Greed in Paradise (Paradise Series)

by Deborah Brown

  “We’re in for the long haul. She needs to kill us but we’re highly motivated to stay alive. Did you get a hold of Harder?”

  I took my phone out. “He was the missed call.” I pushed redial. The screen showed “dialing” and then it disconnected. After a third try, the call went straight to voicemail. “Help!” I whispered.

  “Stop looking at me like that,” Fab said. “I’m sorry. You were right, damn it.”

  “Why is it when we get in these situations one of us is always saying sorry?” I hissed.

  A volley of shots rang through the air. “I know you bitches are in there,” Violet snarled. “Come on out, I’ve got two automatics and extra ammo. I’ll show that I can play nice. Tell me where the gun collection is and we can work a deal.”

  Fab and I looked at one another and shook our heads. Not saying a word, we stayed crouched in the grass. A not-so-dead gigantic Florida bug tried to latch itself onto my arm and I managed not to scream, but rather sent it skipping across the water with my other hand, scrubbing furiously with the slimy water. In order for Violet to find us, she’d have to jump in the water. Drowning her would be a pleasant option.

  More shots rang out. “I know you can hear me, there’s no escape. The only way out is through the fence, and there’s no access through the swamp. Get out here now,” she screeched, sounding frenzied, “or I’m going to spray this area with bullets. When one of you starts to bleed the buzzards will lead me right to you.”

  Fab had better getaway skills than I did, with years of practice before I met her, so I passed her my Glock and hoped to hell that she could get us out of here. I held up nine fingers to let her know how many rounds were left. Thank goodness I never went anywhere without a full clip. I did that once and had to listen to an intense lecture from Brad after showing up for target practice unprepared.

  “Move,” Fab said, and shoved me ahead of her. “She shoots, we crouch and crawl through the water. We’re going to make her come to us, even up the odds. I’m conserving our bullets in case she finds us.”

  If the water got deep, Fab and I were good swimmers, even though the thought of lowering my body into the muddy, filthy water made me nauseous. We continued to slog through the grass as quietly as we could. The twigs and branches didn’t make it easy, reaching out for bare skin and leaving long red scratch marks, not to mention that gnat season had begun and they were swarming. The miniscule bastards made a buzzing sound when they got close to my ear, taking a nip and leaving a burning sensation.

  We caught our first break when the first wave of bullets whizzed through the trees, and we realized that she had gone in the opposite direction. She ripped off a couple more rounds and, judging by the gun fire, turned our way. After a short trek, a break in the trees revealed the fence that straddled the property lines. The neighbor had cleared their acreage, leaving no cover for a good hiding place. We couldn’t leave the security of the swamp since the only way out was over the six-foot chain-link fence, and we’d instantly become a visible target.

  I nudged Fab and pointed to the water, the sides widened and so did the depth. I whispered, “There’s a little room to stay close to the bank for the next few feet, or we take cover in the center and hang on to the skinnier trunks.” The further we went the more foliage filled in the dense spots. “She won’t be looking for us to swim out.” My skin crawled knowing I’d be immersed up to my neck. I went first. My only solace was that the gnats apparently couldn’t swim, although they were replaced by larger, louder bugs.

  Fab shuddered, sinking down and holding my Glock in the air above the waterline.

  “Once it gets dark, if we’re not dead, we shimmy over the fence”—I pointed—“and hope the neighbor doesn’t have dogs.”

  “Do you notice how quiet it’s gotten?” Fab nudged. “Nothing after the second random spray.”

  I groaned. “No phone. I left it in my pocket.”

  Fab turned me around, my back to the bank. She leaned in and whispered, “We’re going to get out of this. Now no talking so we can listen for any movement.” She stood next to me shoulder to shoulder, and covered her face to ward off bugs.

  I blew out a silent huff of air, hoping we wouldn’t be here long. I had no idea how long we’d been here already but I’d had enough. I didn’t want to die in some hell-hole swamp. I turned my thoughts to my shower at home—the super-duper showerhead, continuous clean water, and sweet-smelling soap.

