“Another bail hearing is calendared for the end of the week. Mr. Campion is applying pressure on the prosecutor’s office. How did you get a jail appointment so quickly?”
I ignored her question. “Thank you, Susie, I appreciate the info. Have a great day.” I hung up before she could ask any more questions, and besides, I had an incoming call.
I parked the Hummer around the corner from Clean Bubbles so I could observe street traffic.
Brick’s name popped up on the screen. “What the hell happened to my car?” he demanded when I answered.
“The guy you rented it to is a pig. What did he do to the driver’s side door lock?”
“Asshole smeared glue on a file, stuck it in the lock and broke it off. Any problems I should know about?”
“Went smoothly for a change.” Thank goodness.
“I’m guessing you didn’t call about bail since it’s ten mill. Anything else I can do let me know.”
“Don’t hang up,” I said loudly, in case the next sound I heard was dead air. “There is something I want. Fab’s next court hearing is at the end of the week. Can you get me on the jail visitation schedule every day? I’m not picky on the time.”
“Done. Bitsy will call you later with the info. Don’t worry about Fab, Casio has connections, made some calls, now she’s got friends.”
I got all teary eyed. “Thank you.” Then I realized he’d already hung up on me in typical Brick fashion. Fab had worked for him for a long time, and there was mutual respect there. Brick called her first on every job, except for dead people and animals, those jobs went to me.
I’d been watching the sheriff car at the other end of the block; from my vantage point, it was impossible to make out who sat behind the wheel. I drove past the car and looked in the window, checking to see if I knew the driver on a first name basis. I didn’t recognize the sheriff; he must’ve drawn the short straw. I made a U-turn and drove back to the car wash.
The Poppins had zero sense. Clean Bubbles showed no signs that they’d paid attention to one word I said. Vanilla sunned herself in a lawn chair in the front.
Vanilla sat up and took off her sunglasses when I drove in the driveway. “I thought Quirky told you to take a hike,” she told me when I got out of the Hummer.
“Where is Quirky?” I’d run out of patience for the day.
Vanilla’s eyes darted toward their make shift office, which was basically a large storage room. She drew herself up out of the rickety chair. “He’s, uh, not here. Now hit the road, before I kick your ass.”
I didn’t take out my Glock. Instead, I hiked my skirt. “You take one boney step in my direction and I’ll shoot you and the sheriff sitting across the street can corroborate my story, you made the first move.” I watched Vanilla’s body movements. I’d be ready for her, a couple of short kicks would have her lying on the ground looking up.
Vanilla pulled her unwashed hair back, tying it with a piece of a rag. “I’m going to get the sheriff.”
“Go ahead, that would give them probable cause to ransack your illegal operation and arrest you two for the scams you’re running.”
Vanilla grabbed her beach chair. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You tell Quirky time’s run out. Jimmy Spoon and his boys will be here to kick your asses to Georgia. If you’ve never heard of Spoon, I suggest you ask around.”
“We know Spoon.” Vanilla gave me the finger and disappeared into the storage room.
Not interested in going home to an empty house, I headed to The Cottages. I planned to sneak out onto the beach and let it work its magic on my frustration before heading to the jail.
I drove alongside the white sandy beach with the windows rolled down and a cool breeze blowing across my face. The first stop I made after the Tahoe got stolen was the Shell Shack, for large, old-fashioned, metal-themed buckets, perfect for picking up shells. Besides being inexpensive therapy, I used them for mulch in the potted flowers around my house. The waves looked tame today and the beach was not overly crowded.
The Cottages looked quiet, but that could be deceiving. We hadn’t had any problems for a while and the sheriff stopped coming around every day for nuisance calls. As I pulled into the driveway, I groaned out loud. Could there be any bigger spectacle than those two sunning in the barbeque area? Mac and her friend, Shirl, two overly-endowed middle-aged women, were lying in chaise lounges with either their underwear on, or really short shorts, and tight low-cut tops.
