“Such a shame. I bet next time you won’t forget your purse.” He rolled his eyes. “Sit down, you two.” He pointed to the leather chairs in front of his over-sized desk.
He kicked back in the chair that comfortably held his considerable, over-six-foot frame. Above his head hung his newest plaque, announcing him to be a Chamber of Commerce Man of the Year. The committee must have overlooked the fact that his businesses ran to the seedy. He stood out from his competition in that he gave back to the community and supported local charities.
Brick sucked down the last of his water. “I suppose you want one of these?” He wiggled the empty water bottle before pitching it in the trash.
I held up two fingers.
His lips turned up on the sides as he struggled to keep from laughing. “This is a simple case of lost and found. There’s to be no confrontation. You’re to recover said items and quietly relocate them to a storage unit that is already rented and waiting.” He pushed a brand-new heavy duty lock across the desk. “Use this to secure the stuff.”
I ripped open a piece of candy and devoured it, squashed the wrapper, and pushed it across his desk. “Thank you.” Annoying him was too much fun today.
He glared at it before flicking it into the trash.
“Simply put, we’re stealing back something that’s already been stolen. Does that sum it up?” I asked. “Have the police been involved in any way?”
“Sort of,” he hedged.
Fab and I groaned.
“Ian Neal is the client and a friend of mine, and I can’t stress enough that this has to get done ASAP.”
“How is it that all your clients are so-called friends? You’re certainly popular.” I finished off my water and tossed it over Brick’s shoulder and into the trash. I made a fist pump.
Brick glowered at me. “It’s my sunny, warm personality. I’m a people person.”
“Yeah, me too… people person, that is.” I smiled.
Fab snorted. “Skip to the good part; the part about how the police are involved.”
“Ian broke up with his live-in girlfriend, Ursula Richards. I never liked her.” He spit the last part out. “Ian takes an annual ski trip with his eleven-year-old daughter to Vermont for ten days. He and Ursula had been arguing non-stop and agreed that it was a good time for Ursula to move her things out of the house and that he’d use the time to explain everything to his daughter. When Ian returned, he got the shock of his life. Ursula had moved out all right; she gutted the entire house. She took everything—fixtures, appliances, clothing, furniture. She didn’t leave behind a single personal possession, only leaving his daughter’s bedroom untouched.” He shook his head, still not believing what had happened.
“Wonder why she spared the daughter?” I asked.
“Who the hell knows. They did have a good relationship. Ian tried to keep everything from his daughter and make an adventure out of staying in a hotel. When she started asking too many questions, though, he had to lie or fess up, and he chose the latter. She took the news better than him.”
“It must have been quite a shock when he opened the front door,” I said.
“Ha,” Brick said in disgust. “Ian told me it took a minute to register that the front door was missing. When he crossed the threshold, he found that the house had been stripped to the drywall. He scooped up his daughter and took her to the car, ran back in, and surveyed the damage.”
“Is this where the police show up?” Fab tapped her foot impatiently. She preferred cut-to-the-chase explanations.
“Ian didn’t call law enforcement until the next day. They met him at the house. Can you believe she even took the cabinets? Anything that could be removed was gone, and if removing it wasn’t an option, she inflicted damage that left the word ‘repair’ out of the equation.”
“Why so vindictive?” Fab asked.
Brick shrugged. “Bitter over the break-up. I get that Ursula was unhappy—the relationship didn’t work out—but who destroys an entire house?”
“What did the police have to say about this lovely family drama?” I asked.
He pulled a file out of his drawer, shuffling through papers. “Here’s the best part. The officers claimed there wasn’t anything they could do. Referred him to civil court even after they said they’d never seen damage the likes of what had been done. As far as they were concerned, it was a new twist on he said/she said unless he could provide receipts for all the missing items.”
“Did they speak to Ursula?” Fab asked.
