Brad came into the kitchen to grab drinks, and heard what Creole had to say. “The Shiners had a volatile relationship,” he said. “Barbie would stir up trouble while Kibble was out fishing. When he docked she’d give him a list of the people for him to go kick their asses.”
We took our plates into the living room; one could sit at the table or grab a chair placed around the room. Mother handed me a 7-Up with a cherry, like she did when I’d get sick as a kid. She took good care of me and, no matter how old I got, I’d always want my mother in a crisis.
“What happened to Kibble Junior?” I asked, juggling my plate on my lap.
“Angie tried to claim the kid as her own,” Creole said.
“Is the boy in foster care?” Mother asked.
“Child Services stepped in and located Barbie’s parents in Minnesota. They flew in and claimed their grandchild. Barbie freaked out, swearing they were unfit, and said they abused her as a child,” Creole told us.
“I can’t believe Harder gave you all this information,” I said.
“He didn’t. My boss muscled his way in and got access to the file.” Creole got up and returned with beer for him, Zach and Brad.
“Turns out,” Creole continued, “Barbie has a seven-year-old son. Her parents have full custody of the boy. When interviewed, he’s happy, well adjusted, doing well in school and never in trouble. Report came back that they’re as close to a Norman Rockwell painting as you’re going to get these days.”
“Is Kibble the father?” Mother asked.
“No, but bio father’s a dirtball, and not on the scene,” Creole said. “He’s in prison on a drug running conviction. Barbie gave up custody of the kid when he was a baby, due to her substance abuse problems. The only memories the boy has of her, is her attempt to regain custody a couple of years ago. She lost that court case because, first, she never maintained regular contact of any kind and, the few times she had visitation, she scared the kid with a taste of her volatile personality and the last thing he wanted was to move to Florida to live with a psycho.”
“When did the two of you start hugging?” Zach asked me.
Fab had put her arm around me. “If anything happens to me, I want Fab to stay here with Jazz for as long as she wants,” I said. After what happened I realized I needed a plan for my cat.
No one said a word.
“You’ll outlive that damn cat,” Mother said. Then turning to the others, she said, “I spent all day in the kitchen, I expect everyone to eat until you’re stuffed.”
“By the way, Veta Lindsay is gone,” Zach said.
“I’m surprised she actually moved,” I said.
Julie and Brad started taking plates to the kitchen. They looked like a good fit, I was happy for my brother.
Zach finished his beer. “I told Veta I’d never hit a woman, but Madeline was a different story. Once your Mother heard that Veta ignored your screams, the fact that she was older wouldn’t factor into Madeline’s decision to throw the first punch.”
“If I had known, I’d have dragged her off the property by that ugly bun of hers,” Mother said and flexed her arm.
“You would’ve come and got me first, wouldn’t you?” Liam asked. “So I could watch.”
“You’d be the reason I’d exercise some self-control.” Mother kissed his cheek.
“Too many cop shows for Veta. She went around town, made up crap about you, told people you were a police and FBI informant. She spread the word to every dock rat that you were behind every arrest or someone stubbing their toe,” Zach said in disgust.
“I’m going to miss Joseph,” I said.
“Veta told me you were upset when Joseph broke up with you and you wouldn’t stop coming around,” Liam said. “It’s hard to believe you’d date him.”
I choked on my last bite of shrimp. “I never did and never would.”
Zach bit his lip. We both knew that, before Veta, Joseph spread the word around town we were “friendly.”
“Joseph’s staying,” Zach said. “Despite your threats, Veta was going to call your bluff, sure you’d cave. To stop Joseph’s incessant whining about not wanting to be the bad guy, I got rid of her, broke up with her for him. Slice and the guys went over with boxes and had her packed and moved before Joseph got back from his doctor’s appointment.”
“That was so sweet of you. I’ll have to thank you in a special way,” I said.
Brad put his hands over Liam’s ears. “Oh stop. Some of us are still eating.”
