Psycho in Paradise (Florida Keys Mystery Series Book 15)

by Deborah Brown

  Back in the kitchen, I grabbed a sticky note and scribbled down “security fencing.” I wasn’t sure what it would take to enclose the entire street, or if the neighbors would go for it, but it was worth looking into. Grabbing the remote, I reversed the security tape, freeze framing on the Lexus, and copied down the license plate number.

  I grabbed my purse, slinging it over my shoulder. All my annoyance at having to circle back was forgotten. I was happy I’d been there to catch the man and all the picture taking. On the way out, I bent down to retrieve his business card, which lay on the ground. It listed Rodney Naple as a realtor, along with a phone number. Flipping it over, I saw that nothing had been scribbled on the back.

  After backing out, instead of heading directly back to the main road, I detoured down the block, checking out the neighborhood, which I’d only done once before. Three of the four houses were barely visible from the street, thanks to fencing, trees, and foliage. The house on the end, gauging from the roofline, was in the process of being remodeled and had doubled or even tripled the square footage in comparison to the others. What were Fab and Didier going to do with all the room, if that was the one they decided on?

  One thing the houses all had in common was business cards stuck in the fencing that ran along the front of their driveways. There were no mailboxes—out here, you rented a box at the post office and picked your mail up there. I predicted the cards would blow away in the wind and hoped they did, as interest in the entire street smelled of development.

  Driving back to the highway, I kept one eye peeled for places someone could park unnoticed, and there were none. Once on the Overseas, I stepped on the gas—one minute late, and Fab would be tapping her watch—and swung off at the next exit, a little-known curve in the road down to the docks. Speeding by Spoon’s Auto Body, I waved, certain it would go unnoticed, though if he was watching the security monitor, he’d certainly notice my Hummer. Half a block farther was Fab and Didier’s sign-less business. The only identifier was a large brass address plate to the left of the security pedestal. As if on command, the fence rolled back.

  Toady. I made a face when I spotted his red truck parked in front. This should be interesting. I knew that Fab had been using him more and more of late, and in her typical style, she’d been vague about the jobs she sent him out on. The man had such a huge crush on her, I felt certain he would agree to do almost anything she requested.

  I parked in the garage of the warehouse, which was reserved for employees—technically there were none, only the two owners—and walked up the million and a half steps. My exercise for the day. That made me smile. Earlier, I had watched an exercise video about people contorting their bodies, standing on one foot and picking up pieces of paper with their mouths, which of course I had to try. Thankfully, I’d hung onto the handle on the stove or I’d have hit my head.

  The doorknob turned under my hand, which surprised me. Fab must’ve seen me pull in and had Toady unlock the door. Or it amused her to think someone might have the not-very-bright idea of breaking into her business. If she caught sight of that in action, she’d lounge back in her chair, waiting patiently, one of her long legs across the corner of desk, for the person to enter; then, with a smile, she’d shoot. With any luck, the perp would stumble backwards out the door, making the cleanup easier.

  “Toady.” I waved. The old alligator was dressed up more than usual, in blue jeans, a wife beater, and a suit jacket. He wasn’t actually a reptile but did have the same texture skin—some would say dried out—and beady eyes. Instead of a mouth full of teeth, he only had one, but it was gold and front and center.

  “Madison.” He stood and bowed.

  Fab smirked in greeting from behind her desk.

  Unlike the exterior of the building, which looked like the other warehouses that dotted the street, Didier and Fab had gone all out on the interior, ripping out the walls and making it one large space, each claiming a side. Both were shiny and modern, Fab’s pristine and white, Didier’s side chrome and infused with color—navy, black, and grey.

  I headed straight for the kitchen, a strip along the wall with a curvy island that seated four separating it from the rest of the room, and helped myself to a bottled water. I’d turned down office space of my own and opted for a corner of Fab’s desk on the rare occasions that I made an appearance.

  “What are you working on?” I asked Toady, dropping my bag next to the chair I’d dragged over from the corner. Asking Fab wouldn’t necessarily result in a straightforward answer.

  “Found the gold digger woman.” He laughed at his own joke.