“My brother spoke to one of the detectives assigned to the case.” Brick’s brother, Casio, worked for the Miami Police Department as a decorated detective, and there were whispers that he wasn’t a man to screw with. “He reported that she was cooperative, claimed most of the household items belonged to her, and stated that she had left behind anything that belonged to him and had no clue who caused the destruction inflicted on the house. Suggested it might be one of his unsavory connections and that he had low standards when it came to choosing friends.”
“Any prior clues that Ursula was crazy-vindictive?” I asked.
Brick shook his head.
I shouldn’t be so cynical about Brick’s new forthcoming attitude about disclosing unpleasant facts in their grim detail. In the past, one had to read between the lines. I wondered if the confrontation with Creole had made him rethink sending us on jobs in complete ignorance of what to expect.
“Any eyewitnesses?” Fab asked. “What you’re describing took a long time to execute, hours if not an entire day, and certainly could not be done by one lone woman.”
“Several neighbors reported seeing a moving van and four men loading it up. Ursula, calm as can be, walked around the neighborhood, saying her goodbyes and informing anyone that would listen—and they all did—that Ian was a bastard of the worst sort. That he abused her and she feared she’d be killed if she didn’t leave. She claimed she was running for her life.”
Brick opened his refrigerator and took out another bottle of water. “She reported all these claims to the police, and in addition to her friend theory, she offered up another theory that it was a hoax orchestrated by Ian to provoke sympathy. According to Ian, the police acted like they deserved each other and were happy to refer the happy couple to the courts and let them figure it out.”
“Any truth to her claims?” I asked.
“No.” He slammed his water bottle down on the desk. It sprang a leak, water dribbling across his desk. The bottle took flight and landed in the trash with a bang. “Now that Ian is over the shock, he wants to get back at Ursula by stealing his stuff back. Forget the thrift stores. He hit those up, looking for anything familiar, and didn’t find anything. No one could remember seeing her either, but they did confirm that there had been no large donations of household goods recently. Ian figures she’s got it stored somewhere.”
“There’s always the trash,” I said. “But disposing of an entire household in bins without anyone noticing would be nearly impossible. She’d have to do a dump run. Not sure they allow moving vans out there.”
“Ursula wouldn’t ruin her fingernails at the dump,” Brick sneered.
“Why is Ian so certain she still has the stuff?” Fab got up and started to pace.
“I tried to tell him this was a lost cause, but he wants answers. Before contacting me, he hired a feckless detective to tail her,” Brick grouched. “Why not call me first? Ian figured Ursula spotted the detective, because she never slipped up.”
“Sounds like she’s a clever one. We’ll have to factor that into any plan we come up with.” Fab massaged the back of her neck.
“What makes you think Ursula’s still in the area?” I asked.
“She’s been sighted a few times in various parts of the Keys. It surprised me that she didn’t skip town. First, you need to find her. She gave my guy the slip and then showed back up right under his nose. I’ve got two addresses you can check out.” He turned his glare on me. “Miss Schmoozy her
e can shake the information out of Ursula’s neighbors, acquaintances, whoever you can find. I’m not sure how you get people to spill their guts, but if it can be used to Ian’s advantage, it works for me.” He passed me a notepad with the addresses on it.
I flicked the page. “We need a list of names, other pertinent information, something besides two measly addresses.”
He opened a desk drawer and produced a sheet of scribbled notes across the desk. “Make the most of it; it’s better than nothing,” he grumped.
I held the page at arm’s length and squinted. “You could use a handwriting class.”
“Smart a…” he mumbled. “Ian’s a single father. His wife died of cancer a few years back, and he’s raised one happy little girl.” He paused to glare at us before continuing, “And another thing… if you two are inclined to side with your own sex and believe the crap Ursula spews about Ian, you should ask around about him. No one is going to say an unkind word about him because it wouldn’t be the truth. Even the neighbors took Ian’s side and didn’t believe Ursula. When they found out what happened, they gathered replacement household and clothing items for him.”
Fab passed her empty water bottle over my shoulder, I tossed it in the direction of the can but this time I missed, sending it flipping off the rim.
