I was so preoccupied with Fab’s problems, I couldn’t remember driving along the beach, which was my favorite route from my house to The Cottages. Before last night, it had been a ten-unit, three-sided square building that had direct beach access. My strengths were used in renovating the units and grounds. For day-to-day management, I hired a double Red Bull-drinking manager. Mac handled the tenants and their flakey friends with tough love.
Turning the corner, I almost ran into Miss January, who’d wandered into the street pacing, holding Kitty. Miss January was another tenant I inherited from my aunt; a fortyish woman who looked eighty, was consumed with cancer, and self-medicated with vodka and cigarettes. There were no signs of dementia except where her cat was concerned, never acknowledging that Kitty had been dead a long time and was stuffed.
I pulled into a parking space reserved for the office, jumped out, and cut across the grass to find Miss January before a car hit her.
Tears streamed down Miss January’s face. “Kitty’s dying.” She slid her hand from Kitty’s side and showed me a gaping hole where stuffing had come out.
Mac loved to mind other people’s business. She hustled up behind me and groaned loudly at the sight. Her auburn bouffant stayed stiffly in place by a half a can of Aqua Net.
I put my arm around Miss January’s boney shoulders. “Don’t worry, I’ll take Kitty to the vet, and she’ll be good as new.” It never occurred to me to blurt out, “Damn it, the cat’s dead.” Instead I said, “Mac can help me.”
“Yeah, sorry, I have a gyno appointment,” Mac grunted. She rolled her eyes and headed straight for the office.
“Ever since I got cancer the doctor hasn’t been interested in looking up there,” Miss January shared.
“Let’s put Kitty in the back of my SUV.” I drew the line at touching it; I had picked it up before but had worn gardening gloves. It was another warm day, and I hoped Kitty had been dead long enough not to smell. Brick would flip.
“Joseph called me an old drunk.” She tossed her limp hair. “You don’t think I look old, do you?”
“Don’t pay attention to Joseph. You know he says stuff he doesn’t mean.” I helped her up the stairs and into her cottage.
“I need a nap,” Miss January mumbled, and flopped onto her bed.
I covered her with a blanket and did my best to walk calmly out.
“I swear if this office door was locked I’d be tempted to kick it open.” I wanted to throw myself onto the couch, but sat in a chair instead. “You’re going to hell.”
Mac sat tipped back in her chair, tennis shoe-clad feet on the desk, sporting one of her tie-dyed hippy skirts and matching ill-fitting T-shirt.
“Party in the afterlife.” She handed me a piece of paper. “I assume by vet you mean taxidermist. I could find only one down in Pigeon Key.”
Feeling frazzled I said, “Koozie burnt the cottage down, how the hell did he even get in?”
“He got hired on the plumbing crew as trash dude. He knew it was empty and a perfect place—in his drug-addled mind—to set up shop. He’d also been living there, sneaking in at night.” Mac threw her gum in the trash, putting a new pink piece in her mouth.
“The insurance agent is my neighbor and got us moved to the top of the list. He’ll be coming over today to take pics and once the red tape comes down, we can start debris removal.” I reached across to the bar refrigerator and helped myself to a cold water. “I’ll call Kevin and get the green light from him; I’m avoiding his partner, Johnson. What does he want anyway?”
Mac sucked the giant bubble she’d blown back into her mouth. “Koozie claimed he did everything according to your orders and that the two of you would be sharing the profits. Officer Johnson is salivating to talk to you.” Mac enjoyed the story, but then no one mentioned her name in the same sentence as selling drugs.
“Does anyone believe the crap story besides Johnson?”
“I haven’t heard there’s a warrant out for your arrest. And no sheriff’s staking out the place, so I’ll take a leap and say no.” Mac flashed a fake smile.
I dropped the loaner phone this morning and it changed the ring tone to annoying. “Hi, Brick.”
“Bring back my Hummer!” he yelled. “I do you a favor and you take a hundred thousand dollar automobile.”
