Overdose in Paradise

by Deborah Brown

“It’s a lot less stressful than handling the nice stuff all the time.” Fab unleashed creepy-girl smile. “If you’re as smart as it says you are on paper, you should make friends with a cretin named Crum, a retired college professor who lives at The Cottages.” She poked her finger in Xander’s direction. “But you show up in your underwear, and you’re out of here.”

  “Just remember this weird moment,” I said. “It will make sense to you soon.”

  He didn’t look convinced but stayed quiet.

  Xander and I grabbed cold drinks, sat at my new desk, and went over plans for the space, and in particular, the office equipment he’d need. Fab called her client with a report.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  I arrived home later that afternoon before Creole and ditched my work outfit for a sundress and bare feet and stretched out on the couch.

  The door banged closed.

  “I love you,” I yelled.

  Creole groaned. “What have you done now?”

  “That’s so un-romantic.” I sniffed, covering my amusement. I had already put off my confession an extra day and it couldn’t wait any longer.

  “I’ll make it up to you later; if I don’t have a headache.”

  “Grab a beer, make yourself comfortable.” I blew him a kiss. “You know how you love my little updates.”

  He grabbed a beer and walked over to me, leaned down, and brushed my lips with his.

  I grabbed his arm. “Don’t sit on Snow.”

  “Animals are supposed to sleep on the floor.”

  “Says the man who lets them sleep on his chest.”

  “How many people died?”

  I held up my index finger.

  “You’re kidding.”

  I shook my head.

  He banged his beer bottle on the table. “You better be okay.” He sat by my side and ran his hands down my arms.

  “I got the news secondhand, for which I’m grateful.” I told him about the demise of Butthead and ended by telling him that I’d hired Xander.

  My phone rang, and Mother’s smile popped up. I tried to hand it off to Creole, who scooted backwards.

  “How much is your bail?” I asked.

  “You’re not the least bit funny.” Mother sniffed.

  “That pains me.” I winked at Creole, hitting the speaker button.

  “This is a reminder phone call. I’m double checking to make sure you have it on your calendar that Spoon and I are going to renew our vows in two weeks. No excuses for not showing up. It’s going to be a family affair.”

  Creole and I had received an invitation and readily RSVP’d that we’d be there.

  “I’d like to make certain that this invitation isn’t some lame setup,” I said.

  “I’m reformed.”

  Creole’s blue eyes filled with humor.

  “Yeah, okay.” There wasn’t anyone in the family that would believe her. “If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”

  “I’ve got it all handled.” Mother hung up.

  “I wonder what’s she’s up to.” I looked at Creole.

  “Don’t look at me. At worst, she’s setting you up on another date, but since she knows I’m coming too, maybe she’s setting me up.”

  “I would kill her.”

  “You say the word, we can elope and announce our news at the get-together. Perfect timing. We can shock everyone at the same time.”

  “Okay.” I knew I’d surprised him. “How does your calendar look?”

  Creole pulled me into his arms. “I—” He was interrupted by a kicking noise at the kitchen door. “You want to bet who that is?” He stood, stomped through the kitchen, and flung open the door. An arm shoved two pizza boxes in his face.

  “At least, you brought food.” He took the boxes and held the door for Fab and Didier. “I don’t know why you can’t control your wife.”

  “Because I find it’s more fun not to.”

  The two men exchanged a conspiratorial grin.

  “While I get out the good dishes,” Fab grabbed the roll of paper towels, “open the link I emailed you.”

  “We’re rubbing off on you, princess.” Creole smirked, grabbing the roll from her and putting it on top of the boxes, then heading to the patio.

  “What’s everyone drinking?” Didier had the refrigerator open.

  “Water,” Fab and I yelled.

  I grabbed my laptop off the table and followed everyone out to the patio, setting it down and flipping open the lid. I found the article in question and clicked the link. The headline made me gasp. “Socialite’s husband gunned down in a Miami neighborhood,” I read out loud.

