Executed in Paradise (Florida Keys Mystery Series Book 9)

by Deborah Brown

  “Few hours old.” He snorted. “Got the mugshot of the killer, want to see? It will cost you.” He leered.

  I stuck out my hand, and he handed off the phone. When I looked at the photo, I did a double take. “Is this a joke?”

  “Nope,” he whispered against my neck. “The chief doesn’t have a sense of humor when it comes to murder.”

  As far as mugshots went, Macklin Lane’s was decent; she didn’t look all wild-eyed, hair standing on end, like the drunken Hollywood stars. And of course she’d smiled for the camera. I didn’t need to know the facts; I already knew she wasn’t guilty. Now how to prove it?

  “Why wouldn’t she call?” I asked, not understanding why I hadn’t heard from her. “She needs bail.” I rolled to the side of the bed. “And a lawyer.”

  Creole stopped my forward motion, his leg clamped around my bottom. “Not so fast. Mac has zero chance of getting bail if they suspect her of a half-dozen murders.”

  “Where are you going?” I asked as he retrieved his phone and got out of bed.

  He tapped a finger against his lips. “It’s not professional for me to call my superior when I’m in bed with a woman.” He quirked his lips and dialed. “What’s the update?” he asked the person who answered.

  I liked Fab’s and my system of listening in on each other’s phone calls, but I didn’t have the nerve to ask him to hit the speaker button. He made a few affirmative noises and didn’t ask as many questions as I would have.

  Creole laughed at the person on the phone. “You know Cruz operates on a ‘what have you done for me lately’ basis. Besides, the lawyer likes them. Not sure he has the same fondness for you. I’ve got an in, but if I used it, then you’d owe me.” He hung up.

  “As of now—” He slid back into bed. “—Mac is being held for the body found at her house, even though she was the one who reported it. The chief was fishing with the sheriff when he got the call; that’s how he’s up on what’s happening down our way. No need to worry about Mac. Her first call was to Cruz, and he took it, even though the answering service had to wake him.”

  “That’s my girl. I should have known Mac would know exactly what to do.” I breathed a sigh, knowing Cruz would take care of her; criminal defense was his specialty, and he excelled at it.

  “Having seen Cruz in action, I can say he’s good at negotiating bail, although it’ll all depend on the judge. Mac did make a second call, and that was to Brick,” Creole related. “This murder had the same MO as the other killings, and Mac is the first suspect they’ve had. Expect the authorities to turn over every rock.”

  “First, we need to get Mac out of jail. We know that she didn’t kill anyone… unless the dead guy is her ex-husband,” I said, snuggling into his arms.

  “Not unless Mr. Mac’s a bus driver. The dead man had a reputation as a hard worker, no family. Sure bugs the chief that Cruz accommodates you.”

  “I heard you tell him Cruz only cares about what’s in it for him and that’s the truth. The lawyer has a busload of relatives hitting town this week, and he needs Mac out of jail to babysit them. She plans all the sight-seeing, gets them dinner reservations, and generally keeps them happy; the only complaints we get are when we can’t host a drunken brawl or an arrest.” I thought about Mac. I had to see her to make sure she was okay, and I needed to deposit money in her jail account. “Can you get me a jail visit?”

  “It would have been better if she’d been arrested in Miami. But I’ve got a connection or two down here. I suppose Kevin is out of the question since you’re kicking his ass to the curb.”

  “If I could physically do that, he’d have been bumping down the street long ago.” Imitating Kevin, I bounced my backside up and down against the mattress, making growling noises.

  Creole tightened his hold, laughing in my ear. “No one makes me laugh like you do.” He nibbled down the side of my neck. “Have you calmed down about your mother’s antics?”

  “Do you think her calling the docks home is a good idea?”

  “I’m in agreement that she could find a better address. But I have my own theory. Having watched Spoon carefully, I don’t think this real estate deal is signed on the dotted line. It was a scam your mother trotted out to gauge what the reaction would be. Expect her to come back with whatever it was she really wanted. Living with Spoon perhaps.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut and groaned.

