by Tripp Ellis
"Well, if you like that, you're going to love this. Moby Debt, LLC had a life insurance policy on its principles. If either of the members died, the surviving partner would be the primary beneficiary of the $4 million policy."
She let that hang there for a moment.
"I think that would solve Rick Lowden's financial problems."
“Multiple suspects with multiple motives… Looks like you've got your work cut out for you."
I agreed. "Anything from the crime lab yet?”
"No, but I will be sure to call you as soon as I find out anything. Oh, Carlos Ramirez… felony B&E, felonious assault. Out on parole.”
"I appreciate you doing this."
"No problem," she said.
I pictured a cute face to go along with the friendly voice.
"It's my job,” she continued. “That's what I'm here for. Let me know if you need anything else."
“I will.”
I hung up and called JD. I told him we needed to make a trip to Miami to interview Nick Phelps.
"Is the county gonna pay for the gas?" JD asked.
Judging by the size of the boat JD just bought, I didn’t think he was hurting for cash. But then again, maybe he was? It was a helluva purchase.
"Quit your bitching,” I said. “Save your receipts."
“I’ve got a few things to take care of, then I'll swing by and pick you up."
“Oh, shit! We’ve got the Gala tonight,” I remembered. “We’ll never make it back in time.”
“It would be a good excuse not to go to the gala,” JD said, throwing it out there.
“Daniels was pretty firm about that being mandatory. We can run up there tomorrow.”
“No can do. We’ve got a charter tomorrow.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. That boat ain’t going to pay for itself. Well, it will… but not if we keep passing up charters.” He paused. “What time is this event tonight.”
“7PM.”
“I’ll pick you up at 6:30,” JD said before hanging up.
A cheeseburger was calling my name, so I strolled down the dock to Diver Down and took a seat at the bar. Madison occupied her time with Ryan. She giggled and doted on him. It was enough to elicit an eye roll.
After I cleared my throat exaggeratedly, she came over and took my order. "What will it be?"
"Cheeseburger. Cheddar. Sweet potato fries."
"I'll take another beer," Harlan said. "Or should I go to Pirates’ Cove?”
Madison dug into a tub of ice, pulled out a long neck, and popped the top. She slid it across the counter to Harlan and said, “This one's on the house."
"What’s Ryan’s last name?" I asked.
"Johnson, why?" Her eyes narrowed at me, realizing why I asked. "Do NOT do a background check on him."
I shrugged innocently. "I was just curious. That's all. Besides, I've got enough things to do. I don’t have time to look into your new boyfriend."
She rolled her eyes. "You don't seem very busy to me."
"A lot of my work is cerebral. I may not look busy, but I’m constantly analyzing,” I said, laying it on thick.
“Don’t hurt yourself. I guess since you're working right now you won’t be drinking beer.” She poured a Diet Coke and slid it across the bar.
She sent my order back to the kitchen and resumed flirting with Ryan.
"How's it going, Harlan?" I asked.
"Same shit, different day."
That was the extent of our conversation.
A trailer for Bree Taylor's new movie played on the television. My heart felt heavy. She appeared breathtaking on the screen, and I think my heart stopped for a moment.
"Is it true you banged her?" Harlan asked.
I gave him a sideways glance. "We had a brief, but meaningful relationship."
A sly grin curled on Harlan’s craggy lips.
Madison’s service may have gone downhill, but the food was still great. The burger was thick and juicy. I scarfed it down like I'd been on a desert island for days.
Afterward, I sat at the bar for a while, contemplating the case and mustering the motivation to return the pet supplies. It dawned on me that tonight's gala was a black-tie affair and I had nothing to wear.
I settled my tab and darted out of the bar. I went back to the boat and grabbed a wad of cash from my poker winnings, then caught an Uber to the Highland Village Mall. I picked up a black Biagi suit, tuxedo shirt, tie and cumber bun, along with a pair of Cipriani black leather lace-up shoes. I grabbed a few De Fiore slim cut dress shirts for good measure. I could mix-and-match them with the suit when needed.
