GREED IN PARADISE
PARADISE SERIES, BOOK 5
DEBORAH BROWN
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Copyright © 2014 by Deborah Brown
Published by: Paradise Books April 2014
Cover: Natasha Brown
PARADISE SERIES NOVELS
Crazy in Paradise
Deception in Paradise
Trouble in Paradise
Murder in Paradise
Greed in Paradise
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
REVENGE IN PARADISE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Chapter 1
I leaned back and breathed in the fresh scent of the rain that beat relentlessly on the tin roof overhead, bringing welcome relief from the heat. The walkways were puddled with water. Looking for any excuse to avoid the paperwork in front of me, I stared at the inlet that ran along the back of Jake’s bar. Since buying Jake out, I evicted the roaches and became the owner of my very own dive bar. We served the best Mexican food and margaritas in town, which were two of my personal favorites.
My new routine consisted of showing up to the bar every morning to check shipments in and organize receipts from the previous day. Rain or shine, I could be found sitting at the corner table on the deck enjoying my coffee. A dreary, gray day outside was a good excuse to turn on the white Christmas lights that wrapped around the railings, the roof overhang, and flickered in the palm trees.
It surprised me to hear heavy footsteps coming up the back stairs. Jake’s wasn’t even open yet. Even the hardcore drunks were still asleep, and we still had another few hours before the lunch drinkers arrived.
A man with several days’ worth of facial hair, mean slits for eyes, and dark hair standing on end appeared at the top of the stairs. A chill rolled up my spine.
“We’re closed.” I tried to smile.
“Hands up,” he said as he whipped his gun from behind his back. “Now!”
Furious at myself for leaving my Glock in the nightstand next to the bed, I said, “I’m sure we can work something out without anyone ending up hurt or dead.”
“Twenty-five thousand and I’ll be on my way.” His eyes flitted around and, popping his head inside, he saw the bar was empty. He screamed desperation.
“We don’t keep that kind of money on the premises. I can give you about a thousand dollars,” I said, my voice calm; it wasn’t the first time I’d had a gun stuck in my face. If I was able to get the safe open, a loaded Beretta sat inside.
“Jake owes my boss and I’m here to collect.” He shook his gun at me. “I know he always has piles of cash on the premises.”
Damn Jake.
“He’s no longer the owner and I don’t run anything illegal out of here.” Jake had run out of town, knowing he’d been marked as a dead man over his non-existent repayment plan for his massive gambling debt. A few other attempts at collection had been made by other gun-toting thugs, but I’d been able to convince them that the bar was under new management and they went away quietly.
“Get up, let’s go and check out that safe of yours. You’d better be lying about not having cash. Boss man is tired of waiting on payment that is long overdue.”
I stood up.
“Why me? I’m not Jake.” After being on the run for months, Jake had finally made contact and I bought out my silent partner. We used our shared CPA to construct a fair deal and he helped me set up private, legal financing. I had several illegal options, but passed.
“Bet you’ll find the money if I tie you to a chair and listen to you scream while I slice off various body parts. How many will it take, one, two…?” He whipped a blade from his back pocket, kissing it tenderly and shoving it in the front of his pants.
The chilling, matter-of-fact way he threatened me scared me more than his gun. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Phil, the bartender, drop behind the bar. I hoped she had the sheriff on speed dial.
“Just know that if you touch me, Jimmy Spoon will track your ass down and kill you. You do know Spoon don’t you?” I asked.
Jimmy Spoon was the badass of the Keys and claimed boyfriend status with my mother. He was reformed from his criminal days, but still inspired fear amongst the low-life element. I also knew this man would die a slow death if Spoon got ahold of him, but I stayed focused on getting out of this alive and with no missing body parts.
He laughed. “Get moving.”
As I moved slowly across the wooden floor inside, he knocked me in my lower back with his gun, and I felt hot pain spidering up my back. I reflexively turned, jumped, and kicked him in the arm. When he dropped his gun and scrambled to retrieve it, I hopped to my feet and headed for the door, where I tripped.
“Damn.”
Phil popped up from behind the bar and racked her shotgun. “Drop the gun, asshole.” Thankfully, Jake left behind his Mossberg when he split town.
The man snaked his fingers out and, pulling his gun back into his grasp, rolled onto his back. He pointed the barrel toward Phil, but she pulled her trigger first. There was blood everywhere from a gaping stomach wound and he lifted slightly off the floor just before he died.
I leapt up, “Are you okay?” I fished my cell phone from my pocket to call Kevin Cory, a local sheriff. I only had his number because his sister, Julie, was dating my brother, Brad.
“You never call, what’s up?” Kevin asked when he answered.
“There’s been a shooting at Jake’s. No need for an ambulance; call the coroner.” I wouldn’t tell Kevin this, but I was glad the shooter had been dispatched to the afterlife, or he’d get out of jail and be back.
