Hurricane in Paradise (Florida Keys Mystery Series Book 10)

by Deborah Brown

  Phil gave rapid-fire instructions, starting with the notary, which led me easily to her contact information. She wasn’t local, but close enough—Marathon Key. The only thing stopping me from making an appointment was that I didn’t have a car. I also ran a check for Preacher Pink.

  “I need a ride; my brother has my car.”

  “Call your mother’s lover; he delivers.” Phil smirked.

  Wincing at hearing their status put so bluntly, I pulled out my phone and called the man in question. When Spoon answered, I said, “I need a favor.”

  “Done.”

  “I’ve got six dead men in the back of my SUV. Can you make them and the car disappear?”

  The silence went on for so long, it was uncomfortable. “What do you really want?”

  “Brad’s using my SUV, and I need a ride, preferably something a little sexy. But I’ll take what I can get. And I need it delivered.”

  “How about my convertible Mercedes?”

  “Nice.” I’d ridden in that car once, and frankly, his driving scared me.

  Spoon promised to deliver it to the house within a couple of hours. I told him to park it on my side of the driveway.

  Resuming my search for the preacher, I noticed first off that there wasn’t one easy step, like with the notary. Pink was listed on a classified ad site, but it didn’t include contact information. I passed a note to Phil, asking her to track that one down.

  Finally, all that was left was the truck. “How do I find the buyer?” I stared down at a copy of Brad’s truck title, having already filled Phil in on what my brother had told me.

  “I’ve got a connection for that information. I’m warning you upfront, though, that it might be messy if the buyer figured the deal was on the up and up. And why not, when the sale included a title? Not like some, who don’t find it necessary to have the legal paperwork. Your brother will have to prove the fraud.”

  The first customer of the day came through the door on unsteady legs, moaning; for him, it had been a long night. “I’ll take a cup of coffee and a beer. Horrible hangover. Aspirin, if you’ve got it,” he said and slid onto a stool at the opposite end of the bar.

  I shuddered, happy it wasn’t my job to think of something sympathetic to say. Phil made that part of the job look easy; she clucked over him, and he smiled back at her in adoration.

  “Call me, no matter the time.” I repacked my backpack, pushing a copy of the paperwork at Phil.

  “I can get you a ride home.”

  “No thanks.” Mr. Hangover was the only one in the bar, and Mother had always told me not to accept rides from strangers. Seemed like a good excuse.

  I helped myself to another bottle of cold water and waved as I left.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  When I came through the door, dripping with sweat after ditching my bike, Fab had her legs draped over the back of the couch, Jazz asleep next to her and Snow right below her hand, which hung over the cushion, petting her intermittently. She gave me a thorough once-over, her nose wrinkling in distaste.

  Hand on the stair railing, I asked, “Where are the keys to Spoon’s Mercedes?”

  She flashed me an innocent look and shrugged.

  “Put them on the island.” I went up the stairs to my bedroom. All I’d thought about the last mile home was how good a shower was going to feel.

  * * *

  I changed into a hot-pink slip dress, attaching my thigh holster and trading my flip-flops for a pair of leather slip-on sandals. Cleaning out my backpack, I shoved the paperwork into a tote bag. Grabbing my phone, I noticed a text from Phil. I went downstairs and settled on the daybed, ignoring Fab.

  Phil had come through with an address for Marvin Pink that I recognized as a pay-by-the-hour flop motel. I called Violet and arranged to meet her at a local coffee shop. Interestingly enough, she didn’t ask what kind of document she’d be notarizing, only saying that she’d be the one with the large red briefcase.

  “Where are we going?” Fab asked when the call ended. “Didier had a meeting, so we can go blow things up.”

  “We’ve never done that—sounds fun. As long as we don’t get hurt. Or you’ll have a lot of explaining to do.” I sat up and dropped my phone into my bag. “Thanks, but I’ve got this covered.” I crossed to the kitchen and collected the keys to the Mercedes.

