Executed in Paradise (Florida Keys Mystery Series Book 9)

by Deborah Brown

  It surprised me that Fab knew anything about construction. “Why do you have to snoop through everything?” I asked.

  “Why not?” She flicked Billy’s shoulder and joked. “You find anything good under the floors, I get my finder’s fee.”

  “Didn’t you say you knew someone interested in buying the place?” I asked Billy. “The daughter would probably like to be rid of the place and the upkeep.”

  “Spoon’s working out the terms.”

  “Sheriff come back?” Fab asked. “Kevin, I mean; he’s a dick.”

  “Fabiana, language,” I teased. She answered with an eye roll.

  “Kevin showed up. Think he thought he had the property to himself; you should have seen the look of surprise on his face when I walked out the front door. I pointed out all the progress that had been made and commented that cleanup had gone faster than expected. Also happened to toss in that I was employed by Spoon, and he nodded and left.”

  “Get any final expenses to me, and I’ll give the final accounting to Spoon.”

  “Are you going to continue to stay out here?” Fab asked Billy. “Word has probably already spread to squatters that there may be an open house.”

  “I’ll check with the boss to see what he wants. I can drive by once a day, do a check. I can promise you that any trespassers will be happy to move along and not come back.”

  “I know you draw the short straw when it comes to being assigned to help the two of us with our problems. Thank you. You were the best man for the job; no one could have handled it better.”

  “You’re forgetting the part about free food at Jake’s,” Fab offered.

  Billy actually laughed and winked at Mac.

  Fab and I exchanged a secret smile.

  Chapter 28

  Fab and I stood outside the all-glass Boca Raton high-rise that held the foundation offices for Finn Kennedy.

  “You look hot, by the way,” I complimented Fab, meaning every word. The woman could make a paper bag look sexy.

  “Didier picked this out.” She smiled down at her black sleeveless dress, the lower half leather and molded to her hips. She’d accessorized with onyx earrings and a cuff bracelet.

  “And did he say naughty things in French?”

  Fab blushed a deep red.

  I thought so!

  “Did you update Brick?” Fab tugged my arm, heading away from the main entrance.

  “Why do I have to do the dirty work?” I asked in exasperation. “I’m the sidekick, remember?”

  “Oh good, what did he say?” She flashed a cheeky smile.

  “We skipped the pleasantries when he answered the phone with, ‘Speak.’”

  “I hope you’ve got news. No need to call when you don’t know jack,” Brick grumbled.

  I took a deep breath. “You hear back from your information guy? No? We did. Zilla Mirren is society darling Finn Kennedy, and we know where to find her.”

  Dead silence.

  After a moment, Brick said, “I’ll pay extra for the contact information of the person you use.”

  “Another snooper had to be called in, so don’t bitch about the extra charge.”

  “Yeah, yeah. If this pans out, it will be worth it. Sitting here, I put together a plan for you. Blackmail her.” He sounded proud of himself.

  “I’m sure we couldn’t have come up with that on our own.” I didn’t care how snotty I sounded.

  “No, no, I got this figured out. You’ll keep her felonious identity a secret in exchange for the money.”

  “Did you end it friendly?” Fab sounded hopeful.

  Should I lie or not? The truth is more fun. “I heard the words ‘piss-poor attitude,’ and I’m almost certain he wasn’t talking about himself.”

  Fab laughed. It took her a moment to pull herself together. “Today’s it. If we don’t collect now, we turn it over to Brick. Women can be more of a wildcard than men.” Fab appeared worried.

  I spun around, holding out the sides of my hot pink dress with a fitted bodice and full skirt. “How do I look?” I’d paired it with a gold collar necklace, diamond earrings, and a bracelet. Knowing that it’s all about the jewelry and the purse, I’d dug out my knock-off designer bag, hoping it didn’t scream “not the real thing” from across the room.

  “The color hurts my eyes.” Fab shaded her brow, looking up at the towering building. “I told you the jewelry would look hot, and it does.”

  “Your problem is that you need to introduce some color into your all-black wardrobe. And white is not a color.”

