Executed in Paradise (Florida Keys Mystery Series Book 9)

by Deborah Brown

  “That’s damn nervy of them.” I sniffed. “I recall offering them a better deal on property management than their current one, and they didn’t even respond. Not that we could guarantee problem-free rentals, but the bust that just went down wouldn’t have happened. Once we’d discovered the con of ‘rent to one and another moves in,’ our new eviction service would have quietly relocated them.”

  “I have yet to hear a favor,” Fab griped.

  “I’m getting there,” Mac huffed. “I don’t want to be accused of skimping on the details.”

  Fab growled at her.

  I smacked Fab’s arm. “You have to stop doing that; people will think you’re unfriendly.”

  Mac laughed. “I called Beach Realty, which I know is handling that house, and the receptionist said that they had no such listing, but she’d check and get back to me. It was the realtor who called back—Janice Pincher—and when she found out it was me, she told me tough luck; she had a pocket listing and would never sell to me. She’s hated my guts ever since I ran over her foot in Custer’s parking lot.”

  Custer’s was the biggest rathole bar in town. In addition to serving the cheapest beer, they also boasted the most bar fights and sheriff’s department calls. They claimed they shouldn’t be held responsible for what went on in the alley to the rear, leaving off the part that the troublemakers drank in the bar first.

  “Here’s the favor. Get the property for me. A friend of a friend who works in the office says Janice is holding it for an investor due back in town next week, so there isn’t much time.” Mac flashed puppy dog eyes at us.

  “What do you want us to do? Force Janice at gunpoint?” Fab asked in exasperation.

  “Fab’s right. If she’s holding out to sell to her own client, which earns her a double commission, I’m not sure what we can do,” I said.

  Mac stamped her foot. “If you wanted the property, you’d get it.”

  “She does have a point,” Fab said.

  “Our only hope is to negotiate with the potential buyer. Major roadblock there: we don’t know who that is. I see a felony, right off the top, in trying to get said information.” I thought a minute, then asked Mac, “Can your friend get the name of Janice’s connection in exchange for a few bucks to ease her conscience for ratting out a co-worker?”

  “She says no.” Mac frowned.

  Fab pulled her phone out. “Do you know anyone at Beach Realty?” she asked the person on the other end.

  I figured out, from Fab’s end of the conversation, that she was talking to Phil about any options we might have that didn’t include a felony. I held out little hope. “Do you have your money ducks in a row? Financing? Unless we’re talking cash?” I asked Mac.

  “How much fun would it be to drag in a sack of cash and heave it on the desk and say, ‘Yeah, I’ll take that’?” Mac smiled big.

  I made a face at her.

  Fab ended the call. “Here’s the deal. It’s a violation of the realtor rules for her to hold the listing off the market. Even though it’s done all the time. We pay a call on her boss and threaten to file a formal complaint. The last thing they want is to be summoned to a board hearing.”

  “Let's do it. Keep it legal for once. It will make our boyfriends happy.” Especially mine. Being law enforcement, he has stressed that he doesn’t want a jailbird girlfriend.

  “We can pitch this case as helping a friend; they both like Mac,” Fab pointed out.

  I shook my head at Fab. Her first plan was to run a con on the guys. It never worked.

  “We have a business to run,” Fab barked. “They have to accept that we can’t run every job by them. Even Didier says, ‘Meeting in Miami or New York,’ or whatever; he doesn’t run down the talking points.’”

  “You sell that explanation, and I’ll be there to lend support and try not to look simple-minded,” I said.

  Mac’s phone rang once. Text message. She looked at it and stood up. “Gotta go. Domestic disturbance at The Cottages.”

  * * *

  Fab and I followed her truck at a discreet distance, arriving minutes behind her. I wanted to stop for a shot of caffeine first, but Fab grumped that she didn’t want to miss out on anything.

  Mac stood in the driveway, Liam bouncing a basketball next to her. She motioned to us.

