Greed in Paradise (Paradise Series) (7 page)

“Enjoy your necklaces. If you need more you know where you can find them,” Kathy gushed. “Have to go! We’re moving in the last of our boxes and then I’ll have hungry friends to feed.”

“Ask your husband to slow down in the driveway,” I said to her, then added, “please.”

“Ron got busy running his mouth and that lead foot of his…” She giggled.

Once Kathy was out of earshot Shirl said, “Those two have a lot of friends. Party every night, but surprisingly, they’re not loud. People come and go all night long. I wonder how they get to work the next day.”

I motioned them over to the barbeque area where we could sit and talk and our voices wouldn’t carry down the driveway. “When are they moving?”

“Three month contract. I drove by their new house. It’s under renovation; workers inside and out. Ron’s construction sign is in the yard,” Mac said.

“The house actually exists?” I asked.

“You always this suspicious?” Shirl played with her hair, flipping it around, and then looked down her top.

“You should have seen some of our prior renters; my personal favorite, the murderer.”

“I’m telling you, I’m on it this time. Checked out the old place, the new one, and even went by her store. I got there early enough to watch her unlock the door and let two women come in who were waiting,” Mac said. “Shirl is right about the constant coming and going of the cars; they tend to fill up the driveway, but since it’s so late, none of the neighbors have complained and the sheriff hasn’t stopped by in a long time.”

“Don’t forget you need a sign.” Shirl nudged Mac.

“The owners of the yellow house called last night,” she said, and pointed across the street, “decided to hire me as property manager. The last renters left the place a mess. I had it cleaned already and sent pictures, showing them there are no slackers over here. I need a sign temporarily. I’ll use one of the cheap ‘For Rent’ signs until they send back the signed contract. I’ve spread the news, no undesirables.”

A nice Canadian couple owned that house and a block-style duplex down the street, and both had seen colorful tenants in the past. A background check exposed criminals, but for drunks and addicts you had to hone your radar for the tell-tale signs. Most rental companies weren’t interested in working for property owners with only one or two properties, and the last company they used ripped them off with unnecessary repair bills. The owners approached me on their last visit and I recommended Mac under the condition that she never leave me to deal with my own tenants. I told her if this worked out, I’d help her solicit other out-of-state owners with one or two properties.

“I guess you won’t be renting to locals.” I stood and walked to my SUV. “First sign of trouble, call me.”

“Couldn’t you drive across someone’s lawn so we can get out of this traffic and get to the reading of the will on time?” I scrunched my nose at Fab. Traffic cones had funneled two lanes into one for roadwork. “Don’t you dare give me any finger sign language or I’ll push you out of my SUV and make you walk.”

Fab gave me a tight-lipped look. “Your phone is ringing.”

“Hello, detective,” I said, after I hit the speaker. “Let me guess, you want me to come to your office so you can arrest me?” I enjoyed sparring with Harder, being friends had its perks. I liked him, and, more importantly, trusted him. He looked for the truth, not the most expedient way to close his files.

“Smart ass. Time for you to step up and do me a favor. Find out when Ivers’ will and testament will be read?”

“Favor means you would owe me.” I pictured him clenching his jaw. “Why would I know anything about the Ivers estate?”

“Creole says you know or can find out. Is he full of it or not?” Harder demanded.

I almost squealed as Fab knocked over a cone, jumped the curb, and cut around the back of a pawn shop. “Me and your favorite criminal are on our way to the reading now.”

Fab slugged me on the shoulder.

“Ow!” I pointed to the street for her to pay attention.

“Do you have me on speaker?” He sounded irritated. “Now I owe Creole five bucks; I bet him you only did that sneaky ass trick on him. Heads up, though, Creole’s not happy with you.”

I sighed. “What now?”

“Not long after you and your friend left Key West without the Mercedes, a gunfight broke out. The Swan brothers screwed another dealer and bullets flew when they went to retrieve their illegal product. Happy ending, they’re all in jail, three of them are still in the hospital, but the downside is that it looks like they’ll live.”

“Fab and I were there to pick up the lawfully-registered owner’s car.” I shook my head at Fab. “Why us?” I mouthed.

“Where is Doug?” Harder asked. “He’s nowhere to be found and we’d like to have a friendly sit down with him.”