  Creole sat down next to me, scooting closer, and read over my shoulder.

  I recognized the guy in the photo as the cheater that Fab and I had followed. Reading the article, I found out that the girlfriend or “friend,” as she was called in the article, also took a shot to the head. According to police, someone walked up and shot them point-blank. The grieving widow, Kelly Brandt, couldn’t be reached for comment.

  The cops’ first suspect was always the spouse or significant other. I wondered if Kelly was crazy enough to whack her husband.

  “Do you know the dead couple?” Creole asked.

  “It’s connected to that surveillance case I mentioned—the cheater.” I told him about the stakeout. Didier nodded, indicating that he’d already heard the details. “I’m hoping the wife didn’t off him and the girl over the information in the report Fab handed over.” The thought made me nauseous.

  “Believe me, I thought the same thing,” Fab said.

  “Listen, you two, it could be as simple as wrong place, etc.,” Creole said gruffly, although his tone of voice said otherwise.

  “Enough of this case until we finish dinner,” Fab said.

  I snapped the lid shut, and Creole took the computer from my hands and carried it back inside. It was quiet around the table as Didier opened the pizza boxes and we helped ourselves.

  Fab broke the silence. “I refereed a fight between Brick and Toady.”

  “This is the first I’m hearing of this one.” Didier turned her face to his.

  “I wasn’t hiding it,” Fab assured him. “Just saving it to tell everyone at once.”

  “Brick is a word we should ban while eating,” Creole grumped.

  Didier nodded.

  “Not until after we hear what happened,” I said.

  “Toady was in the process of recovering a sports car for Brick, and they got into some kind of one-upmanship on the phone that degenerated into name-calling. Brick called Toady a stooge. After a few choice unrepeatable words, Toady told him to shove the job. Instead of returning said auto, he texted Brick that he left it parked behind a gas station, keys in the ignition.” Fab was enjoying every word of the retelling.

  The guys grinned. I laughed.

  “You three aren’t very supportive,” Fab said with a smile.

  “Let me guess,” I said, “Toady dumped it in a hideous neighborhood, and Brick wants you to go get it. I’m going out on a limb…” I ripped off one of her tricks and rubbed my forehead. “…it’s gone already.”

  Fab nodded. “I called the station manager, and he informed me it’d just blown out of the parking lot.”

  “I don’t know why this is your problem,” Didier said. “I thought your only involvement is getting a cut from Toady.”

  “I’m indispensable.”

  “She says with a straight face.” I smiled at Fab.

  “Brick wanted to know when the baby was due.”

  Creole choked.

  “How did you handle it?” I asked.

  “I hedged while he peppered me with questions,” Fab said. “I couldn’t remember when I first told him I was pregnant. My new mantra is, when in doubt, morph into Madison, so I made a barfing noise.”

  “No inappropriate noises while we’re eating.” I shook my finger at her.

  The guys laughed.

  “It worked. He hung up. Go
od thing I pay attention to you sometimes.”

  “Yeah, good thing. I’m about to offer some free advice that I suggest you not ignore.”

  “It’s eye-opening watching the two of you interact,” Creole said.

  I winked at him. “Have Toads find the car, return it when the lot is closed, and stop taking Brick’s calls. You too. Tell Brick that Bongo made his entrance into the world and you’re going to be a full-time mother. Insert a few cooing noises.”

  “You’re not naming any of our children,” Didier said in a horrified tone.

  “We’ll save that for our kid.” Creole grinned. “Creole Bongo Jr. Let people think he’s named after his old man.”

  Fab’s phone rang. She took it out of her pocket, groaned at the screen, and held it up. “Speak of the devil.”

  Seeing Brick’s face, I held out my hand. She handed it over, and I answered. “Mr. Brick, what can I do for you?” I asked with faux sweetness, hitting the speaker button and putting a finger to my lips.

  Dead silence.

  “Where is she?” Brick barked.

