“Anything else?” I didn’t want to snap at them, but this whole story made me sick. I knew something was up with that couple and had ignored the warning signs.
Apple shook her head. “I met Joseph’s girlfriend. She’s pretty. The only thing that bothers me is that she doesn’t talk.”
Fab hit me on the back; happy I hadn’t left my dark black sunglasses in the SUV, they hid my shocked expression. “Can you find out anything and everything on Ron and Kathy and get back to me?”
Angie had climbed inside the car and was polishing the interior. She poked her head out the window and asked, “The more info we get you, the more we get paid?” she asked.
Fab snorted.
“Yes, but it better not be made up.” I frowned. “What do you two know about the trailer park?”
“Professor Crum is seriously weird. He runs the place and you better follow his rules. I’d stay away from there; he doesn’t allow trespassing,” Apple said. “He’s a retired college professor from some big deal school in California. Now he’s senile and scary.”
Just great. “I’m going to go introduce myself. If you hear screams, call the police.”
“Can we get paid first?” Angie asked, holding her hand out. Fab growled at Angie and she jerked her hand back inside the car, rolling up the window.
“This might not be a good idea,” Fab said as we stared at the trailer park.
“What could go wrong with two girls, two guns, and a senile college professor?”
“Have you noticed every time we say that we get shot at?” Fab grumbled.
The sign over the arbor entrance read, “Tarpon Cove Court. Keep out. Dog gonna eat you,” and gun signs littered the rest of the fencing. A beanpole of a man leaned against a tree just inside the court. Towering over six foot, his gray hair stood on end, arms stiff at his side with hands balled into fists; he glared at us. He dressed up for our impromptu visit in his jockey shorts and calf-length rubber boots.
I walked the block. Fab refused to leave the SUV behind in case we needed a quick getaway and parked in front of the fence. “Professor Crum? I’m Madison Westin, I came by to introduce myself. I’ve inherited the property from Gus Ivers.”
“I know who you are. You hired those two trollops over at the car wash that shake their asses all day for money.” He looked down his rather aristocratic-shaped nose. “Who’s your friend hiding behind your skirt? Nice legs.” He ran his eyes over my body. He might be one hundred but he liked to look—and did so leisurely.
Fab stepped beside me, brandishing her Walther, sticking it in the front of her jeans.
“You must be the one Ivers wanted to bang if he could’ve gotten the job done,” Crum said, raking his eyes over Fab. “I know all about you two. Ivers really wanted the both of you rolling around in his double bed.”
After I recovered from my shock, I almost laughed. “How many people live here?” I asked, politely.
“I’m the only occupant, manager, and have a lifetime lease, so good luck getting rid of me.” He swept his arm wide, indicating I should go first. “I’ll give you a tour. There are twenty five spaces, and five come with broken down trailers.”
The only reason I put one foot in front of the other was because I knew Fab, who walked behind the professor, wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him; a bullet to the butt would stop him. I hoped he owned more than one pair of underwear.
The outside looked dilapidated and in need of leveling. My heart sunk at the condition of the inside courtyard. I loved a good fixer-upper, but this depressed me. Why own property if you’re not going to fix a damn thing? I remembered the sentimental attachment Gus had to Clean Bubbles, maybe it had been the same for the rest of the block.
I waved to a rather large cement hole in the ground and asked, “What was that?”
“Swimming pool. Took years for it to start crumbling and fall apart. Ivers didn’t believe in repairing anything. He squeezed hard on to every penny, bent on taking his money to the grave; wonder if he’s enjoying it now?”
Crum had a lot of nerve to insinuate that Ivers was cheap; surely, a retired professor didn’t have to live like this, except at his own choice. “What’s with the two junk cars?” Both Cadillacs were completely stuffed front to back and side to side with an assortment of bottles, cans, and newspapers, and more littered the top. Only the driver’s seat of the second car had been spared as a trash receptacle.
