem to have ignored all my messages. And to think I was polite. I should’ve issued a warrant for your arrest.”

Kevin’s laugh set me off. “You know damned well, Kevin Cory, that I have no involvement with Koozie or with drugs. You couldn’t inform your partner?”

Kevin turned red. “Don’t blame me. Koozie implicated you in his crime. I excused myself from any questioning due to a conflict of interest.” He stomped off in the direction of Liam who sat on his bicycle, leaning against the rail of his cottage.