Whatever he was about to say, he bit back the words when two burly regulars stood, arms crossed. The man got the message and headed for the door.
“Don’t come back!” Fab yelled at his back.
I toasted Fab and Phil with a smile and a wink.
Fab reholstered her gun and leaped off the bar, landing gracefully. The bar erupted into applause.
“Drinks on the house.” Phil refilled my glass.
“They already are.” Fab sniffed. “Didier is calling––again. I’ve got to answer before he cuts off the sex.”
Phil and I laughed at her.
“It’s not funny. Sometimes I try to distract him; it used to work, and then he caught on. He can be a stubborn man.” Fab wiggled her way to the deck, a few men turning to watch her go.
“Don’t tell them where we’re at,” I yelled. “Let’s have some music.” I crossed to the jukebox, reached behind it and flipped the switch, then danced my way back to my seat.
“Bad day, Boss?” Phil smiled sympathetically.
“Bad week.” I refilled my glass. “Got a pen?” I passed her a cocktail napkin. “Check out Rocks Johnson. He claims to be the maker of Rocks Wine, which tastes like swill in a bottle. He’s a new Cottages tenant.” I told her about the shooting. “Anything I can blackmail him with—outstanding warrant, whatever—I want him gone. Now.”
Phil belly-laughed. “Rocks Wine is a five-dollar bottle of flavored gut buster, alcohol content about eighteen percent. It’s not even wine; the liquor board made them take that off the label. College kids drink it, and most just get sick, probably from the sugar high. It has the distinction of being voted one of the five worst so-called wines ever.”
I downed my glass, slamming it down on the bar a little hard. The stem broke. “Oops.” I picked up the pieces, handing them to Phil. “I need another glass.”
Phil set a clean, salted one down. I reached for the pitcher, but Phil batted my hand away, refilling the glass.
I cocked my head to look at the pitcher. One drink left. I sighed. “I’ll be needing a refill.”
Just then, Fab, who had perfected the art of appearing out of nowhere, slid onto the stool next to me.
“How’s the boyfriend?” I asked Phil. I’d never gotten any details about how she and Miami’s Chief of Police had hooked up. When I asked Creole, he responded, “My boss’s love life is none of my business.”
She seemed surprised by the question. “We’re friends,” she said firmly.
“So you haven’t… uh…” Fab trailed off, embarrassed.
“Since you hooked up with the chief, we haven’t gotten detail one about how it happened, and now you’re saying… what… no sex?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Slow down, sister, you’ve had enough to drink.” Fab reached for my glass and pushed it out of my reach.
“You know I do the occasional job for Creole. The chief wanted to meet me. We’re friends—with occasional benefits. End of story.” Phil scowled at me.
“You need to improve your story-telling skills. Talk to Mother; she’ll give you pointers.” I giggled. “This is totally none of my business, but how is the chief in… well, you know.” My cheeks burned.
“You’re right; it’s none of your business.” Phil poured the last few sips of margarita from the pitcher into my glass and pushed it back in front of me.
“You’re no fun.” I stretched out my arms, laying my head down. “You go.” I squinted at Fab out of the corner of my eye. “I’m staying here and getting drunk.”
“Time to go home. Didier and Creole are cooking.” Fab stood up and took a couple of steps toward the kitchen. Realizing I wasn’t behind her, she stopped and turned, a frown on her face.
“I’m going to live here.”
Phil laughed. “Have you forgotten there’s no place to sleep? A booth would be damned uncomfortable.”
“You’ve got two choices.” Fab shook her finger, coming back to stand in front of me. “You get off that stool, and we’ll get our butts back to the SUV.” She ignored my pouty lip. “Or I’ll drag your ass out of here, and you’ll be the hot gossip for at least a week. And in the retelling, we’ll have brawled and I knocked you out cold.” She smiled smugly.
* * *
“You okay?” Fab looked me over intently as I wobbled down the dock.
“Too much to drink,” I moaned pitifully. “On an empty stomach. I think I’m going to be sick.”
