“What? It was an easy question.”
“You must need a reminder. We have the nerve to do a lot of things.”
Fab pulled up in front of six storefronts linked together, a door in the middle advertising office space upstairs. It was unclear if it was one of those rent-by-the-hour places one of Fab’s associates had told me about once.
Ms. Grace had a unit with a private entrance at the end of the sidewalk. The picture window and door were shuttered, giving no indication whether she was open for business or not. I tried the door handle and found it locked.
“I can pick it,” Fab offered.
“Probably not a good idea.” I knocked politely.
“I was about to point out that if she wasn’t opening the door, she wasn’t here and say let’s get out of here, but one of the shutters just moved. Most people probably wouldn’t have noticed, but then, they’re not me.”
I looked down at my sandal-clad feet. “I don’t have the right shoes on for this.” Instead of kicking the bottom of the door, I banged on the door with my best cop knock. It sounded rusty to me but not enough to be noticeable. To drive home the message that we weren’t going anywhere until she opened the door, I did it again.
The shutters flipped open. “What do you want?” the middle-aged, curly-haired redhead bellowed.
“Madison Westin.” I pasted a smile on my face and waved. “If I need a recommendation, I’m Mac Lane’s boss. Here about my tenant, Professor Crum.”
“And her?” She indicated Fab.
“You could open the door, so we could stop yelling and use our quiet voices,” I suggested, saying the latter in Mother’s lecturing tone.
The side of her mouth curled up as she unlocked the door. “Five minutes, and then I start charging.”
“Good luck collecting.”
“I’ve got people.”
“So do I.”
Fab interrupted with a hand wave and a glare. “If you two are done with ‘who’s got the meaner, tougher group of hoodlums on call,’ I’d like to sit. Counselor Grace, I assume? If not, you’re wasting our time.”
I almost laughed about Fab remembering the woman’s preference for being called “counselor” since she professed not to remember name one.
Ms. Grace nodded. “You are?”
“Fabiana Merceau, the best PI in the Cove. Legal jobs only, grey areas can be negotiated.”
“Never heard of you,” Ms. Grace sniffed.
“You will when the billboard goes up.”
I lowered my head, chest shaking, knowing that was an outrageous lie but liking the idea.
Ms. Grace waved us inside, and Fab closed the door. After pointing us to the chairs in front of her desk, the lawyer adjusted her short-sleeved tropical caftan before settling behind her desk.
Cute office, although white overload. The wainscoting got my approval, decorated in a beach theme. My shell collection was far more impressive than hers.
“Regarding the professor, he’s a client and has a right to confidentiality. Anything else?” Ms. Grace tapped her watch.
“I wanted to thank you for referring him to Mr. Barnard. I called the jail this morning and found out he’d been released.”
She humphed with a slight smile. “He planned to post his own bail, since he had the wherewithal if necessary. Thankfully, it wasn’t. Not sure any bondsman would write him a bond with his surly attitude. After a short conversation with my guy, during which Crum called him a ‘nitwit’ and excoriated him for his interest rates, not sure who hung up on the other first. But all’s well, etc. Crum ended up getting released without charges, just an admonition not to leave town.”
“We’re here to offer our services. I’ve known Crum for a while, and I’m positive he’s not out robbing banks.” The only thing I knew he helped himself to that belonged to other people was their trash. The city hadn’t made that a crime yet.
“Both of you are licensed?” Ms. Grace checked us out more carefully.
Fab raised her hand. “I’m licensed. This is my backup.”
“The robber wore a pair of red bathing trunks, and an identical pair were found in Crum’s locker at the mall. Any idea how they got there?” Ms. Grace asked with a flinty stare.
“If you had been at the costume party at Jake’s, you’d have seen a dozen pairs of red bathing trunks. I take it they don’t have anything like a fingerprint, eyewitness ID, or something more substantial?” I asked.
“The cops got a description from one of the bank customers, but it was generic enough to fit most men.”