  “Fab started cramping and her husband rushed her to the doctor. Wouldn’t it be exciting if they came home with a baby?”

  More silence.

  Guess not.

  “Get ahold of that cretin, Toady, and tell him to get my car back here. Same terms as before, and we’ll forget we had words,” Brick growled.

  “I’ll relay the message. A tip for the future: hold back on the name-calling until you get what you want.” Silence. I checked the screen. “He hung up on me.”

  The guys roared with laughter.

  “I owe you,” Fab said.

  “I’ll add it to the thirty-nine hundred other IOUs.”

  “I’m certain there aren’t that many.”

  I humphed. “Now that I’ve solved that problem, we’ve got another one. Back to Mr. Cheater and girlfriend.” I made a gun with my fingers, pulling the trigger, complete with sound effects. “Murdered. Point-blank. Right out in front of where the girlfriend lived.”

  “I don’t want to think…” Fab said.

  “I’m certain the wife is suspect number one and will be until the cops check her alibi and clear her,” Creole said. “If she’s as rich as you say, she probably hired it done—wouldn’t want to get her hands bloody.”

  “How easy is it to hire a killer?” Didier asked.

  “It’s not,” Creole answered. “Some people make the mistake of approaching men on street corners and end up in jail.”

  “Not to be insensitive,” Fab said. “But should we be waiting for a cop to knock on the door?”

  “Not unless the missus tells the cops she was having her husband followed, and why would she?” Creole asked. “Her knowing about her husband’s infidelity gives her motive. Not to mention the timing. She gets her report, and he’s murdered the same day.”

  “If those people were murdered because I gave her the information…” Fab shuddered.

  “Stop.” Didier put his arm around her.

  “Listen to me,” Creole said, his tone sympathetic. “Investigators run down cheating spouses all the time without them ending up dead.”

  “You’re not responsible,” I tried to reassure her. “It’s not like you knew what she’d do with the information, and that’s assuming that she killed him.”

  “Maybe we should talk to a lawyer,” Fab suggested.

  “Emerson is going to regret offering us help.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The next morning, Creole woke up at dawn, and I rolled over grumpily to try to go back to sleep. Doc Rivers had called the night before, wanting a recommendation for someone to investigate his godson’s beating. It worried him that Dr. A couldn’t remember what happened that day and nagged at him that whoever was responsible could be back. If there was a next time, Dr. A wouldn’t survive.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I reassured the man.

  I’d relayed the conversation to Creole, who’d been sitting there, arms crossed, short on patience, frustration pouring out of him. “You promised you weren’t getting any more involved in this case,” he said after I hung up. Noting my lack of immediate response, he held out his pinkie. “Covering my bases. Now swear.”

  I hooked my finger with his, leaned in and kissed him.

  Creole was making an inordinate amount of racket making coffee, and I knew sleep was a lost cause.

  “I’ll take mine in bed,” I yelled. All I got back was laughter, so I climbed out of bed, pulling his t-shirt over my head, and joined him in the kitchen.

  As soon as I slid onto a stool, he set a mug down in front of me. At the same time, his phone vibrated on the countertop. I leaned in to get a look at the screen, but he snatched it up.

  “You available for lunch?” he asked me after answering.

  I nodded.

  “Yeah. Later.” He ended the call.

  “That was a scintillating conversation.”

  “You remember my old partner, Stephen?” Not waiting for an answer, he went on, “He’s agreed to make a few inquiries into the Dr. A incident. After I offered to bribe him with food, he chose to meet us at Jake’s.”

  The jury was still out as to whether Stephen was his real name. Fab and I suspected it was an undercover name, and not a very cool one, so we’d renamed him “Help,” as he always showed up when we called. We had to put up with a certain amount of grumbling that came with his irascible personality, but it was worth it.

  “Doc Rivers is going to want to be part of this conversation.” I picked up my phone. “What are you doing for lunch?” I asked when he answered. “Thought you’d like to meet your new investigator. He might have questions that you’d be better able to answer.”