“I’ll hold your hair back. But if you get anything on me, you’re dead. Understand?”
“You’re the best friend…” I started to cry.
“Oh, for pity’s sake, stop that. Don’t look now, but Creole just jumped off the back of the boat and is headed this way.”
I turned, stumbled but managed to stay on my feet, and headed in the opposite direction.
Fab wrapped her arm around my shoulders, forcing me to stop in my tracks. “Oh no, you don’t.” She turned me around. “Besides, whatever you say while drunk, plead amnesia in the morning.” She jerked me to a stop, hands on my shoulders.
“Stop with the sudden moves,” I whined and got a shake in response.
“I made you a promise. I’ve never gone back on one yet, have I? We are going to get the house back.” She squinted past me, as though the answer was just beyond my shoulder. “Pretend to be sober. Don’t say anything, and maybe they won’t notice.”
I giggled. “They already know.”
I felt my feet leaving the ground, and in one swift move, I was settled in Creole’s arms. “Put your arms around my neck,” he ordered.
I ignored him. “I’m drunk.” I leaned back as far as I could in his arms, letting my arms trail behind me, and laughed. “I like it when you carry me.”
Chapter Seven
My eyes opened slowly, and I fought waking up, wanting to drift back to sleep. Finally, I peered out from under the blanket, first trying to figure out where I was, then feeling the slight side-to-side motion and wondering what I was doing on Spoon’s boat. Then it came back to me in glorious color. After Creole put me on the couch, we kissed, and I laid my head on his shoulder and fell asleep, or some would say passed out. The upside was, I didn’t get sick.
Creole sat down on the bed next to me, brushing the hair out of my face. “Happy I didn’t have to wake you up.” He handed me two aspirin and a bottled water.
I eyed the steaming mug of coffee on the nightstand and pointed. “Sorry about last night.”
“None of that.” He helped me to a sitting position, handing me the coffee. “It’s been a hellish few days, and I haven’t been here for you. I’ve got time off coming, and I’m going to whisk you away.” He stood and took his t-shirt off, tossing it on the end of the bed. “Suck that down,” he ordered with a smile. “We both have places to be.”
I groaned.
“I checked out the old woman on this new job of yours, and for once, Brick was telling the truth. Just a harmless old drunk. If she gets any wise-ass ideas, shoot her in the butt; that will stop her.”
I half-laughed over the rim of my mug. “I might get away with that if it were a crusty old man, but not a woman, drunk or not.”
Creole pulled my phone out the pocket of his shorts. “I slaved for a good minute or two, putting this back together.” He put it in my purse. “No stories needed about yesterday’s excitement; Kevin called everyone and spread the word.”
I gulped down the last of my coffee, checking to make sure I got every last drop. “What was the purpose of Kevin making all those calls? To stir up trouble? He’s worse than a neighborhood gossip.”
“Spoon hung up on him when he started to lecture. Didier told him, ‘I’ve heard this already.’ Kevin apparently wasn’t listening; he continued, barely taking a breath, and Didier ended the call mid-sentence. I think there’s more to that story because Didier was
angry when he hung up.” Creole tossed back the blanket. “Shower time.”
* * *
“Princess is awake?” Fab said.
Turning in the direction of her voice, I saw Fab sitting at the table, laptop in front of her.
“Just the two of us?”
“The guys just left. They both had appointments and took off with the usual admonishments to call if… you know.” She stood and stepped into the galley, washing out her mug. “Good thing you woke up when you did. I was about ready to insist Creole roll you out on the floor. We’ve got to get the old woman to court.”
I looked down at my rumpled skirt and grimaced. I hated living out of suitcases, and small ones at that. “You’ll need to walk her into court.” I wanted to make myself comfortable on the couch and go back to sleep. “Don’t let me drink tonight; we have to be in court tomorrow ourselves. ‘Hung over’ never makes a good impression on a judge.”
* * *
Fab rocketed down the Overseas and would’ve missed our exit if I hadn’t waved and pointed wildly. It appeared to be out in the middle of nowhere, but I knew there was a small shopping area down a nearby side road that catered to locals.