  “She still alive?”

  “Of course.” He snorted and wiped his nose on his shirt.

  Just breathe.

  “It took work to track Reva Lee down, but she’s not as smart as she thinks. Found her at a beachfront hotel in Daytona. Once Frenchie passed on the information to her client, she gave me the heads up to hang out and wait for him to show. No way to know what went down between the two of them—if only I coulda got a bug planted, but no opp for that. Dude stayed about an hour and left. I knocked on her door with a cockamamie excuse, saw that she was still breathing, and headed south.” Toady beamed at Fab. “Frenchie’s got me a new client. I want her to be the go-between. Keeps us close. Know what I mean?”

  I figured the client was Brick. About the latter point, I had no clue and wasn’t about to ask. Instead, I quirked my head to the side. Then, realizing it wasn’t an appropriate response, I nodded. It must have satisfied him, because after picking his thumbnail, he asked, “You need anything else?”

  “I appreciate your help and your discretion in keeping secrets.” Fab bestowed a huge smile on the man.

  Toady stood and blew her a kiss. “Anything, you call.” The door slammed behind him, and less than a minute later, the sound of his engine roared.

  “Does Didier know he has competition?” I asked.

  “Didier and Toady got reacquainted after I decided to avail myself of his kick-butt services.” Fab grimaced. “Toady again declared his intention of scooping me up, his words, if the two of us were to go kaput. Didier told him that, if that happened, he’d give him a call. I told Didier no sex for a week, and he laughed. Told me not to lead the man on. I really wanted to throw something at him.”

  “Where’s your snack bowl?” I banged her desk with my foot, jerking it out of reach before she could kick me. “I could use a cookie or a shot of tequila.”

  “Beer or water.” She pointed to the fridge.

  I turned up my nose. “Why am I here anyway? I forgot to ask before you hung up on me.”

  “It’s time we acted more professional and started having meetings,” she said in her snooty tone.

  I sighed loudly and said, with all the drama I could muster, “Once we get in the car, you can start by explaining why we need meetings. In the meantime, we’re missing Crum’s exercise class and probably other things.”

  “Take me home first. Spoon’s got my car for a checkup, and it won’t be ready until late this afternoon.”

  “Meeting.” I rolled my eyes. “More like limo driver. I can’t imagine you setting your stiletto in the back of a cab.”

  “You have to go with what sounds good.”

  “Here’s my compromise. You come with me to The Cottages and you can drive. If not, I’ll drive and you’re still coming with me.” Without waiting for a response, I stood and practically ran to the door.

  “Hold on a second.” Fab sniffed. “I’ve got to change.”

  She went into the bathroom, which was the size of a small bedroom, and came out in record time in jeans and tennis shoes. I held out the keys, which she grabbed, then wiggled out the door ahead of me.

  “There’s a drive-thru liquor store a couple of blocks over—let’s stop for a bottle,” Fab suggested, gunning the engine as she pulled out of the driveway.

  “It’s bad enough dealing with the crazies at The Cottages—doing it liquored up will end in a certain
felony.”

  “Want another good idea?” Fab squealed around the corner. “Once a week, circle the driveway and shoot the place up. They wouldn’t hang around outside so much.”

  “Let’s set aside the fact that what you suggest is illegal.” I grabbed the sissy bar, surprised that the tires didn’t lift off the road. “There would be some that would sit out on their porch waiting for the action to begin. I intend to change the criteria for future tenants to ones that are sedate and enjoy walking the beach, in bed by six.”

  “You know what they say about the quiet ones?” Fab cleared the yellow light and resumed driving like a crazy woman, which I suspected was an attempt to scare me to death.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Parking in Mac’s driveway had become the norm. Halfway across the street, I rested my head on Fab’s shoulder and made a barfing noise.

  Fab jumped a foot.

  I laughed at her look of horror as she brushed at her top. “That’s payback for the hair-raising car ride.”

  “You’re so mean.”

  Hearing music coming from the pool area, I said, “Let’s dance,” and grabbed Fab’s hand.

  She jerked her arm back with a growl.