“You have the best boss that you can sit outside and work on your tan,” I told Mac and waved to Shirl.
“I got the phone between my legs,” Mac said as she pointed, “and we’ve got four eyes on the property.”
The barbeque area, located at the front, was the first thing you saw when you drove in the driveway. If you positioned your chair just right, you could see every cottage and watch the comings and goings from everyone’s front door.
“It’s all quiet around here, well almost, with the exception of him.” Mac crooked her head.
Joseph lay sacked out in a lounge chair that he pulled into his parking space, sound asleep. “What’s up with him?” I asked.
“Drama Queen came screaming, drunk, out of his cottage, yelling, ‘I cut my finger off.’ He doesn’t fool me, he just wanted Shirl to bandage his paper cut so he could look down her top. Men act like they’ve never seen a pair of boobs before. Wait until Svetlana finds out he’s cheating on her.”
“I’m a little disappointed,” Shirl said. “All the stories I’ve heard, and so far no real drama.”
CHAPTER 17
I arrived at the jail visiting center in time to snag a bench in front of the door. The sheriff stood, ready to yell the rules to everyone. Next stop, the metal detectors. I had nothing on me but a key, which I dropped in the box and then I gave them my name in exchange for a booth number. Television screens were lit up and I could see down the row that no inmates had shown up yet. Fab came through the door first; once she sat down we picked up our phones, which started the clock on our twenty-minute visit.
I waved at the screen. “The blue uniforms look better than the ugly orange ones on the men’s side. Can you take the shoes with you when you check out? I’ll put them with the orange pair and get a collection going.”
Fab looked tired, her scary face firmly in place. “Miss you, too. How’s my cat?”
“He’s my cat and he misses you. Jazz’s wondering where his treats are. You have a faint shiner what’s up with that?”
Fab touched her eye. “One of the girls singled me out for a friendly welcome.”
“And your response?” I knew I wouldn’t get a blow-by-blow of the butt-kicking the girl got because we both knew all calls were recorded. Two signs posted in every aisle gave you a heads-up warning.
“I welcomed her back and let her know I had one friend and didn’t want anymore.” Fab flashed me an evil smile.
“How’s the food?” I’d heard stories from previous visits on the men’s side that it was pretty disgusting.
“Don’t know. The wannabe friend, Bertha, didn’t understand my one-friend policy and I accidentally dropped the runny meat and beans in her lap. She yelped to the guard and I had to hand over my apple. Before handing it over, I licked it and then spit on it so it would be nice and clean.”
“Bertha? I thought that name was only on television shows.” She would do well to find someone else to torment.
“I don’t give a damn what her name is, I’ll call her whatever I want.”
“You have any roommates?”
Fab knew she had to be careful and not get any additional charges. “Cuban girl, quiet, and she shared crackers and some mystery sausage with me after lunch. We’re both in for murders we didn’t commit. You got any news?”
“You’re getting a field trip at the end of the week, another bail hearing. I have it on good authority that they don’t have squat.”
“I wanted to jump out the window when
two Miami police officers barged into Harder’s office and arrested me.”
“Is it true about you and Ana Sigga’s husband?”
“Bastard never mentioned a wife until she walked in on us and introduced herself. Now I have a policy, call me when the ink is dry on the decree. I fell hard once for a man who was separated, supposedly getting a divorce. He used me to get his wife to let him wear the pants in the relationship. And it worked.”
“I had a couple of friends fall for that tired line, never a happy ending. Don’t get comfortable,” I said. “Creole and Brick both sent you friends, whatever that means.”
Fab half smiled. “A few things make sense now.”
“I got appointments to visit you every day this week and every day after that until you get out of here. Bitsy texted me the times.”
Fab raised her eyebrow. “What’s the catch?”
“Brick has a soft spot for you. He felt generous after I went and picked up a rental for him. The Westin family did the retrieval. Brad turned out to be the star. He’s got career options after fishing.”
