Murder in Paradise (Paradise Series) (21 page)

“You worked Mango up, you call her off,” I said to Bitsy.

“Fab, catch.” I tossed her the keys. The prospect of driving a new car would dissuade her from administering an ass kicking.

The black Mercedes SUV sat waiting, not a speck of dust and with a full tank of gas; a bit intimidating with three rows and seating for eight.

Fab circled the SUV, kicking the tires. She got on her hands and knees and checked the underside. “Least he’s not tracking us.”

“Notice the sticker. No one will question that we belong out there.” I opened the console box and pulled out the paperwork.

“You’re so nerdy. The owner’s manual?” Fab laughed.

“Says here big engine, lots of horses, and the best part: good, low-end torque.”

Fab pushed all the buttons, checking out the dashboard. “There’s a screen here, I can watch myself back up.”

“When we get to the island, do not do anything to attract attention––and that includes driving fast.” I opened the envelope that Brick left. “According to the notes, the window sticker will get us on the island, no questions. Here’s a gate card and an address where we can park and go snoop around.” I put it in her outstretched hand. “It’s four big mansions away, so we’ll have to walk. Got a plan yet?”

“I want to retrace my steps the night of the shooting, before and after.” Fab was on a roll, hitting every green traffic light. We hit the expressway in record time.

“Don’t you think the widow probably has extra security? Can you do this reenacting from the street? Trespassing on millionaires’ properties is a good way to get arrested, or if the widow has a security guard, we might get shot.”

“I’ll do the sneaking around, you stick to the street; you see security guards or cops, call me. Then double back and I’ll meet you at the car. At least we know it’s a safe rendezvous point.”

“Promise me, word of honor, you’re not going to break into the widow’s house?”

“I’ve thought about it, but I’m not prepared, and it would be a bad decision.”

I didn’t believe a word she said; Fab was more prepared than any Girl Scout.

* * *

A quick look at the tag in the window and the guard waved us onto the ferry. Fab and I decided not to attract any unwanted attention and agreed to stay in the SUV for the ride across the Biscayne Bay. I breathed a sigh of relief when we drove away from the dock. I kept looking out the side mirror; everything had gone so smoothly. It wouldn’t surprise me to see lights flashing and hear sirens behind us. Brick had put directions in the envelope, but we ignored them in favor of GPS. Fab pulled into the driveway when we got to the address Brick gave us. She inserted the card and the electric gates that surrounded the perimeter of the property opened. It didn’t look like anyone was home, but all the houses looked like that. No one opened the door and waved to us.

My first choice would’ve been to sit by the pool with my feet in the water. Instead, I struggled to look inconspicuous, walking down the street in front of the murder mansion. Before they noticed me, I saw bike riders coming around the curve, a young couple laughing. Creole raised his sunglasses, blue eyes rock hard. Smile vanishing, he shifted his attention back to his friend.

Curiosity killing me, I turned and watched them pedal away. Creole looked good in a pair of white shorts and a golf shirt, his creamy caramel-colored skin reddened by the sun.

 They turned their bikes into the Wright’s driveway. I recognized the woman as Chrissy Wright, and she, too, was dressed in total white. She didn’t look so sad, and apparently had cut her grieving short. Chrissy and Creole made a striking couple. He turned and shook his finger before disappearing up the driveway.

I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and called Fab. When I got no answer, I texted her to let her know trouble just got back to the manse. Creole and the widow looked comfortable together. Were they dating? Had they known each other before the murder? 

I ran back down the street to the house where we parked the SUV. Six turns later, I had the Mercedes turned around in the driveway, awaiting Fab for a fast getaway. If I crossed my fingers hard enough, would it keep her from getting caught? I slumped behind the wheel, waiting, checking my watch every few seconds.

The electric gate opened and Fab appeared out of nowhere and hopped into the passenger side. “This wasn’t the worst idea I’ve ever had, but damned close.”

“Did you get caught inside?” Not hearing sirens, I put my foot on the gas and lurched out of the driveway.