  “You were all too riled up to notice, but Spoon was seething at being criticized for all that. Your mother wasn’t about to backtrack at that point and say, ‘Ha-ha, just kidding.’”

  “Mother… yeesh! If it’s true, I wouldn’t have wanted to be her once they cleared the door last night. If she’s not careful, her antics are going to lose her a boyfriend. And if you’re right, I need to apologize to Spoon.”

  “Fab’s comments didn’t help.”

  “I think she meant to lighten the mood. If it turns out that Mother was punking us, Fab will have a few choice words.”

  “You need to talk to your brother about his animosity. He can’t control who your mother loves or what she does.” He turned me over to face him. “I’ve got a meeting, but I want to hear about your latest Brick job.”

  “You mean Godzilla?” I went on to detail the visit. “Brick said he had no idea she’d pull a gun, and I believe him for a change.”

  “Shower with me.” He clambered over me to get out of the bed and scooped me into his arms.

  “Do you have to get up?” I murmured.

  “Yes, and so do you.” He set me on my feet, my body sliding down his, and kissed me until my toes curled.

  “You’re gonna be late.”

  Chapter 31

  Creole carried me down the stairs on his back and dumped me in front of the kitchen island. Didier and Fab shook their heads.

  “Bon Cheerio,” I said a little too loudly. One would have thought I was drunk instead of it just being morning. “I’m making coffee. Anyone brave enough to drink a cup?”

  Didier hooked his arm around Fab, holding up his coffee mug. “It’s a little early for your version of a French accent.” His blue eyes twinkled in amusement.

  Creole beat his chest with his fist and swept me into a kiss. “No coffee for them, more for me.”

  “Do you two think you can go the whole day without brandishing a weapon?” Didier asked. He ruffled Fab’s hair in response to her indignant look.

  “Mac’s been arrested,” I said, imparting the few details that I had.

  “Is that all you’ve got?” Fab snorted in Creole’s direction.

  “If I hadn’t gotten the call, you wouldn’t know that much,” Creole defended himself.

  I picked up the clear carafe and checked out the contents; it passed for coffee to me. Besides, even if it tasted like swill, Creole would never turn up his nose and gag it up like the French woman barraging him with questions. Taking pity on his friend, Didier kissed her into silence.

  Filling a travel mug, I held it out to Creole, walking him to the door. We stepped out on the porch. “Stay safe. No getting shot at,” I admonished and hugged him tightly. I watched until his truck drove by, headed toward the corner.

  Opening the door to go back inside, I came within an inch of clocking Didier in the head. “Behave yourself.”

  “Humph,” he uttered and kissed my cheek, then walked outside with Fab in tow.

  I closed the door behind them and moved into the kitchen. Jazz had taught Snow that even when there was food in the bowl, a glare at any human in the house would get it refilled. They sat side by side, an unspoken “hurry up” on their faces.

  After doing the cats’ bidding, I fished my phone out of my pocket and texted Phil to check with her sources regarding Mac and get back to me.

  Fab’s phone started to ring as she walked back inside. I leaned over, and my brows shot up at the name that lit up the screen—Casio Famosa. She slid it from my view. “Wonder what he wants? I can’t remember the last time he contacted me. If e
ver.”

  Casio was Brick’s older brother, a decorated detective for the Miami Police Department with zero tolerance for fools and felons. He had a no-nonsense demeanor that, the few times I’d met him, made me happy I wasn’t a law breaker with him on my tail.

  Then how did his name and number end up in your contacts list? I wanted to ask. The phone was still ringing. “Answer it already. Or hand it over, and I’ll pretend to be you.” My accent would never pass muster, and this wasn’t a man to try and trick.

  Fab rolled her eyes at me and accepted the call. A moment later, she covered the phone. “Brick’s in the hospital.” The call lasted another minute. Finally, she hung up and stashed the phone in the pocket of her skinny jeans. “Gunned down at the dealership, shot in the back. Lucky bastard, he’s not dead and the bullet didn’t do any real damage.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time he’s been shot. I remember one a few years ago during the commission of a robbery.”

