Deputy Kevin Cory slammed the door of his patrol car. “Which one of you stole the horse?” he demanded. Sneer in place, he’d perfected a tight-ass look.
His blondish hair, was slicked straight back, unlike its usual off-duty, windblown style. The only plus to Kevin being in uniform was that it showed off his muscular backside. In addition to being good friends with my brother, which had come about when Brad started dating Kevin’s sister, he’d recently became a full-time tenant of The Cottages. His previous residence, a duplex, erupted in flames due to a drug-cooking explosion in the neighbor’s unit and everything had burned to a crisp.
“None of us.” I forced a half-smile that wasn’t even remotely friendly. “Miss January found it and here it is. Don’t you think you should be a little nicer to your landlord?”
Brad had graciously let Kevin move into my property before informing me, knowing I wasn’t rude enough to tell him to get out after he’d unpacked his newly purchased bag of clothing. My brother found it amusing that my name always appeared at the top of Kevin’s suspect list when a crime got committed. I secretly got a perverse kick out of the fact that the address that garnered the most police calls in the Cove was the one he now called home.
“The horse was used in the robbery of a liquor store.” He struggled to control his irritation.
The three of us laughed.
“I’m going to need to question Miss January,” he said, glaring at us.
“Good luck.” I pointed to her porch. “She’s passed-out drunk. And when you first wake her, she has a tendency to not make any sense. Then she either comes around or goes back to sleep.”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” His lips pursed in a hard line.
“She mentioned you the other day, told me, ‘he’s such a nice young man… and hot.’”
Fab and Mac snickered.
“I’m sure she’d love to be dragged from her stupor and grilled about things that she won’t have any answers for,” I said.
“Did you get a description of the robber?” Fab asked Kevin.
“We’ve got him in custody. The dogs sniffed him out behind a dumpster.”
“Well good, you got your man and your horse.” I turned and walked towards the pool.
Rounding the corner, I came face to face with Professor Crum’s chest. Fab and Mac skidded to a stop. Crum was another tenant gift from my brother.
Over a year ago, I had acquired a rundown trailer park. The presence of its only tenant—the professor—had served to keep the squatters out. My first choice was to bulldoze the property, but my brother had other plans. Brad undertook the renovation, turning it into a tourist destination and selling it for a tidy profit. He felt bad when the new owners had made Crum’s eviction a condition of the deal. The retired college professor didn’t project the right image for their property, probably because the man constantly strutted around in tighty-whities and changed shoes depending on the occasion; for gardening, he chose a dingy pair of mismatched flip-flops.
“Hello, ladies.” He gave us a sweeping bow, a garden trowel in one hand. He stood at over six feet, ramrod stiff, with a butch haircut, and a condescending look he had perfected firmly in place.
“Those plants aren’t stolen are they?” I pointed to a couple of containers lying in the dirt.
He’d replaced the last gardener by showing up and doing the work. There were no other applicants, and surprisingly, he did a good job. Who would have guessed that, in addition to his off-the-chart IQ, he had a green thumb?
“How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t steal.” He looked down his nose at me.
“You and I both know that digging up and relocating plants from someone else’s yard is stealing.” I lowered my voice. “We’ve got a sheriff’s deputy living here now, and it would amuse him to put you in jail, especially since he didn’t take it well when you informed him he was dumber than a stump.”
“He’s clearly the product of an inferior part of the gene pool,” Crum insisted.
Fab laughed, and I wanted to poke her but she stepped out of range.
“How did Kevin get in here anyway?” Crum asked.
“The same way you did,” I said in exasperation. “Snuck in by my brother when my back was turned. For familial reasons, I’m trying to warm up to Kevin. You, I have a slight affection for already, but don’t think you’ll use that to get anything over on me.”
Fab looked up at Crum. “Give us the highlights version of what’s going on around here, so we can go home and guzzle tequila.”