“Who’d you shoot this time?” Kevin asked. “Don’t touch anything, we’re on our way.”
I hung up abruptly before he started to lecture. I’d tell him we must have gotten disconnected when I saw him. “I’ll be upset if you quit over this,” I said t
o Phil, taking a seat at the bar.
Curvy, blonde Phil, short for Philipa, had walked into the bar one day wanting to be the new bartender. A straight A second-year law school student, she was good for business in her butt-cheek baring jean shorts, tank tops, and tennis shoes. She handled the overly-obnoxious in an efficient manner; she’d had to ban a couple of men permanently.
“My daddy didn’t raise no quitter.” She laid the shotgun on the bar. “Wait till I call him tonight and give him the grisly details, he’ll be bragging to his friends. Hell, he taught me and my brother to shoot—refused to have a helpless girl for a daughter.”
Tarpon Cove is a small town that sits at the top of the Florida Keys, so the sheriff could get from one end of town to the other in a matter of minutes, depending on tourist traffic. Sirens could be heard in the distance.
“We’ll need to close today,” I sighed.
“I’ll put out a sign: ‘Death in the restaurant.’ There’s an upside—dirtbag’s death could bring in the gawker crowd and it’ll be good for business.”
Phil grabbed two waters and shoved one across to me. “What did he want anyway?”
“Jake owed him money.” I downed half my water, twisting the cap back on and rolling it across the back of my neck. “Maybe I need to put up a big neon sign that says, ‘New owner.’”
“I’ve had a few collectors in here. Explained to them in small words that Jake left town, comped them a beer, and they left.”
My hair clip snapped in half when I rolled on the floor, so I scooped my long red hair off my neck and fashioned it into a makeshift ponytail.
Kevin and his partner, Johnson, rushed through the door, two paramedics with a stretcher right behind them. “They don’t listen very well. I told them the dude was dead,” I said to Phil.
“Madison Westin, you’re nothing but trouble, aren’t you?” Johnson eyed me with his tight-ass smile firmly in place.
Johnson was the most uptight sheriff on the force and he even looked the part. We had a well-documented dislike for one another. It frustrated him that I never gave him an excuse to cuff me and drag me to jail.
“He walked in, pointed a gun in my face, demanded money, and threatened to cut off body parts. Phil saved my life. End of story,” I said.
Phil walked around the bar, extended her hand to Johnson. “Philipa Grey.” She turned to me. “I advise you to call your lawyer before answering any more of the officer’s questions, since there seems to be animosity between the two of you.”
“Is that all you have—annoying, snotty-ass friends?” Johnson glared.
Kevin cut in. “I’ll question these two, Johnson. You make sure the paramedics don’t screw up the evidence. Jake’s is closed today.”
While Johnson stomped away, I gave the middle finger to his back. Kevin slapped my hand down and shook his head. Kevin had two personalities. Personally, I liked the out-of-uniform, easy-going, laughing, beach-boy good looks Kevin. Johnson turned back. “Madison, sorry to hear your boyfriend left you for that beautiful Italian model.”
I sucked in my breath, but ignored Johnson. “Would you like something cold to drink?” I asked Kevin as I walked behind the bar.
Kevin nodded. He questioned Phil and I separately and took very few notes. He looked bored. “Dead guy is Carlos Osa—long, violent rap sheet. Good riddance.”
“When can we reopen, capitalize on the bad publicity?” I asked.
“Once we haul his body out of here, we’ll be done with our investigation. Pretty cut-and-dried,” Kevin said. “I’ve got a crime scene cleaner on speed dial.”
“I used him once at The Cottages. He did a good job; you wouldn’t know the stain was blood unless someone told you.” I owned a ten-unit building on the beach that had seen more than its fair share of excitement.
“Try being nice to Johnson, he’ll come around,” Kevin said.
“I’ll bake cookies,” I said, struggling not to make another inappropriate gesture. “I’m going to send everyone home and I’ll be out on the deck until you’re done.”
Chapter 2
I pushed the gas pedal of my SUV as I raced home from Jake’s. All I wanted was a long, hot shower. I raced upstairs into my bathroom to stand under the rainfall showerhead, using mango body wash to ease the stress of the day. My first choice would be to crawl under my clean, soft sheets, pulling them over my head. Instead, I rooted around in my closet for something to wear to dinner. It would serve Mother right if I climbed into my ultimate comfort clothes: ankle-length sweats and a T-shirt. The only thing stopping me was the long and tortuous lecture that would follow.
Mother called with a dinner invitation and I ran several excuses through my mind before, finally, flat-out refusing. Of course, she’d been prepared and pulled out the guilt card. Beyond irritated, but resisting total defeat, I demanded we go to my favorite restaurant, The Crab Shack. She sounded excited and happy, which consumed me with guilt after we hung up. I wished that I’d been more gracious and just agreed from the beginning. I temporarily forgot Madeline Westin doesn’t take no for an answer.