  “Casio says the person lay in wait, took the shot, and left. Didn’t bother with his wallet and watch.”

  “Besides being cowardly, sounds personal. And not a professional, or he’d be toes-up in the morgue. I wonder if Zilla has an alibi.”

  “When I told Brick to be careful, it wasn’t with the idea that Zilla would shoot him. Maybe she really was unstable enough to shoot us that day.” Fab frowned.

  “If you’re going to shoot someone, don’t you want to look them in the face?” I grimaced, another image I refused to allow to form.

  “That mind of yours is a scary place.”

  “Hey, Pot, I guess that’s why we’re well-suited.” I blew her an air kiss. “Are we going to visit Brick in the hospital?”

  “He’s got a huge family, and who wants to get involved in that drama?”

  “I’ve met a couple of them, and they’re scary.” I shuddered.

  “We’ll send flowers.”

  “That’s lame. I vote we break into his office, grab one of his cigars, and send him that—at least we know he likes them.”

  Fab belly-laughed. “That sounds fun.”

  “First things first: a latte with a double shot of whipped cream.” I sighed at the luscious vision in my mind.

  “So bad for you.” She tsked.

  “And a double espresso isn’t?” I pressed my lips together. “Then we’ll jet by the crime scene at Mac’s, blend in with the other looky-loos, and maybe we’ll garner some real information and not just speculation and gossip. Before that, we need to detour down to the docks and check out the new lofts.” I told Fab Creole’s theory that Mother had some trick up her sleeve.

  Fab brushed her hands together. “If true, it’s a little messy, but problem solved.”

  “And if Mother’s serious, then I’ll play my ace—you!” I grinned. “You’ll swoop in, guns blazing, and scare the developer so bad that the next time Mother comes within a block, they’ll tell her, ‘Sold out.’”

  Fab shook her head and pulled her invisible six-shooters, blowing the kitchen to pieces, complete with sound effects. She blew on the muzzles, reholstered them, and turned on her heel. “You coming?” she asked, opening the front door.

  * * *

  “Stop already,” Fab said in exasperation. “The cup’s empty; you drank it all.”

  I swirled the straw around the bottom, making two last sucking noises, then ran my finger around the inside rim of the lid, not wanting to waste the last of the whipped cream.

  We were taking the scenic route down to the docks. I hung my head out the window and waved at Spoon’s Auto Body as we raced by. There was never any sign of activity; all work took place behind the locked gates. It had been whispered in the past that his business wasn’t on the up-and-up, and he always countered with “show me proof.” I believed him. I knew he worked hard to be an upstanding citizen but still reveled in his badass rep.

  “I thought this area was under renovation?” I twisted in my seat, checking out the block.

  The building Mother was interested in was under construction, although no one had shown up for work in what appeared to be quite a while. The contractor also had a sign on the neighboring property but nothing on it about a start date. I could see the potential of the area, but it wouldn’t appeal to me to live in a commercial zone with mostly fishing-related businesses. Still, once the first loft building sold out, more would likely pop up. But that would take some time.

  “If your mother’s unit is really under contract, she’ll need a place to live for a long time before this dump is ready.” Fab pinched her nose as though there was a foul odor in the air. “Bet you don’t hear another word about your mother moving here—Spoon will see to that. I don’t know what she’s up to, but we’ll probably find out soon enough.”

  “I’ll pass on the bet; your terms are usually too steep.”

  “Okay, no wager, but promise me Didier and I can choose the restaurant for our next night out. And no complaining.”

  “Gee, that sounds fun.” I didn’t want to tell her Creole was tired of the dress-up dinners. “If you don’t choose something tropical and fun—as opposed to black tie and stilettos—we’re not going. Creole and I would rather eat greasy burgers on the beach.”

  Fab clutched her chest. “You’re a terrible friend.”

  I sniffed, squeezing my eyes shut a few times; hard as I tried, not a single tear rolled out.

