Hurricane in Paradise (Florida Keys Mystery Series Book 10)

by Deborah Brown

  I pushed my credit card under the window. It was treated the same as cash, and I’d get my money back, minus the fee, once the case was settled. The older woman didn’t say anything after asking me the name of the inmate, processing the paperwork in silence.

  Once completed, she said, “The inmate was transferred to Tarpon Cove hospital early this morning. I’ll call over and let them know she’s been released from custody.”

  “What happened to her?” I asked in shock.

  “No idea.” She waved me aside, calling for the next person in line.

  I ran back to the SUV. “Miss January is in the hospital.” I pulled my phone out and called Shirl.

  She answered, and I explained what had happened.

  “You might as well hold off. She’ll be in a secure area, and it will take a while to get her moved to a public room. You’re not family, so they won’t let you in. It’s my day off, but I can call and get an update on her condition.”

  “The good thing is, when she is released, she won’t have to go back to jail; she can come home,” I said.

  After I hung up, Fab said, “I’d like to check out Brad’s cottage, see if it yields any clues. I don’t expect to find anything, because whatever happened, happened after he left, but you never know.” She exited the parking lot, taking the back way.

  “I just texted Mother that we’re going to swing by The Cottages, and she messaged back that Spoon was with her and not to worry. I’m happy she has him; he’s a rock for her.”

  “When we leave The Cottages, we can place a food order and have Phil deliver it; that way, she can update us. Who’s got the better hacking skills—one of Phil’s associates? Or do we use Gunz?”

  “I’d thought it was settled; we’re using Hair in a Can. Problems already?” Not using the man wouldn’t disappointment me in the slightest, but only if we had someone else lined up.

  Gunz was one of Fab’s seedier longtime associates, a large bald man who, when the mood hit him, sprayed goo on his head, ran a thick comb through it, and presto: instant hairstyle. He and I had never warmed up to one another. He’d told me I was a smart-ass once; I shrugged and thanked him for calling me smart.

  “Gunz is not returning my calls; it’s damn annoying.”

  “Then let’s check with Phil; her people have never let us down.”

  “We need to spread the word through our lowlife connections that we’ll incentivize them with cash, which will yield a faster response. And do it like the cops: it has to lead to his being found.” Fab slid into the parking space in front of the office. “Between the five of us—me, you, Spoon, Creole, and Phil—we’ll find him. And Didier.” Fab smiled. “Brad’s place first,” she said, slamming the door.

  Mac opened the office door, waving. Shirl, behind her, stuck her hand over Mac’s shoulder and waved.

  “We’ll be right back,” I called to the two and ran to catch up with Fab.

  Fab slid her lockpick out and had the door open by the time I came up behind her, following her inside. The large open space encompassed a living room, dining room, and kitchen, with the bedroom and bathroom behind the only other door. Fab pulled out her phone and snapped pictures.

  I sank into a chair, one eye on Fab, and called Phil, running down the information we needed, inviting her for an early dinner, and asking if she would please bring the food. Fab went to work searching every corner; nothing was left unchecked. The last thing she did was go through the closet and rifled through a couple of travel bags.

  “Nothing.” Fab held up her hands. “My guess is he left that morning with every intention of coming back.”

  “None of our possible options for what could’ve happened make sense.” I stood and headed for the door. “Time to talk to Joseph, tell him about the reward. You check on Score.”

  “I’d sooner check on Miss January’s dead cat. Her drunken boyfriend can take care of himself. He probably hasn’t even noticed that Miss January hasn’t been around. Didn’t she drag him back from the beach? How long was he living out there? And when is his freeloader butt moving back?”

  “You’d feel bad if the old guy croaked.” I wagged my finger. “You can be the one to tell Miss January.” I left Fab to lock up in a full-blown snit.

  I knocked on Joseph’s door and got no answer. Frustrated, I gave it a swift kick, and when he didn’t yell back, I figured he wasn’t at home and went over to the office. I planned to update Mac and leave, but Mac’s ominous, “We need to talk inside,” left me wondering what now.