It came to the tidy sum of $2395. A little bit more than I had planned on spending, but hey, the suit fit well.
Dress to impress.
The suit came with a thin garment cover, and the clerk gave me a bag for the shoes and dress shirts. I strolled through the open-air mall to the parking lot and fumbled for my phone. As I was calling for a ride, I felt the cold steel barrel of a weapon press against the back of my skull.
A gruff voice shouted, “Give me your wallet and drop the bags!”
8
It was a stupid mistake.
I had my head in my phone and should have had better situational awareness. But I didn’t think anybody would be stupid enough to try to mug me in broad daylight!
This jackass was in for a rude awakening.
I slowly unslung the suit from my shoulder and set it, and the shopping bag, on the sidewalk.
Faster than a jackrabbit on crack, I sidestepped, twisted around, grabbed the barrel of the weapon and shoved it skyward.
My elbow slammed into the man’s nose, splattering blood into his ski mask. I twisted the barrel around 180° and stripped the weapon.
My knee smacked his balls, and the thug doubled over with a groan.
I planted my elbow into his spine and dropped him to the sidewalk, then kicked him in the ribs for good measure.
For the next two weeks, every time he took a breath, he’d remember the mistake he’d made.
Cracked ribs suck.
“Deputy Sheriff! You’re under arrest, scumbag!”
I slipped a pair of handcuffs from a cargo pocket and ratcheted them around his wrists. Then I pulled the ski mask off his head.
He was maybe 25 and looked strung out. His face was broken out, and his cheeks were drawn from too much methamphetamine. I figured his addiction led him to make poor life choices, committing unthought out crimes to feed his addiction.
I called the station, and the sheriff arrived in a patrol car a few minutes later. We hoisted the perp off the sidewalk and stuffed him into the back of the squad car.
“This is all your fault, you know?” I said.
Sheriff Daniels flashed me a quizzical look.
“I wouldn’t have been here if it weren’t for the gala.”
“Then somebody else would have gotten mugged, and this perp would still be on the street.”
“So, you’re saying I should get some sort of commendation?” I said with a grin.
He stared at me flatly.
I grabbed my bags from the sidewalk and climbed into the passenger seat and rode with Daniels back to the station. I spent an hour writing an incident report. I liked the chasing bad guys part.
Not so much on the paperwork.
I was in a conference room, sitting in a black leather IKEA chair at an oval mahogany table, scribbling out details. The sound of keyboards clacking and phones ringing filtered down the corridor.
Denise poked her head in through the open door. “You’re Tyson, right?”
I looked up from my chicken scratch to see the best looking deputy I’d ever seen. It was hard to make the polyester uniform look sexy, but Denise did a fine job. She had red hair, green eyes, and creamy skin.
I could instantly see what Sheriff Daniels was worried about.
She stepped into the room with her arm outstretched and we shook hands. Her skin was soft, but her g
rip was firm. “I’m Denise. It’s so good to put a face to the name. I’ve heard so much about you and JD.”
I cringed. “Uh, oh.”
She smiled. “It’s not all bad.”
“Just mostly bad?”
She laughed. “I don’t think Sheriff Daniels would keep you two around if you didn’t provide some benefit. I haven’t known him very long, but I get the impression he doesn’t suffer fools lightly.”
“I guess he’s making an exception in our case,” I said in a self-deprecating way.
“Well, I’ve got to get back to work. It was nice to meet you. Will I see you at the gala tonight?”
“Absolutely.”
She left the conference room, leaving subtle traces of her presence lingering in the air—some type of scented body wash.
It wasn’t overpowering, but enough to make me want to investigate further.
I had to tell myself that she was off-limits. Sheriff Daniels was understandably concerned about the potential complications of interdepartmental romances in the current culture.