  * * *

  “This is a cute little house,” Fab said as she drove past Mac’s single-story beach cottage. It was typical of the neighborhood, built back in the 1950s as a vacation home. Generally, they had two bedrooms and not a lot of square footage. Very few of the old houses remained, as most had been torn down and rebuilt up on stilts at least one story off the ground.

  “Is our ‘stay out of jail’ pact still in place?” I asked. Fab looked at me like I’d grown an extra head, which I took to mean the answer was yes. “Then I suggest that we respect the crime scene tape draped across the driveway and not cross over or under it.”

  “We’ll park at the corner and go for our morning walk in this direction,” Fab said.

  “There’s no one milling about. The excitement must be over, and the neighbors have gone back inside.” That was unusual. Based on our past experience with sheriff’s calls, there was nothing like a dead body to bring out the lawn chairs. “Since there’s only one squad car and a forensic van clogging the street, I’d say the investigation is winding down.” My phone beeped with a new message. “Mac’s been transferred to county. I’ve got a jail visit set for tomorrow.”

  “Do you think the deputy that mans the desk at the jail ever wonders how you manage to get an appointment when most people have to wait days?”

  “People slog through their daily, and when I’ve been there, he hasn’t paid much attention. He’s not going to recognize me; besides, I haven’t been there in a long time. If he does, he’ll think all my friends are criminals. I wouldn’t be the first Floridian to know only felons.”

  “Tell Mac I said something nice. I’m not going; hate that place.” Fab backed into a parking space and hopped out.

  I shook my head. “I’ll do my best to make up something and sound sincere.”

  “Keep up.” Fab motioned for me to follow.

  “I’m not playing ‘follow the leader’ unless I’m in the lead.”

  Fab paused for me to catch up. “If we go this way, we can get a few answers, and maybe by then, the deputy will be gone.” She pointed to a six-foot-high bush in the opposite direction. “I recognize those tighty-whities.”

  I groaned. “When I told Crum he had to wear something over his underwear, I should have extended the edict to off the property.” It was hard to fathom how he could have a never-ending stream of women; he had a limited personality and zero social skills. “He can’t even get into the ‘no shorts, no shoes’ places.”

  Fab snorted in disgust. She’d never admit that she too had a certain fondness for the man, but it definitely didn’t extend
to being seen with him in public. “Hands up,” she shouted. “Slowly, I’d hate to have to shoot you.”

  Crum stepped out onto the road, clad solely in his underwear, an undershirt slung over his shoulder, and waved. “Terrible about Mac. You never know what might drive a person to kill, but I’m certain she’s innocent. Rumor has it she didn’t know the sap. If you need a property manager, I’m your man.” He puffed out his mostly bare chest, showing off a few stray hairs. “You know I have experience.”

  If I actually entertained the thought of Crum taking over at The Cottages, it would bring on a migraine. It could be loosely said that he had experience, but I remembered his previous job responsibilities had been limited to running squatters off the property.

  “I’m not replacing her. She’s getting out of jail.” I didn’t know exactly when or if it would happen, but it sounded better than no way in hell.

  “I’d be manager before you,” Fab informed the disappointed man.

  That would never happen either, I thought, a little hysterically.

  “Now. What do you know?” Fab demanded.

  “The body was found on the back patio in one of those big deck boxes. The deputies took bags of stuff out of the house, not much from the garage. Kevin’s lurking around. Be careful of him; he’s in one of his snotty moods. Threatened to have me arrested if he saw my ass in the vicinity of the house.”

  Fab poked me in the side, nodding down the street. Out of nowhere, Kevin stomped towards us. “Stay away from the crime scene. I’d hate to have arrest you.” He grinned.

  I pasted a smile on my face; at least, I hoped it looked like one. “Do you have any evidence that Mac killed your John Doe?”

  “A dead body.” He continued to grin. “If you don’t have any actual business here, I suggest you leave.” He turned on Crum. “I already warned you.”

  “He’s with us,” I said. “I guess I need to point out that it’s not illegal to stand on the curb and talk. And that we’re half a block from the crime scene.”

  That wiped the grin off his face. “This isn’t a game,” he said. “I better not see you again.” He turned and stalked away.