  A moment later, Fab banged the office door closed, glaring at me for taking her coveted seat on the couch. She practically sat on top of me. I pushed her away and moved to a chair next to Shirl.

  “How’s Miss January doing?” I asked Shirl.

  “She’s recovering nicely; sleeps most of the time. The doctor has her on medication to prevent rapid withdrawal. She’ll be getting out soon.”

  “Thank you for looking out for her, keeping me informed.”

  “Meeting called to order.” Mac kicked her boot-covered feet up on the desk, managing to snap her bubble gum at the same time.

  I thought she’d given up gum chewing—guess not.

  “Jump to the good stuff. I’m in a surly mood today,” I said.

  “Rocks is dead!” she announced. “Murdered!”

  I attributed her smile to the fact that everyone’s mouth dropped open, her announcement rendering us all speechless. “Inside his cottage?” I choked out, feeling faint and resting my forehead on the edge of the desk. Not again.

  “Nope, not this time.” Mac blew a bubble that covered the lower part of her face.

  “You do that again,” Fab growled at her, “and I’m shooting the next bubble.”

  Mac wadded the gum between her fingers, pitching it in the trash. “You’re just grouchy you can’t do it,” she said and crossed her arms over her chest.

  I promised myself I’d have a good laugh over that one later. “Could we get back to Rocks?”

  “He was found slumped over in his car at the end of a one-way street down by the beach. Cause of death: not the beating he sustained or that someone had used him for target practice, but…” Mac made a simulated gun, forefinger in the middle of her head. “Bang!” She fell sideways in her chair.

  “Thanks for the re-creation.” Fab’s words were drenched in sarcasm.

  “You better tell them the other part.” Shirl’s eyebrow shot up.

  “Yes, well…” Mac smoothed her skirt, fingering her double pack of gum; catching Fab’s glare, she thought better of it, and it disappeared into her pocket. “I need an alibi. I know it’s not good practice to lie to law enforcement, but it was just a little one.”

  “Do the cops think you killed Rocks?” I desperately needed something to drink; my mouth had gone dry. I uncapped the water bottle Mac had set out and downed it.

  “I certainly hope not.” Mac sniffed. “I’ve never even shot anyone. There were a couple of times I wanted to, but that doesn’t count.”

  “You said alibi,” I reminded her in exasperation. “If you’re not under investigation, why would you need one?”

  “This ought to be good,” Fab mumbled.

  “I got the word early from Shirl.” She beamed at her friend. “Though the body was gone by the time I got down to the beach.” She frowned. “Kevin came by and wanted to check out Rocks’ cottage… right after I’d removed the boxes to the garden shed and called the cleaning crew. Told him he could look all he wanted but that Rocks had left a week ago. Legally, I should’ve waited until the end of the month to enter and move his things, but I thought, ‘the hell with that.’”

  I shook my head. “Since he’s dead, he won’t be slinking back looking for a place to hide. Any relatives show up, hand the boxes over and get a signed receipt.”

  “So…” Fab drawled. “You
lied and now want one or all of us to cover for you. That’s three favors you owe, and if we have to corroborate your story, that will be another one. Got it.”

  If looks could kill, one of us would be calling Dickie for a tricked-out funeral for Fab. Shirl rubbed her hands together, already contemplating how she’d use her favor.

  “Fine,” Mac ground out.

  “Kevin find anything? Did he happen to drop any choice tidbits, such as how, why, who?” I asked.

  “Kevin’s always tight-lipped. I knew before letting him inside that there wasn’t anything to find; I searched the place a couple of times—once after Rocks disappeared and then again this morning. Shirl and I will hit up Custer’s later and get the gossip; the drunks aren’t always reliable, but it’s something.”

  Custer’s was a rat-hole bar in town that did a brisk business selling beer and screw-top wine, despite the fact that the place had questionable cleanliness standards. They owed their success to the nightly impromptu entertainment supplied by the drunks. Custer’s held the record for the most bar fights of any place in town.