The thought of a margarita—rocks, salt and lime—had me closing my eyes and letting out a small sigh of pleasure. Before we left the driveway, I needed to place a takeout order from my bar.
Crum pointed to the two-story building next door. “Told Huck to stop peeing out the bathroom window.”
“The exhibitionist?” I almost snorted. Nothing that man did surprised me.
When I first moved in, I’d asked a few questions of the owner of the building next door and found out that Huck had a perfectly good bathroom with a working toilet. And still he peed out the window. The landlord didn’t care—Huck was doing his part to save water.
“Huck’s been doing that since I took over.” I glanced up at the second floor unit. “What could we plant on this side of the fence to block the view?” I asked Crum. “One of the recent guests complained. She was afraid she might get urine in her hair. I reassured her that, having seen him in action, that wasn’t possible.”
We catered year-round to tourists from different countries. They came for the warm, beautiful days and nights and blue-green waters, where you could splash mid-calf deep and still see your toes. Returning guests hoped for a little excitement: an arrest, a fight, or the occasional local girl who’d tumble naked into the pool, which the men in particular enjoyed seeing.
Crum craned his neck, scoping out the property, then lowered his voice. “You don’t need to worry about Kevin. Since our discussion, he doesn’t hang around much. Too busy banging his flavor of the moment at her place. Also, Julie is sneaking around, trying to hide from Liam that she’s shagging your brother.”
Liam was the only child of Julie, Brad’s girlfriend. Mother and I were crazy about the teenager and considered him to be the first grandchild/nephew.
I shook my head. “He’s a teenager; he knows what’s going on.”
“Let’s go,” Fab said, coming up behind me. She pulled on my arm. “A horse trailer just pulled up.”
Chapter 3
Fab pulled into my driveway and slid the Hummer in next to her black Mercedes. When I first met her, she’d traded her cars in regularly, like a pair of shoes she’d grown bored with. But she’d had this particular model for a while, mostly because she drove my Hummer instead.
I’d inherited the two-story white Key West-style home, with its wraparound veranda, from Aunt Elizabeth. Growing up, my brother and I would come and spend our summer vacations playing under the sun. Elizabeth and I would shop all the local nurseries for a variety of tropical plants, mostly hibiscuses. I’d added my own touch once the house was mine, filling the inner courtyard with brightly colored pots, adding more flowers and mulching with seashells from many afternoons scouring the beach.
“I wonder what’s up?” I’d skimmed the street when we pulled up, noticing that my brother’s and both our boyfriends’ vehicles were parked in the street.
“They’re working on a super-secret real estate deal.”
“I’d ask how you know that, but I already know the answer, you eavesdropper.”
Fab pulled the clip from her hair and shook out her long brown hair, letting it fall down her back. “You’re just annoyed you don’t have the same sneak-around skills I do.”
“You’ve already taught me to pick locks and hotwire cars, but you’ll have to have another seminar. I’ll invite Mother; she wouldn’t want to miss out on anything to do with sneaking around.”
Fab opened the front door, and I w
iggled in front of her. “Didier, she hit me,” she yelled.
I rolled my eyes and grabbed at her, coming up with air as she skated across the kitchen into the arms of her tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed, flawless boyfriend, a highly sought-after male model with only a first name.
“I saw the whole thing,” Brad said. “Madison used to do that to me as a kid.” He held my long-haired black cat in his arms, spoiling him with a treat that he offered in the palm of his hand. Jazz, who was twenty going on a hundred, took a cautious sniff, then wolfed it down.
My brother was the only fair-haired man in the room, more “boy next door” than anything that smacked of the disreputable. Over six feet, like the other two, he was tanned and brawny from hours spent on the water as a commercial fisherman.
“Damn, no girl brawl?” Creole snapped his fingers.