“The few times I’ve seen Crum leaving for work, he’s half-dressed in his Santa pants and undershirt. You can verify with Mac since she’s the designated driver. In his off hours, he finds clothes restricting.” I ignored Fab’s snort. “He favors tighty-whities. Due to a dress code that got imposed after he moved in, if he ventures outside, he must cover up, and he generally dons a bath towel that he rigged into a skirt and sometimes a shirt.”
Ms. Grace picked up her soda and took a long swig, studying me over the top of the can. “Why would you rent to him?”
“I didn’t. He was snuck in by my brother, but that’s a story for another time.”
“You two want to be useful, go down to that mall, get in the dressing room, and take pictures. My request for a tour was turned down this morning.”
“Pictures are Fab’s specialty, and just so you know, she’s not squeamish about dead people.” I glanced over at her and saw she’d leaned back in her chair, eyes closed. She was damn lucky she wasn’t close enough for me to kick.
“So far, no one’s been murdered. Like to keep it that way,” Ms. Grace said. “Generally, bail gets denied in homicide cases.”
“Anything Crum needs, give me a call.” I reached in my pocket, handing her one of Fab’s business cards. Finally, one of us had gotten a professional-looking card.
Ms. Grace eyed the card before dropping it on her desk. “How does this partnership of yours work? You do all the talking while she sleeps.”
“Trust me, she heard every word. Feel free to throw something at her; she’ll catch it.” I reached over and jerked the arm of Fab’s chair. Her eyes popped open, patented smirk firmly in place. “Trust me, she’s good when she’s not doing her best to be annoying. As for me—I’m at her beck and call unless Beck is an ex-felon whose current partner has turned up dead. Besides, I’ve got interests of my own.”
“This has been nice. Get me what I want, and we’ll talk again.” Left unsaid was then this won’t have been a complete waste of my time. “I’ve got a brief to write.” She flicked her finger through a pile of papers, a three-foot-thick book open off to one side.
“There is one more thing,” I said, standing.
“Yes.” It sounded more like “hurry up and get to the point.”
“If we were in need of your services, would you take the call?” I asked.
That surprised her. “You don’t already have a lawyer?”
“He doesn’t like to come down to the Cove.”
“I don’t do freebies. Pro bono work on occasion, but only for a defendant in need.” Giving it some thought, she added, “Call anytime.”
“Could you be more annoying?” I hissed at Fab as the door closed behind us.
“You know the answer is yes.” Fab slid behind the wheel of the SUV. “We’ll go get the pictures and impress the heck out of her. That makes it easier to propose a trade for services.”
“Now?” At Fab’s nod, I suggested, “While I’m guarding the dressing room door, you sneak in. You’ll know what she needs in the way of pictures.”
“Good plan. I’ve got a hunch the bathing trunks in his locker will turn out to be a weird fluke, probably something Crum retrieved from the trash. If that’s true, maybe he’ll remember what bin he got them out of and his lawyer can get a statement.”
“I’m hoping Mr. Bank Robber gets nabbed at his next stick-up.”
Chapter Nine
As
soon as I opened the front door, Fab scooted around me and went up the stairs. “I hope it tastes as good as it smells.” I kicked off my shoes and crossed the living room and out the doors to the patio, putting my arms around Creole. “Shirtless and cooking, just the way I like you.” I kissed his chest.
“I got the table set,” Didier boasted from where he stood, finishing with the last of the silverware. “Where’s Fab?” He walked over and poked his head through the patio doors.
“I’m right here,” Fab called from the top of the stairs.
“Fabiana,” Didier scolded, a note of laughter in his voice.
My guess was she’d slid down the bannister.
Fab came into view, laptop in hand, and paused before stepping outside. “I need to send some pictures.” She headed for the table and set down her computer.
We took our assigned seats at the table. I found it amusing that we never changed it up. Didier poured Fab and me wine; he and Creole were drinking beer.
“How much trouble did you get into?” Creole asked, sitting next to me.
