Lottery in Paradise (Florida Keys Mystery Series Book 11)

by Deborah Brown

  “How did Didier take his confinement?”

  “At first, his ego took a hit, tricked by two women and all. In the end, we dissected your game plan and laughed. I won’t say we immediately jumped into one another’s arms but close enough. We missed each other; it wasn’t one-sided, as I’d feared.”

  “Aww.” I tugged on a lock of her hair. “So happy you’re back together.”

  “Me too. Now stop touching me.” Fab flung her hair over her other shoulder. “Didier wants me to work with him on the condo project. Schmooze the high-dollar clients, run the show room, and have a couple of employees to tell what to do.”

  “You’re beautiful, intelligent, and classy; you’d be a hit at the schmoozy stuff. The problem, as I see it, is you don’t like being in one place for long and you really don’t like people.” I also couldn’t see her sitting in an office all day, no matter how opulently decorated. The woman had more energy than five people.

  “I can do this. Didier made the position sound exciting,” she said, sounding like she was trying to convince herself. “I’d rather set up the security in each unit and the entire building.”

  That’s my girl!

  Fab continued, “In the meantime, as part of my effort to compromise, I promised to herd cats and mentioned starting a ride service for old drunks.”

  I leaned back against the seat and laughed.

  “Didier really didn’t like the last idea. I got a slap on my butt, a hard one.” Fab made a face. “And you know… which led to stuff… It all ended well.” She careened into the driveway.

  “What the…” My mouth fell open, and I pointed through the windshield.

  Fab hung over the steering wheel. “I’d like to see the tool that was used to wreak that destruction.”

  The garden window had been shattered. Shards of glass lay on the ground, every pane gone, the frame twisted and mangled.

  I jumped out of the car and walked carefully through the glass. The six-foot-long window was one of my favorite renovations, replaced after a hailstorm cracked the previous, paned window. The inside shelf was missing, not a plant in sight. Glass littered the ledge, and I guessed there was more in the sink.

  “This is the third attempted break-in,” I pointed out. “Someone wants something really bad. What is it?”

  “That’s what we need to figure out.” Fab unholstered her Walther.

  “This one didn’t have any lock-picking experience, much like the first one. Given a choice, I’d rather they beat the lock off.” I wanted to pull Fab back, but she was out of reach and at the front door already. “Don’t go inside; there might still be someone hanging around. Since I know you can hear me,” I grumbled, “don’t shoot up my furniture or get blood anywhere.”

  “We come face to face with someone we don’t recognize, shoot fast. We’ll each grab an arm and drag the carcass to the patio.”

  “Dead should be a last option,” I cautioned her.

  “I’ll take the upstairs.”

  This time, she truly wasn’t listening. I caught up and followed her. Fab poked her head into the living room before creeping up the stairs. Glock in hand, I cut left into the kitchen.

  The kitchen looked like a war zone—broken flower pots, dirt, and flowers strewn around. I unlocked the garage door and stuck my head inside; nothing out of the ordinary. Fab would know at a glance, as that area was her domain.

  I tiptoed across the kitchen and headed for the French doors, which were closed and locked, as they’d been when we left. I threw open the doors, preparing for the possibility of dragging a body outside.

  Fab stood at the top of the stairs, shoving her gun in the waistband of her black skinny jeans. “Nothing up here.”

  “Careful,” I said when she got to the bottom. I pointed to her feet; she’d kicked off her heels. “There’s glass everywhere.” I grabbed a pair of flip-flops from the boot tray by the door. “Don’t worry, your feet won’t fall off if you wear them for a few minutes.” I handed them over.

  “I hope I don’t get feet cooties,” she grumbled.

  Seven-year-old-child antics made me laugh every time.

  “Who’s going to clean up this mess?” Fab grumbled some more.

  “Not you. I’m going to try to salvage my plants, because you’ll just throw them out the window.”

  “It doesn’t look like whoever it was made it inside.” She whipped on some rubber gloves she’d retrieved from a side drawer and leaned over the sink, inspecting the window. “The metal bar in the middle is the reason. It held. Whoever it was had crappy tools or didn’t know what they were doing, probably both.”

  “I’m calling the window store to come out and board it up. They’ll know the dimensions, so I won’t have to look anything up. First the police. Creole got annoyed I waited so long last time.”

  Fab went out to the front and snapped pics. Coming back inside, she handed me her phone. “Call Didier for me.”

  “Let’s go outside.” I grabbed two waters and headed to the patio.

  I called the police. Since it wasn’t an emergency, I bypassed 911 and called the main number. After calling the window people and being informed that they didn’t do that kind of work, I called Billy. I texted Creole and Didier the same message: Attempted break-in. All clear. “You owe me.” I dropped her phone in her lap.

  Our phones rang almost in unison. Creole’s picture popped up on mine, and since Fab answered in French, I knew hers was Didier.

  “What the hell is going on over there?” Creole asked.

  “Good question. We need to find out.”

  “Have I mentioned the L-word lately?” He lowered his voice to a sexy rumble.

  “Oh yes, you have. Let’s discuss it later at your house.”

  “Clothing optional?”