I finished the report under the pale florescent light, feeling like I was back in school. I turned in my essay and headed back to the Wild Tide to get ready for the evening’s event.
The tuxedo fit perfect.
I didn't have much occasion to dress up in Coconut Key. It was mostly T-shirts and shorts.
The howl of the flat six filtered through the marina as JD pulled his red Porsche into the parking lot of Diver Down. My phone buzzed a moment later.
"I'm here,” JD said. “Hurry your ass up."
“I am Oscar Mike."
I slipped the phone into my pocket and made a few last-minute adjustments to my bowtie in front of the mirror. I moved down the companionway and climbed the stairs to the salon and pushed into the cockpit. The orange sun hung low in the sky, and a cool breeze coming off the water ruffled my hair. The marina looked like it belonged on a postcard. Waves lapped against the hull, and the boats gently rocked on the water.
I glanced down to Mr. Miller and waved.
He sat in the cockpit of this boat, enjoying the evening with a sandwich and a beer.
He didn't wave back.
He just stared at me with a cold gaze and a quizzical look, probably wondering what the hell I was doing wearing a tuxedo. Most people came to Coconut Key so they’d never have to put on a suit again.
I climbed over the transom and strolled down the dock. A chuckle escaped my lips when I saw JD and his idea of formal attire.
9
"This is supposed to be black-tie," I said.
A scowl crinkled on JD's face. "This is black tie, bitch!"
With the top down and the music blaring, JD sat in his midlife crisis, wearing a tuxedo jacket, loud Hawaiian shirt, black bowtie, beige cargo shorts, and checkered vans sneakers. He had his long hair pulled back in a ponytail and wore dark Ray Bans.
I climbed into the car and pulled the door shut.
JD dropped the car into gear, let out the clutch, and gravel spit as we peeled out of the parking lot.
I shouted over the wind and music, "I don't think Sheriff Daniels is going to be too happy about your attire."
"What's he going to do? Fire us?"
I shrugged.
JD may not have been a rock star, but he wasn't aware of that fact.
We raced across the island to the Seven Seas Hotel and pulled to the valet stand. JD hopped out of the car and tossed the keys to the attendant and kept walking. "Put it someplace nice."
The Seven Seas was a five-star luxury hotel on the water. It offered stunning views, a private marina, and a relaxing pool with several bars, grilled food, and plenty of eye candy.
Tonight, the pool area was home to the gala.
We strolled through the opulent lobby and made our way poolside. A number of guests had already arrived and were milling about, drinking free cocktails, and socializing. A number of silent auction items were on display, and guests perused the merchandise. It had all been donated in an effort to raise money for pediatric cancer patients—a worthy cause, no doubt.
My eyes scanned the area, looking for Sheriff Daniels, but they got stuck on a sultry redhead in a black strapless evening gown that shimmered when she moved.
She had smooth, aggressive styling with all the factory options installed. The strapless gown accentuated her elegant shoulders and toned back. Her waist tapered to a slim hourglass figure, and her backside could wake the dead. Her hair was styled to perfection, and she looked like a classic movie star from a bygone era.
When she spun around, I realized I was staring at Denise.
She saw me, and her green eyes brightened. She waved from across the pool.
JD was equally as mesmerized as I was. "Who the hell is that?"
"She's off-limits."
"What, are you calling dibs?”
"No. I mean, she's off-limits. She's a new deputy."
"I'm certainly going to have to break the law now,” JD muttered. “She could handcuff me anytime."
We strolled over to greet her, and I introduced JD. He did his best not to let his eyes get distracted by her mesmerizing form.
“I like your tux,” she said to JD.
He had garnered more than a fair share of disapproving stares from the guests.
“Thank you,” JD responded with a smile, then replied in kind. “That is a beautiful gown.”
She beamed. “Thank you."
I could see an inappropriate comment swirling behind JD’s eyes. I decided to change the subject. "Denise is really efficient at gathering information.”
"I bet. She’s probably really good at a lot of things.”
