“You and I need to come to an agreement.” I enunciated my words. “Knock it off with the noise, only residents use the pool and, more importantly, don’t threaten my employee.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The saccharin sweet disappeared from her voice. The living room behind her was like a cave, blacked out, since they’d hung blankets over the windows.
“Clearly posted is a ‘no trespassing, resident only’ sign. The next time your pack of trouble making girlfriends show up, they’ll be arrested. If I have to, I can send a couple of friends over to explain to you and Kibble, in small words that you can understand, the pool rules and the no threatening my employee policy.”
“You say one word to Kibble and I’ll kick your ass,” Barbie said with a growl. “For twenty-five bucks and a case of beer, a person can be made to disappear.”
“Thank you. Threatening me gives me the legal reason I need to fast track your eviction.”
“It’s my word against yours. No one will believe your ass.”
“There’s not one person in The Cove that would take your word over mine. Just in case, I taped this conversation.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket.
Barbie lunged forward, and my foot shot out kicking her to the ground. “Don’t even think about getting up.” I shoved her back down. “Pack your stuff and get out.”
“You won’t get away with this!” Barbie yelled, shooting spit that landed on her top. “Go ahead and evict us, bitch. We’ll live here free for a few months. I know my rights. We’ve screwed every landlord in this town.”
“You are moving. I’ll post an armed guard here if that’s what it takes to keep your bullshit to a minimum.” I restrained myself from kicking her in the butt.
Barbie scrambled up off the ground, her white shorts covered in dirt. “This isn’t over!” she yelled, as I walked back to the office.
I locked the office door behind me, and sat in one of the bamboo chairs in front of the desk.
“How did that go?” Mac set her book on the desk.
“Barbie’s eyes were bloodshot, her skin pale for someone with a tan. She was barely able to control herself. I suspect recent drug use. Any problems you can’t handle, call the sheriff, then me. If not sheriff-worthy, then I’ll bring my own muscle.”
“I really am sorry,” Mac said.
“Stop with that. If these late night shenanigans keep up, I’ll hire one of Spoon’s boys to work the overnight shift. They’ll salivate at the potential ass kicking opportunities. When Kibble docks from his current fishing trip, I’m demanding a meeting for a talk about how we all need to get along.”
“I need to work on my crappy tenant radar detector.” Mac adjusted her top that had bunched up under her girls.
“This isn’t their first screw the landlord rodeo. They’re pros. It’s part of our learning curve. Next time, we’ll spot one of them before they get off their bicycles. We’re finally booked up, so it’s important that we don’t have any problems. I don’t want to be forced to give refunds,” I said, with a growing smile.
“What are you laughing about?” Mac asked.
“All the self-defense classes I’ve been taking and Barbie’s the first one I got to kick her feet out from under. It was fun.”
“Watch your back,” Mac warned. “Where are you off to?”
“The gun range. I need to practice my draw and shoot. It doesn’t do me a damn bit of good to aggravate myself over how poorly this gun belt fits, if I can’t get my gun out before getting shot.”
“You’ve always got a skirt on. Get one of the spandex holsters that fits around your thigh. Easier than reaching around your back.” Mac lifted her skirt demonstrating the right spot.
“Yours?” I looked her over. Not a bulge in sight.
“My preference is shoulder holster. Pre-foreplay, I put it between my boobs.”
I waved and left, laughing.
CHAPTER 9
Fab raced into the kitchen. “In the future you’re not allowed to use the phone until I’m here to listen,” she said. “Why are you trying to get back a donation you made to charity? Who does that?”
I watched as she poured herself a cup of coffee and took a drink. She sniffed the inside of the cup, took another drink, and spit it out. “What the hell is this?”
“I thought I’d do something nice and bought you some grocery store coffee.” Why tell her I was running late and didn’t have time to go to the coffee bar.
“This tastes like dog pee.”
“How would you know?” I asked. “You could’ve said ‘thank you for the nice surprise.’”