  I giggled into the phone. “I’ll bring the food. Your second-favorite: Mexican from Jake’s.” Hamburgers weren’t as easy to heat up; if you weren’t careful, they turned into shoe leather. I heard a voice in the background and knew the conversation was coming to an end. “Stay safe.”

  “I’ll text when I’m on my way.”

  I hung up at the same time as Fab.

  Fab turned and peered over her shoulder. “How did we get so lucky?”

  I followed her hair toss and saw Kevin standing in the opening of the kitchen window. He waved. “You two touch anything?”

  We both shook our heads. “Rock, paper… to see who lets him in?” I suggested.

  Fab flashed her “you’re nuts” look. “I’ll do it.”

  “For your first security job,” I said to her retreating back, “beef up the system around here. We haven’t needed it before, but we do now.” Fab turned at the door, and I added. “Don’t get all high-tech and rig a gun to shoot when the door opens.”

  Fab poked her head out. “What?” She turned back to me. “Do you want me to let him in?”

  I nodded. “He needs to write up a report.”

  Kevin glared at Fab as he came in the door. “You’re popular lately.” He bent down in the entry. “Footprints.”

  “They’re mine. I got caught up in an emotional moment and forgot. It doesn’t appear the intruder got inside.”

  I picked up the cat bowls, setting them on the counter and checking for glass, then dumped the contents in the trash. The cozy cat couple were curled up by the patio doors, asleep, clearly not bothered by the drama.

  “Make my job easier: get me a list of the people that dislike you. If it won’t take too long.” Kevin grinned.

  I made a circle with my fingers. “That’s how many people I know that would break in and steal from me.”

  Fab stood by my side. “More people like me than they do you,” she said to Kevin.

  I laughed, which only raised Kevin’s irritation level.

  “The fingerprint people are behind me,” Kevin said.

  “They can do their job outside,” I said. “Last time, they scattered fingerprint dust and left stains on an area rug that ne
ver came out. And got squat in terms of a lead.”

  “If you offer me a soda, I’ll tell them to be careful,” Kevin said.

  “Help yourself.”

  “Oh, let me.” Fab crossed to the refrigerator and opened the door. “What kind don’t you like? I’ll give you that one.” Before Kevin could answer, she handed him a can. “Don’t expect seconds.”

  I hung my head to cover my laughter, but my shaking shoulders gave me away.

  Kevin jerked the can away with no thank you. “Haven’t seen you at The Cottages, and I have a few questions about the murder. One of your neighbors claims that you and your girlfriend here had a very friendly relationship with Scotch.”

  “I talked to him in passing a few times, but that’s it.”

  “And what do you have to contribute?” Kevin asked Fab.

  “I never spoke to the man.”

  “Knowing you, I believe that,” Kevin said. “You should board up the window.”

  “Great advice,” I said.

  “What’s he doing here?” Kevin pointed to Billy, who sauntered up the driveway, stepping aside for the forensics van and stopping to say a few words to the driver.

  “He’s here to board up the window.”

  “Criminals, are they all you know?” Kevin sneered.

  “You know that’s not true. You ever dream about being fed to an alligator… alive?”

  Fab grimaced.

  “That’s what I get for being nice,” Kevin huffed and stomped out.

  “I’m locking the door, in case he tries to get back in.” Fab followed him.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Creole got off early that night, coming by my house to check out the damage to the window. Billy had boarded it up in record time and produced a vacuum to suck up the glass.

  We stopped for mini tacos and ate them out on his patio, which overlooked the water. When we finished, we went for a long walk on the beach.

  Phil called when we got back, and Creole urged me to take the call, even though I wasn’t in the mindset to be interrupted by anything.

  “Since you put a rush on this file—” Phil started.

  I interrupted. “I’m putting you on speaker; Creole’s here.”

  “Five years ago, Richards didn’t exist. It’s said that there’s always a simple answer for everything, but I don’t believe that. I’ll keep checking if you want. Getting his real name would be helpful.”

  Creole leaned back against the patio chair, hands behind his head, pure annoyance on his face.

  “Real name?” I groaned. “Just great. Forget Richards. I’ll let Brad know, and he can deal with the man.”

  “Pamela Stone’s report should be back in the morning.” Phil ended the conversation.

  “Wonder what Richards is hiding from,” Creole said. “We have to know the answer before going into business with the man.”

  “I agree. But he’s Brad’s connection. My brother can handle it.”

  “Enough business talk.” He stretched and fake-yawned. “Time for bed.” He wiggled his brows.

  He stood, picked me up, and carried me into the house.

  * * *

  Another gorgeous morning in the Keys, the sun streaming through the window. I lay on the king-size bed, snuggled next to Creole, my legs stretched alongside his.

  “What are you doing?” Creole peeked out from under his eyelids.

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re checking out my legs?” He ripped the sheet away.

  “I’m comparing body parts.” I rolled onto his chest.

  “Why do I think you’re up to something?”

  I traced a line over his mouth and pressed my lips to his. “You wound me.” I put my hand over my heart. “I do want a favor.”

  “Is it legal?”

  I chewed on my bottom lip, pausing overly long. “Ouch,” I yelped. He’d reached around and pinched my butt.