Fab rolled her eyes but refrained from a snotty comment. “The widow has some impressive security; spent my time trying not to get my face on camera. Thank goodness I was standing outside the patio doors when the lovers came riding up on their bicycles. Didn’t take Creole long to move in there. The widow looked at him like a delicious morsel. Her husband’s been buried; time to move on.”

“That was going to be my bad news. Creole saw me hanging out in the street, he knew you were at the house. I think we need to hide from him for a few days.”

“The widow looked down her snooty nose and pretended to be afraid, pressing her body against Creole, who asked me, ‘What are you doing here?’ I decided to channel a Madison Westin story. What would you say? Then I told her I came to offer my condolences, sad for her loss, and although I had been married to Gabriel at one time, I had nothing to do with what happened at her house that night. Then I wiped the non-existent tears from the corner of my eyes.”

“I’m so proud. And tears, too? That’s proof you do listen to me.” I gave her a big smile.

“The widow then said she hoped the police knew what they were doing when they released me from jail. She asked how I got on the island, and did I check in with security. Creole interrupted her, thanked me, and told me I should leave and not to come back. He put his arm around her, whispered something in her ear, and they went into the house. I walked to the road and, when out of sight, ran the rest of the way.”

“She gives new meaning to the term, ‘grieving widow.’” I got in line behind several cars waiting for the ferry. “I’ll be glad when we get off the island.”

“I’m more convinced than ever that there’s a third man involved. Gabriel was in cahoots with Maxwell Wright, and the third one got away. He didn’t leave a single clue in his briefcase as to who that might be.”

“Now what?” I drove onto the ferry, shut off the engine, and ran around to the passenger side. “We need to return this car. I’m going to tell Brick to get me a deal on a new Tahoe. I’m going to miss the Hummer, but I’m tired of not having my own ride.”

“You could trade sexual favors for info with Zach?” Fab climbed over the seat.

“I tried that and he figured it out in a second. We swapped spit and not a lot of information. If you want to trade favors, the man in the power seat is Detective Harder.”

“Are you suggesting he and I...” Fab choked. “We can’t stand one another.”

“Even if you could stand one another, I wasn’t suggesting you tie him to one of my light fixtures and rock his world. I’m suggesting a professional favor. An info exchange.”

“Hmm...That’s where a best friend comes in, a really good friend, one who could set up a meeting. He at least likes you,” Fab said.

“Best-friend promise that you keep whatever agreement that the two of you make and if you can’t, don’t swear upfront. You are not to screw him over. If I vouch for you, you damn well better keep your word.”

“When can you make it happen?” Fab held out her pinky finger.

“I’ll put it on my list.”

CHAPTER 29

Fab and I sat by the edge of the pool, occasionally kicking water on the other, laughing, enjoying ourselves.

“Got your car. Get down here and pick it up,” Brick barked through the phone when I answered.

“What was that about?” Fab asked over the rim of her coffee cup.

“Brick’s short on social skills but good on his word. He’d said he’d have my new Tahoe in a week and it’s been delivered.”

“What’s it costing you?” Fab didn’t concern herself with the cost of cars; she worked a super-secret deal that let her trade-in her cars when she got bored.

“I told Brick he better beat the sticker price. I reminded him that I wouldn’t be like the rest of his clients who showed up with a bag of cash. He agreed to accept a cashier’s check from my insurance payoff and to finance the rest. I made it clear I wasn’t interested in being in the loaner program. There were too many strings attached. I want the luxury of saying no.”

 “I’ll go with you, I like new cars.” Fab jumped up, but not before kicking more water on me.

“I’m going to be the first one to drive my car, not you,” I sighed. “You don’t need to go anyway. Why start trouble with Bitsy?” 

“I didn’t tell you? Must have slipped my mind. Paid her a late night visit and negotiated new terms. Oh, don’t look so horrified, I didn’t hurt her.”

 “Forget, my ass,” I fumed. “She probably went straight to Brick.”

“Don’t think so. I explained to her the benefits of my not being an enemy. Told her I better not ever hear that my name crossed her lips. We parted friends, no hard feelings.”

We grabbed our bags sitting on the entry bench. Once inside the front door, everything ended up there unless it went in the refrigerator.

Fab, in one of her possessed moods, decided to set a record of how fast she could get to Brick’s. I pulled my seat belt tight and closed my eyes.