  “Madison Westin,” grouched a voice over what sounded like a bullhorn. “If you’re hiding in the bushes now would be the time to let us know you’re okay.”

  “That your friend?” Fab shot off a round in the air, letting them know our location.

  “Come out with your hands up and no damn gun,” Harder bellowed.

  We both climbed up the embankment and when my foot slipped and I slid backward, Fab jerked on my arm and held tight, helping me to the top. It had been a lot easier to jump in than the reverse trip. We were both covered in mud, slime, and stringy green debris, which all was strangely more revealing than a wet T-shirt contest.

  “Mud’s good for the skin,” I said.

  Fab handed me my Glock and I reholstered it into the back of my wet skirt. “Ready for the perp walk?” She held her hands in the air. “I’m doing it now so no one has an excuse to shoot first, ask questions later.”

  “You need to figure out how we can make this Brick’s fault and bill him triple.”

  “How are we going to get in the Hummer without ruining the seats?” Fab looked at her lower torso.

  “I bet Violet will let us shower and borrow some clothes.”

  Fab laughed. “Let’s get drunk.”

  “Great idea.”

  Chapter 32

  Fab and I drove home in silence. Fab had even driven the speed limit. I second guessed myself, thinking I should have put a bullet in Violet’s head and hoped the guy couldn’t get a shot off, and if he did, hoped he couldn’t hit anything.

  “We’ll go through the back and use the outdoor shower. You first,” I said to Fab. “I’ve got beach towels stored in the deck box.” I felt bad for her. She looked bedraggled and hollow-eyed. It’s hard to stare into the eyes of someone who wants to shoot you—or in her case, inject you—knowing the odds were stacked against you. After my shower I planned to gulp down a glass or two of wine to calm the shakes that had taken over my body.

  Beach towels in hand, I turned to see Didier lounged against the French doors, staring first at the woman he loved and then at me, an angry look on his face, his mouth a hard line.

  “She’s had a very bad day. Take good care of her.” I handed him a towel.

  As soon as Fab turned off the water, he wrapped the towel around her body, smashing his lips to hers and kissed her hard. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her inside. Neither saying a word, he looked at her in a fiercely possessive way that brought tears rolling down my face.

  I stood under the outside shower and decided that, starting tomorrow, it also needed a bigger showerhead. I rinsed the muck from my hair until the water ran clear. I couldn’t wait to get upstairs and take a long shower with soap. I sat by the pool, waiting, thinking about everything that had happened, giving as much time as Fab needed to feel clean.

  * * *

  Violet turned out to be a cunning psychopath, slipping back into her little girl persona once more when she’d gotten handcuffed for a ride to the police station for formal interrogation. Her version of the story was that Fab and I were responsible for the dead bodies. Without the intervention of Harder, Fab and I would be sitting in a jail cell. Thank goodness he showed up and we had someone in law enforcement who believed us. Kevin and Johnson showed up first, representing local jurisdiction. Johnson stood gleefully, waiting for us to show our faces, salivating to slap on the cuffs. Fab’s and my guns were accounted for and logged in as evidence, proving neither of us shot the two dead men. I pointed out to Harder the syringe that Violet had dropped, certain when tested it w
ould show only her fingerprints.

  Harder told Johnson to ‘F off’ when he tried to insinuate himself in the conversation. Harder called my attorney, Cruz, and made arrangements for Fab and I to show up in his office for an early morning appointment. He requested that we both shower and have on clean clothes and then laughed at his own joke before retrieving garbage bags from Ivers’ garage so that we could cover the seats.

  Fab stood mutely at my side, listening to Harder. She didn’t contribute anything, but her attitude against him had clearly softened.

  Even though Violet had confessed to us her hand in poisoning her father, we were still shocked when Harder confided that the toxicology reports came back from the lab showing ethyl glycol poisoning as the cause of the kidney failure. The results had taken longer than usual since they were short-staffed and had cases backed up. Ivers died of acute liver failure brought on by the ingestion of anti-freeze. In one hundred percent of these cases, the perpetrator is someone who wants to hasten a loved one’s or business associate’s trip to the afterlife and starts feeding it to them disguised in food or drink due to its sweet taste. One thing is for certain: Ivers had a miserable death.