  “Crum and Starletta are screaming inside his cottage,” Liam informed us. “You need to get them to tone it down; Kevin is on his way home.” He hesitated. “I’m sorry. This is kind of my fault. I knocked and Starletta flipped out. Apparently, I interrupted them while they were… uh….” He wrinkled his nose.

  “This is a job for our Director of Security.” I nudged Fab.

  Fab crossed her arms. “I quit that job a long time ago.”

  Mac took her Beretta from her waistband and blew on the barrel, shining it with her skirt. She shot Fab a challenging look. “If you’ve forgotten, I’ll show you how it’s done.”

  Fab grunted at her.

  “Don’t shoot Crum; I kind of like him.” I picked the basketball from Liam’s hands and tried for a free throw.

  “Yeah, and not before he helps me with my Trig homework,” Liam called as they walked away.

  “You’re so smart.” I ruffled his sun-bleached hair. He always sported a just-off-the-beach look. “Let’s see how I do at real basketball,” I said, laughing at myself. I’d been honing my skills at arcade ball recently, but I was sure to suck at the real thing. Missed.

  “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but my uncle is a sneaky one.” Liam took his shot and scored. “He didn’t keep his promise to give you time to find those animals homes. He saw your car at Jake’s, claimed he was worried about the old lady, and headed straight for her trailer, taking backup. I know that you two don’t get along, but I thought it was crappy, and he did it to get back at you.”

  “When was this?” I asked. “What about the animals?”

  “A few hours ago. I didn’t find out until afterwards, or I would’ve warned you. Backfired on him, though; she was gone and only a handful of cats and dogs were still there. Boy, was he mad.”

  “Thank goodness,” I whispered.

  “Kevin said there were two dumpsters parked in front, one full to the top. He said the property had never looked like anything other than a run-down pile, but now it doesn’t look bad, though he said he’d never live out there. Also mentioned some dude with an attitude on guard. You might want to warn him to tone it down.”

  Billy had called and offered to organize the cleanup after a man from Code Enforcement showed up and threatened to ticket Ruth if he had to come back. I’d readily agreed to his plan—another item Spoon could pay for.

  “How did you hear all this?” I asked.

  “Eavesdropped.” He laughed. “Learned from the best.” He pointed in the direction that Fab had disappeared.

  “Don’t worry about me telling anyone; I can keep a secret,” I said, wanting to reassure him.

  Liam nodded. “I don’t gossip, and I keep stuff to myself. Nothing good comes from babbling everything you know.”

  “We have that in common. Anytime you need to talk, I’m here to listen.” I gave him a quick hug. “Have you seen Brad?”

  “He docked early from a fishing trip. One of his regular guys got sick—food poisoning—off fish, I heard.”

  I grimaced. “I’ve been sick on seafood before; it’s gruesome.”

  “Here they come.” Liam pointed to where Mac and Fab were walking toward us. “A buck says Crum didn’t open the door.”

  “No, thanks. I smell a set-up.”

  “You’re no fun.” Liam laughed.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “No answer. Not until I threatened to shoot the locks off,” Mac related.

  Liam elbowed me.

  “And that’s only if, by answer, you mean pulling that window rag aside, shaking his finger, and yelling, ‘I’m busy,’” Fab said in a huff.

  Chapter 23

  “Let’s
go,” I shouted to Fab, who lay curled up in Didier’s arms on the couch. “There’s a fire. Gotta see if we can help.” I raced out the door and slid into the driver’s seat of my SUV.

  Looking out the back window, I did a double take when I saw both Fab and Didier race outside. Realizing that I hadn’t disclosed the location, I chuckled. Why tell Didier now?

  As soon as the back door slammed shut, I shot out of the driveway.

  “Why are you driving?” Fab demanded.

  “Hang on.” I ignored her and squealed up to the corner in a perfect imitation of her. Unlike Fab, however, I made a complete stop at the corner and scanned for a speed trap; seeing none, I blew out onto the Overseas, hooking a U-turn to cut across the highway to the opposite side of the Cove.