  “The answer better not be no.” His fingers stayed in place, brushing my skin. I tried to push back, and he tightened his hold.

  “You’re no fun. I want you to recommend Fab to oversee installation of security systems for any new projects.”

  “Why can’t she take it up with Didier or Brad?” He raised a challenging eyebrow.

  “Didier has another idea—he wants her to schmooze clients.”

  “Until one of them annoys her and she ‘accidently’ shoots them.” He pulled the sheet over his head. Groaning, he said, “You should ask your brother. I’m not involved in the business except for writing a check. It would be weird, asking for a favor for Fab.”

  “Have you noticed the changes in Brad?” I asked.

  “Don’t worry so much; it’s all good. I admire the guy. When he got tired of fishing, he turned himself into an urban dealmaker. He’s hanging with new people – doing deals with influential up-and-comers. I know a couple of the guys in that tight-knit group, and Brad is well-liked, fit in from day one.” He kissed my forehead. “More changes ahead on the business side. They’ll be scheduling a meeting to bring everyone up to speed.”

  “Are they going to dump their investors?” I hoped not. Fab and I often talked about what a good investment it had turned out to be, with no worries about someone running off with the profits.

  “Hardly, they need our money. Who else are they going to find who’ll reinvest the profits and not be a pain in the backside, constantly looking over their shoulders?” Creole nibbled on my neck. “Enough about business. We’ve got more important things to discuss.”

  He pulled me closer, pushing my hair behind my ears and capturing my face in his hands. Warmth rolled off him and washed over my lips. My eyelids fluttered closed, and I waited for his lips to press against mine. His kisses were always a good way to start the day.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  On the way home from Creole’s, I detoured by the condo complex the guys were working on. One night while out drinking, the guys had decided on the name – The Inlet. The building was located in the docks area. The city had released plans to renovate the entire area and reap the rewards of more tax dollars. One of the problems they’d run into was that they didn’t own all the parcels, and a few investors had stepped up to get involved in the project.

  After Julie left town, Brad got tired of living at The Cottages, so he commandeered space on the top floor of The Inlet and moved in. The other half of that floor would remain office space until it got sold. I’d heard vague talk at the dinner that it would be the last unit to sell. I wondered if someone had already shown interest.

  All of the renovations were complete, and they were now going through a floor-by-floor punch list. An open house had been scheduled for next month. The outside of the building had a modern exterior, with lights running up the front. The gardeners had finished, filling in the planters with low-maintenance plants.

  Not having a card for the security gate, I parked on the corner opposite the building. Just then, Didier exited the building, his attention on the front of the building, where a black stretch limo was backing down into the underground garage.

  Crossing the street to stand next to him, I asked, “What’s the story?” I pointed in the direction of the car.

  Didier looked at me quizzically. “That’s your ride for the job tomorrow. Fab got the call to pick it up.”

  When I didn’t say anything, he said, “You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”

  “I’m sure I do. It’s just slipped my mind,” I tried to cover, doing a terrible job. “I’m sure she told me and I wasn’t listening. Or maybe she hasn’t told me yet. You know how she is—loves the last minute. Tomorrow, huh? I just may tell her I’m busy.”

  Didier pulled me into a hug. “She can’t go without you.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “That’s a pet peeve of mine. The eye rolling.” He shook his head. “Fab’s not allowed to do it and neither are you. Can’t have you being a bad example.”

  “Next thing you’re going to tell
me is that she does everything you tell her and is always well-behaved.”

  “I don’t want her too well-behaved.” Didier laughed a deep, sexy laugh that I hadn’t heard before. I felt the heat rush into my cheeks. “I’ll have to have a talk with Creole.”

  “You will not, or I’ll put bugs in your underwear.”

  He threw his head back and continued to laugh.

  Fab came out of the underground garage, a smirk pasted on her face.

  Proud she parked that fifteen-foot-long vehicle. I could never do it. I’d leave it where the previous person parked it.

  “Bad news,” I told her. “I’m busy tomorrow for whatever the gig is.”

  Didier stood back, a stupid smile on his face, enjoying the exchange.

  Fab sighed and shook her head. “What do you want?”

  “Fifty IOUs.” Amongst my family and friends, we exchanged IOUs for favors; no weaseling when the redeemer came asking.

  “One,” she countered.

  I barely glanced at Didier, knowing he was biting his cheeks to keep from laughing again.

  “Will I be needed to drive or park?”

  Fab rolled her eyes.

  I pointed and said to Didier, “See, I told you so.”

  “Have you forgotten that you’re in the middle of negotiations?” Didier reminded me. “Don’t you want to know what the job entails?”

  “Doesn’t matter. After much consideration, my final offer is twenty-five IOUs,” I said.

  “Didier,” she snapped.

  He threw up his hands.

  “I hate you,” Fab said to me.

  “I know. But you’ll get over it; you always do.”

  * * *

  The clock on the dashboard confirmed that it was morning and not the middle of the night. The day started going downhill from the moment I opened my eyes and saw Fab staring down at me. Assuring myself that it was only a bad dream, I rolled over, only to have the pillow jerked out from under my head.