“Those are both antique automobiles, my dear, and they belong to me. Do you have no appreciation? I made my home in the one for years and now use it for errands, as I have my trailer for sleeping.” He pointed to a rusty pink Air Stream that sat at the back the property, the only one with patio furniture, which consisted of an old glass-top dining table, uncomfortable looking chairs, and a fifty-year-old tabletop barbeque. Not being trailer savvy, I guessed the age to be old, made worse by neglect. I looked around and noticed the sadly neglected plants. The only things that survived were a handful of cactus and some aloe. Although the place looked abandoned, the professor kept it clean of debris.
Fab cleared her throat. “Is it legal for you to strut around in your underwear?”
He swept his hand across the front of his body. “As you can see, I’m clothed in the right place, front and back.” He turned to show her.
“Why are the two trollops afraid of you?” I asked.
He grumbled something under his breath. “They tried to squat here one night. Ran their asses off but not before one of them, blurry-eyed drunk, decided to launch herself at me, screaming gutter language.”
“Did you hurt her?” I would’ve loved to have seen that spectacle.
The professor snorted. “I simply moved; she ran into the fence and passed out. Her girlfriend slapped her awake and drug her to the beach for a sand nap.”
“This place is disgraceful and I’m not sure what my plans will be, but I’m not going to be a slumlord. Of course, I’d like my lawyer to take a look at your lifetime contract.” I gave him a taste of his own behavior and looked down my nose at him. Two can play the snob game.
He looked me straight in the eye. “Slow down, sister. You’re not the owner yet, and if Violet Ivers has anything to do with it, you never will be. She has plans for the entire property, including the car wash that she wants back.”
“All Violet can do is slow the process and spend a lot of money on attorney fees,” I said. Truth: I didn’t really know what she could accomplish.
Fab caught the professor’s attention by looking him over in the same disrespectful way he did her and she made it clear he didn’t meet her standards. “What do you know about Violet Ivers?”
“I know she’s a vicious bitch and used to getting everything she wants. Gus spoiled her rotten and then wondered why she turned out to be a snot-ass. She’ll steamroll the two of you.” He gave a rusty laugh. “She’s already got a developer interested in paying big dollars for this property; the two of them have been here several times, heads together, and he’s salivating to sign on the dotted line.”
I took one last look around and shuddered. The professor walked us around the place, closely watching my response. He had perfect posture and stood ramrod stiff, shoulders back. Fab, who had already deemed him not much of a threat and apparently not worthy of shooting, not on this visit at least, had wandered off a couple of times looking into the windows of vacant trailers and any cranny she felt needed closer inspection. The professor cleared his throat a couple of times, a signal for her to join us, and she ignored him. I kept walking, forcing him to choose between us; he couldn’t guard us both.
He walked us back to the gate and flicked his fingers toward the signs. “Since you don’t own the place yet, you best heed the very visible warnings.”
“When I do take over as owner, you’ll need to wear pants, skirt, whatever,” I informed him.
“You going to come dress me?” He winked.
I got in the passenger seat and hit the door locks before putting my hands over m
y face. “Reassure me that place wasn’t as bad as it looked.”
“Worse.”
“Why can’t it be like one of the other ones around, shuffleboard court, a pool filled with water, and nice older people playing cards?”
“You forgot to mention clothed. You know he wiggled his ass at me?”
“I want to go home,” I whined. “Sit by the pool, have Didier bring us cold water.”
“You won’t be able to ogle my boyfriend; he’s in Miami for all-day meetings. I bet Creole would bring you a bottled water in his teeth.” She looked at me. “What’s up with you two and why haven’t you shared?”
“Mother is dead set against a hook up and has made it clear we are to stay away from one another. She likes the family unit the way it is and doesn’t want it all messed up if acrobatic sex turns ugly.”
“Toward the end of your relationship with Zach, all you wanted was midnight sex and the occasional date. Is that what you want from Creole?”
I used to love waking up in the middle of the night to find that Zach had slid beneath the sheets, pulling me close. We slept well together, legs hooked over one another. “Creole already told me he’s insulted at the sex-only suggestion.”