I held my phone away from my ear. Mac slid forward to hear every word, though people walking down the block could listen in. “You said I had my pick of cars. It didn’t cost a hundred thousand new. Besides, it’s used with twenty thousand miles on the odometer.”
“Are you crazy? It’s a one of a kind! They’re not manufactured anymore!” He still yelled, but not quite as loudly.
“Let me drive it for a week. I thought if my Tahoe isn’t found, I’d haggle you down on the price.” I covered the mouthpiece so he wouldn’t hear Mac laughing. “How about the work for auto program?”
“I want the Hummer back tomorrow.”
I heard a loud noise in the background. He either hit his hand on the desk or threw something.
“You were coming in anyway because I’ve got a job for you. Straight-up investigation. I need someone to go out, be nice, and schmooze info, which––before you ask––is why I didn’t call Fab.”
“How can I work for you with no car?” My charming voice needed work; I sounded whiney.
“I have a nice Chevy Vega washed and gassed for you. Tomorrow morning, Red.” Brick hung up.
Mac pulled open a drawer and held out a five dollar bill. “This says you’re back tomorrow in the Hummer.”
“I’m so happy I hired you and even happier that I’ve never regretted my decision.” Mac cornered me one day at the pool applying for the job, five minutes after the idea of hiring a manager left my lips. There’s a party-line for gossip in the neighborhood that’s unmatched anywhere. The idea of sitting in the office all day held not a sliver of interest to me. I’d have to drink starting in the morning.
Mac jumped up and raced to the window. “Look, another carload of people stopped to have their pictures taken in front of the burned out mess.”
I opened the door. “Dare you to go out there and start charging people.”
“A buck a pic? I don’t want to make change.” Mac headed over to the picture poachers and I left.
CHAPTER 5
I cruised into Jake’s and parked my Hummer in the space next to the SUV I’d finally talked Mother into getting. I refused to barricade myself inside my home. Damn Gabriel for making me afraid in my own house. Not knowing what Fab was getting herself into didn’t help. I almost forgot that tonight I had volunteered to fill in for my regular bartender; her young son is the star tomato in his school play.
Mother sat at the bar trading jokes with the day bartender, Phil. She nodded to me and disappeared into the kitchen.
“You did a good job on the deck,” Mother hugged me. “I just enjoyed a cigar out there.”
“Jake had a stack of code violations, all of which he ignored. The deck being the biggest problem, it had rotten, termite eaten boards and studs barely held together with rusted screws, and shorter than the code demands. How no one went tumbling to the concrete below is a mystery. I replaced the entire deck and cleared every outstanding violation. Once I got rid of the roaches and power washed the entire place, the ‘C’ rating got raised to an ‘A.’”
Jake managed to evade being shut down by opening the deck on nights and weekends when he figured no inspector would show up. What he didn’t know was that his luck had run out, and he’d been days away from being padlocked. He gambled his life into a complete train wreck. Had he stayed in The Cove, he’d be dead by now. The people he borrowed from took a dim view of late payments.
Mother looked around. “You’ve done a good job classing up this dingy bar.”
Phil came out of the back with two racks of clean glasses, set them down, and then grabbed her motorcycle helmet and jacket. “See you tomorrow, boss.”
She’d sauntered into the bar
during renovations, the Help Wanted sign in her hand. “I’m your new daytime bartender.” Dressed in short-shorts, a tankini bathing suit top, and cowboy boots, she’d bring in the business. I hired her on the spot.
“I have followers,” Phil informed me when we shook on the deal. Under Jake’s control, the bar was a ghost town during the day, the occasional customer coming in for verbal abuse from the unfriendly owner. We now did a brisk lunch business; the cook complained he didn’t have enough time to talk on his cell phone.
“It’s been fun. Word’s spread; we get busier every day. Business has boomed since I hired people with personality and big boobs.” I looped my arm through Mother’s. “Come sit at the other end of the bar and I’ll buy you a drink.” She’d soon learned it was the best seat in the place to people-watch, and had the added advantage of no one being able to sneak up on you.
Filling a glass with ice, I poured her a Jack Daniels, her signature drink. “How often did you gamble in the back room?”