“We don’t know and don’t care. Doug will never be a client in the future.” I changed the subject, asking, “Why not call your pal, Tucker Davis, about Ivers’ will?”

“Tucker took exception to the fact I didn’t like being screwed on one of his business deals. I obviously can’t make the reading. Listen up; I want to know who’s there. Who’s acting weird? If you’re going you must be mentioned in the will, so ask for a copy, you’re entitled.”

Fab rounded the corner fast, making me rock in my seat. She had stuck to the back streets, getting ahead of construction, having to U-turn and double back a few blocks, but at least we’d almost be on time.

“And I get what?” I asked.

“Satisfaction for doing something nice,” Harder said, and chuckled.

“That’s not enough. Does this have anything to do with Ivers’ autopsy?”

“You know I can’t discuss an open case. Get me what I want and I’ll be nice to you sometime.” Harder hung up.

“You do realize he said open case? That means Ivers’ death might not have been natural,” Fab said.

* * *

Tucker Davis, scurvy attorney-at-law, had taken an old cottage-style house—a corner lot located just after you breezed past the welcome-to-town sign—and turned it into office space. The outside had been the recipient of a fresh coat of yellow paint. Personally, I liked the previous blue color. My favorite addition was the old wooden rowboat that held his sign. I’d like to stage an intervention for the boat and drag it home and display it in my front yard, junking the sign.

Fab pulled into the small parking lot, and, unable to maneuver the SUV into the last space, parked on the lawn. She caught me rolling my eyes.

“Try and behave yourself,” Fab said, as she shook her finger at me.

“We’ll see who pulls their gun first.” I smirked.

The front door chimed when opened. That was new and it made me wonder if someone had snuck in besides me. The ultra-modern interior didn’t fit the charm of the outside. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Ann standing at the reception desk so I helped myself to a fistful of candy from the coffee table. Arms across her chest and a scowl on her face, she glared as I dropped my loot into my purse. “You’re late,” she said. She tapped her watch as her dark eyes bore into us.

“Two minutes is not late,” Fab told her, baring her teeth.

Ann wouldn’t mess with Fab since her reputation as an unstable wild card preceded her; most people didn’t know the hype was exaggerated, unless provoked. She stepped back and opened the door and we both had to squeeze by her as she blocked most of the opening, having packed a few pounds on her middle-aged frame.

“Follow me and try not to interrupt when you go into Mr. Davis’s office,” she snarled.

Besides Tucker, seven people were crammed into his office. His desk took up three-quarters of the space, which left a tiny, uncomfortable area for the rest of us. Fab spotted Tolbert and slid into the chair next to him. Feeling claustrophobic, I stood by the window, leaning against the low sill. I recognized Violet Ivers and if I hadn’t seen a picture, I’d have guessed her to be Gus’s daughter by her big, howling sobs. Three other men whom I didn’t recognize filled the chairs. Tucker acknowledged me with his hard, cold brown eyes.

Why in the world did the old people in Tarpon Cove choose a weasel like Tucker to draw up their wills when he built his practice on criminal law by getting guilty defendants off? His court record was near perfect, he rarely lost a case. Juries bonded with him despite the fact that his clients were low-life scum. The joke around town was that if you had Tucker for a criminal lawyer, you did it and have the money for his exorbitant fees.

I leaned across to the candy bowl sitting on Tucker’s desk and helped myself to another handful, knowing it would irritate him. I threw it in my purse, joining the other candy to be eaten on the way home. He didn’t say a word, but glared and moved the bowl to the cabinet behind his desk. Aging had been unkind to him, his brown hair turning gray in odd clumps and turning his complexion sallow. One thing he had in common with his assistant, Ann, they both looked like they had something permanently stuck in an unpleasant place.

Tucker pulled a thick file of paperwork out of a side drawer and announced to everyone that as executor he’d be handling the distribution of the Ivers estate according to the deceased’s wishes. He cleared his throat and started reading, boring everyone to tears with legalese. I wanted to yell, “Hurry up, already!”

Violet had calmed somewhat and squirmed around in her chair, hiccupping. One would guess her to be a middle-aged woman, but she was dressed like a six-year-old in a full dress that tied in a bow behind her back, completing the look with Mary Jane shoes and loose blonde curls.