  “I didn’t think I’d ever say this…” Fab gripped the sissy bar that she unrelentingly tormented me for using. “But your driving makes me sick. Did you even look before you careened across the highway?”

  I needed to slow down before I scared myself. “You don’t.” Glancing in the rearview mirror, I saw that both of them had scowls on their faces and their arms crossed. “I’m slowing down.”

  Didier, who had been mumbling, barked, “This isn’t the way to Jake’s.”

  “What made you think we were going there?”

  The last fire truck pulled around the corner just as I made the turn, going in opposite direction. I slowed before turning into the Tropical Slumber Funeral Home.

  “What are you up to?” Didier roared.

  I wanted to laugh and tell him, “Welcome to my life.” When Fab had a job she knew I’d balk at, she waited until we were driving to inform me, with as little detail as possible, where we were headed, knowing I wouldn’t jump out into traffic.

  “Look, a red carpet.” I pointed for Didier’s benefit and parked alongside the building, climbing out.

  The old hot dog stand had been renovated into a funeral home before Dickie and Raul bought it. They added on living quarters, tripling the size of the building. They offered a wide array of services in their quest to be Tarpon’s one-stop shop for funeral needs.

  Fab peered out the window and opened the door. “Must be a false alarm. I don’t see any smoke.”

  “I’ll wait here,” Didier said, arms crossed.

  I opened the back passenger door and asked, “Scared? That’s what I’ll tell Dickie and Raul, rather than that you’re too snooty.” I pointed to an outbuilding. “That’s the garage over there, where the caskets are stored. Want a look?”

  Fab held out her hand to Didier. “Don’t worry. Except for the guys and their dogs, everyone else is dead.”

  Raul peeked out the double doors of the funeral home, relaxing and waving when he saw us.

  “What happened?” Fab asked, hands on her hips, looking around. Didier slid out, standing behind her.

  “The crematorium suffered a little explosion. Out now.” Raul brushed his hands together. “The way the smoke billowed from the stack, you would’ve thought the whole place was burning to the ground.” He motioned for us to follow him inside.

  Fab made the introductions, then asked, “Was it… ah… occupied?”

  “Yes.” Raul let out a big sigh. “We need to contact the family and reassure them that the funeral will go forward according to their wishes. The deceased will be transferred up to Miami for final preparations.”

  Didier hugged me to his side with a jolt. “You are so going to pay for this.”

  “How long before you can fire that baby back up?” Fab winked at Raul.

  Raul laughed. Closing the space between them, he enveloped her in a hug. “We’ve missed you around here.”

  I could tell from Didier’s face that the affection the funeral director had for his girlfriend took him by surprise.

  Everyone turned at the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. Dickie appeared, platter in hand, their two Dobermans, Astro and Necco, at his side. “We have a few sandwiches left over from when we fed the firemen.”

  “Leftover funeral food,” I answered Didier’s raised eyebrows. “They’re good, and the guys don’t mind if you stick a couple in your pocket.”

  I couldn’t quite picture the elegant Frenchman stuffing his pockets with sandwiches, but the idea had me belly-laughing and skirting out of the reach of his hand.

  “Fab,” I said, crossing the room ahead of her. “You should give Didier the tour, since you’ve snooped through every cranny in the place.”

  Dickie led us into the main viewing room, setting down the platter next to another one filled with assorted fruits and vegetables. An oval bucket at the opposite end of the table was filled with cold drinks.

  The dogs followed and lay under the table, watching the room with their heads on their paws and paying particular attention to me. They knew I was a soft touch for a stray sandwich.

  Didier and Fab politely declined the food. She tugged his arm, trying to get him to move forward, which succeeded for two steps before he dug in his heels and jerked her back to his side.

  I tried to wave her away from the first visitation room when I spotted the card indicating that the room was occupied, most likely by someone propped up to receive their final round of guests. Didier straightened, brushed Fab’s hand off his arm, and returned to join us in the main room, Fab trailing behind.