“I hope it didn’t ruin the coffee pot.” Fab jerked open the refrigerator door, took the bag of coffee out and, in one smooth move, slam-dunked it into the trash. “What did this cost, one dollar?”
“You need to work on your gift receiving skills.” Then changing the topic, “ I could use your help.”
“It depends,” Fab said. “First, I’m going to need a double espresso.”
Ignoring her, I said, “Brick called with my first client, I’m retrieving a missing item. Looks like I have a lead.” No way would I tell Fab the contents of the box. She’d never help me. “My client mistakenly put out a box for charity pickup. The problem is that it was also trash day. Hopefully, it didn’t get picked up by Waste Recycle. I already talked to them, and apparently once at the dump, everything gets burned same day.”
“They make a ton of charity pick-ups in this area. I see the trucks all the time. How do you plan to track down the right one?” Fab scrounged in the pantry closet, coming up with an energy drink.
“The city clerk’s office told me according to their records only Mercy House picked up that day. I called Mercy House, and explained the situation. They were very nice. Informed me that everything goes to a central warehouse for sorting and I had permission to look around. You need to come with me to help look.”
“What do I get?” Fab asked.
“The good feeling that comes from doing something for a friend.”
“That’s it, huh?”
“If you don’t complain or whine, I might buy lunch.”
* *
“It smells in here.” Fab wrinkled her nose.
The charity warehouse sat at the end of a dead end street, in the seedy section of the dock area. Fishing boats docked in every slip contributed to the smell. Leroy’s, the largest clam dealer in the Keys, was two lots down. His pile of clam shells had grown fifteen feet since I’d last been in the area.
“I could help Leroy out and fill a few of my buckets.”
“Focus!” Fab snapped her fingers. “This is not the beach. You take those shells, and Leroy will have you arrested. Resale money there.”
We walked through the open warehouse doors. Bits and pieces of personal lives filled at least half the space.
“We’re looking for a twelve by twelve cardboard box,” I told Fab, “with ‘Mom-Mom’ written on the side.”
A young woman approached, friendly smile, Key West sweat shirt on, featuring Ernest Hemingway’s face. “Can I help you?” Her name tag read Wendy.
“I called earlier about an item picked up by mistake.”
“Madison Westin? The deliveries from yesterday have yet to be sorted. Everything was stacked under banner twelve, along the far wall.” Wendy pointed.
“Thank you, I appreciate your cooperation,” I whispered. Once I’d told her the story she’d become sympathetic and helpful. She told me that had happened once before and they never did find the family. Mercy House paid to have the urn buried.
“What do you think?” Fab asked holding up a black knee length coat, ratty feathers around the neck.
“No one in South Florida needs a coat. Besides, there’s a smooshed bug on the pocket.”
The coat went airborne landing two rows over.
“Stop shopping and help me find the box. Even if it made sense to buy it, the coat made you look like the old guy that panhandle
s outside the grocery store.”
Kids’ toys, household items and furniture were scattered everywhere. There weren’t very many cardboard boxes, so the process of elimination went quickly. I spotted the box, with “Mom-Mom” scribbled on the side, at the top of the second stack. Standing on tiptoes, I gave the box a shove and caught it mid-air. I didn’t expect it be so light.
I handed the box to Fab. “I’m going to thank Wendy. I’ll meet you at the car.”
* * *
I hopped in the driver’s seat before Fab could start complaining.
“What’s in the box?” Fab asked.
“A dead woman.”
Fab stared at the box in her lap, not believing me. “It’s a little small.”
“She was cremated.” I took a side road that took us by seafood houses that bought whatever catch the boats unloaded.
“I hate you,” Fab yelled, tossing the box in the back, and rubbed her hands on her jeans.
“Oh calm down, she’s in an urn.”
“Why are we going this way?” Fab pointed. “You missed the turn.”
“You’re not getting out now unless you jump.” I stomped on the accelerator, turning on to the Overseas Highway. “I’m still in need of your services.”