“Really, Madison.” Mother said, looking flustered.
I stopped myself from rolling my eyes. “Don’t bother to deny it; Jake ratted you out a long time ago. I’m thinking about re-opening the room.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me if I opened the door back there and it was all ready for play,” Mother said, pointing down the hall past the kitchen, “even though it is illegal.”
“A few of the old players have stopped by since Jake’s re-opened, letting me know they missed the ‘friendly card games.’ I’m thinking invitation only, no cash on the table, buy chips ahead of time, and cash out after. Private bar set-up; small buffet and a private hostess.”
“Can we smoke?” Mother asked. “When’s the first game?”
A large group of beach goers, all coupled up, tried squeezing in the door at the same time, heading straight to the deck and claiming half the tables.
“Would you like to help me pick the cigars for the standing humidor? Did you know I hired one of your boyfriend’s parolee friends? He comes with an impressive set of carpenter skills; less chance of word getting around.”
Jimmy Spoon, Mother’s boyfriend, had long ago done prison time and he paid back by mentoring newly-released felons; he gave them a chance at a fresh start with a job and a place to live. To my knowledge, he had a one-hundred percent success rate.
Creole walked out of the kitchen. The few days of facial stubble that shadowed across his face gave him an even more dangerous look.
“Hello, ladies,” He said before he kissed Mother and sat down next to her. “I’ll take whatever you have on tap.”
I extended my cheek to him. “We have a front door.” My phone rang. “It’s about time,” I answered, setting an ice-cold beer glass in front of Creole.
“I didn’t want you to worry. I’ll be away for a few days.” Fab sounded stressed.
That worried me because nothing fazes her. “That’s not acceptable.” My voice went up with each word. “I’m here at Jake’s. You tell that piece of crap ex of yours that if I don’t see your face in one hour, I’m calling Brick. Tell Gabriel, tick-tock.” Brick had a brother, Casio, who was second or third in command of Miami detectives. I knew him well enough to know he wasn’t a rule follower and he owed me.
Fab shushed me. “Calm down. Really, I’m fine.”
“Listen to me, Fabiana Merceau. One hour or I’m calling everyone I know.” She rarely listened to anyone, but I wasn’t backing down.
“We’ll be there.” Fab sighed and hung up.
“What the hell was that all about?” Mother demanded. “What kind of trouble is Fab in?”
“The felony kind. If either of you can’t keep what I tell you a secret, let me know now.” Both shook their heads, indicating that they would keep their mouths shut. I told them about Gabriel’s morning visit. I noticed Creole’s eyes turn to steel when I told them about his threatening to shoot me.
“Don’t tell Fab she just missed me.” Creole stood up. “I think I’ll arrange a little meet and greet.” He kissed Mother and slipped out the back door.
“We’ll stop Fab from committing felonies.” Mother patted my hand.
Gig, another new hire, was rapidly becoming a favorite. The striking blonde worked her curvy assets and currently in her last year of college. “Two Buds, glass of your finest Cabernet, and a Pimple on Your Butt.”
“You do this to me just so I’m forced to ask how to make the damned drink.” I passed her the beers and screw top wine. “Here’s a wine glass for your connoisseur,” I chuckled.
She laughed and handed me a list of ingredients: vodka, coffee, triple sec. “See what happens when you class up the place?”
“What’s happening out on the deck?” They were loud but laughing, having a good time.
She handed me another piece of notepaper. “They all ordered bottled beer. As soon as I deliver, I’ll take the food order.”
“You need help, yell.”
Mother slid off her barstool as Fab came through the door, hugging her and whispering something in her ear. They both came and sat at the bar.
“What does he want from you?” I looked her over; she looked tired but had no marks anywhere. “Good to see you, by the way.”
Fab smiled limply. “He wants us to burgle homes until he has the two million he was expecting from the sale of the painting.”
“Do you or did you ever have the painting?” I hadn’t forgotten she didn’t answer the question the first time I asked.