The directions and landmarks Brick gave us, such as the dolphin mailbox that leaned precariously right, got us to the address without driving around. Fab pulled up in front of the chain that ran across the driveway. The two-story house, raised three feet off the ground, sat towards the back of the lot, and there were two outbuildings, barely noticeable from the street.
The structures had suffered surprisingly little hurricane damage in the recent storm. This wasn’t a regular housing tract; everyone had acreage. Letty Gill’s was a weedy field that had been recently shaved into a neat stubble. A large pile of tree limbs was stacked near the road.
I scooted forward on my seat. “I don’t think Letty lives here anymore.” The front door had a sheet of plywood nailed over it. A 2x4 was nailed across the middle of each window, giving it an old-fashioned, rugged jailhouse appearance. A single scraggly flower vine grew up the far side of the house. “This was easy. Don’t forget to bill for travel time.”
“We’re going to get out and check out the entire house.”
“Don’t you mean me?” I pointed to her feet. “You’re going to tromp around the dirt and weeds in your fancy sandals?” I waved my hand, cutting her off. “Why did you take your change of clothing out of the back? And why should I get dirt on my flip-flops?”
“Someone needs to throw all those ugly rubber things away.”
“If it’s you, I’ll mutilate your stilettos and leave them in a pile in the middle of your bed.” We engaged in a glare-off. “You’re in luck; I, at least, still keep a change in the back.”
“I took it out and forgot to put it back in. And now my tote is sitting on the bench in the entryway of the house we’re not living in,” Fab huffed.
I climbed out of the SUV, went around to the back, and grabbed my small bag, unzipping it and pulling out my back-up uniform. “I don’t want to go home covered in bug bites.”
I quickly exchanged my skirt for sweats and shoved my feet into tennis shoes. I eyed her black linen ankle-length pants and silk capped-sleeve blouse. “Nice outfit—hope it doesn’t get all dirty when you accompany me on the tour around the property that you insist on.”
“Honestly, I didn’t think about a change of clothing. Brick made no mention of the rural setting. It will take you two minutes, but don’t go where I can’t see you.”
“Yes, Mother.” I gave her a quick salute, holding onto my phone, and started up the drive, stopping at the bottom of the porch steps to snap pictures. No sign that the porch had been used in a long time. There was a large, old dairy box sitting on the top step, which was empty. As far as I knew, the milkman was a thing of the past.
The steps didn’t appear to have any dry rot when I stomped on them, holding onto the handrail and listening for any signs of them giving way. I raced up and gave the plywood over the door a good stiff kick. I couldn’t hear a single sound from inside. I kicked again. I peeked through the spaces between the boards over the window. There were no curtains, but only a little natural light reached the inside. It was like looking into a dark hole, the few pieces of furniture that dotted the room barely visible.
Fab honked the horn and waved out the window to go around the side.
I turned back and smiled, wondering how long it would take her to trade her heels for my flip-flops. Starting on the right side, all the first-floor windows were either boarded up or covered by curtains and too high to peer into without a ladder, due to the whole place being three feet off the ground. On the second floor, they were all uncovered. The back door had an odd square box that fit over the knob of the steel security door. I beat on the screen a few times, which garnered no response. The house had a creepy, sad vibe. The woman had neglected it, and it showed. I peeked around the far side and spotted a sawed-off tree trunk. I wandered over and checked it thoroughly for insects, since an impressive mound of red ants was not far away, then sat down, wondering how long it would take for Fab to get annoyed and come looking for me.
My phone rang, Fab’s picture popping up. That was quick.
Before I could say anything, Fab blurted, “Brick wants us to check out the inside. When I told him the place was boarded up, he told me to figure it out.”
“Did you bring a power saw or a crowbar?” I asked in exasperation. “Don’t you worry about your manicure; I’ll figure something out.”
“No. Come back to the car. The hell with this job. It’s clear that no one lives here, and Brick can accept that or not.” She disconnected.