  “You make up with Billy yet?” I asked. “He won’t like you cavorting at that bar.”

  “We went out again. I had high hopes until his phone rang and he had to run off and help another stupid woman in distress. Is it too much to ask that I be the center of attention?” Mac made an incoherent sound of disgust. “Shirl and I are branching out; we’re going to be sleuths.”

  “Just make sure you don’t get arrested.” If the worst happened, hopefully I could get them out of jail in a speedy manner.

  “The good news is that Rocks wasn’t murdered here,” Fab pointed out.

  “Forgot that part,” Mac said. “Rocks wasn’t offed in his car or anywhere nearby. I overheard a couple of technicians grumbling about lack of evidence before I was told to beat it or risk arrest.”

  “Anything else?” I stood, reaching into the refrigerator behind me for another cold water. “Another murder?”

  Mac’s feet hit the floor; she grabbed the snack bowl off the shelf. “Oreos?” She held up a small bag.

  I grabbed the bag and sat back down.

  “Not yet, but it could still happen. Maricruz is supposed to be leaving tomorrow, but she’s sort of disappeared,” Mac announced. “She and Crum took off for parts unknown. Here.” She thrust a ripped-up piece of paper at me. “Crum shoved this under the door. It’s his handwriting, anyway.”

  It read: Gone camping.

  “How in the hell did this happen?”

  “If you ask me—”

  I cut Mac off. “Who else would I be asking? What are you going to tell Cruz?”

  Me?” Mac squealed. “He’s your lawyer.”

  “And your lawyer, and Fab’s—not Shirl’s, not yet anyway,” I said to her, “and I hope you’re never in need of his services.”

  “What the hell kind of manager are you that you can’t control one old woman?” Fab asked, clearly enjoying the new turn of events.

  “Maricruz needs a twenty-four-hour keeper. She acts like a teenager whose parents went out of town for the weekend. Sneaking around, causing trouble, running up tabs in your name.” She glared at me. “I knew it was bad when she jumped Crum’s bones like a thirsty woman in the desert; you’d think she hadn’t had sex in… a long time anyway.”

  “Well…” Shirl snickered.

  “Did you even try to warn her off? I hear there’s an outbreak of crabs again; tell me that, and I wouldn’t get within five feet of the person.” I shivered, having heard stories about the nippy little bugs. “Anybody with a good idea might want to speak up.”

  Total silence.

  “You listen to me, Macklin Lane: find her!” I practically yelled. “And before Cruz gets here. You can name your favor.”

  “What about me?” Shirl asked. “You know she’ll rope me into helping.”

  I turned and faced her. “Done.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Fab turned the corner to the house in time for us to see Phil disappear up the driveway with shopping bags in her hands. We walked into the kitchen, where Phil was unloading the food and Spoon was in charge of the drinks.

  Mother stood at the sink, waving out the garden window. “Kevin’s here,” she said with forced cheerfulness. “He’s in uniform. And a second car just pulled up.”

  Fab turned to me and gave me a questioning glance. “This can’t be good.”

  “He’s probably here for me. I hope I’m not about to be charged with murder.”

  Fab grabbed my arm. “I’ll hide you.”

  I threw my arms around Fab, hugging her. “If it’s the worst,” I whispered. “I need you to take care of Mother. I’m depending on you to find Brad.”

  Spoon answered the knock on the door. Kevin must have been in a good mood today; he hadn’t kicked the door down. A short conversation took place; then Spoon stepped back, allowing Kevin and his partner in.

  Kevin tried to control his signature smirk but wasn’t doing a very good job. “I’m here to take you in for questioning,” he said to me. “It’s your right to say no; then I‘ll just get a warrant.”

  “Does Cruz know about this?” I asked. Kevin shrugged. His non-answer made me ask, “Do you mind if I call him now?”

  “Call him.” He pointed to the cell phones on the island.

  Damn! The answering service.

  “Is this necessary?” Mother glared until he looked away.

