“The boys think you’re a rock star for tripping Saunders. I told them not to get carried away.”
“Why did Saunders want his wife dead?” I asked, cutting around the back past the crematorium and then speeding out of the driveway.
“Greed and jealousy. He thought his wife was going to leave him and take her money with her.”
So now he’s traded his life for a jail cell.
“Let’s go home.”
Chapter Thirteen
Our first night back in the house and Mother had planned a party, judging by the familiar cars parked in the street. Creole had reminded me more than once to double check with law enforcement to make sure the house was not still part of a murder investigation and that I had the legal right to move back in. It wasn’t and I was happy to be home.
Fab and I had gone back to the boat for a second check to make sure we hadn’t left anything behind. The boyfriends had loaded our bags in the back of the SUV earlier, and our last stop was Spoon’s so Fab could retrieve her Porsche. If she’d left it in the marina parking lot overnight, it would have been gone in an hour. I tailed Fab to the light and pulled up alongside her. She powered down the passenger window, yelled, “Race you,” and revved the engine. The light turned green, she shot forward, and I followed her exhaust trail.
By the time I arrived, Fab had parked in the driveway and was leaning against the back of her Porsche, arms crossed. Spoon and Liam came out the front door, laughing about something. If I had to bet, it was some outrageous thing Fab had said, like, “Get your asses out here and schlep the bags.” However she got the help, I was happy not to be carrying them upstairs or leaving them on the floor to trip over.
Liam opened the door, and I slid out. “Brad’s going to be late; he’s meeting with a client. Heard about the guy on the beach. Told Kevin he was wasting his time, thinking you were a suspect. He pretty much blew me off.”
“Wouldn’t it be nice if life was so easy that we could take our problems and dump them in the Gulf?” I laughed. “What’s happening inside? I live here and have no clue.”
“Grandmother!” he announced, knowing no other explanation was needed. “It’s a family get-together, and I told her not to invite Kevin and to stop feeling guilty. He probably wouldn’t want to come anyway.”
“I don’t want you to get caught in the middle.”
“Mom’s not happy with him either. Hopefully, no more bodies will show up, and that will improve his mood.” Liam looked down at my stomach. “Are you hungry?” He reached into the car and grabbed my purse, slipping the strap over my shoulder. He grabbed the last of the bags, and we went inside.
Mother hugged me just inside the door.
“Do I have time for a shower?” I asked.
“Dinner in an hour, and it’s a seafood feast.” She saw me looking around the room. “Creole will be here soon.”
I kissed her cheek and went upstairs. The house was so sparkly clean, you’d never know it had been inhabited by pigs. I thought about telling her to send everyone outside and not get anything dirty.
My hair felt like it had doubled in size from the off-the-charts humidity. I pulled it back in a twist, and it took two clips to get it to stay in place. I stepped under the waterfall showerhead, resting my head against the tiles and letting the cool water spray over my back. A long shower was one luxury I’d missed while staying on the boat.
The bathroom door opened.
“Who’s there?” I demanded.
“A burglar,” said a familiar voice.
“Would you go next door? I just came from a funeral.” I choked out a dramatic sob.
“I’ll make you feel better.” The shower door opened, and Creole stepped in, wrapping his arms around me for a long kiss. “That funeral comes under the chief’s jurisdiction since the almost-buried wrong body came from Miami. The husband has been booked on attempted murder, and more charges will be forthcoming. The chief takes a dim view of people being able to procure bodies for fake funerals. There’s sure to be more arrests.”
“Enough business talk.” I handed him a bar of soap. “Hopefully, everyone will eat and run.”
“You will not voice that sentiment.” He shook his finger at me.
* * *
Although the night air was exceedingly warm, Mother and I set the table out by the pool with my seashell dishes. The dinner, as it turned out, was also a business meeting to update the investors in the current real estate project, who were all family members, and bring them up to speed on the next project that Brad and Didier were eager to move on to.