“Now I know why you insisted on driving,” Fab grumbled.
I reached over, grabbed my cell phone and asked Fab to dial the number. “Good news,” I said when Kettle answered.
“Which one of those bastard relatives had her?” Kettle yelled.
“If you’re home, I can be there in a few minutes.”
“Gate’s open,” Kettle said. The line went dead.
“What’s my cut on this job?” Fab asked.
“I was so excited to get my first job, I forgot to ask. I’m supposed to bill Brick. How much would you charge?” We were far enough out of town, I could slow down. No chance Fab would walk from the outskirts of The Cove.
“Brick would never call me with a chicken job like this.” Fab snickered. “If he did, I’d bill him triple. My scale fluctuates, depending on the customer’s net worth.” Fab stared at me. “I know that look. What are you planning now?”
“Whatever story I come up with as to how I found said ashes, don’t contradict me.”
“Why not the truth?” Fab asked.
“It’s more complicated than the truth.”
Fab shook her head. “I’ll be using that line in the future.”
Too busy talking, I veered hard off the highway, damn near missing the exit, braking hard before skidding onto the gravel road.
“Brick knows someone that lives out here in the middle of nowhere and in a shack?” Fab asked.
“Wait until you see the inside. You’ll be impressed.”
Before we got to the door, Watusi stood waiting. Wearing a lime green ankle dress, an assortment of necklaces piled high, and rings on every finger, she whispered, “Don’t forget your promise.”
“We need to talk,” I whispered.
Fab looked the kitchen over like she was casing it for a return visit. “Nice job.”
“This is my brother, Theodore,” Watusi introduced. “Be patient with him he’s a little slow.”
It was none other than Gunz, the flat tire changer. He covered his lips with his finger and shook his head. “Nice to meet you,” he said, sitting at the table across from the dead man.
Kettle blew into the kitchen like a tropical windstorm in a whirlwind of peacock blue. She must have borrowed Watusi’s bracelets which were loaded up both arms. “What is that boney skank doing in my house?” She pointed to Fab.
“She’s with me.” My hair tingled on my neck, not a good sign. “I found your mother’s ashes.” I pointed to the box on the kitchen counter.
“She screwed me out of money.” Kettle rushed towards Fab.
I stepped in front of Kettle. “If you touch her, I’ll shoot you.”
“Moon pie sucker,” Fab mumbled behind my back.
“You’re a sorry excuse for an investigator. You don’t even carry a gun.” Kettle rolled her eyes.
“What do you call this?” I pulled my Glock from my back holster.
Watusi jumped in front of Kettle. “Everyone breathe. Kettle step back. No shooting and no name calling.” She shoved her sister. “You put your gun away and neither of you better scare Theodore.”
I caught the smirk on Gunz’s face. He tipped his chair back against the wall, arms across his chest, clearly rooting for a hair pulling, girl fight.
“Which one of my half-kin had the ashes,” Kettle demanded. “They’ll never steal from me again.”
“I don’t know who it was. Whoever must’ve had second thoughts, because the urn was dropped off at Tropical Slumber. I called to get a description and Dickie told me the box had been left in one of the slumber rooms.” I reholstered my gun.
A look passed between Gunz and Fab. They knew one another.
“This has been fun,” Fab said already half way out the door.
“Try eating a whole sandwich!” Kettle yelled at Fab. “Send your bill to Skinny Bitch, she owes me money!” she yelled at me. “She’s never to set foot on my property again.”
I hustled out the door after Fab, Watusi right behind me. “I’ll lock the gates,” Watusi told Kettle.
I reached for the passenger door handle, Fab had the engine idling. Watusi came up behind me. “Who’s in the box?”
“Your mother, not someone else. I found her at Mercy House.”
Watusi handed me her business card. “I can do something special for you.” The Happy Endings trailers turned out to be a massage business.
“How do you know Brick?” I asked.
“He’s one of my special clients. He likes midnight massages at his office. I like looking at the lights of the city while I work.”