My phone rang. When I went into hibernation, I hadn’t taken any phone calls. My curiosity got the better of me, so I took out the phone and looked at the caller ID. Why would Dickie Vanderbilt be calling? “Hi, Dickie.”
The room went quiet. Everyone listened, not wanting to miss a word. Fab came over and stuck her ear next to mine. Mother looked pissed that she hadn’t thought of it first.
“I want to listen in,” Liam said.
Julie grabbed the back of his shirt.
“I wanted you to know, Raul and I jumped on the church bus, and everyone sends prayers for a speedy recovery. Tolbert and Grover send their love; barbeque at the farm when you’re ready,” Dickie said.
“I should’ve gone to see Tolbert myself,” I told him. It was sad to think Cosmo died because of stupid lies. Thank goodness Tolbert had his grandchildren. That pit bull lawyer Cruz Campion had taken Tolbert’s custody case pro bono.
“Fabiana Merceau went down there and spent an afternoon with Tolbert and the kids. It made me nauseous when Tolbert told me, but he said she’s a lot of fun and the kids loved her. Who knew? I told him to be careful and he laughed,” Dickie said.
“She’s easily misunderstood.” I winked at Fab. If she’d stopping scaring the heck out of Dickie, he’d come around.
“Oh…,” Dickie said clearly not convinced. “I called to tell you I made Kibble look like crap, as though he’d been dead for years. Open casket, small turnout, most of the mourners were regulars who come for the free food.”
“I uh… anything I can do for you, call. Ok?”
“We’re diversifying here at Tropical Slumber. On Sunday nights, which are slow anyway, we’re going to be offering ‘Contact the Dead Sunday.’ We’re teaming up with the new spiritualist in town.”
I bit my finger so I wouldn’t laugh. “I’ll spread the word. Hey, thanks for calling, Dickie.” We hung up. “Anyone up for a séance on Sunday night? Dickie’s new marketing campaign is having conversations with the dead, for a fee.”
“I’ll go,” Liam said. “But I don’t know any dead people.”
“You’re not going,” Julie said.
“What’s for dessert?” I walked to the opposite side of the kitchen where Mother had the dessert. I scanned the counter, reaching for a slice of key lime pie. I took it and sat down next to Fab, musical chairs without the music.
Fab stuck her finger in my pie. “Zach can’t take his eyes off you. And then there’s Creole. Did you know he knows Marco?”
Fab’s elusive boyfriend. She never mentioned Marco except to say they broke up. And now there’s Didier and she seems happier. Being in a relationship with an undercover officer had been hard on her.
“Really? How is Marco, by the way?” I handed her a fork.
“He’s moved in with my replacement already, a Washington debutante. At least with Didier we can go out in public.” Fab followed my gaze over to the guys. “Trying to decide which one?”
“I like Creole as a friend, but I’m with Zach.”
“What if there was no Zach?” Fab ran her finger through what was left of the whipped cream. “Has he said ‘I love you’?” she asked.
“No, he hasn’t but then neither have I.” Love would take the relationship to another level which made me a little nervous.
“What if he says those three little words?” Fab eyed me.
“Then I’ll say them back.” The nice part is that it I wouldn’t be saying it to avoid an argument, I did love him.
“I’ve got to go.” Creole came up and put his arm around my shoulders. “I’m not going to poach my friend’s girl but I’m holding you to your promise of my right to first refusal.”
“You’re good for a girl’s ego. You’re welcome here anytime; swim, hideout, free meal, whatever.”
He kissed my cheek and Mother’s and left.
I stood up catching everyone’s attention. “Mother, guess what my get well gift is from Fab?” All eyes were on Fab. “Do you want me to tell them or do you want to do the honors?”
Fab’s eyes narrowed. “Go ahead.”
“Mother, Fab promised to teach you and me how to hotwire a car.”
“Like hell!” Brad shouted.
“That sounds way cool,” Liam said.
Mother had a big smile. “I can do that this week.”
“You’re the most dreadful friend,” Fab hissed. “Zach is dangerous when he glares at a person like that.”