  Harder already had warrants issued to look for containers of the pink liquid and anything else that would keep Violet in prison the rest of her life. She’d be lucky to get life, as Florida was second in the nation for preferring execution.

  Harder also told us he planned to charge her with three counts of first-degree murder and a litany of lesser crimes, giving her zero chance at bail. Harder sneered when she requested to call her attorney—who turned out to be none other than Tucker Davis. What Violet probably didn’t know was that Tucker’s reputation had been built on defending the truly guilty. It would be sad to see Ivers’ estate go to the legal bills for the defense of the woman who killed him.

  When Harder said those sweet words, “You’re free to go,” I whispered, “Don’t tell Creole about Fab’s and my misadventure. He works so hard, why upset him?”

  Harder belly laughed. “I won’t, but trust me, he’ll find out.”

  I stood up and went into the house, grabbing a glass of wine on my way upstairs. My hair still felt weird, and it was impossible to run my fingers through the ends. Time for a really good shower that included body shampoo and lots of it.

  Chapter 33

  “To being alive!” Fab, who rarely drank, clinked her mojito to my margarita. “You’re the one with the crazy radar, did you have any idea Violet had two personalities?”

  We sat out on the deck at Jake’s, choosing the corner table so that we could enjoy the sunshine. On the way in, I pushed a bypass button on the juke box, music filling the room without my having to load up on a handful of quarters.

  “The pinafore, Mary Jane-clad personality had me fooled.”

  “Liked her boots.” Fab half-laughed.

  I waved to Phil, signaling her to put in our food order. “You okay?”

  “Feeling not-so-shell-shocked, thanks to Didier. He’s not very happy with me. Asked me if either of us had common sense. I told him honestly, you more than me.”

  I hated that she sat there second-guessing herself. “Snap out of it, Fabiana.” I shook my finger. “We’re not mind readers. If she hadn’t cornered you that day, it would have been another one. No wallowing.”

  “Thank goodness you can shoot.” She smiled. “I’ve got to start working on you to dispatch the other person straight to their reward and not just wound them.”

  The cook delivered our food and set down Styrofoam to-go containers. He knew me well. Good thing; he doubled my usual chicken enchilada order.

  Fab dumped her food in a container. “I’d rather drink.”

  I held my hand out. “Give me the car keys. I may just drive you excruciatingly slowly around town.”

  “I’ll hang out the window and scream at traffic. My friends and I did that once in high school and the neighbor felt compelled to call my parents.”

  “I’m afraid to ask how they took that bit of news.” Fab rarely mentioned her family or past in France. I knew she had a strict childhood.

  “My father was livid; he practically turned purple. I spent two weeks in my room and after that was not allowed out of the house for a month. They had an image to protect and if I couldn’t behave then they’d keep me hidden away.”

  “I want to hug you right now.” I picked at my food, losing interest, and shoved the rest into the container.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Fab said.

  I groaned.

  “Oh, stop. We should go into the animal retrieval business. Less chance of getting shot.”

  I laughed hard, wiping the tears from my eyes. “You need another drink and then we’ll adjourn to the pool. You’ll need a nap by then; your good sense will come back.”

  * * *

  I headed down to the docks in Lauderdale, having called Mother and found out that Brad had docked. I’d been waiting on him for a few days. He’d be spending the day cleaning and restocking his boat. I’d been evasive with her, as I wanted to have a little brother/sister time. I wanted some input on Creole before I followed my inclinations, and thought this should be interesting, talking to my brother about my love life.

  Brad spent long hours on the water as a commercial fisherman, staying out for long stretches of time until his tanks were stocked with fish. There were lots of grouper in these local waters. I had a fondness for the white fish, preferring it barbequed.