“You have terrible manners.” Brick eyed me.
“Call and complain to Mother.” I said, knowing full well she scared him. “You could part with one of your Cubans, and I’ll give it to her with your regards.” I eyed the humidor.
“No thanks. She’ll talk you out of working for me, and then I’ll have problems with Princess here.” He smiled at Fab.
What was the secret to their relationship? I wondered. He always has her back.
“Where can we find Ian?” Fab asked.
“Insurance is covering their stay at a residential hotel until repairs can be made to the house. They approved the claim pretty quickly. He called the contractor and had a few of the boards over the windows removed. The neighbors keep an eye out to discourage undesirables. Last thing Ian needs is for someone to camp out and set the house on fire.”
I tapped my finger on the note he’d given me. “Write down the name of his hotel and the address of the trashed house.”
“You need to talk to Ian, you can do it by appointment here at my office. You shouldn’t have a problem finding the house, it should be crawling with workmen, repairs just got started.”
Fab bent across his desk. “Just so we’re in agreement, anything goes wrong and our fee is quadrupled.”
Brick slammed his hand down. “Listen, you two money-suckers, ever since you thought up this enhanced fee, you’ve charged it on every case. This time, there will be no guns, no violence, no one so much as stubs their toe. Fab…” His tone suddenly changed to one of concern. “Sorry to hear about the boyfriend. My resources are available. He needs bail, I’ll get it posted. Reassure him that if he’s booked, he won’t have to spend a minute in a cell. I’ll handle this one myself.”
I liked the caring side of Brick. I hadn’t believed it when Fab assured me it existed until I saw it for myself.
“Thanks,” she said softly. “Right now, he’s hopping one hurdle at a time. He’s got Cruz in his corner. You run in those circles. Ask around, find out who wanted Lauren Grace dead.”
“I’ve got some feelers out now; I’ll keep you informed,” he reassured her.
Fab stood up and nudged me. “Don’t forget the snacks.”
I stood and plunged my hand into the candy bowl.
“Stay off the damn banisters,” Brick yelled as Fab disappeared out the office door.
I waved a fistful of treats at him and followed her out.
Fab looked like she had the weight of the world on her slender frame. There hadn’t been an update from Didier, and I knew she’d worry until she heard from him, assuring her Cruz was living up to his reputation and keeping him out of jail.
“What next?” I asked. “Stakeout?”
She turned up her nose. There wasn’t anything exciting about a stakeout—just a bunch of waiting, eating junk food, and nowhere to go to the bathroom.
“That option is way down on the list,” she said. “Since Ursula’s so good at spotting a tail, we need to be extra vigilant. I refuse to follow her all over town when all we’ll get is a big fat nothing. We’ll wait outside her house. When she leaves, you follow her, and park at the end of the block. If she turns around and comes back, call me. Hopefully, by the time she gets back, I’ll have had a look around inside and found a clue as to what she did with Ian’s stuff.”
“Creole gets attitudinal when we commit felonies. I haven’t had a lecture in a while, and I’d like to keep it that way. It kills the getting-frisky mood.”
Fab’s laugh conveyed that she didn’t care what he thought. “We need to take care of this case fast. I want to be available for Didier. I’m not taking any new clients right now, not criminal ones anyway. My full attention is going to be on Didier.”
“I made a little checklist that could bring our felony count to an all-time high, starting with Lauren’s house. Next stop, snoop through Balcazar’s corporate offices. We need to hurry, in case someone decides to clean out her desk and any personal belongings, if they haven’t already. I weaseled a little info out of Brad—Didier was the connection to Lauren through her boss, Balcazar—but I asked too many questions, and he clammed up, making it clear he didn’t want me nosing around.”
“Call our Information Coordinator. Tell her we need a rush job––two in fact. This Ursula chick and a thorough investigation on anyone who knew Lauren Grace.”
“That’s a fancy title; Phil hears that and she’ll raise her prices. She’s already working on Didier’s case.”