  “If we ever get around to having a real office, I want it to be in a glistening high-rise on Miami Beach.” Fab looped her arm in mine. “We can’t stand out here all day.”

  We walked around the greenbelt area before heading toward the lobby.

  “Hate to burst your bubble, but I’m too cheap to pay my half of the rent,” I said.

  “You’re always the practical one.”

  “The good news is it’s not communicable.” I ground to a halt in front of the directory just inside the door. “It’s not too late to call in one of Spoon’s guys, put him in a suit—if we can find one to fit over the brawn—and let him scare the dough out of her.”

  “Zilla is a crafty one, and I’d lay odds that she’s not going to like finding out that her identities have been compromised. Be on the alert. Hopefully she writes a check and we leave, but the chances of the two of us getting that lucky are regretfully slim.” She paused. “We won’t be committing a jailable offense; it’s not a crime to be a collector.” She looked relieved.

  We rode the elevator to the fortieth floor in silence. The doors opened into the reception area, where an attractive, auburn-haired woman sat at the front desk. She gave us a once-over and her gaze settled on Fab.

  “We have an appointment with Finn Kennedy,” Fab said in a haughty tone. “Fiona Milan, and my assistant.” She waved dismissively in my direction.

  “Please take a seat.” She picked up the phone.

  The muted tones of the walls, dark hardwood floors, and fancy furniture didn’t exactly give off a welcoming, kick-up-your-feet vibe.

  “Does your assistant have a name?” I whispered, settling into a suede chair.

  “Now, Gertrude, you know I’d never forget your name.” Her blue eyes twinkled with amusement.

  Gertrude? I wondered if I had a last name.

  “Ms. Milan.” The receptionist cleared her throat, peering out over the countertop. “Ms. Kennedy’s assistant will be right out.”

  A few minutes later, a thin, overly made-up blonde with thick black roots came through a side door, her black pencil skirt so tight it looked like it might hurt to move. She’d coupled it with a white button-down shirt and stilettos, and the diamond-encrusted watch on her wrist was a real eye-catcher.

  “I’m sorry—Ms. Milan, is it?” she said, walking up to stand in front of Fab, not bothering to introduce herself. “We don’t have you down for an appointment. Ms. Kennedy has a full schedule today. If you could tell me the nature of your business, I can help you.”

  Fab produced a business card. “I’m sure Ms. Kennedy can spare a few minutes. We’re business associates of Zilla Mirren.”

  I squinted to read the card, but couldn’t make it out.

  The assistant glanced at the card, turned it over, then headed back to the same door she’d come out of, which she opened with a keycard.

  Fab raised her voice to say, “We’re here about a donation. If she still doesn’t have time, tell her we will discuss the details with you.”

  I needed to hound Fab for lessons in perfecting that condescending tone.

  Neither of us said a word as we waited. Finally, the phone at the front desk rang, and Fab’s ears perked up.

  “Excuse me,” the receptionist said. She indicated the keycard-operated door. “You can go through those doors, and Ms. Kennedy’s assistant will escort you to her office.”

  “If this works,” Fab whispered as we cross
ed the lobby, “it will be the easiest job we ever had.”

  Ms. Kennedy’s assistant was waiting at the open door and escorted us into the woman’s office, which was decorated in an upscale tropical theme with high-end, solid wood furniture and soft blue accessories. The large windows behind the massive desk offered an impressive view of the park below. Everything about Finn Kennedy and her offices reeked of money.

  “Make sure we’re not disturbed,” Finn instructed her assistant. As soon as the woman left, she turned on us, her face angry and full of contempt. “What do you two want?”

  The hardened blonde had me thinking twice about sitting down; I noted that she didn’t offer either of us a seat. However, I followed Fab’s lead and sat in the chair next to her. The way Finn eyed us, she had already come to some sort of conclusion that I was sure she’d soon share.

  Fab returned her sneer. “You have an outstanding debt with our client, Brick Famosa, and we’re here to collect.”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about.” Finn glanced at her gold watch. “My schedule is full today.”