  Fab blocked the front door. “I’m going.” She tried to grab the keys, but I managed to put them in my pocket.

  “So sweet of you.” I ignored her eye-roll and continued, “I’m driving. At least part of the way.”

  I unlocked the passenger door for Fab, went around to the driver’s side, and slid in behind the wheel of Spoon’s pristine silver Mercedes. “I’m thinking we shouldn’t eat in here.”

  Fab laughed. “Spoon would kill us.”

  On the drive down the Overseas, I tossed Fab my scribbled directions for the appointment with Violet and updated her on the information we were after.

  “Since I’m just sitting over here—” Fab sniffed. “—I’ve come up with a plan: you do the talking, and if she doesn’t cooperate, I’ll threaten her.” She put her feet on the dashboard and looked out the window. “Oh yeah, next exit.”

  The drive had, thus far, gone smoothly, and I hadn’t embarrassed myself with any sudden stops or starts. But with barely enough room to make the turn, I hit the brakes and managed to get over, despite the barrage of horn-honking from the irate driver behind me.

  “I would appreciate more notice,” I snapped.

  “You made it, didn’t you?” Fab turned the paper around a couple of times. “Up here, turn right.”

  “Could you be more vague?”

  “Your directions, let me say this nicely, stink.”

  I grabbed them out of her fingers and pulled over. “Not one word.” I shook my finger at her. “The street name is right here.” I pointed and screeched away from the curb.

  The coffee house was an easy find after that. Since nature had delivered another steamy, scorching day, the outdoor seating area was empty. I grabbed my bag, checking to make sure the title paperwork was on top, and headed for the entrance.

  Violet wasn’t hard to spot, as she’d set her red briefcase in the middle of the small table. She wasn’t quite what I’d expected, a curvy woman with blond ringlets in a black dress with white polka dots and red accessories. She reminded me of the fifties, though she herself was a thirty-something.

  “I’m your next appointment,” I said, not bothering with introductions. I pulled out a chair and sat down, Fab sitting next to me. I pulled out the title and set it down in front of her.

  “This has already been notarized.” She scanned the document. “And by me,” she chirped. “What’s this all about?”

  The fact that her eyes had hardened to pinpoint dots didn’t escape my notice. “This is the title to my brother’s truck, which you illegally notarized. I know because he’s never set eyes on you. And I’d like to know why you’d do something so boldly illegal. What’s in it for you?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. If I could charge you for wasting my time, believe me, I would.” Violet stood and shoved a smaller bag into her briefcase.

  “Sit down,” Fab ordered, producing her fake police badge.

  Violet sneered. “I have one of those.”

  “You leave, I’ll file a complaint against you with the state. Proving you didn’t commit an illegal act can be costly and put a damper on your business,” I said.

  Violet glared, but whatever she saw in my face caused her to back down, setting her briefcase on the floor and retrieving her journal. “Normally, I wouldn’t do this, but I want to prove that I have nothing to hide.” She perused the title and flipped through the pages. “I did everything required of me by law.” She pushed it across the table, pointing to Brad’s name.

&n
bsp; My heart sank as I looked at the signature line. It looked just like Brad’s signature. Even I couldn’t tell the difference. She could claim up and down that it was genuine, and it would require an expert to prove otherwise.

  “As you can see, I have—” Violet turned the book towards her, then back to us. “—Brad Westin’s current address, driver’s license information, and the signer matched the ID because I always check.”

  “Why no fingerprint?” Fab asked.

  “It’s optional.” She flashed a weaselly smile. “Not required by law.”

  “How convenient,” I murmured.

  “You’re lucky you’re dealing with her,” Fab said. “You helped a psycho defraud her brother. And for what? A few bucks. I voted for shooting you, but she won’t let me.”

  Without a word, Violet grabbed her book and briefcase and practically ran out the door.

  “This isn’t going to be easy to unravel.” I found it interesting that, despite the fact that she’d committed a felony that could land her in jail, Violet had held her ground and never showed the slightest crack.