  Mac whistled, motioning for us to get a move on.

  We rounded the corner and saw Mac leaned against the gate. I stared open-mouthed, estimating that there were twenty women, close in age to Crum, in various stages of undress, or so some would say—technically, they had on bathing suits made of string and patches of material, inviting a wardrobe malfunction. Arms over their heads, they swung their hips side to side in an exaggerated fashion; they swayed and twirled, prancing around the pool, bending over in lewd positions.

  Where was Crum? I spotted his white hair standing on end where he was leading the parade. Instead of the forbidden tighty-whities, he’d opted for a g-string. His white cheeks shook and sagged as he shouted encouragement to the women.

  I covered my eyes with my hands, took a breath and told myself not to look below his chest.

  “Happy I didn’t miss this.” Fab pulled up a chair, taking her phone out of her pocket before sitting.

  Turning to Mac, I noticed several men on the far side of the pool, sitting under the tiki umbrella drinking beer. “This is porn,” I said to her. “Inform Crum that his bathing suit is also banned. He’s not covered front or back. It’s too small.”

  “I suppose putting a stop to the class is next,” Mac fumed. “Every single tourist guest is out here, and you have to concede that everyone is having a good time. What’s better than flesh and beer?”

  “Yeah.” Fab toasted, nothing in her hand, and laughed her head off.

  “There’s more nudity here than on the beach,” I said. “All it takes is one nosey neighbor and the cops will be sailing in the driveway. The lot of them will be hauled off in cuffs, having to register as sex offenders.”

  “You need a chill pill.” Mac put her hands on my shoulders and turned me toward the gate. “No looking. While you’re at it—breathe.”

  I caught sight of Kevin headed in my direction and closed my eyes, wishing it wasn’t too late to hightail it to the beach, the escape route for criminals wanting to evade the law. Peeking out from under my lashes and noting his shorts and t-shirt, I blew out a mental sigh. His day off!

  “Someone call?” He laughed. He stopped short of the gate and stared, open-mouthed. “I’d better be able to scrub this spectacle from my brain, lest it ruin my sex life for forever, and then I’ll sue.”

  “If your case made it before a judge—and even if it didn’t—you’d make headlines and would be hot gossip until long after your demise.” I made a face. “Make yourself useful—discharge a couple of bullets and send them home.”

  “I’m happy to break it to you that they’re not doing anything illegal.” Kevin grinned. “Displaying an obscene amount of flesh isn’t breaking any laws. You’re lucky I don’t have this pool unit.” He pointed to Joseph’s cottage. “I’d be sitting in your office non-stop, complaining and eating you out of snacks.”

  “You have nothing better to do on your day off then hang out here? No girlfriend?” Like half the men in town, Kevin liked his women cray-cray. Maybe he was in rest-up mode.

  “Heard the music and saw your car and, psychic that I am, knew there’d be some sort of exhibition going on. Firsthand news is always better than second.” He winked at Mac, who preened and giggled. “And I wanted to do my duty as a friend. Besides, I have news.”

  Fab snorted and made a puking sound.

  “You want to know or not?” Kevin snapped.

  “Ignore Fab, like you usually do,” I said.

  “Thought you should know that Miss January and her squeeze dragged a card table out to the curb and are selling coffee.” He was definitely pleased to be the bearer of bad news. “Which is illegal, as they need permits and Health Department clearance. You’re in the biz—you know what’s required. Sooo, you best hustle out there and put Grandma out of business. I’m not doing it. She likes me.”

  “Grandma.” I humphed. “She’s young enough for you to date.” Sort of, if he liked them older, and he didn’t, as far as I’d seen. “Tell her about your penchant for strippers—all she needs is a pole, and she might get lucky with you.”

  Kevin glared.

  Mac put her hands on her hips. “I hope you at least bought a cup to support her venture.”

  “Oh, hell no,” he said. “Heed my warning: Do not drink any of it.”

  “Why don’t you just blurt out whatever is going on? You know you want to,” Fab said.

  “This is my day off. And I’ve hit my nice quota.”