Mother outdid herself, ordering a veritable feast of everyone’s favorite seafood. I cornered her and thanked her for the new refrigerator, which was fancier than I would’ve picked out; I loved it. She said the old one had been beyond disgusting and smelled like someone had died inside. After a couple of phone calls, two men had showed up, put straps around it, and hauled it off to recycle the parts.
After dinner, we gravitated back inside and filled the chairs and couch in the living room.
Before Didier could call the meeting to order, Fab spoke up. “Is this going to take long?” She stuck her legs out on the couch cushions, preventing anyone else from sitting down there.
The glare Didier shot her could have singed her eyebrows off. She sat up and sat primly, hands in her lap, something she must have remembered from her convent school days.
“I was going to wait for Brad but just got a text to continue without him.” Didier scowled at his phone screen, not happy that my brother had bailed.
“Where is he?” I asked. It’s so unlike him to be a no-show.
“He’s chasing down a potential property, and the seller is leaving town tomorrow. He wanted to make an offer before it got listed,” Didier said. “We’ve got a signed contract on the apartment building at our asking price. Now we just have a punch list to finish, and once it closes, the checks will be in the mail.” He made eye contact with everyone, but no one had any questions, so he went down his list. “Brad and I want to know if you’re all in for the next project. Objectors, raise your hand.” There were none. “We’ve got a line on another condo development in Miami.”
* * *
After everyone left, Fab grabbed Didier’s arm and took a step towards the stairs. He pulled her back into his arms. “Creole wants to talk to you and Madison.” He flashed her a “behave” look.
Creole and I were on the daybed, my head in his lap. I looked up. “Are we in trouble?” I asked.
He bent over and brushed my lips with his. “Not this time.”
“Make it snappy.” Fab fake-yawned.
Didier pulled her down next to him, and she landed with an “oomph.”
“Two things: Billy has agreed to stay here and keep an eye on the property until Carbine’s murderer is in custody.” Creole looked between me and Fab. “Second, I have a favor to ask.”
“What you’re saying, in a slow way, is that you’ve got some job that is a freebie. Good for you. What do we get out of it?” Fab demanded.
I looked up at Creole. “I’ll do it.”
Creole gave me a wolfish smile. “A fellow officer wants me to check up on his sister. He’s spoken to her a couple of times since the hurricane, but the conversations were short and vague. Now he can’t get ahold of her; phone’s turned off. Says she’s the kind who wouldn’t ask if she needed help.”
“Okay, so what haven’t you told us about the sister? Felon? Drunk? Drug addict? You know the type.” Fab curled her lip.
“Madison, I’d love to partner with you, if you’ll let me,” Didier offered, sliding away from Fab.
“I’ll go,” Fab said and flopped into Didier’s lap. If he wanted to move now, he’d have to dump her on the floor. “You’d do it if she were local, so she must be out in the weeds. We drive out to nowhere, check to make su
re she’s okay, have her call her bro, and then leave?” She arched her brow. “You do know it’s never that easy?”
“Maybe between the two of you, you can convince her to move back to civilization.”
I looked up at Creole. “Or we’ll strong-arm her, drop her off at her brother’s place, and let him do the convincing.”
“People like you. Strangers, weirdos, especially felons…” He played with the ends of my hair.
“What about me?” Fab practically yelled.
I wasn’t sure why Fab had taken that comment as a compliment.
I rested my hand on Creole’s chest. “Let me.” I turned my head toward Fab. “You scare the hell out of people.”
Creole and Didier laughed, and Fab rewarded me with a pleased smile at that explanation.
Chapter Fourteen
“Come on, let’s get this done.” Fab swooped into the living room, snapping her fingers for me to stand up. “I’m taking over for Didier.”
I stood and allowed myself to be dragged out the front door. It had rained all night, leaving the plants and trees glowing green. A faint dampness on the concrete sparkled under the morning sunshine. “I knew you wouldn’t let Didier go off and have all the fun.”