  * * *

  I happily relinquished the drive back to Tarpon to Fab, although I’d never admit it to her. I kept our next stop vague.

  “You’ve got the wrong address.” Fab peered out the window, having turned into the driveway at my direction before realizing we’d arrived at the rundown Bluebird Motel.

  The cream-colored building sat back off the highway just outside the Cove next to a liquor store and the Pole Lounge, a stripper joint under new ownership. It was rumored that they had pay-by-the-hour rooms; the others, they rented to anyone who checked in with a fistful of cash.

  Fab’s eyes narrowed at my insincere smile. “This was all a trick,” she said in a snit.

  “Stop your whining. You’d never let me come here by myself, even though you’d want to. How would you explain it to Mother and everyone else if something dreadful happened?” I fake-swooned against the back of the seat.

  “I’m waiting in the car.”

  “I will so tell on you.” I pointed to a parking space. “Marvin’s room is across from the pool.” All the rooms were situated around a U-shaped patio area.

  “We’ll both need to be disinfected.” Fab grunted. “If the supposed pool doesn’t have water in it, it’s nothing more than a hole in the ground.”

  “It was probably hard to keep it clean.”

  Fab made a face and slammed the car door. I looped my arm through hers so she couldn’t stay behind and tugged on her until she started moving.

  Standing in front of the door, we found that the window was ajar, and the sound of snoring drifted out loud and clear. I stared at Fab, and she stared back with little empathy. I cop-knocked and noticed there wasn’t even a break in the racket coming out of the man’s nostrils. I tried again, and Fab kicked the door. The door to the room next door opened, and a woman in a ratty muumuu stuck her head out.

  “Marvin sleeps like the dead. Only you know he ain’t for all that racket. Door’s unlocked, help yourself.” She waved. “How did he afford you two?”

  Fab flashed her badge.

  The woman caught her breath. “I don’t know nuttin’.” She slammed the door.

  Fab used her top to cover the door knob and open it, giving the bottom a shove with her foot at the same time. The room was a roach’s delight, as they raced across the countertop and over the microwave. The bed was against the far wall, and I assumed the closed door in the corner was to the bathroom.

  “Got an idea for how to wake him?” An unidentifiable odor assailed my nose, which I quickly covered with my hand.

  Fab kicked the bottom of his foot, which hung over the edge of the bed.

  “Huh,” Marvin mumbled, coming awake. His eyes bugged at the sight of Fab’s weapon pointed at him.

  “Don’t worry about her unless you don’t answer my questions,” I said. “If you cooperate, you’ll have enough money to buy a bottle of your choice.”

  “Gotta pee.” His hand disappeared under the sheet.

  “No climbing out the window,” I warned. “That will only get you a bullet in your backside.”

  He stumbled out of bed, one foot caught in the sheet, then righted himself and raced across the room in dingy boxers.

  Fab cased the room, not touching a single thing, although she toed a couple of items left on the floor. She put a finger to her lips and threw the curtain back. The woman we’d met earlier had her ear on the screen. Fab slammed the window shut.

  Marvin opened the door on a loud belch. He grabbed a pair of pants from the chair, stepping into them, and wiped his hands on an already stained undershirt, which he pulled over his head.

  “How can I help you ladies?” He crossed to the small refrigerator, removing a beer. “I’d offer you one, but I only have one.” He kicked a chair around and sat at the small round table.

  “I want straight answers, not excuses,” I said, dropping the marriage certificate in front of him. “You married my brother. I’m sure you’ll remember him.” I scrolled through my phone for Brad’s picture and held it out.

  Marvin squinted at the phone like it might bite him and gave it a cursory glance. “My eyesight’s not as good as it used to be.”

  “Your signature is at the bottom of the certificate. Maybe this will jog your memory: he was chained to a stud inside a mostly empty house. And that part where you ask the groom do you even want to marry this wackjob? He answered no; several times, in fact.”

  “The woman told me he was delusional and his family wanted to commit him. They needed to get married to stop them.”