“Where was your Glock?”

“You know I pack a Walther PPK. I’m offended you think I can’t carry on a persuasive conversation without a gun.” 

“Your stories need work. You could stand some tutoring, call Mother. Teach her something illegal and she’ll teach you to lie better.”

Fab laid on the horn; the driver of the other car, not amused, hung her finger out the window and cut around a little close to the front bumper. “Your mother scares me a little. I’ve never seen anyone hold their own with the likes of Spoon and she has him wrapped. And what if she gets arrested because of something I taught her?”

“And when Brad finds out we’re dead. We’ll need to pack and leave town.”

Fab ran the yellow light and zipped into Famosa Motors.

I looked around for my new ride. The only Tahoe was a white one, and I’d seen it parked there before. The Hummer sat at the front, detailed to perfection. The auto body shop had worked its magic, and you’d never know it had its back end bashed.

“You deal with Brick. I have a snitch who works here. I need to remind him of our special relationship.” Fab adjusted her gun at the small of her back.

Bitsy’s smile never faltered when I walked in the door. “Brick said you could go straight up, he’s not in a very good mood.”

If she wanted to pretend nothing ever happened that was fine with me.

I walked into Brick’s office; he was on the phone arguing with someone in Spanish. He motioned me to one of the uncomfortable chairs in front of his desk. It was a big joke with him that they were horrible, he didn’t have to sit in them. I decided to stand at the window and scan the lot for my new ride.

Brick slammed the phone down. “Sit,” he pointed. “This is your lucky day; I’m in the mood to negotiate. Show me your check.”

I had my insurance settlement for days, turning it into a cashier’s check. “I’m preapproved to finance the rest with Tarpon Bank.”

“Here’s the deal, take it or leave it. I’ll take this,” he said, and took the check out of my hand, “and you get the Hummer.”

I shook my head. “Hummer? The check is a whole lot less than what you say the used car is worth. What’s the catch?” When something appears too good to be true, my little voice told me,
Beware. Don’t jump across the desk all gushy.

“Women!” he yelled. “It’s a damn classic. You’d be doing me a favor. I need it off the lot now and I don’t have another buyer.”

“Are there strings besides the check?”

“Hell yes. Here’s the story and you don’t change a single word. You bought the car back when you first started driving it. The reason it took so long for the title transfer, paperwork glitches, it’s now all worked out, legal like.”

I stood up. “I’m going to pass. I’m not getting pulled over and the title doesn’t pass muster, then I need bail money at your interest rates.”

Brick slammed the desk with his fist. “There’s not a single car on this lot that’s not legit. Sit back down.”

I refrained from using sign language and sat, reaching into his candy dish and taking a fistful of chocolates, throwing them in my purse.

 “The problem is my nephew, Bruno. While it was in for repairs, he stole it, taking it for a joyride. He found the title and saw that it was still registered to Famosa Motors. I got a screaming phone call from my sister, how disappointed she was in me because I knew she wanted the car. She even called my wife, crying. My wife, sick of the phone calls, told me to give it to her. I told them both our newly concocted story. I gave my sister two choices: either I’d send a couple of collectors to retrieve the car, but I couldn’t guarantee Bruno’s safety, or I’d call in a felony stolen car report.”

 “Bruno brought it back?” Damned kid had more nerve than sense.

“He called and told me to “F” myself; said his mother already gifted it to him. Did I mention he totaled two cars in the last six months? He has two reckless driving tickets, court hearings pending. If he doesn’t get his license revoked, at the very least it will be suspended for a long time. And I’m the bastard in the family,” Brick fumed.

“How did you get it back?” I didn’t feel the least bit bad asking questions that were none of my business.

“Casio spotted it parked in front of a sleazy strip joint in the hood. He used his connections, moved the tow request to the front of the line, and got it back here without having to bash in his smug face.” Brick clenched and unclenched his fists, taking one of those stress balls out of his drawer. “The interior was trashed, clothes, condoms, and liquor bottles in the back.”

“I’ll take good care of it and bring it by for visits.” I tried to make him smile but it didn’t work. “I’m good with the story if anyone asks.”