“These stupid jobs always go south,” Fab said, pulling out onto the Overseas. “I would never risk him getting hurt.”
I made kissy noises as I stared out the window, not wanting to miss the breathtaking view of the blue-green water that ran alongside the highway. “We could pretend this is a friendly visit to someone we actually know. If she looks receptive, we offer a little friendly advice; if not, a quick reminder to call her brother, and we’re out of there.”
“You dispense the advice; I’ll nod and pretend to listen.”
I snorted.
“Do you have to make those dreadful noises?”
“Rich-girl snooty voice” was making an appearance. For Fab’s entertainment, I made several of my best animal noises, not sure I got the chicken right, but I figured she wouldn’t ask what the heck they were supposed to be.
“What if…” I tapped my finger against my cheek. “The house fell down, and Ms. Ramona is dead under the rubble? Or she blew down the block? Probably not, since her brother has spoken to her since the hurricane.”
“I’ve never liked your what-ifs. They’re gruesome. If we get a whiff of a body, we’re driving away and not getting involved. We’ll call Creole and dump it in his lap. They’re all cops; they’ll know what to do.” Fab veered off the highway. “I’m getting good at finding these out-of-the-way places. Good thing, since I hate GPS. Almost threw it out the window when that irritating woman told me to turn around, that I had missed the turn, which was her fault, waiting until the last minute.”
It didn’t take long to realize that the area had been hard-hit by the hurricane. There were a few lots with hollowed out houses left standing, others only a stretch of green, with nothing remaining but a parking pad. It would have been a ghost town except for the one house and mobile home that remained. I wondered what I’d feel if mine were the only house left standing—gratitude, followed by survivor’s guilt and a little creeped out.
“It probably used to be lush and woodsy out here,” I said as Fab turned on a road that was once tree-lined, the storm leaving them toppled and scattered, with stumps as the only reminder in some cases. “Too desolate for me.” I scooted up in my seat, looking out the window. “If it’s still here, we’re looking for a yellow house, turquoise hurricane shutters; I didn’t see any mailboxes on the last two properties we passed.”
“We’re running out of paved road,” Fab grouched. “What do people have against pavement?”
“Discourages unwanted visitors. Most won’t go driving down unmarked streets.”
“So does a gun.” Fab made a U-turn at the end of the road.
“You can’t shoot everything, you know.” Since Fab’s head was wagging side to side, I assumed she didn’t agree. “Go slow.” I pointed to a mailbox at the end of the road. “That’s it.” The last name had been carved into the post, which leaned precariously.
Fab backed up, and we sat there and stared. “Was that the house?” Fab pointed to a pile of yellow-painted wooden debris. The only structure was a shed at the back of the property. “I thought Creole said the brother had talked to his sister since the hurricane.”
“Ramona apparently wasn’t forthcoming with the truth.”
“Who?”
“Pay attention,” I snapped. “Ramona is the name of the woman we’re here to check on.”
“It’s your job to remember the names.”
“I didn’t hear about this area being hard-hit.” Two dogs came out of nowhere; bony and dirty, they ran barking towards the SUV. “Someone evacuated and didn’t take their dogs?” I whimpered at the thought. “And worse, never came back.” I’d heard that people didn’t think twice about leaving animals behind but had never seen proof until now.
“No you don’t.” Fab jerked on my arm before I could get the door open. “If they’ve been out here since the hurricane, they’re starving and could bite you. News flash: we don’t have any food. And as much as I suck at anything animal-related, even I know snack foods aren’t a good idea.”
“We could start with water.”
“And get your arm bitten off as thanks. I don’t think so.”
I pulled away from Fab. “Pull in so we can get pictures of the debris. It was obviously her house.” I hadn’t understood the meaning of the term “back side of the storm” until witnessing it firsthand. The devastation was far reaching, worse than the pictures on the news had shown.