  “How did she find you?” Fab asked.

  “I heard her asking at the convenience store, and I stepped up. Good pay, and she let me know I’d be doing a good deed.”

  “Where did you file it?” I asked. “I haven’t been able to find a recorded copy.”

  “Well… I… uh…” He took a long swig of his beer. “I haven’t.”

  “That means what?” I snapped.

  “I didn’t file nothing. No good anyway, not licensed anymore. People got mad. I couldn’t remember the vows, and the time I showed up drunk, a complaint was filed. A disciplinary hearing was set, I was a no-show, and my license got revoked. Kept calling myself a preacher because it sounded classy.”

  “So Brad and Patty aren’t really married?” I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until he nodded and it came rushing out. Thank goodness for that. “If I ever hear of you performing another phony marriage ceremony, I’ll make sure you go to jail. Or she will.” I snapped my fingers at Fab, who produced her badge. Marvin paled. I pulled more cash than he deserved out my pocket and tossed it on the table. “There’s enough here to buy your silence in this matter.”

  Fab practically pushed me out the door. “We didn’t sit down, so we won’t have to burn our clothes.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Fab had picked the wrong time to start an argument with Creole, who was shooting daggers at the fiery woman. Didier and I stood in the living room watching the fireworks.

  Creole slapped his hand on the island. “Get in the car. Let’s get this surprise on the road.” He whisked the keys out from under Fab’s hand by a hair’s breadth.

  Fab crossed her arms, in a full-blown pout. “I want to drive.”

  I almost applauded the stamp of her foot.

  “Well, you are not. What you are going to do is get in the backseat with your boyfriend and try your hardest to behave. Besides, you don’t know where we’re going.” He mimicked her body language. “If you get behind the wheel, I’ll drag your butt out and leave you in the driveway while the rest of us drive off and have fun without you.”

  Fab and Creole looked at Didier.

  He waved his arms. “Oh no, you two can work this out.” He turned to me and rolled
his eyes.

  “The bright side is that I’m not driving.” I smiled at Fab, which earned me a fierce “you’re not helping” frown. I reached for her arm, and she twisted away. “Creole promised that we’re going to love this road trip, even you, so that means we’ll be camping somewhere with room service.”

  Fab sulked in silence. She timed the venting of her outrage to when the SUV reached the Overseas Highway, where south- and north-bound traffic split, separated by water in the middle.

  “The seat’s uncomfortable. There’s a spring in my butt.” Fab jumped around; getting no response, she kicked the back of the driver’s seat. Creole let out a low growl.

  I lowered my head and laughed silently. I should have sat behind him and insisted that Didier sit in the front.

  “I’m hungry and I’ve got to pee,” Fab complained, along with another kick.

  Didier turned to look out the window; his shoulders shook a little.

  Pee? I raised my eyebrows.

  Fab kicked her feet on the floor. Didier attempted to throw his leg over hers and was unsuccessful. She launched into non-stop kicking of Creole’s seat.

  “Enough,” Creole bellowed. “Can’t you control your girlfriend?”

  Didier shrugged. “Go ahead; you do it.” He smirked.

  Creole came to a screeching halt in the emergency lane. Adjusting the rearview mirror, he glared at Fab. “Two choices. Behave, and not another kick or outburst the rest of the way, or you can get out here and a ride will be along shortly. Your ass can sit at home.”

  “She’ll behave,” I answered for her, glaring at her over the seat, knowing she’d push it until he was forced to make good on his threat.

  “Yes, she will.” Didier tugged her closer to him and put her in a headlock. The two whispered back and forth until finally, Didier unbuckled his seatbelt and scooted over next to Fab.

  Thank goodness. What if her foot slipped again?

  * * *

  The rest of the ride was uneventful; quiet, in fact. The guys talked, and Fab closed her eyes and pretended to sleep, a self-satisfied smile on her face. When Creole veered off at Little Torch Key, I got excited, knowing that there wasn’t much out there except a resort that was accessible only by boat.