Creole, AKA Luc Baptiste, was my boyfriend and was sometimes snidely referred to as my cousin, as my aunt had unofficially adopted him as a kid, offering him shelter from an abusive father. The tallest of the bunch, with shoulder-length dark hair, he stood at the kitchen island with his arms crossed and a smirk on his lips.
I dropped my bags on the entry bench and walked into his outstretched arms.
“How was your day, honey?” His deep-blue eyes sparkled with amusement.
He’d ditched his work uniform of ratty blue jeans for shorts and a t-shirt that stretched across his rock-hard abs. As an undercover drug cop, blending in with the seedier element required that he seldom wore shoes. Today, he’d donned boat shoes, showing off his long, tanned legs.
Fab rushed over, hugging me. “I forgive you,” she said, then whispered in my ear, “Don’t mention the shooting.”
I flashed her an evil stare; she knew I hated to keep things from Creole––most of the time, anyway.
Creole pulled me back against his chest. His arms around my waist, he leaned down and whispered, “What’s she up to now?”
I looked up into his eyes, happy he was here. “Let’s sneak out the patio doors and go make out on the beach.”
The kitchen area blended into the living room, making the downstairs area a large open space with a wall of windows running along the back and French doors that opened onto the patio and pool. I’d made few changes inside: adding a coat of fresh paint, rearranging the furniture, and trying to prevent myself from over-accessorizing. All family events were held at my house, as I had the most room and the largest outdoor entertaining space.
The patio had been my personal stamp on the house. I hired a contractor to build an outdoor kitchen with plenty of storage and comfortable seating, which was a high priority. I’d finished the counter top myself, with small seashells for the finishing touch. Brad had contributed a large barbecue that could cook up delicious, aromatic food … if only one knew how to turn it on.
On the left side of the yard, an opening in the side fence led to a pathway and a set of steps that ended on the white, sandy beach a short walk from the shoreline. It had been overgrown with knee-high weeds, but once cleared, the shortcut to the beach was a welcome surprise. Now the small area was filled with brick pavers.
All eyes turned to the garden window over the kitchen sink as a woman with long blond hair wiggled by, a shopping bag in each hand. Phil, the bartender at Jake’s, had offered to deliver our takeout order on her way home.
Brad had the door open before Phil could knock, and she strode right in, setting everything on the counter.
“Thanks for the delivery. You’re the best,” I said.
“Just kissing up to the boss.” She waved to everyone.
Most people who knew Philipa Grey, a curvaceous young woman in short-shorts, also knew that she was a third-year law school student. The real secret was that she ran a side business selling information. Her street sources could be depended on to get the kind of dirt that local law enforcement couldn’t coax out of anyone. She and her associates located people reluctant to be found and got them to talk. For an extra fee, they would force a sit-down meeting. Phil always managed to stay under the radar, never attracting unwanted attention. In my experience, she delivered what she promised, which was why Fab and I called her instead of our unreliable street snitches, who traded info for cigarettes.
While Phil took the containers out of the bags, I grabbed plates and silverware. With a shuffling of the stools, there was enough room for all of us, including Phil to sit around the island. My brother got out an assortment of beers—none of the guys could agree on the same brand—and Creole had the blender going for margaritas while Fab’s favorite vodka appeared on the counter.
A pounding on the front door brought the activity to a halt. Fab jerked open the junk drawer and grabbed the Beretta that was inside. It sounded to me like a cop knock, which I’d mastered a long time ago. Creole nodded to Brad, who checked the peephole, then turned and shrugged, opening the door.
Kevin crossed the threshold. He never showed up at the house in uniform unless he was on official business. Now what? I thought. Wait until Creole hears about the horse. I wanted to laugh, but Kevin looked serious.
Kevin stalked into the kitchen, skipped the pleasantries, and ordered, “Didier, would you step outside.”
Fab had slipped the gun back into the drawer when Kevin set foot in the house, but she jumped in front of Didier. “I don’t think so. What do you want?”
Creole spoke up, his mouth a firm line. “What’s going on, Kevin?”