“I’m missing the good stuff,” Fab sniffed.
“Next time, you and I will ditch them and sneak out the French doors for our own adventure.”
The light flashed on the screen, giving the one-minute warning, signaling the end of the visit.
“I’ll be back tomorrow. You want anything; I’ll get it for you. And when you’re in court, I’ll be there with my party face to give you a ride home.”
“Thanks for making this happen; it’s nice to see a face of someone I actually trust. Call Gunz. Tell him there’s a slight delay in his case, contact info in my day planner.”
We hung up as the screen went black.
* * *
I grabbed my purse out from under the front seat and retrieved my cell phone. One morning while Fab showered, I co-opted a few numbers off her phone. Her “what’s yours is mine to snoop through” policy had worn off on me.
I sat waiting for the visitor center parking lot to empty. Gunz answered his phone but didn’t say anything.
“Who’s this?” he demanded.
“This is Madison Westin. I visited Fab today, she wanted me to call and get started working on your case.” So what if none of that was truthful. “We didn’t discuss details, since conversations are taped.”
Gunz made a choking noise. “Yeah, no thanks. You’re not qualified.”
“You should’ve stopped at, ‘no thanks.’ You’re forgetting that I know you’re a criminal.” I stopped from ending with, you bastard. “If this job was on the up you would’ve called someone else by now.”
“You keep your mouth shut about what you know and don’t know.”
This conversation had degenerated rapidly. “You need a reference, call Spoon.” I hung up on him. Reminding him of my friendship with Spoon might keep him from doing something stupid.
* * *
“Hi, Susie, this is Madison Westin, is Mr. Campion in?” I could’ve sworn she groaned. “I have something to tell him about Fab’s case.”
“He’s in court today. I’ll take a detailed message and pass it along.”
“Hello, are you there?” I asked.
“Go ahead, I can hear you.” Susie sounded exasperated.
“Hello?” I paused. “Damn.” I hung up hoping I did a good job at letting her think we got cut off. It wouldn’t surprise me if Susie blocked my calls.
The criminal courts were about five minutes away from the jail. Cruz would be easy to find, the court clerk posted a calendar of every case being heard that day and in which courtroom.
My lucky day, I had my pick of metered parking in front of the courthouse. I ran up the stairs hoping he wasn’t in trial. Hopefully, I’d have no reason to call his office in the near future because when Susie heard about this, she’d be livid. I cleared the metal detector and went in search of the list that got posted on the bulletin board by the elevators.
I lacked the appropriate business attire, but looked better than most defendants who show up to plead their case. I hoped to run into Cruz in the hallway and pretend, “Isn’t this a coincidence?” His current case was assigned to the last courtroom on the third floor. The benches were empty, which either meant court was in session or everyone had left for the day. I looked through the small window in the door; Cruz sat at the defense table. A man and woman sat on the prosecution side, the guard and two people were seated in the front row. The judge and clerk were apparently on break.
I pushed the door open. No one turned around. I walked to the railing behind the defense table. “Mr. Campion,” I whispered.
He turned and stared at me. “Are you in trouble?”
“No, I have some information about Fab’s case that might be important.”
Cruz looked slightly amused. “How did you know I was in court? Oh, never mind. This better be good.” He straightened his tie.
“I’m only telling you because I want Fab to be treated fairly. She slept with the D.A.’s husband.” I tossed my head in Ana Sigga’s direction. “At the very least, it’s a conflict of interest.”
A dark-haired woman walked from the prosecution table and dropped files in front of Cruz. “Here’s the rest of the discovery.”
“Ana, don’t you think you should recuse yourself from the Merceau case since she had an affair with your husband?” Cruz asked.
Ana’s jaw dropped, but she recovered in an instant. “Who told you that?” she hissed.
“I did,” I spoke up.
Ana turned on me, her eyes flared. “You’re a liar and you better not repeat one word of that fabricated bullshit.”
