Murder in Paradise (Paradise Series) (18 page)

“Or I’ll take the Hummer,” Carlos pointed to my ride.

“I never had your car and that wasn’t the deal. Information trade, remember?” I reminded Carlos. “Nice meeting you.” I backed my way to the Hummer.

My phone rang. “Get the hell out of here,” the cop said. “Just drive away, no one is going to stop the two of you.”

We slammed the doors of the SUV; Fab revved the engine, blew around the cop car, and out into the street.

My phone rang again. “Where’s the Beemer?” Creole demanded. “I’ve had enough of you two.”

Fab spoke up. “This is your other sister. Here’s the trade, tell me where Gabriel was living.”

“The end of South Pointe, in the tallest of the twin tower condos.”

Fab pointed to the GPS. “Beemer’s parked at the Miami Yacht Club, over by the launch ramp, right where we left it the night of...you know.”

“Tell me that when we dust the inside for prints, Madison’s won’t come back as a match?” Creole asked.

“They’re not anywhere on that car, inside or out,” I said.

“Forget about going to South Pointe. It’s part of a crime scene and hasn’t been released. Now go home.”

Fab made a U-turn to take us to the expressway.

“Do you think they have a guard posted?” I asked Fab.

“One way to find out.” Fab cut around a slow driver, the driver laying on the horn. “The last stop was a terrible idea.” She smirked. “Do you suppose this next stop will see more gun action?”

* * *

We cruised into the Guest Parking lot. The Tower and its distinctive architecture sat on the Government Cut waterway across from Fisher Island. There was an adjacent park and each unit had an amazing view of the ocean. The sign boasted twenty-five floors, yet not a single person milling around.

Fab pounded on the glass door.

“You can’t manage a polite knock? I only turned my back for a second.”

“This way we’ll find out if there’s a security guard on duty. One could be around the corner.”

“I’m still nauseous over the last stop. Pick the lock,” I said.

Fab stepped in front of me, taking her pick from the back pocket of her jeans. “One of these days you’re going to wish you’d been practicing.”

I stuck my tongue out behind her back, but she was right. She popped the front entrance door in seconds and I would’ve flailed around until Fab pushed me aside and did it herself. Much easier this way.

The lobby looked freshly renovated, everything in marble. No name directory. In the mailroom off to the side, three walls held oversized mailboxes for each tenant. They were big enough to fit a medium-sized box, the room had a barred door, the kind you see inside a bank vault. It required a keycard. The only identifier a number. My guess they didn’t match unit numbers.

“Now what?” I asked when we reached the twin elevators. It also required a keycard to ride.          

“This kind of setup was probably a source of amusement for Gabriel. He was snobby about his skills and he became more confident after being released from prison. Bragged he honed his skills from other artisans he’d been housed with.” Fab, always prepared, pulled two keycards out of her pocket. “One of these better work or I want a refund.”

“I highly doubt that people who engage in criminal activity give refunds.”

“You sure get cranky when the guns come out.” The first card opened the elevator.

The doors closed, and I held my breath while Fab inserted her trusty card again and pushed the penthouse button. I let out a small sigh when the car rose, relieved we weren’t trapped inside an elevator.

“Don’t you think a building that costs an easy million to live in would have security cameras and/or a guard? And there’s neither.”

“Not if criminals live here.”

The elevator ride made my stomach jump. When the car stopped, the doors didn’t open. I thought I’d be sick. “What now?”

“Don’t freak out, we’re not stuck yet. This next part is easy.” She inserted her pick into the lock next to the Penthouse button and the door opened.

I hadn’t noticed when we got on the elevator that each floor required a key to exit.

The doors opened into a small hallway. There were two doors, one at each end, and the front door opened into a one hundred eighty-degree beachfront view of the waters that connect the Biscayne Bay to the Atlantic Ocean.

“Gabriel has good taste,” I said. From the walls to the furniture, everything was stark white and reeked of expensive—a designer showcase.

Fab looked around, assessing the pricey objects. “There’s no way Gabriel could afford to buy or rent here. My guess is that there is a very wealthy partner involved. I’m checking the master bedroom first.” She headed for the glass staircase and stopped at the top. “You wait here and let me know if anyone shows up.” 