“He’s hot, smart, sneaky as hell, and has a good job—you won’t have to support him. He’s not a criminal, and so what if people think otherwise? He loves your family and tolerates me, your best friend. Did you forget your Aunt Elizabeth gave her blessing for a relationship in the journal she left?”
“I like Creole, he’s been a good friend and I appreciate that he has helped us out by supplying information on more than one occasion. I have a terrible track record for relationships. How do I tell Mother I don’t care about how she feels? If things blew up and he cut off their relationship she’d never forgive me.”
“Shoot me now. It’s your fault the ex-husband became a drunk? Besides didn’t the two of you part as friends? And keep in touch sporadically? Shame on you for not being obedient to Zach.” She shook her head. “Take a page from Madeline’s bio and sneak around like she did with Spoon.” After a pause, she asked, “Can Creole kiss?”
“He’s umm…thorough, and he, uh…takes his sweet time; his hands have a tendency to roam to other restricted places until my toes clench hard. When he stops, it takes me a second or two to catch my breath.”
Fab pulled into the driveway and put her hand on my forehead. “What the hell is the matter with you?”
“I need a swim.”
“What is she doing here?” Fab pointed.
We caught Violet Ivers with her hands cupped to the kitchen window, looking in.
“Where does she get her clothes?” Fab asked. “I’m not shopping there, ever.”
Violet had somehow found an adult-sized cornflower-blue dress with a white pinafore, white tights, and ugly black flats. Her blonde hair was held back with blue kitty clips.
“No idea. How about if I borrow that get-up from her and you surprise Didier with a little dress up?”
A look of horror crossed her face and then she laughed. “Didier would not be amused,” she said, in her best imitation. “Let’s back out and pretend we didn’t see her.”
“I want to know what she wants.” I opened the door and hopped out. “What’s up, Violet?”
Her eyes snapped with anger. “You really don’t have any manners, neither of you.”
“If you want something, antagonizing us is not a good start,” I said.
“I’m here to speak with her,” Violet said, and pointed to Fab. “I’d like to come to an agreement regarding the gun collection.”
“What do you really want?” Fab asked. “You and I both know I can’t make any promises about something I don’t have in my possession.”
“Do you know where they are? They need to be inventoried for the estate. I thought the information might be in the letter you stole from Mr. Davis’s office.”
“Tucker probably misplaced the envelope and isn’t man enough to own up.” Fab looked her in the eye. “The first I heard of the collection was at the reading of the will.”
“I’d like to keep them in my family, or donate them to a museum perhaps,” Violet said.
Her whiney voice made my ears hurt and gave me a headache. “I can assure you, Fab doesn’t have the guns.”
“How’s the car wash going?” she asked. “I expect my check to be on time at the first of every month. I realize it’s a cash operation and there’s wiggle room.”
“If you have any questions about the check paid by the estate, I suggest you call my CPA. I’m sure he can answer your questions,” I said.
“Tucker suggested putting a monitor on the property to make sure all the income is accounted for, but I told him that would be an added expense I didn’t think necessary. You look like an honest woman.” Hard as she tried, she couldn’t erase the insincerity from her voice.
“If you have any more questions, why don’t you call first?” I said.
“Let’s get together for lunch. Who knows, we could become friends.” Violet twisted around, looking over the property.
Fab rolled her eyes. “Thanks, but I already have a friend and she’s not going anywhere or I’ll shoot her.”
“I don’t think either of us has offered you our condolences. We met your father through Tolbert and we both liked him a lot,” I said.
“Thank you.” Violet looked at Fab. “We can talk when the estate is settled.” She waved and walked to her car parked at the curb.
“She makes my skin crawl,” Fab said.
“I do know from past experience that a death in the family brings out the absolute greed in people.”