“I shouldn’t, but I agree with Liam,” Julie said. “I lost my keys once and it cost a fortune for the locksmith to come out.”
Zach leaned into me. “Get rid of everyone and let’s go upstairs and see whose legs are longer.”
“Yours are but mine know a trick or two yours don’t,” I whispered back. “You leave. I’ll tell everyone I’m tired and go to bed. You sneak in the back way. Once Mother and Julie finish cleaning up, Brad’s driving Mother home. After, he’s taking Julie and Liam to the movies.”
I hugged Mother and Brad. “You saved my life, which means I owe you one,” I said to Brad. “Try not to use it.”
CHAPTER 40
Only a really cool brother gives a Ruger LC9 handgun as a get well gift. I sat in the kitchen admiring my new weapon. It would be a couple of weeks before my Glock got returned. Brad knew I would be excited to get to the gun range and take the new one for a test drive.
“You waited to come downstairs until Zach left, didn’t you?” I asked Fab.
“I wasn’t in the mood for a lecture on the ‘hot wiring’ issue.” Fab set Jazz on the counter. “When you said I had a ‘gift,’ I held my breath wondering what you were about to say. Instead of it being something cool, you drop kicked me under the bus.”
“It’s nice to start the morning, just the three of us.” I gave Jazz a cat treat, ignoring Fab. Now that Mother and Julie wanted to learn the cool new skill, she’d be forced to hold a class.
“What’s on tap for you today?” Fab asked.
“I thought you’d drive me to The Cottages. I’ll check on Mac, make sure she’s okay, Miss January and Joseph, too.” I thought for a few seconds. “I’m planning a makeover for the cottage laundry room, fresh paint and a pull down table. Not to mention a way to cover up the area where Kibble died.”
Fab grabbed a mug from the cupboard. “Julie, of all people recommended a crime scene cleaner. A real asshat; too many dead people jokes. Then Brad called a friend who ran a skim coat over the concrete and you’d never know.”
“That’s a huge relief. I’m thinking about a second entrance so no one ever gets trapped in there again. When’s our carjacking job?”
“Tomorrow. Madeline’s coming, she’s excited and will be here early in the morning.”
“How the heck did that happen?” I asked.
“She overheard me talking to Brick and stared me down, ‘You don’t mind if I come along do you?’ she asked. It was so manipulative and she knew she had me.”
I shook my head. “I hope I don’t end up getting her into all kinds of trouble. Or worse yet, Brad has to bail out Mother and me.”
“I won’t let that happen to either of you,” Fab said. “Besides, you know how many people would pony up bail money for you?”
The sound of chimes interrupted our chat. “Doorbell this early? That can’t be good. You want to flip to see who answers?” I asked.
“I win.” Fab whipped out her Walther. She looked out the peephole. “Some guy in a delivery uniform. I can see his truck from here.”
“Don’t shoot him unless you have to,” I said.
Fab opened the door, her Walther at her side. “What?”
“Madison Westin?”
“No, what do you want?”
“I have a delivery for her and my instructions are to give it to her only.”
Fab pointed her gun in his face. “Hand it over and beat it.”
He dropped the envelope and ran for his truck. The engine made a weird choking noise, like he jammed the gears before he zoomed away.
“I’m not like you.” Fab handed me the envelope. “I don’t care how he’s feeling or anything about his family.”
I upended the contents on the counter. Keys, a letter, and some legal docs came out. I skimmed the letter, then the legal docs.
“Well… Jake has gotten himself into trouble and needs to leave town for a while, no mention how long that will be. He needs someone he can trust to run Jake’s bar, he says it’s fitting that since Aunt Elizabeth was once half owner, I should be the one to take over. He trusts me not to run it into the ground. He signed it over to me all legal like. Seems as though I’m the new owner of Jake’s Bar.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Trouble in Paradise, is Deborah Brown's third novel in the Paradise series, a Florida Keys mystery, which makes the reader laugh, cry and cheer...South Florida is her home, where she lives with her family and ungrateful rescue animals, and where Mother Nature takes out her bad attitude in the form of hurricanes.