“Happy Endings, does that mean, you um…?”
“Hand jobs are my specialty,” Watusi boasted.
Chapter 10
“The Q sisters are psycho,” Fab informed me, when I climbed into the passenger seat. “I’ve never had a friend who would shoot someone for me. That deserves a moment of silence.”
Fab didn’t leave black skid marks leaving the Q’s which surprised me, given the hostility I’d witnessed. “What did you do to them?”
“Me?” Fab hit the sitting steering wheel. “Why is it always my damn fault? She left out a few facts, like the part where I could’ve ended up dead. Who would you have replaced me with for best friend?”
“You know you’re not replaceable.”
“Kettle hired me to do a job.” Who knew Fab had perfected an innocent look? “She gave me a bogus story, asked me to get back ‘her’ briefcase stolen by the ex-boyfriend. I had said briefcase in my hand when I heard a gun cock. Turned out Ernie, her dirtbag boyfriend, was a mid-level dealer out of Miami.”
I stared out the window, never tiring of riding along the blue-green water in the Keys, wishing we could pull to the side of the road and go for a quick swim. I looked back at Fab, “Did Ernie shoot you?”
“Lucky for me, we had mutual acquaintances which kept me from ending up in a dumpster. It turned out the briefcase held ‘his,’ not ‘her,’ personal papers, a ton of cash and the biggest prize, Ernie’s client book. I cut a deal with him and left.”
“How did you explain all of this to Miss Q?”
“I should’ve known you then. Your made up stories are better than mine. I told her Ernie caught me by surprise, which he did, and when he started shooting, I ran. Kettle didn’t believe one word and never paid. That’s why I get payment up front unless it’s a regular client.”
“What’s your relationship with Theodore?”
“Who?” Fab laid on the horn, a friendly get out of the way to the car in front of us.
“Slow down a little. If I puke, I’m leaning over and doing it on you. The big, bald guy in the corner.”
“I’ve seen him around town,” Fab said. “I’ve had enough of today, dead people, psycho
s and you.”
“You’d miss me. For someone who told me they didn’t have or want girlfriends, you’ve come around in a big way.”
Fab squealed off the highway.
“Where are we going now?” I asked.
“Aren’t you forgetting a stop? You need to go by Dickie’s and get him to lie for you on that ridiculous story you told.”
“That was an excellent story, totally believable. Watusi, for whatever reason, couldn’t confess the mix-up.”
“Pot’s going to find out,” Fab said.
“Call Kettle that to her face, fight’s on. You actually ever eat a moon pie and chase it down with a coke?”
“Tell me you like deep-fried carny food.” Fab eyed me.
“How would you know about that?” I made a face at her.
“I’ve had a fried Oreo or two.”
“My fave too. This really is a bonding moment.”
Fab pulled into Tropical Slumber and parked at the old drive-through window, which separated the living quarters from the dead people. The funeral home had once been a hot dog fast food restaurant. The A-frame building had been enlarged for the dead guests and their families. The living quarters was a new addition after Dickie and Raul bought the place.
“I can’t believe you’re willing to come here with me.”
“Making Dickie squirm will perk me up,” Fab said, using her creepy smile. “Don’t worry, he’ll cover for you or I’ll scare the crap out of him. He’s afraid of me.”
We walked across the red carpet that went from the parking lot to the front door. “Let me handle this.” I pushed the buzzer.
Dickie opened the door with a smile. When he saw Fab I thought he’d shut the door.
“Hi, Dickie. I need a favor,” I blurted.
Dickie motioned us inside. The reception area was filled with ornate, brocade upholstered uncomfortable, straight-backed chairs, and gold gilded accessories. This area was downright cold, sixty degrees at best, with minimal lighting that cast creepy shadows. “We’ll have to sit here.” He pointed to some chairs surrounding a claw foot coffee table. “All of our other rooms are filled. If you need me to go pick someone up for you, I can go right away. We don’t have any services until tonight.”
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