Checking out the first story, I saw that two windows were open—one cracked and the other open at least a foot. A tree branch brushed the side of the house between the two windows. The end of the limb was skinny and would never hold a person’s weight, but it got more substantial as it ran back to the tree. Fab could climb that in a snap and get in the window for a look around. I’d followed my brother up a tree or two as a kid. Maybe—I looked up again—I could do it.
I jumped up and ran back to the SUV. Fab stood by the passenger door, arms crossed. “Where have you been?”
I ignored her question and flung open the back door. I unzipped my bag and extracted a pair of half-finger gloves I had borrowed from Fab and not returned. “Be right back,” I called over my shoulder and ran around to the back of the house.
I stood in front of the old oak tree, following the lines of the branches. Before I dismiss this as a bad idea, I should try. I put one foot in a V that was about a foot from the bottom and swung myself onto the lowest branch of the tree. I climbed about halfway up the tree, my feet scrabbling against the smooth trunk to get a hold, reaching as high as I could and pulling myself up higher, my feet finding branches to use as footholds. I positioned myself against the trunk of the tree, wishing I could reach the next branch, which was just out of reach. Without it, I was unwilling to go any higher. With nothing to hang onto, I accepted that I didn’t stand a chance of reaching any of the windows.
“Get down from there right now,” Fab screeched as she hurried around the corner of the house. “Even I can’t get up there.”
I heard the shock in her voice and said, “Yes, ma’am. It didn’t look that hard standing on the ground.”
“Get the hell down. Now!” she yelled. “You’re going to owe me a new pair of shoes.”
Re-examining the termite-ridden shed next to the fence, I stared at the large round lock; now that lock-picker extraordinaire had deigned to make an appearance, hopefully she’d have it off in seconds. “Make yourself useful and pick that lock.” I pointed.
“Why?” Her eyes filled with suspicion.
“A ladder would be helpful. Stand back.” I went back down the tree the same way I’d gone up and, two feet from the bottom, turned and jumped to t
he ground.
I knew she didn’t have a lock pick on her, so I took mine from my back pocket and handed it to her.
“This is really old,” Fab said in awe before popping the lock open. “Stand back.” Stepping back, she threw the door open.
I peered inside to see if anything was about to crawl or walk out. The small space reeked of mold, the corner of the roof damaged, exposing it to the sky. I spotted a wooden ladder with round rungs that had to be a hundred years old in the corner and dragged it out through the dirt, which turned out to be more work than I’d imagined and left me breathless.
Tilting it against the side of the house took a little work, as did making sure it fit under the window. “If this wobbles even a little, you better hold on. Push your butt against the bottom steps.” I climbed slowly up the first couple of steps; it didn’t feel like a rickety mess, but it looked like one, and I had my doubts about how this would work out. Finally, I made it to the first-floor window. “Kitchen,” I yelled down.
Leaning forward, I reached across, giving the bottom of the window frame a shove. It barely moved. The wooden rung under my foot gave way, and I slipped. One foot hit the next rung down and the other one went through the opening, my leg straddling it at an odd angle. Pushing upward, I grabbed the windowsill as the ladder wobbled, followed by a cracking noise.
“You’re going to kill yourself, and I’ll be the one in trouble.” The worry in Fab’s voice came through loud and clear.
“Hang onto the damn ladder.” I shoved my fingers under the bottom of the open window and worked it back and forth. It went up, but not enough to climb in, unless I went in head first. Then what? Hit my head while rolling off the sink, most likely.
“Boost your right leg up,” Fab said.
I hooked my arms over the sill, sticking my head inside. It took zero seconds for the odor to assail my nostrils. I gagged and, at the same time, spotted several dead cockroaches on the counter, toes up. I held my breath, forcing myself not to make any sudden movements, and slowly backed out of the window, leaning to one side to suck in a breath of fresh air. “Someone’s dead,” I yelled.
Hurricane in Paradise (Florida Keys Mystery Series Book 10) Page 5