  Go Mother.

  I lifted my skirt, took off my thigh holster, and shoved it in the back of the junk drawer. Not the best place, but it was hard to find anything in there anyway; I was happy I hadn’t followed through on my threat to clean it out. I followed his orders. Might as well cooperate; if not, he’d be back.

  The other deputy, who hadn’t said a word, turned his attention to Fab. “You too, Miss Merceau; we’re also requesting your cooperation.”

  “If this ends in an arrest, we’d like to request the same cell,” Fab said snootily.

  I bent my head and bit the inside of my cheek.

  “I suppose you’d like a room service menu?” Kevin snarked.

  “Wouldn’t that be cell service?” Fab said sweetly. “And yes, we would.”

  “What is this about?” Didier demanded, putting his arm across Fab’s shoulders.

  “Step back,” the other deputy said.

  Spoon clamped his hand down on Didier’s shoulder.

  Kevin led me to the door. I turned to Didier. “Call Creole. You two need to take care of the children. Don’t let them run wild.” I tried to smile and failed. I was disappointed when, after Kevin ushered me into the back seat of his cruiser, Fab was led to the other deputy’s car.

  The ride to the sheriff’s department took longer than usual; somehow, Kevin got lucky and hit every red light. Fab must have been grinding her teeth. The last I saw of her was when I was led into the building and placed in a windowless interrogation room, Kevin pointing to a chair. I looked around after the door shut behind him. The walls were dingy grey and the furniture sparse: a table and a couple of chairs. I didn’t bother to look around for a snack bowl. I wanted some water but figured my chance of getting any was slim if Kevin had his way.

  Tired of fidgeting, I laid my forehead on the table. There was nothing comfortable about that position. Giving up, I sat up straight and closed my eyes, plotting Kevin’s slow and painful demise. My rational side warned me to keep it a fantasy.

  The door opened; Kevin was back. “This won’t take long if you haven’t committed any felonies of late.” He motioned me forward.

  He wrapped his hand around my arm and led me down to a door at the far end of the hall. He handed me a placard with the number two on it and ushered me into a line with four other women.

  I stood next to a buxom blonde in a floor-length taffet
a skirt, an ill-fitting bustier, and platinum ringlets. One bustier strap was broken, and a good sneeze would leave her topless. I suspected she’d won the bar fight. “Don’t forget to smile.” She winked at me.

  Before I could ask any questions, Kevin yelled, “Quiet. When I open the door, you’ll file in, face forward, and hold your number up at chest level.”

  A lineup! This was a first. Hopefully, by the time I got home, I could make an amusing story out of it.

  A voice over an intercom—from behind the one-way mirror, I presumed—had us turn right, then left, then we all stood there a couple of minutes. The blonde struck a pose, hands on her hips, one hip flung out. The youngish girl on the other side of me—in a school uniform and knee-length socks that had holes in them—yawned. Her hair, with its different lengths, looked as though a drunk had cut it. She groaned loudly, hanging her head to one side. I felt bad that I couldn’t offer her two aspirin and a cup of strong coffee. I wondered what kind of lineup impression I made.

  Intercom voice came back on. This time, we were told to step forward, one at a time, do the turns, and then step back in line. When we were done, the brunette on the end in shorts and no shoes yelled, “Gotta pee.” The door opened, and we filed out. We were led to a bench by a different deputy and told to “shut it.”

  I lowered my head and said quietly to the taffeta-skirted blonde, “What happens next?”

  She answered with a glare.

  So we’re both first-timers?

  A female deputy opened a door at the far end of the hall that accessed the reception area. “You’re free to go,” she boomed.

  I waited so I could be the last to leave. I asked the deputy, “Why was I brought in?”

  She shrugged. “Don’t know.”

  I schooled my features to avoid showing her what I thought of that answer and walked to the reception desk. “I was brought in with a Fabiana Merceau; is she still here?” I did a double take at the woman sitting behind the reception desk; she’d been in the lineup.