“We didn’t get caught, so that doesn’t count, does it?” I asked, feigning innocence.
Fab groaned and lifted the cover on her laptop, hiding her face behind the screen.
“Does that mean the cops will be here soon, warrant in hand?” Creole asked. I shook my head. “That’s good.”
“Another plus: no bullets or anyone chasing after us.” I smiled.
“Stick to the facts,” Fab grouched.
I updated them on Crum’s case and detailed the conversation with his lawyer, including the information she wanted and said she couldn’t get on her own. “I texted Mac ahead of time on how to gain access to the dressing room in case it was locked this time—the door has a combination lock. Didn’t matter, though, as the door stood wide open. Crum’s locker didn’t have a padlock, and the big find there was a dirty towel.”
Fab peered at us over her the top of her laptop. “I took pictures while Madison guarded the door. After that, I shot a couple of videos. Ms. Grace will soon have footage of every square inch.”
“Bored with guard duty, and after checking to make sure the door was locked, I went around the small room and opened every door that didn’t have a lock,” I said. “Found nothing exciting. Candy wrappers, a few dead bugs.”
“In and out, five minutes.” Fab flexed her biceps.
Didier leaned down and kissed her arm.
“Getting out was just as easy as getting in,” I said. “I poked my head out the door. The hallway was empty and stayed that way until we got to the end and made another turn, at which point, we mingled with people using the restrooms. No one paid us any particular attention. We exited through the food court and headed straight for the SUV.”
Fab turned her laptop around, the screen filled with the pictures she’d taken. “You’re the cop, what am I missing?” she asked Creole.
“I’d have been surprised if you’d found anything that would prove Crum’s guilt or innocence. If it comes to mounting a defense, the lawyer can use these videos to show how readily accessible the area was, but I’m not sure how any of this relates to the bank robberies. The District Attorney can’t make a case on Crum owning the same color trunks.” Creole shook his head. “If that was all the evidence I had in a case, I’d be laughed out of the office.”
“Didn’t think about this before,” I said, “but maybe Ms. Grace was testing your PI skills… or just wanted to get us out of her office.”
“Crum needs to a keep a low profile,” Didier suggested.
“My advice would be for him to stay away from banks, while in costume anyway,” Creole half-laughed. “Now that he’s been sacked, he needs to log where he’s spending his time. That way, he’ll know what his alibi is when the next robbery goes down.”
“The Cottages is a good place to hang out,” I said. “At least a half-dozen people are peering out their windows at any given time.”
“I just sent everything to Ms. Grace,” Fab said.
“Good. That means we can eat,” I said.
~ ~ ~
Dinner over, the dishes cleared, we stayed around the table. The ringing of Fab’s phone interrupted the conversation. She glanced briefly at the screen and hit the reject button. After a brief pause, it rang again.
“Whoever you’re trying to avoid is persistent.” I tried to get a look at the screen, but she flipped the phone over.
Creole nudged me in the side. Not even him actually saying “it’s none of your business” would detour me.
“It’s Brick,” Fab said, exasperated. “He’s not in a good mood right now.”
“When is he ever?” I narrowed my gaze on her and knew instinctively that something was up. I also knew that if Brick was calling her repeatedly, it wouldn’t be good news.
Knowing it would ring again, since the man never gave up, I was ready when it did and slid the phone to my side of the table. It surprised me that Fab only made a half-hearted attempt to stop me.
“Yeah,” I said, doing my best to sound annoyed, which wasn’t hard.
After a long pause, Brick barked, “Put Fab on.”
“I’m sorry,” I said in a sugary-sweet tone. “She ate something at lunch that didn’t agree with her, and she’s in the bathroom barfing. Would you care to hang on? It could be a while.”
The guys never interfered in our dramas and weren’t about to start now. They’d been watching with rapt interest, and both now had their heads down, shoulders twitching. If you could get them to cop to it, they enjoyed the little dramatic sideshows, but should it come to a smackdown, they’d be out of their chairs in a hot second. It wouldn’t have surprised me if Brick could hear Fab’s hiss from across the table.