  Not deterred, Fab leaned forward. “Famosa Bail Bonds put up your bail, which you guaranteed with worthless zirconia. You owe twenty large. We’re authorized to accept a check, as long as—” She shook her finger at Finn. “—it doesn’t bounce.”

  “Mr. Famosa accepted the ring as payment in full. Not my fault he’s stupid.”

  “Get your checkbook out. If not, you can read about your dual identities in Boca Raton weekly.” Fab reached out, flicking one of Finn’s pens at her.

  Finn’s eyes narrowed. “Let’s get something straight.” She banged her hand down on the desk. “No one blackmails me.”

  “That’s such a tawdry word.” Fab flashed her crazy-girl smile. “Who said anything about blackmail? Think of us as debt collectors. No one will ever hear a word from us about your alter ego… unless you don’t pay up. Today.”

  I held up my hand. “Before you give us the tough-girl speech about how you don’t care what people think, we know you care—plenty! What would shock your friends more; the fact that you went to jail or that you owned and wore cheap jewelry? Once the first shock wore off, the next hot topic would be that you’d worn an ugly orange jail uniform and had cheap, scratchy cotton rubbing against your perfumed skin.”

  Finn’s fingers wrapped around her pen with an iron grip; I expected it to snap in half momentarily. “Where’s your proof?”

  Fab removed her latest acquisition, a shiny new Ruger handgun, from her purse, shoving it underneath, then extracted several documents: “Zilla Mirren’s” rap sheet and copies of Finn’s face on driver’s licenses under the two different names.

  “Someone has clearly stolen my picture and used it on this fraudulent license.” Finn’s laugh didn’t hide the trapped expression on her face.

  “You already admitted to owing the money,” I said, watching her carefully. Knowing that when a person felt trapped, they came out swinging, I copied Fab, shoving my gun under my purse. “But that’s a good one.” I clapped. “Your friends and business associates may come to eventually buy that story.”

  “How much?” Finn opened a side desk drawer. Instead of a checkbook, however, she produced a handgun, complete with silencer.

  Impressive piece of hardware.

  Fab was one step ahead of Finn; she already had her handgun pointed at her. “Put it down. Now.”

  “The problem with you blackmailers is that you always come back; it’s never enough.” She laid the gun down in front of her but continued to grip the handle.

  “That’s not the case here.” Fab’s full attention was on the gun. “Brick wants his money; he loathes getting screwed. Be happy that he found you attractive. If he hadn’t, this could be ending in a way you wouldn’t like.”

  Finn’s eyes narrowed, the mixture of anger and desperation radiating off her.

  “How is it that you run your own company?” I asked. “You can’t shoot two people with your assistant sitting outside the door and expect to get away with it. By the way, did you know that when you’re executed by electric chair, your body fries from the inside out? Not sure how long you stay conscious in the notorious Sparky; it has a tendency to misfire and has to be started up again.”

  “Put the gun away,” Fab ordered. “You’ll never get a shot off before I shoot you, and in the unlikely event that you do shoot one of us, the survivor will make sure your death is slow and painful, I promise.” She flashed the mean-girl stare.

  “You two are so full of it. I come from big money and bigger family connections.”

  “That wouldn’t be enough to get you out of this. You ought to check the prison records; there are a few of your ilk doing life or waiting to fry. You have no manners,” I said in my mediocre French accent and pointed my Five-SeveN in her face.

  It surprised me when she complied, putting the gun back in the drawer and slamming it shut.

  “Word of warning,” Fab said. “Screw Brick again and be prepared to look over both your shoulders, Finn/Zilla.”

  “Put your guns down,” Finn demanded, clearly caught off guard and surprised that we’d come prepared.

  “No! Crazy bitch. Start writing; I’m out of patience.” Fab cocked her gun. “I believe I can make a case of self-defense.”

  “Don’t think I’ll forget the two of you.” She dragged the corporate checkbook over in front of her. When she finished writing, she ripped the check off the book, handing it to Fab.

  “Get over it. Don’t be stupid. You’re alive, not going to jail, and your shady reputation is intact.” I stood, gun in hand.