Fab stepped on the gas. “We need to get home. I need a glass of wine out by the pool before we go to dinner.”
Chapter 11
Looking in the mirror, I sighed. Another date night with Fab and Didier, which meant dress-up, painful shoes, and dining with nameless people with a need to be seen. Who could be so important that you’d be willing to eat at an overpriced restaurant where the food sometimes made you wish for a greasy hamburger?
One afternoon, while I was shopping with Fab, she’d chosen a low-cut, black dress for me that required a strapless bra, which I was now adjusting. The owner of the lingerie store I frequented had talked me into the newest addition to the bra line, the ultimate push-up, instantly adding two cup sizes. I poked the top of my cleavage, knowing it would disappear as soon as I unhooked the back.
Fab had insisted that the dress was a must-have—every woman needed more than one in her closet. I tried to curb her enthusiasm pointing out that I had three such dresses, but she wasn’t listening. So I bought it with every intention of returning it, but soon discovered she’d thrown away the receipt. I slid my wincing toes into two-inch black heels, the highest I could manage without falling. They had been a gift from Fab, along with a threat that if I didn’t wear them, she would burn my flip-flops.
Creole, who was standing at the bottom of the stairs, looked up when my foot hit the first step. His eyes glittered with heat, turning deep blue, promising an interesting evening. I flew into his open arms, and the rush of his breath on my neck calmed me.
I wanted to whisper, Throw me over your shoulder and take me to your lair. Instead, I pushed my diamond encrusted heart necklace, a recent gift from Creole, into his palm and turned, holding up my hair.
“It’s about time,” Fab muttered. Draped across Didier’s lap, she flicked her watch. Didier tugged on her hair.
I winked at her, tactfully not reminding her of all the times she kept us waiting. The woman wasn’t acquainted with “on time.” She looked perfectly put together, as usual. Her long brown hair cascaded down her back in loose curls, and her black designer dress clung to her slender frame like a glove.
“How is it that you got to pick the restaurant twice in a row?” Creole asked Fab in a
suspicion-laced voice.
“The restaurant is owned by Didier’s friend, Balcazar, and we’re going to support him. What’s wrong, Neanderthal? Too much dress up for you?” Fab snickered.
This should be interesting, I thought.
“Babe, I think you look hot-hot,” I said with admiration, leisurely perusing him from head to toe before turning to Didier. “You come in a very close second.”
Both men were dressed in black dress pants and Italian loafers, only differing in shirt choice. Didier wore a long-sleeved black dress shirt and Creole had on the shirt Mother had got him from an upscale boutique that had become a favorite now that she had men in her life to dress.
Fab buried her head in Didier’s chest and made an unidentifiable noise. Didier laughed and jerked her to his side, clamping an arm around her. He whispered something in her ear, and she cooed up at him. “I apologize. It seems my girlfriend forgot to give you all the details.” He looked down at Fab. “I appreciate your going. Not sure why I got the invite, as the relationship between Balcazar and me has been strained since Lauren’s death.”
“Let’s go.” Fab grabbed Didier’s arm and practically dragged him out the door.
It surprised me when Fab jumped behind the wheel of the Hummer. I would’ve thought she’d choose her Mercedes.
I snuggled up to Creole in the backseat, and we did little talking, sneaking a kiss or two.
* * *
Fab was a completely different driver with her boyfriend sitting next to her; she didn’t turn unless there was plenty of room, slowed at every yellow light, and ran only slightly over the speed limit. Finally, she pulled up in front of a valet stand, and the door was quickly opened by a young hottie. Fab handed the keys to the twenty-something with beach boy looks.
“You joyride,” she said, glaring at the guy, “and I’ll have you arrested.”
He looked surprised at her bluntness.
“Her father is the Chief of Police here in Miami,” I lied convincingly. Harder would kill me if that ever got back to him. At fiftyish, he liked them young, and he’d be insulted at the father label. He was old enough, but he’d deny it.
Swindled in Paradise Page 6