“How am I supposed to do that? Yell? This place is so big; you’d never hear me while you’re poking around in the closet. You’re acting like a jealous girlfriend.”

“Just because I don’t want him doesn’t mean he gets to be happy with someone else. You look around down here. No one’s coming in anyway; if the cops were going to stop by they’d do it after their morning donut.”

I wanted to be what I thought would be the first person to sit in one of the white buttery leather chairs, placed to enjoy the view. This condo belonged on the cover of Miami Digest, a look-but-don’t-touch-or-sit-on-anything feel. The door to the office just off the living room stood open. A glass top desk and oversized leather desk chair dominated the room. Not a single picture or personal item was on display. Two black and white drawings of the backside of a naked woman hung on the walls. Her face not exposed.

I pulled a pair of latex gloves from my pocket and opened the drawers, most were empty. The top one held a couple of expensive pens and a leather notepad that didn’t contain a single entry. No trash can. Maybe if rich people decreed there’d be no trash then it would magically disappear.

I wandered into the kitchen and pulled open the drawers where there were only the barest of cooking utensils. The overhead cupboard held china for four and various sizes of crystal; nothing was in the refrigerator except a bottle of champagne and coconut water. I opened the trash compactor, but it held only a clean bag. I was beginning to believe that the condo had been purchased as an addition to an already overflowing real estate portfolio. I’d bet no one had ever lived here.

A search of the living room yielded nothing, not even a single speck of dust, the half bath unused. I slid onto the piano bench of the baby grand, head in my hands, elbows on the keyboard cover, staring out at the water. Wondering what I could spy over on Fisher Island with a telescope.

The lock on the front door clicked and brought me back to reality. My heart pounding hard against my chest, I flew off the bench and crouched behind the curtain panels bunched together at the end of the rod. I fumbled in my pocket to extract my phone, hurriedly pushing Fab’s number on speed dial, waiting a second, and disconnecting.

The door slammed shut. “I know you two are in here, your damned Hummer is parked out front,” Creole yelled. “Get out here!”

I held up my hands in surrender. “Look, latex gloves, no fingerprints.”

Creole’s face was red with anger, his blue eyes hard. A vein I never noticed before stuck out on his neck. “Where’s Fab? And how did you get past locks and card readers?”

“I’m up here.” Fab stood at the railing overlooking the first floor. “We got lucky and followed people in.”

“And if I strip search you?” Creole glared.

“This ought to be fun,” Fab flashed her special mean dog smile.

“You two can’t just drive by like a couple of high school girls checking up on some guy who doesn’t know you exist.”

“You’re making my ears hurt,” I covered them.

Creole fixed me with a stare. “Get down here,” he jabbed his finger at Fab. “Did you find anything?”

Fab threw one leg over the banister and slid down. “What did you bag as evidence when you were here?”

That looked fun, but with my luck I’d fall and actually break something.

“You answer my questions; not the other way around,” Creole said. “I can arrest you,” he flipped a pair of cuffs out of his pocket.

“How will you explain
that
to Madeline?” Fab said, hands on her hips. To her credit, she didn’t smirk or do anything stupid.

Well played
.

She had him now. The two of us knew he adored Mother
.
“Stop, you two. What did you find?” I asked Fab.

“Gabriel’s personal items, clothes, and shoes. Did you pick up his laptop? What about a briefcase and what did it look like?” Fab fired her questions.

Creole closed the space between him and Fab. “We got his laptop. It was wiped clean, not even a social media profile. The black leather briefcase had a designer monogram on the clasp, nothing in it except a map of Miami Beach and ten thousand—in hundreds. I suppose that was spending money?” Creole towered over Fab, staring down. The look on his face daring her to do anything so that he could use the cuffs he twirled on his finger.

Fab straightened up and looked directly at him. “Gabriel had a second briefcase, a Presidential Louis Vuitton, which held all the good stuff.”

“Where do you suppose it is?” Creole’s tone suggested his anger had abated, but his eyes told another story.

“What is this place anyway? Who’s the owner?” Fab asked.