After another few seconds, it sounded like he hung up. I double-checked the screen to make sure, though I wasn’t surprised—he made a habit of disconnecting without a goodbye. I considered myself lucky he couldn’t slam the thing down and blow out my eardrum.
“Brick won’t be calling back tonight.” I turned the phone off before setting it back on the table. “But don’t think you’ll get rid of him that easily. All this does is buy us time to come up with a plausible excuse for whatever you’ve done this time.”
“For once, I didn’t do a darn thing,” she snapped. “And it’s your job to handle customer complaints.”
“Since you haven’t officially offered me employment with your new company and there’s no signed contract, that isn’t actually my job. But I could handle it, just this one time.” It was a good thing we were friends or she’d probably have shot me about then. “As we both know, I’m the one with the people skills. But despite that, you might still lose a few clients. That’s why I want it stated in that contract that such incidents will be forgiven.”
Creole and Didier threw their heads back and laughed.
“Drama Queen.”
“If I were standing, I would curtsy. Next time I’m in the mood for that, I’ll give you two.” I flashed my crazy smile.
“This has been a great dinner.” Fab smiled at Didier. “We can finish discussing this another time. How about a swim?”
I clapped. “Nice subject change. But it’s not going to work. Now’s the perfect time.” Fab was mistaken if she thought a brush-off would deter me from learning whatever it was that had made Brick angry. “You might as well tell us all together. That way, none of the flavor of the story is lost in the retelling. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t want to know and now.”
“It’s about the Ferrari. It’s been recovered,” Fab said, clearly disgruntled at what should be good news.
“I’m sure the guys will be ecstatic, after whatever you’re about to say, that they were in no way involved.” I tapped my cheek with my finger. “Stripped? Only able to recover a tire or two? Blown up? Returned in pieces? Your subcontractor dead?”
Fab banged a spoon on the table. “You’re not funny.”
“I don’t know about that—look around the
table.”
Fab shot glares at Didier and Creole, who were clearly entertained.
“My contractor and his friend ferreted out the location of the sports car, got it loaded on a flatbed, and were about to take off when gunshots rang out. Not just warning ones either. While returning fire, they called the cops. Law enforcement arrived in record time and got the situation under control.”
“Is this the good part, where you tell us that everyone went to jail?” I tried to control my sarcasm and failed.
“If you didn’t interrupt, I’d be finished by now.”
I zipped my lips.
“Brick’s three ‘relatives’ were booked on various gun charges. My guy produced legit paperwork, and he and his associate were released. He had another thing going for him—he’s got several friends on the force that know him to be a straight arrow.”
“I don’t get why Brick is mad.” Didier appeared puzzled. “Because the relatives are in jail?”
“Anyone want to put cash on there not being a DNA match between them? This is another job he’d say anything to get done.” I wanted to strangle Brick. One of the reasons I loathed the man was he never thought about anyone but himself and what he wanted.
“Brick’s livid that the cops showed up at his home in the early hours and hauled him in for questioning,” Fab said. “It seems, when they searched the house in the Alley, they found a cache of guns and cash.”
“Why were they interested in him if he was the victim?” Creole asked.
I’d never heard Brick described that way and almost laughed at the absurdity.
“One of the relatives, thinking to lessen his legal troubles, ratted on Brick, giving details on his cash car business. Mostly fabricated, according to Brick. On Brick’s way out the door, he had his wife call his lawyer, who met them at the station. He claims he answered all their questions and was released. When I asked if he’d been warned not to leave town, he hung on me.” Fab winced at the memory.
“Not very smart criminals. They had to know they wouldn’t get away with stealing a Ferrari. Since they were up to their necks in illegal activities, they should’ve left the car alone,” Creole said in disgust. “And to think they thought murdering two men was a better idea.”
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