Chapter 18
Taking a sip of orange water, I eased onto the wooden recliner with its colorful overstuffed pillows, enjoying the hummingbirds as they flittered and fed off the planter at the far side of the pool. Jazz lay stretched out alongside my legs. The bright sky boasted not a single cloud, allowing the sun to warm the tropical flowers encouraging them to open and bloom. I loved my home, and truth be told, I never wanted to move, which was a sticking point in my relationship with Zach. The backyard had become my haven, my favorite place to allow me to think, and a swim always cleared my muddled mind.
Fab had poured herself a glass of wine, throwing her towel onto the twin recliner next to mine. “What are you doing about finding that cat?”
“I could ask you the same question.” I looked up from my laptop and she made a grunting noise which I ignored. “I made a list of all the animal shelters in the Keys and have called and scanned a photo to four of them and I’m waiting to hear back from the other two. And you?”
“I’m a delegator. The one with the best cat skills wins, and that would be you.”
“You’ve got one cat vote, Jazz adores you. Let’s play some pool basketball?”
“Our game’s going to have to wait.” She inclined her head to the fence. “Do you have your Glock?” she whispered.
Three dark-suited men walked into the backyard, dark hair, and dark sunglasses. In Florida heat only a real bad-ass shows up in a suit and expensive loafers, with gold watches that screamed “look at how much money I spent,” rather than telling the time. The leader would be the one front and center; the other two flanked each side and a respectful step behind.
This had to be a first: neither one of us had a gun. I was happy to be sitting down, since no way this would be good news. Fab and I must be in silent agreement as we didn’t say a word, waiting on our guests.
“Miss Westin, I presume,” the leader said.
I shook my head in agreement. “And you are?”
Fab sat up and the backup on the left pulled his gun, while the other moved his jacket aside to give an ample view of his shoulder holster and rather large cannon, appearing to me to be a Smith and Wesson magnum of a large caliber.
He ignored my question. “I don’t take kindly to you murdering one of my associates, Carlos Osa.”
“Madison didn’t
murder him, and it was self-defense.” Fab sneered at him.
I don’t think it was her words, but rather the tone of her voice and absolute contempt that drew his anger.
“If one more word comes out of that disrespectful mouth of yours, I’ll have my man here tie you up and gag you. Understood?” he seethed in controlled anger. “Answer me.”
“Yes, I understand,” she answered softly.
“Miss Westin, I will ask the questions, you will answer. I issue the orders and you will follow them to the letter. Anything that you don’t understand so far?”
“What do you want?” As an afterthought I added, “No.” With each step in my direction, fear raced down my spine.
“Your former associate, Jake Ellis, owes me a lot of money and I want every cent back. Since he’s fled town and sold his interest in Jake’s to you, it is now your debt to pay.” He kicked a chair around and lounged back, controlling his anger for the moment, staring at me almost eye level.
“According to my lawyer, none of his gambling debts were secured by the bar.” I held tight to any facial emotion.
“Your lawyer is a jackass. Jake negotiated a deal to discharge all of his debt in exchange for the bar. Now you’re going to sign it over to me,” he growled, his voice carrying authority.
Of course Jake would screw anyone to save his loathsome neck. “I’ll need to see the signed contract.”
The leader snapped his fingers. “You didn’t listen to my rules.”
I hadn’t noticed that the second man had a briefcase. He snapped open the locks, pulling out paperwork and handing it to the man in charge.
He reached inside his jacket pocket and produced a shiny silver pen, and, placed it on the top of the contract, handing it to me. “Sign by the Xs. There are three, I believe.”
“This isn’t Jake’s contract,” I said, trying to skim; too nauseous to concentrate on the legalese.
“Very astute of you. Now sign,” he ordered.
“Why would I do this?” I asked.
“Because I’m asking nicely. You can refuse, but then I’ll be forced to apply persuasive and painful means until you agree to sign, saying ‘please and thank you.’ And after that, you’ll require an additional pain-filled lesson for wasting my time.” He snapped his fingers and the man reached inside the briefcase, removing a pair of cable cutters.
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