  “Didier’s a little nervous; first time on a funeral home tour,” I whispered to Raul. Didier claimed a seat at the end of a church pew used by guests. “Get ready for new business; he’s going to kill me for tricking him into coming.” I helped myself to a sandwich and snuck one to each dog. I needed to maintain my status as their favorite guest.

  Raul laughed. “Such a stressful morning; it feels good to laugh.” Dickie nodded in agreement.

  “We’ve begun offering themed funerals,” Raul announced. “The first one is this weekend. The casket arrived this morning.” He waved to the front of the room, where it sat surrounded by shopping bags.

  “Is that a double-wide casket?” I gaped, wondering if two people were going to be buried together and promptly squeezing my eyes closed, forbidding any imagery to take hold.

  “It’s a special order: the client requested a double-sized, down-filled mattress, pillows, and high-count cotton sheets—all in white to best display her long, dark hair and pale skin tone.”

  Fab headed toward the casket. Didier came up off the bench to stop her, but she eluded his grasp and he ended up right behind her by the open casket. Suddenly, Fab nudged him, and he turned and leapt back, the color draining from his face. He blurted out something in French that I was certain contained a bad word. Some words one learns faster than others.

  Fab laughed. The rest of us stared, all thinking an unspoken, “What?”

  “The dead person just waved,” Didier choked out as he reclaimed his seat.

  Fab lowered her head, stuck her hand inside the casket, then turned and said, “She’s not dead, guys.”

  “Priscilla!” Raul half-yelled. “How did you get past us?” He stalked to the front.

  A very pretty twentyish woman poked her head over the side of the casket. “You were busy with the firemen. I just wanted a test run,” she fussed. “I’m happy with the way it came together.”

  Dickie and Raul each took one of her arms and helped her out, making sure she landed on her feet.

  I wanted to get a peek, but only if I could do it without moving from my vantage point. “Is this another case of the dead coming back to life?” I eyed the petite woman from head to toe; she didn’t show signs of being a complete nut case. The bling on her wrists and ears appeared to be real diamonds, and she was dressed in a black designer tee, her jeans rolled up above her ankles. She slipped her feet into a pair of red stilettos that I hadn’t noticed lying next to the casket.

  Priscilla giggled, twisting a lock of her long, dark hair around her finger. “My funeral is tomorrow. I want to know what my friends will say about me.”

  “Do these friends think
you’re dead?” I asked.

  “They each got a call that I’d expired from natural causes.” She threw herself into a fake sobbing fit for several seconds, then looked up and smiled.

  “If this is a test of some sort, you might be disappointed. Don’t people always say nice things at funerals?” I directed my question to Dickie and Raul.

  Dickie let out a low groan. “We’ve had a few funerals where the mourners showed up to air their grievances, some of them decades old.”

  Fab appeared at my side. “If I grieved your death and found out it was a hoax, we would never be friends again.”

  “I would never do that.” I didn’t see this surprise of Priscilla’s ending well. “Mother would kill me.”

  Didier was silent, his lips pursed in a tight line. Not making eye contact with anyone, he nudged Fab in the back.

  Priscilla grabbed a tote bag. “I’ll be back later.” She waved.

  “Is this a new trend?” I asked. “Having a funeral before you’re dead?”

  Dickie turned his head, looking sheepish. “A customer is a customer.” He sighed.

  “Our phones have been ringing off the hook since we started advertising our themed funerals,” Raul said. “We just got an inquiry about a stripper theme. The deceased was fond of the entertainment.”

  “I wonder if he was a friend of Brick’s?” I mumbled to myself.

  Fab patted Raul on the back. “I’ve got a connection for dancers that can put on a live show, guaranteed not to disappoint. Not sure if the poles are portable, but I can find out.” She beamed at him.

  “I find it distasteful,” Dickie snapped.

  He looked sad about the turn of events. I knew how hard he worked on every detail. “It won’t diminish the job you do,” I said to him. “Your work will be center stage, even more so than before.”