PRAISE FOR
DEBORAH BROWN’S CRAZY IN PARADISE
“Welcome to Florida – where a girl’s best friend is her Glock. This book’s like cotton candy – a sweet airy confection that’s a little taboo, but you’ve got to have it anyways. It’s chick lit in the best sense, a story that know sometimes a girl just needs a bubble bath, a glass of wine, and a bad boy. This is the kind of book that’s a welcome reward after a hard day in stiletto heels.”
—jenaissance.blogspot.com
“Get ready to go on vacation. This was a great story to lose yourself in. I enjoyed every part of it!”
—LaurieHere.blogspot.com
“Crazy read lots of zany characters. From the first page of the book to the last, the action was non-stop. Crazy in Paradise is just that, crazy and a fun read.”
—mylife-in-stories.blogpost.com
“I found the storyline to be fast paced, full of action, and well thought out. I enjoyed this book for its quirky plot and the level of action. Satisfy your chick-lit cravings.”
—thepaperbackpursuer.blogspot.com
“There’s a lot packed into this little book.”
—asitturnthepages.com
EXCERPT FROM CRAZY IN PARADISE
CHAPTER 1
There should be a law in South Florida that a person can’t die during the summer. The death of a loved one was hard enough without the added humiliation of sweat. I felt it rolling down my back, like a stream trapped by the belt of my dress with nowhere to go.
My name is Madison Elizabeth Westin, and I’m seated at the funeral of my favorite aunt, people watching, of all things. Most of the mourners looked ready for a pool party, some of them in shorts and bathing suit cover-ups. I was the only one dressed in black; even my brother wore khaki shorts.
The minister began, “We are gathered here today to give thanks for the life of Elizabeth Ruth Hart, who shared herself with us. It is in her memory we come together and, for all she meant to us, we are thankful.”
My mother had named me after her older sister. Elizabeth was like a second mother to my brother Brad and me. We spent summers with her in Florida, running and playing on the beach, building sandcastles, and she was a regular visitor to our home in South Carolina.
After five years of not seeing her, I had packed for a several-month stay and planned to spend the summer with her. That’s when I got a phone call from her lawyer telling me she had died. I still found it difficult to believe it had happened so suddenly.
When I walked into the funeral home earlier, the heat had smothered me; this main room was suffocating. The air conditioning wasn’t working and it felt as though it was more than one hundred degrees. The director, Dickie Vanderbilt, had apologized for that, telling me that the central unit had gone out earlier in the day. He informed me he had all of the ceiling fans on high, which, in my opinion, were only circulating hot air.
Dickie Vanderbilt gave me the creeps. He had a slight build, pasty white skin, and long skinny fingers. When he reached out to touch my arm, I tried hard not to squirm.
I’m not a big fan of shaking hands. I find people only want to shake your hand when they can see you’re not interested. A friend suggested I perfect the dog paw shake for those who insist. I extend my hand like a paw and let it hang loose. Often times, they jerk their hand away and give me an odd stare, which makes me want to laugh every time.
The minister rambled on. I found him to be uninteresting, his speech dry. He talked about Elizabeth as though she were a stranger to him and everyone here. Apparently, Elizabeth’s jerk attorney, Tucker Davis, hadn’t given the minister any information about her. I didn’t understand why my aunt left all of the details of her funeral to Tucker. Why would she exclude the people who loved her and knew her best from having input? I wished I had one more day to walk along the beach to laugh, talk, and collect shells with her.
On Sunday, Tucker called to inform me that Elizabeth had died in her sleep from a heart attack. “The funeral is Wednesday, 1:00 p.m. at Tropical Slumber Funeral Home on Highway 1 in Tarpon Cove,” he told me.
“I want to help plan the funeral.”
“All of the arrangements have been made.” He sounded impatient, emphasizing his words. “If you want to, you can call anyone else you think should be informed.”
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