“Owned by a corporation out of Belize. This place, according to the realtor, has been up for sale for about six months, with no bites at twelve and a half million. Back to the briefcase: where is it?”

“Does it look like I have it stuffed in my jeans?” Fab spun around. “Gabriel never had one hiding place. He always had a backup plan.”

“Get out of here and don’t come back.” Creole waved the cuffs in her face. “Next time I will arrest you.”

Creole followed us to the elevator.

“You want us to leave you need to open the elevator.” Fab smiled at him.

“You need to get a better story than following residents through several layers of security. Obviously, you didn’t run your story by Madison first or I suspect it might have been believable.”

I refrained from a curtsey, but I’d remind Fab of this moment later. I couldn’t believe that there hadn’t been a knock down fight where one or both of them ended up maimed.

“Remember my warning,” Creole told Fab. “Where are you two going now?”

“The Cove,” I said. Who knew where we were actually headed, but telling him we were going home would stop another fresh round of yelling. “What alias did Gabriel use?”

Creole escorted us to the Hummer as reassurance that we wouldn’t detour anywhere else inside the building.

“Henri Ricard. Sound familiar to you?” he asked Fab.

“Dead uncle on his mother’s side, a first-class forger. Gabriel idolized him. He never used that name for criminal activity because it was a favorite identity he never wanted to retire.”

Creole stood in the driveway, arms across his chest.

“Interesting family your ex has.” Once we were back cruising the beach, I thought briefly about hanging my head out the window like a dog sucking up the sea air.

“You don’t know the half of his familial lineage. His mother, days away from being forced into a convent by her father, was kidnapped by her high school boyfriend and persuaded into marriage. There are many other colorful members on his side of the family, not a bland personality in the bunch; another reason for my family to be horrified.”    

“Did you find any women’s clothing?” I asked. “You couldn’t possibly have searched the entire upstairs for the elusive briefcase.”

“In the bathroom there was an expensive La Perla lace thong and a fifty dollar tube of Guerlain lipstick. The woman either had money or was an expert in spending other people’s.”

“When are we coming back?” I asked.

Fab ignored me. “The briefcase has to be there. Where else? Even if Gabriel had another accomplice, he didn’t trust anyone and he never played nice. Are you working on our ride to the island?”

“Tomorrow I’m going to go see Brick.”

Fab glared at me. “Why does he like you more than me? He would never agree if I asked and I never pointed a gun at him.”

CHAPTER 26

My eyes flew open, the morning sun flooding through the window. I’d gotten up in the middle of the night and Fab’s bed hadn’t been slept in; her Mercedes was not in the driveway. My bet she’d driven back to the condo. It irked me that she didn’t wake me up and take me with her.

If she wasn’t awake she would be in a minute because I’d drag her butt out of bed. Hanging from her doorknob a pair of men’s black bikinis—her subtle message that Didier was back and they were having sex. Maybe I’d been wrong and she’d been out with him.

I lingered under the warm water enjoying my new showerhead, a flashy square rain model that had five jets. I checked my phone while stepping into a lime green flowery skirt with pockets—a useful place to put my keys. I’d gotten a text in the middle of the night saying, “moved out.” One more thing to cross off my to-do list. I need to call Mr. Ivers and let him know he could go back to business as usual.

I picked up Jazz and nuzzled his neck; he looked at me and meowed as if saying, “Hug me once if you have to. Anything more irritates me.” I needed to refresh his food and water bowl. If not up to his standards, he’d be howling the house down. I needed an injection of coffee.

After feeding Jazz, my first stop would be The Bakery Café. Instead of my own home brew, I needed something stronger with caramel and whipped cream to jump start the day. My phone rang as I climbed into the Hummer. I groaned when I looked at the screen. Slice never called to say hi, how are you?

“Is this a friendly chat?”

“I apologize in advance,” Slice started. “We moved Quirky and his crap out, even loaded it onto his truck. Disgusting doesn’t quite cover the mess he left behind. One of my men followed him to the turnpike and waved good-bye.”

I sat in the driveway, happy for the good news.

“It just came over the scanner, Clean Bubbles fully engulfed in flames. I tore over there to check out the situation. Quirky must’ve doubled back on us and set the place on fire.”