She smiled. "It just took a few phone calls and a friendly voice."
"Well, you've certainly got that," I said.
"Where's the sheriff?" JD asked.
"I haven't seen him yet," Denise said, glancing around. "Oh, there he is!”
The sheriff just entered the pool area and was smiling and shaking hands as he made his way through the crowd. He was already campaigning for re-election.
"There's an open bar," Denise said. "You guys help yourselves."
"Don't mind if I do," JD said.
Denise excused herself and continued to mingle.
We strolled over to a hut with a thatched roof and ordered top shelf liquor. The bartender poured two glasses of whiskey and slid them across the counter. I put a healthy tip in his glass jar which was mostly empty, despite the affluent clientele.
I took a sip of the whiskey and watched as more people began to trickle into the event. It was a Who's Who of Coconut Key—socialites with money to burn. It was an occasion for them to make an appearance, be seen, and throw money at a good cause.
JD and I perused the auction items. There was a guitar signed by Eddie Van Halen. A pair of boxing gloves signed by Mike Tyson. There was a Go-Fast boat that had been confiscated from a drug dealer. Items ranged from the affordable to the astronomical. The name of the donor was prominently displayed by each item.
JD slipped in a bid for the guitar.
“I see you got the memo,” Sheriff Daniels said in a low growl as he stepped behind us.
JD smiled. “You like the shoes?”
Daniels glared at him. “This is an important event. Everyone here is a potential campaign donor. How’s it going to look when I introduce you two as my Special Investigation Unit?”
“We’re definitely special, alright,” JD boasted.
“You can say that again,” the sheriff grumbled, and he didn’t mean it as a compliment.
“You’ve been holding out on us,” JD said. “How long has Denise been working with the department?”
Wayne’s eyes narrowed. “A few weeks now. And both of you need to keep your hands to yourself. The last thing I need is a harassment suit. Just pretend she’s ugly and annoying.”
“After three drinks, there are no ugly girls,” JD said.
Sheriff Daniels was not amused.
Sheriff Daniels rolled his eyes and strolled away.
“There’s something so satisfying about annoying him,” JD said, lightheartedly.
He took another gulp of his whiskey and swallowed it down. “You ready for another?”
I nodded, and JD strolled back to the bar.
I continued to look over the auction items. There was a weeklong vacation package, donated from the Coconut Key Development Group, LLC. It was an all-inclusive stay at the upcoming resort that was soon to be built where Harlan’s house now stood.
My jaw tightened.
“You look upset,” a sultry voice said. “Or are you just a generally unpleasant person?”
10
At first I was a little annoyed, and I was fully prepared with a snarky comeback. But the woman had a face to match her smooth, sultry voice, and I found myself disinclined to say anything negative.
She was drop dead gorgeous—tan skin, dark eyes, full lips with deep red lipstick. Her flowing raven hair hung to her shoulders, and a diamond necklace sparkled around her neck. The jewelry drew my eyes to her elegant collarbones and down to her sumptuous cleavage that was barely contained by a strapless gown. It was painted on and hugged her delightful curves. She had elbow-length gloves and a pearl bracelet on her left wrist.
The lavender sky grew dim as the sun sunk low on the horizon. The leaves of palm trees rustled in the wind, and the crowded event was gearing up.
"I'm not upset," I said. "I just get annoyed when scumbag developers push people out of their homes."
She arched a curious eyebrow. “I hear the resort will bring in a substantial amount of extra revenue for the city, and the residents are being handsomely compensated for the move.” She paused for a moment. "What brings you here tonight?"
"I'm here like everybody else. To support a good cause."
"Are you one of these super-wealthy entrepreneurs?"
"No. I am… retired. But I volunteer as a deputy sheriff."
She perked up. “Ooh, that sounds intriguing. She leaned in and whispered, “I’m so sick of these rich douche-bags, always trying to impress with their toys. Their fancy cars and big yachts. They're so boring."