  Fab shoved her gun back in her purse, stood, and started for the door. “If you had a glass desk instead of a wood one, you would’ve known we were both packing.” She smiled while imparting her tip.

  I didn’t trust Ms. Kennedy not to shoot us in the back, so I kept my gun leveled on her as I backed up, bumping into Fab. “I do have a question,” I said, ignoring Finn’s hateful glare. “Zilla—so unique.” I wrinkled my nose. “Fan of monster flicks?”

  “Get out,” she yelled as we crossed the threshold.

  “Do we run down the stairs?” I looked over my shoulder. “Or wait for the elevator?”

  “Forty floors in stilettos? She’s not going to gun us down in the hallway.”

  I kept my handgun hidden, finger on the trigger. If need be, I’d find out if my draw and shoot lessons had paid off.

  * * *

  Fab and I split up in the parking lot, doing our best to disguise which car we got into, in case Finn had someone follow us to get the license number and showed up somewhere uninvited.

  “What did you text Creole?” Fab asked once we were in the SUV.

  “Job over. No one died. Love you.”

  “I need a drink or something.” Fab shook her head. “Do you think Finn would have shot us both?”

  “Probably,” I said on a sigh. “How’d you manage to get the drop on her?”

  “I realized in a split second that she had no reason to open the drawer. I’d rather choke out an ‘I’m sorry,’ than one of us take a bullet.”

  “A cocktail at the beach, on me?” I beamed at her. “You’re not headed back to The Cove.” I was stating the obvious since we’d passed the Turnpike and were now stuck in Miami traffic.

  “Last-minute detour. We’re going to blow up to the doors of Famosa Motors and lay on the horn. Bitsy can run her ass out and get the check, we drive away, and neither of us has to interact with the man himself.”

  “I nominate you to tell Brick why he’s being charged the gun fee.” I pointed to the left. “Speaking of… if you hurry, you can cut him off before he gets out of the driveway.”

  Fab laughed devilishly. “Hang on.” With plenty of room to spare, she cut across the busy highway and entered the driveway faster than usual, blocking it sideways. Room enough for a bicycle to slide by, but not Brick’s Range Rover.

  Brick blasted his horn, shaking his f
ist.

  “Now, that’s not very friendly.” I tsked.

  He backed up and pulled into a space.

  Fab pulled a wide turn, sidling the Hummer as close as she could get to his SUV without marring the paint job. She powered down the window.

  “This better be good; I’m in a hurry,” Brick barked, loudly enough that two of his salesmen stared in our direction.

  Fab rotated her fist in her eye, handing him the check. “If I were you, I’d drive to her bank and cash it immediately.”

  Brick snorted.

  “Okay, don’t! But don’t bitch at me when it’s no good,” Fab yelled.

  Fab yelling at Brick surprised me; I’d never heard her do it before. If it surprised him, he didn’t let it show. I leaned across the console. “If you’re too lazy, sign it over to me.”

  “That’s a great idea. Hand it over, and we’ll call it even. We’ll have it cashed in an hour, and it will be like it never existed.”

  “What—” Brick started.

  Fab cut him off. “Don’t forget the hazard pay, and before you get all high and mighty, Ms. Kennedy pulled a gun.”

  “Oh, here we go, snivel, snivel. You’re always complaining about almost being shot. You look fine to me. I’m tired of being milked for extra pay; I’m not doing it anymore. You two aren’t going to bleed me dry.” He banged on the steering wheel one too many times and stopped to rub his hand.

  “You don’t like it, don’t call us,” Fab spit. “You’re the one who let little Brick do the thinking when it came to ‘Zilla.’”

  “Fab,” I whispered, my cheeks turning pink.

  “Your multiple-personality friend scares me, and that takes a lot,” Fab lectured Brick. “I suggest you be careful. If Finn/Zilla shows up on your doorstep, I don’t like your chances of coming out unscathed. You listen to me: she shows up, don’t turn your back on her.” She threw the SUV into reverse and backed out, then jammed on the gas and squealed out of the parking lot.