  Now that he had a girlfriend and the relationship looked serious, I knew he wanted to cut back on time spent away from home. Julie was the first girlfriend Mother and I actually liked. Only a few had even been tolerable. My brother was a magnet for the unstable ones. Thankfully, he’d broken that pattern. Mother once told me, “It’s all about the sex for the first few months and then you better have something to talk about.”

  I saw my brother standing on the deck of his boat, the wind tossing his sun-bleached hair. Looking healthy with his shirt off, he worked alongside his men and never asked them to do something he wouldn’t do. He had a regular crew of men who enjoyed working with him, which made it easy since he didn’t have the never-ending parade of misfits. When he turned in my direction, I waved my arm from the window. He didn’t notice, but one of his crew members saw me and looked around to see who I was waving to. Finally, he hit Brad on the back and they both waved.

  I parked around the corner. The visitor parking lot was blocked off and a sign rolled into the entrance side read, Full. The quickest way back was to cut across a deserted old portion of highway, ducking under the chained off entry and ignoring the Keep Out signs. This part of the docks had a notorious reputation and was known for illegal activities, which I assumed didn’t happen in broad daylight with boats of fishermen docked. I’d be damned if I’d walk around. I crossed under an old road that ran overhead and was partially demolished in favor of the newer and shinier twin that had been built alongside it. My brother hung on the rail, watching me, then started to wave again. I waved back and stumbled out of my shoe.

  A black Mercedes rolled by me and parked further up. As I bent down, two men climbed out of the back in black trousers, the sleeves of their dress shirts rolled up; both had shoulder holsters, making them look like well-dressed thugs. One man held a briefcase at his side. I crouched behind a cement column. One more step and I’d be standing in the open. Making a run for it was out of the question so I stayed put, hoping not to attract too much attention.

  Two other men appeared out of nowhere from the opposite end of the overhang looking like an advertisement for a seedy tropical clothing ad. The man with the briefcase held it up, snapped the locks, and displayed the contents—money, and lots of it by my estimation. I looked around and saw no one else in sight. I got that familiar tingle on my neck which served as a warning not to be ignored. As if I hadn’t had enough excitement, I’d bet I was a witness to a major drug buy. The man who stepped forward pushed his sunglasses onto his head, look
ing suspiciously like Stanhope. Doing a double take, my eyes jerked to his accomplice and I bit my lip to keep from making any noise. Stanhope and Creole were in action. I stayed glued to every second. Knowing drugs and guns were involved, I should have backtracked my way out of the middle of trouble, but instead, I continued to watch the two. Stanhope produced a small knife and sliced through one of the bags. He licked the tip and nodded his head. The duo exchanged briefcases.

  An overly large hand clamped down hard against my mouth and hauled me from behind the pole. The three hundred-pound giant jerked me off the ground and shook me like a rag doll. “Look what we have here, boys,” he yelled, hoisting me under one arm and carrying me forward.

  Sirens blared, coming from every direction. All hell broke loose. I elbowed the giant in his side, he grunted and dropped me to the ground in a heap. Stumbling up, I reached for my Glock but didn’t get far, as once again, he jerked me off of my feet in a vise grip and hauled me up under his arm. A dozen black undercover vehicles converged on the area and gunshots rang out, uniforms running everywhere. The big guy pitched me across into the dirt and I curled up next to the fence. Deciding he wasn’t done with me, he grabbed me again. Not going down without a fight, I kicked and screamed, making contact with undetermined body parts. My head whipped around by my hair, a mouth smashing down over mine, and I felt the lips move as a voice said, “Shut up.”

  I recognized the menacing voice and calmed only slightly, wanting confirmation before giving in. I struggled to catch my breath.

  Creole gripped my forearm and wrenched me forward. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  Frustrated when I whimpered about my toes being scraped from being dragged, he tossed me over his shoulder and walked so fast I had to grip his shirt. I saw Brad jump off the side of his boat, feet hitting the deck at a run; his crew members stared as I disappeared out of sight. Creole dumped me in the front seat of an old Ford Falcon that looked like it should be at the crusher. It stunned me when the engine caught and sounded in good repair.