“I had it briefly and used it to broker a deal for myself, getting the charges dropped and cover travel expenses to get out of France. My parents believed I was a pawn of Gabriel’s and asked an influential friend of theirs in parliament for his help. He laughed at my ‘pitiful’ story, but in private he told me if I wanted his help, the price would be the painting. And not for altruistic reasons; he wanted it to hang in his house.”
“Did your parents ever find out the truth?” Mother asked.
“I’d become an embarrassing disappointment to them and believe they were relieved when I fled France.”
“Gabriel had the painting when he left the estate, but when apprehended, the painting had disappeared. What happened in between and how did you find it?” I asked.
“You know how snoopy I can be. Gabriel never knew that I went through his drawers, pants, cell phone; little did he know he had few secrets from me. He left the receipt for the storage locker on his desk. I slipped his keys out of his pants pocket and made impressions. Gabriel got captured a block from the place.”
“Your snoopy ways are annoying to me.” I pushed a lime and soda Fab’s way.
“When I went to retrieve the painting, the key didn’t work so I ended up picking the lock. I’d already obtained an inexpensive copy. I figured he’d think the original had been a fake all along.”
“That was clever,” Mother said.
Fab looked defeated, which made me angry. “Tell Gabriel to take a hike. You don’t owe him squat.” I refilled Mother’s drink. “You’re spending the night,” I told her.
“He’s angry and bitter. He did prison time, I didn’t. Getting the divorce papers in his jail cell stoked the seeds of retribution. He expected me to stand by him, visit, write, and be waiting with open arms when the steel doors opened. Instead, I fled and never looked back.” Fab downed her soda. “I have to go. Gabriel’s already suspicious. He’s threatened your family, and mine in France. I’m not calling his bluff.”
Mother took Fab’s face between her hands. “Do not do anything illegal with this man. If you do, I’ll have to hurt you,” she said, using her no-nonsense mother voice. “You can hide out at my house and we’ll make him disappear.” She kissed her cheek.
Fab threw her arms around Mother. “I love you as though you were my own mother. I’ll stall him as long as I can.”
“Think of a plan B,” I told her.
“I have to go. I’m surprised Gabriel hasn’t burned up my phone. Love you both.” Fab slipped out th
e back door.
“What the hell is wrong with the front door?” I asked Mother. “Do I need to ask someone else to muddy their hands making that worthless bastard disappear?”
Mother’s worry lines popped in her forehead. “Have you noticed Creole never came back?” She looked around.
“Maybe he’s putting Gabriel on a slow freighter to a foreign country he’ll never get out of.” I crossed my fingers.
Fab rushed through the front door, out of breath. “Gabriel’s gone.”
“He stole your car?” Or more accurately, he’d stolen one of Brick’s cars, and that would be a big mistake.
“The Beemer is still sitting there but Gabriel has disappeared. He couldn’t get far on foot. I’ll go out to the highway.”
“No,” Mother and I said in unison.
I looked at Mother. She had a smirk on her face. “Consider it a good sign from above. With really good luck, he’ll never come back.” We were both thinking the same thing: Creole.
CHAPTER 6
Black storm clouds gathered in the distance, an impending storm coming our way. Mother lay next to me on my king-sized bed, sending a message on her phone. “When did you push the chair under the doorknob?” I looked at the bedroom door. “Where’s Fab?”
“I took Hairball downstairs to keep her company on the couch. Just sent another message to Creole; his phone is going straight to voice mail.”
Jazz knew Mother called him names and every chance he got he rubbed his long black fur all over her white pants.
“Gabriel threatened to shoot Jazz first.” The thought freaked me out. I knew he’d die one day, but not from a bullet.
“As of an hour ago, Fab hadn’t heard from Gabriel––and no word from Creole.” Mother brushed her hands together and continued, “I think one and one adds up to ‘Creole took care of the problem.’”
“Hungry?” I wouldn’t be convinced until I heard the words from Creole’s lips. “I’m fixing frozen waffles.”
“I should’ve gone to The Bakery Café earlier, but I was afraid you’d need me to shoot someone.”
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