Cruz looked at her. “I don’t care one way or another. Just hand the files over to someone else.”
“Go to hell.” Her high heels clicked as she flew out of the courtroom. Any hint and the gossip would run rampant and the headlines would be lurid.
The pain on Ana Sigga’s face gave me a stomachache knowing I put it there. “It seemed like something you should know,” I said to Cruz.
“Susie will be calling you.” Cruz had a slick air about him. “My aunt and uncle are coming for another visit and requested to stay at The Cottages. The highlight of their last trip a fight broke out and a man and woman got arrested.” His eyebrows arched. “I don’t remember getting a referral.”
“No money for your hourly fee.”
“Unless you have photographic proof that Fab slept with the judge, I need to look over these files.”
“Thank you,” I said and left.
A hand grabbed my arm and yanked me back as the elevator doors opened. “Are you going to tell anyone else?” Ana glared, her lips pulled tight.
“Fabiana is my best friend and I want her to get fair treatment. I promise you, I’ll never repeat one word of gossip about you and I always keep my word.” Even though she looked at me as if she’d stepped in something smelly, I appreciated the opportunity to apologize.
“You’re a better friend than she deserves,” She turned her back on me.
I admired her six-inch red-soled Louboutin heels as she walked back into the courtroom.
CHAPTER 18
Fisher Island boasted the wealthiest inhabitants in the U.S. It was home to obscenely rich people who owned elegant mansions and reassured their neighbors they all held the same social standing. How often do I find myself in Miami with free time? It wouldn’t hurt to drive by the murder scene. A few turns later, I found myself on the causeway that would take me out to Biscayne Bay.
Ever since Liam paired my cell phone with the dashboard, it made talking on the phone so much easier, not to mention my driving sucked with a phone in one hand. The dash started to ring, the only drawback—no call-screening ability.
“What are you doing?” Creole asked.
“Just finished my visit with Fab, and heading home. Anything new on getting Fab out of jail?”
The noisy background told me Creole was cruising the streets in his pickup truck. “Word is
charges will get dropped before the court hearing. Tests are coming back and nothing’s linking Fab. The backyard video is being heavily scrutinized because it didn’t go through the correct chain of command. You got anything for me after your visit?”
“We didn’t talk about the case. We talked about her new friends and how yummy the food is. I have another call, I’ll talk to you later.” I clicked off. If we talked any longer, I knew I’d blurt out my destination.
To my surprise, the only mode of transportation over to Fisher Island was a ferry. The incoming one had just docked and there were half a dozen cars in line for the return trip. I came to a stop in front of a guard with an official looking clipboard and rolled down my window.
“Your name?” he asked.
That surprised me. “Madison Westin.”
He flipped the page on his clipboard. “Who are you here to see? I’ll need to call and confirm to give your access.”
Who knew that private island meant private? I laughed with embarrassment, my cheeks burning red. “I’m joyriding. I planned to drive around the island, grab a coffee, and come right back.”
“That’s not allowed. One hundred feet ahead, you can make a U-turn.”
Before I could put the Hummer in gear, Creole stood staring at me through my driver’s side window. “How’s it going, Stan?” he said to the guard. He yanked on one of my red curls. “You do realize that you’re sixty miles in the opposite direction of your house? Park over there next to my truck.” He pointed to a small parking lot that held about ten cars.
I parked next to his truck. Creole jerked my door open. “You’re such a liar.” The corners of his mouth turned up. “You need to pay attention to your rearview; then you might have known I’d been following you since you got on the causeway.”
I knew some of my antics amused Creole but for how long? Where Creole laughed and warned me, I’d be in big trouble if I got hurt, Zach would get mad and stomp away.
“I didn’t feel the need to detail every stop I made on my way home.”
“Let me guess, once you got over to the island you’d cruise the murder scene? Or worse, get out of your car and sneak around the property?”
Murder in Paradise (Paradise Series) Page 10