I threw a tropical-print slip dress onto the bed, followed by a hot pink bra. I didn’t go out without cleavage. I’d outgrown my totally braless phase, saving it for lazy days.
I couldn’t wait for Mother to say, “How was your day, honey?”
“Started out with a gun in my face, but no worries, he’s dead.”
Since it rained all day, my long red hair bushed out to five times its normal size. I managed to tame most of it with a black pāua shell hairclip, tendrils falling around the sides of my cheeks and the back of my neck. I threw on my dress, reached for the bamboo bracelets Mother and I found in an out-of-the-way store in Marathon Key, fastened my earrings, and slipped into my flip-flops. Admiring my outfit in the standing mirror, I reluctantly chose low-heeled slip-ons because I knew Mother would freak.
Before leaving, I nuzzled the neck of my very old, longhaired, black cat, Jazz, who was laying sound asleep on my bed. His meow sounded like, “Stop that.” I was damn jealous I wasn’t lying beside him and it irritated me that he went right back to sleep—I could never do that so quickly.
I listened at the top of the stairs and there wasn’t a single sound except for the whir of the ceiling fans. Fabiana Merceau, my best friend and roommate, had gone somewhere with her French model boyfriend, Didier. Just one name, like a rock star. He looked like one, too. He had Mother, Fab, and I under his spell.
I had inherited my two-story Key West-style home from my aunt Elizabeth. I decorated it beachy, and chose oversized down-filled furniture one could curl up on and go to sleep. I loved that family and friends knew they could choose my house to hang up their flip-flops anytime, day or night. Close friends walked in through the French doors from the patio whether they were locked or not. I tried to think of a single friend I had who didn’t carry a lock pick.
Grabbing my purse off the entry bench, I went out and slid behind the wheel of my black convertible Hummer. I’d gotten an excellent deal after my previous SUV went to car heaven or was more likely smooshed and sent to a recycler after it had been torched. The streets of The Cove were slick and wet from the rain that had finally stopped. I drove slowly, which suited me anyway. I knew where all the cop hiding places were for ticket-giving, and in the long run, it was faster to drive the speed limit than to endure a cop’s lecture while trying to maintain a somewhat-pleasant look while being ticketed.
A car leaving The Crab Shack left an open space for me by the front door. The fun restaurant centered around an enormous tiki bar and waterfront dining that overlooked the cooler blue water of the Atlantic, and its food never disappointed.
If I ordered wine I wouldn’t be tempted to gulp it down; I just needed to take the edge off my nerves. I spotted Mother at a window table with her boyfriend, Jimmy Spoon. Both were seated so they could survey the comings and goings. To put it bluntly, Spoon looked like a thug with his scruffy brown hair and hard-as-nails brown eyes; bu
t if you knew him, you also knew he had a huge heart. He told me once, “Don’t screw me and you won’t end up dead.”
Mother stood and hugged me. “You look great, honey.” She looked over my entire outfit down to my shoes. “Doesn’t she, Spoon?” Spoon winked and pulled out my chair.
“What did you do today?” Mother asked.
“Spent most of the day at Jake’s.” I wasn’t in the mood to relive all of the details, after all. She’d be mad when she found out. Spoon looked at me and arched his eyebrow. No wonder he hadn’t said a word, he already knew and hadn’t said anything either. I would have bet he knew minutes after the shooting, since the man had connections to gossip as soon as it happened. Hopefully, the doghouse would fit two.
“I’ll have some white wine,” I told the waiter.
Mother entwined her fingers with Spoon’s, smiling at him. Good thing my brother, Brad, wasn’t here. He hadn’t embraced the idea of Mother being with a younger man, which I suspected didn’t bother him as much as the bad-boy tag. She looked happy. She’d grown out her traditional blonde bob, which now looked wind-whipped, and the hemline of her black spaghetti-strap dress kept getting shorter. Her eyes were glued to the front of the restaurant.
“Are you expecting someone else?” I asked.
“Madeline, sorry I’m late.” A man I’d never seen before appeared from out of nowhere and kissed Mother’s cheek.
Spoon didn’t knock him on his butt, so I assumed he knew him until he checked the man over briefly, looking amused.
“This is my daughter, Madison Westin.” She smiled at him, then me. “Brian Varner,” she introduced. Brian held out his hand.
“I’ve been looking forward to dinner,” he said politely.
“I don’t shake hands.”
I found that nicety to be completely abhorrent; who knew where his hands had been? Mother kicked me under the table while Brian mumbled something and sat down next to me. I looked at Spoon’s face and knew Mother had once again broken her promise and set me up.
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