  “You’re the PI.” I pointed at Fab. “I’m hiring you to investigate. And in case you’ve forgotten, I’m one of your freebie clients.”

  Fab rolled her eyes. “Only because my curiosity needs to be satisfied.” She grabbed my shirt. “You’re coming along.”

  Miss January and her recent find, whose name would come to me… hopefully… had set up a table on the sidewalk beside the driveway. The table sagged to one side, and the chairs had once served as a feast for vermin. My guess was the set was a dumpster find, courtesy of Crum. All the ways the two could hurt themselves flashed through my mind.

  I smiled at the duo, patting Miss January on the top of her head. “What are you two doing?” I included the man in my smile, then turned to Fab and mouthed “name?”

  “You’re asking me?” she said with disbelief. “I’ll have to teach you how to get through a conversation without needing to use a name.”

  Turning back to the enterprising couple, I noticed that Nedly—that was his name—had an iron grip on a yellowed plastic pitcher, a relic from the sixties, and hoped it wasn’t another trash find.

  “We’ve opened a coffee business.” Miss January giggled. “Ten cents a cup. Got the idea when Nedly said my coffee was the best he’d ever had.”

  Ten cents reminded me of a lemonade stand I’d had. Apparently Miss January hadn’t heard that prices had gone up and kids now demanded a dollar for flavored water with too much sugar.

  Nedly pulled a stack of plastic cups off the ground and put them between his legs.

  Fab poked me in the back. Ms. PI was enjoying the show and had forgotten she was here to be helpful. Mac and Kevin had trailed behind us from the pool, and both leaned against a palm tree nearby.

  “Good news, bad news,” I informed Miss January.

  Nedly’s eyes narrowed and zeroed in on me.

  “In order to sell anything, you have to apply for certain permits,” I explained to Nedly. Miss January had zoned out. “How many cups do you have left?”

  “Twenty.” Nedly glanced at the stack. “We only have enough coffee to fill about six.”

  “Tell them your idea, Fab.”

  Death stare. “You do it.”

  “If you insist.” I smiled. “Fab’s having a client meeting and wants to serve your coffee. She’ll buy all the cups and even the pit
cher, since she’s terrible about returning things.” I flashed Mac the hand signal for money, then removed the pitcher from the table and set it on the ground next to the cups.

  Mac glared and pulled a twenty out of her pocket, sidestepping me and handing it to Miss January. “No change necessary.”

  “Thank you, dearie.” She smiled at Fab. “I’m happy to make more coffee for you anytime. Mornings are my best time.”

  Most afternoons, she was drunk and passed out in a chair on the porch. No one was mean enough to point that out.

  “No need to worry about the table and chairs. Kevin will haul them to the office, and we’ll store them in a cupboard.” I glanced over my shoulder, making eye contact with him. “Won’t you?”

  “I got a deal on the set from Crum—five dollars.” Miss January beamed. “Since we’re out of business, let’s tape a ‘for sale’ sign on the set, and I can get my money back.”

  “That’s a great idea,” I said with a little too much enthusiasm. “I know just the buyer.”

  “I already have a set,” Fab said.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t think about you. I have another buyer in mind. Thinking a fair price would be ten dollars.”

  Miss January clapped.

  “We’ll pay you now.” I held out my hand to Mac, who, knowing me well, had the money in hand.

  “What if you’re not able to sell it?” Miss January worked her lower lip.

  “No worries. I’m certain this is a sure deal.” I patted her shoulder. “This way, I won’t forget to give you your money.”

  “You’re the sweetest.”

  “I had you pegged all wrong.” Nedly took Miss January’s hand and helped her to her feet. “You’re getting her a good deal.”

  I pasted on a weak smile and gave a short wave as the two trudged back to her cottage. Miss January could be heard squealing over their earnings.

  Once the couple was out of hearing distance, I turned to Kevin. “Throw the table and chairs in the back of Mac’s truck. Please.”

  “I have a better idea than paying someone to haul it to the dump,” Mac said. “Next trash day, make Crum haul it out to the curb and force him to watch as it’s crushed in the back of the truck.”