  “That was fast.”

  “You have Creole to thank.”

  “He wants to keep his girlfriend out of harm’s way, and I don’t blame him,” Doc groused. “Works out good—this is the regular afternoon for the poker group.”

  “I’ll commandeer the patio. So ignore the ‘Keep Out’ sign.” I put my phone down.

  “I’m hoping that both your doctor friends get their questions answered, but I fear that it will only open the gate to more trouble,” Creole said. “Just so we’re clear—I’m coming with you. I want to make sure you don’t offer any more help. I called Fab, but she ignored the call, as though that would stop me. She really wasn’t happy after I talked to Didier—it derailed their lunch plans in South Beach.”

  “If they’re a no-show, you’ll know she’s driving. Heads-up: there might be a tidbit or two that you’ll be hearing for the first time.” I flinched.

  “That’s not going to happen, because you’re going to come squeaky clean on the way over.” He slapped the counter. “Got it?”

  I saluted.

  * * *

  Arriving at Jake’s, I took over the deck and pushed several tables together, then grabbed a cart from the kitchen, filled a large oval bucket with ice and assorted beers and cold drinks, and pushed it outside.

  Creole was helping Doodad haul boxes from the storage room to the front so he could get the bar stocked before opening. I slid onto a barstool to watch.

  “Margarita?” Doodad asked.

  “I need be stay sober for my guests, so I’ll take my other usual, and don’t be stingy on the cherries.” I looked around. “It’s quiet without our boisterous bartender.”

  “It’s her day off,” Doodad said. “The regulars will be disappointed, but they’ll get over it.”

  “Anything new?” I asked. “Now would be a good time to update me, before the early drinkers get here.”

  Creole slid onto a stool next to me. “That’s code for ‘anyone arrested lately?’”

  “No shootings or fights,” Doodad said, clearly disappointed. “Last night’s beer pong matches were successful. Not as popular as theme nights, but I’ve run out of ideas, so I’ve been forced to recycle. A few of the customers had the nerve to complain when we did that.
”

  “It would be sad if you did away with all the fun and stupid games,” Creole said, not meaning a word of it.

  “I guess I won’t hold my breath, waiting on any good ideas out of you.” Doodad smirked.

  Fab and Didier came through the door just then, interrupting any response. They came in holding hands, and she raised both in the air, yelling, “We’re here.”

  Help was behind them, and whatever he said had them turning and laughing.

  “Drinks on the deck.” I waved and cut across to open the doors, then slid into a seat.

  We’d all claimed seats when the door opened and Doc Rivers and Chief Harder came through. Creole stood, shaking hands and clapping his old boss on the back. He took the men’s drink order and shouted it to Doodad.

  I was caught off guard, and judging by the look on Fab’s face, she shared my sentiment. Did we dare discuss felonies in front of the chief of the Miami Police Department?

  “Do you know the secret handshake?” I joked with the chief, and we exchanged a quick hug.

  Harder patted my cheek. “Take a deep breath and your color will come back.” He unleashed a growly laugh. “I’m not here in any official capacity. Since two of my employees are here—doesn’t matter that one’s retired and the other is about to skip out on me—I’m not going anywhere.”

  My cheeks burned at being read so easily.

  Creole made the intros around the table.

  “Harder assured me you were all old friends,” Doc said to me. “We’ve known each other for a dog’s age. Since we’ve got an empty chair at the poker table today, who better to fill it than an old friend? I also thought his input would be invaluable on this.”

  Who indeed? That would assure that the money stayed in the players’ pockets…hopefully. Gambling was frowned on in Florida.

  “I’m sorry for the circumstances that meant I got an invite to this little get-together, but once I heard who was on the guest list, I would’ve changed my plans to be here.” The chief winked at me and then Fab, who screwed up her lips. “You’re always entertaining. And so is your friend.”

  “Not sure you know, but Fab and Didier got married,” I said.

  The chief clasped his chest. “I didn’t get invited.”