I got out with a bottle of water, unsure about how I was going to share it between the dogs. They answered my dilemma by running off, tails between their legs.
Inspecting the pile that used to be an old house, judging by the shiplap siding that had once been popular for inexpensive seasonal homes, I saw that there wasn’t enough left to construct a whole house, which meant that pieces had blown away.
I left the artist to work in peace, and Fab soon finished her video of the neighborhood and started snapping pictures in a frenzy. Suddenly, pounding sounds caught my attention. I turned and identified them as coming from the shed in the far corner. The racket ceased and was replaced by muffled shouts.
Fab joined me. “That can’t be good,” she said in a low voice and drew her gun.
“There’s no chance that whoever is in there can hear us talking. Let’s just go and call 911.”
“What if it’s Ramona, and she somehow got stuck in there?” Fab said, eyes wide.
“Mother Nature must have a sense of humor, taking the house and leaving behind a crappy shed. Since you’re the professional, how do you get accidently locked inside when the padlock is outside?”
Whatever she had been about to say, Fab changed her mind, ordered, “Follow me,” and flounced across the grass.
“Anyone out there?” a male voice yelled. “Help.”
“What’s the combination?” Fab shouted.
The man groaned. “My girlfriend must have it. Please, I don’t want to die in here.”
Fab walked up to the door and tugged on the lock. “I’ll have to shoot this off. Is there room for you to step away from the door?”
“The left side is completely clear; I cleaned it out right after the storm.” The panic in his voice was evident.
I pushed Fab’s arm down. “Here’s the deal: start with your name, then tell us how you got yourself locked in, and we’ll let you out,” I said. “You better be on your best behavior, or my friend will shoot you. Got it?”
“I’ll do anything you say; just let me out. Name’s Petrol Handy.” Petrol’s rising anxiety level came through loud and clear. “I can’t breathe.”
Fab and I exchanged worried looks. The last thing we needed w
as a dead stranger.
“Stand back.” Fab sent the lock flying with one shot and threw the door open, keeping her gun aimed at him.
Petrol stepped into the sun and blinked, blocking his eyes with his hand, shirtless and reeking, sweat running in rivulets down his chest. “Thanks.” He stumbled and leaned against the doorframe. “What do you want to know? I’ll answer your questions, and maybe you can call one of my friends, so I can get a ride back to civilization.”
I handed Petrol the bottle of water I was holding.
He slid to the ground, resting his head on his knees.
“You need medical attention?” I asked.
Petrol shook his head. “Two days ago, my girlfriend and I came out here to see if there was anything left to salvage and got into a fight. I swear, I thought I’d die in there.” He glanced at the shed, shuddering. “We were loading the last of the bottled water, I went in and grabbed the last case, and she slammed the door, locked it, gunned the engine, and squealed off—in my truck.” He ended on a high-pitched note, his voice trailing off.
“Does the girlfriend have a name?” Fab demanded. “Maybe it would be best to call the police.”
“Ramona Mears. The last thing I want is trouble with the law. I’m finally getting my act together and don’t want to derail myself. I really don’t want to risk getting blamed for something.”
“What did you fight about?” I asked.
“This isn’t pretty, but you’ll still let me leave?” Desperation laced his voice.
“No matter what happened, it wouldn’t be good for Ramona if you died, especially if she’s the one that locked you in.”
It didn’t escape my notice that Fab didn’t bother to reassure him that the last thing we wanted was any trouble either. I was ready to leave right then. But judging by Fab’s squinty-eyed look, she wanted details. Damn her nosiness.
He threw up his hands. “Okay, I’m a jerk.” He stared at the weeds and said, “We fought about my cheating with Peg at the bar. I tried to explain that it was only a hummer and everyone knows that’s not cheating. How can she expect me to turn that down? I tried to reassure Ramona that I never did Peg back, not even a kiss.”
Hurricane in Paradise (Florida Keys Mystery Series Book 10) Page 10