“I have an envelope here for each one of you from Gus,” Tucker said, acknowledging us individually as he held them up flopping them back and forth. “But I’ll be keeping these in my control until the estate is finalized.” He tossed them onto the corner of his desk.

“Tolbert, Ivers left you that parcel of land that joins your properties at the back and a check for that so-called church of yours.” Tucker eyed him in a disrespectful way.

Fab glared at Tucker; I thought she’d pistol whip him. He noticed and glared back at her. “You got a problem with me, girlie, you can leave, and I’ll mail you a copy of the will.”

I spoke up. “Fab’s staying. She’s my ride home.” I gave Tucker my best I-dare-you- face, letting him know I’d make a scene in his office and not care who witnessed.

“Charlie, Bob, and John, Ivers left you sizeable bequests.” Tucker stopped to take a drink of water. He passed each man a piece of paper, presumably with an amount written down as they all smiled and nodded, pleased with what they saw.

John, apparently an Ivers, made me wonder where he fit in the family gene pool. The familial connection surprised me since neither he nor Violet looked at the other. Interesting, too, that Tucker knew everyone in the room; they must be locals after all.

Ann walked in with a tray of cold drinks, serving the others, and ignoring Fab and I.

Fab spoke up. “Annie, I’ll take a bottle of water. Madison wants one, too.”

I tried not to laugh and shook my head in agreement.

“I’m not sure why, Miss Merceau,” Tucker said, glancing her way, “but Gus left you his antique gun collection. I would hope it’s not because you coerced him in anyway, but one never knows how low you’d draw the line.”

Tucker wiped the look of joy off Fab’s face with his ugly insinuations. She jumped up and I jerked on the back of her shirt, holding tight until she sat back down. Tolbert laced his fingers in hers and squeezed. I flipped Tucker the finger, mouthing the words at the same time.

His eyes snapped with anger, clenching his hand into a fist. “Miss Westin, I realize you were part owners with Gus in the car wash but for whatever reason he left you the rest of the block.”

I cut him off. “If you think this is the best time to fling dirt, I’m happy to play.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you to pressure an old man in an unseemly way.” Tucker smiled.

To hell with being embarrassed.
“Like you did to my aunt? It mystifies me why you are not in jail.”

Everyone sat stunned, mostly looking down at their feet—except Violet, who glared openly.

Gus and I had a business relationship, but I never expected anything from him and, quite frankly, not even the other half of Clean Bubbles. We had a signed agreement, but never finalized all of the details because he continually dragged his feet, calling for meetings where we ended up talking for a couple of hours and he’d flirt outrageously with Fab.

Tucker shuffled through more papers, making a few notes before looking up. “The rest of the estate goes to Violet Ivers. We’ll discuss everything when everyone has left.” He smiled at her.

“Who are those two?” Violet shrieked, pointing at me and Fab. “Why would Daddy leave them spit?” Her voice high pitched and whiney like that of a spoiled child. She’d been sitting demurely, hands in her lap, her pasty face splotched red from her hysterics.

Tucker patted her hand, passing the tissue box, and then broke the awkward silence. “I wondered the same thing. Don’t you worry, my dear Violet. I’ll do a thorough investigation before the estate is settled.”

“You don’t think they influenced Daddy in an unseemly way, do you?” Violet raked her eyes over Fab.

Fab leaned forward. “Mind your manners, bitch. I bite.”

Violet hissed and jerked back. “You’re uncouth.” Apparently her childish tone was permanent. “I don’t want her grubby hands on anything Daddy worked his life for; that’s not right.”

Tolbert pulled Fab back into her chair and put his arm around her shoulder. Fab unleashed a tirade in French.

The men, hoping for a roll-on-the-floor girl fight, had their eyes glued to the two women. I momentarily thought about brandishing my Glock and shooting into the ceiling, but knew Tucker would have me arrested.

Tucker cleared his throat. “You know, Miss Westin and Merceau, this is the kind of disruptive crap I expect from your ilk. If I weren’t bound by propriety, you would’ve never been allowed to set foot in my office.” He took a breath. “This meeting is over. All of you will get a copy of the will once I’ve opened probate. My advice is not to foolishly spend money you don’t have, as I’m advising my client, Miss Ivers, to contest.”