Didier shook his head. “Good question.”
“Hands behind your back,” Kevin ordered. “You’re wanted for the murder of Lauren Grace.”
Didier’s eyebrows shot up. “Murder?”
The man wasn’t a cold-blooded killer, and the look of shock on his face convinced me he had no knowledge of the crime. I’d known him long enough to know he was an honorable, straight-up guy. “Doesn’t Didier have the option of telling you to go…stuff it?” I asked.
“I know you think you know the law, since you’re always busy trying to skirt around your legal issues, but this piece of paper gives me the authority.” He held up an official-looking document.
Fab jerked it from his fingers.
“Don’t say a word,” I told Didier. “I’ve got the best criminal lawyer in the state on speed dial. Do not speak to anyone,” I stressed, “without speaking to Cruz Campion first.” I tossed a glare at Kevin.
“This isn’t cool,” Brad told Kevin. “There’s no other deputy on duty to make this arrest?”
Kevin, by virtue of his sister and Brad being together, had been included in family get-togethers lately. The same events that Didier had been a part of for longer than him.
Does Kevin have to look pleased when whipping out the cuffs? I thought.
Fab handed me my phone.
I eyed the screen and saw that she’d already dialed the lawyer’s office. I was on hold momentarily before he picked up. “Cruz Campion,” he said.
I hit the highlights, knowing he liked his information quick and to the point. Cruz only had one question when I was done. “His lawyer wants to know where you’re taking him,” I barked at Kevin.
“He’s going to the local station. Miami is sending an officer to pick him up,” Kevin responded.
I relayed the information to Cruz. “No talking to anyone until you talk to your lawyer,” I called out as Kevin cuffed Didier and led him out the door, Creole right behind.
The trio passed the window, Creole talking to Didier. He gave him a pat on the back when they reached the patrol car. I knew he was reassuring Didier that he and I would use every connection between us to make sure he didn’t end up in jail and, if the worst happened, that I had bail connections. Creole would be the biggest help since he worked directly for the Miami Chief of Police and if… well, Creole could get Didier jail perks.
Fab’s hands shot out in front of her as she demanded, “Who the hell is Lauren Grace?”
Brad shot a look at Didier, still standing in the driveway, before answering, �
�She’s VP for the 100 Ocean Boulevard Corporation, the real estate developer of the new project we’re partnering on.”
Fab grabbed her keys and ran to the door. “Call me if you hear anything.”
I grabbed the back of her shirt before she could disappear out the door. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to follow Didier, so when he walks out of the police station, he’ll have a ride home.” Fab looked a wreck, not at all her usual calm and collected self.
I didn’t bother to remind her that it might take a while. Instead, I said, “Call if you need company.”
Kevin put Didier into the back of his car and, without a word to Creole, got behind the wheel and sped away.
Chapter 4
“Do you have something to write on?” Phil asked.
I’d forgotten that she had stood off to one side, listening intently. I knew that if there’d been any illegality on Kevin’s part, she would have spoken up. I pointed to the junk drawer, which really should be labeled “multi-purpose,” as it held a number of useful items, the Beretta, a switchblade, and the large plastic zip ties that could function as handcuffs.
To keep busy, I reclosed the lids on the takeout containers and made room for them in the refrigerator. Good thing everyone enjoyed leftovers, except Fab, who complained but ate them anyway.
“Lauren Grace.” Phil scribbled. “What do you want to know?”
“Who killed her? It’s not Didier; I know that much, it’s not in his character,” I said. “Unearth every piece of information about the deceased and her life and get a list of those who might want her dead. Hopefully the list is short.”
I leaned over the sink to scan the driveway, figuring Creole had left, but I saw him leaning against the fence as he talked on his phone. He would call in favors for his friend and cycling partner. The two of them loved to ramp up the testosterone, taking exercising to a new level, and recently, they’d included my brother in their insanity.
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