Trouble in Paradise (18 page)

I felt bad for Harv. Whenever I got in trouble as a kid the
first place I ran was to my mother. “You two need to learn the art of full
disclosure. You better not cry or I’ll change my mind.”

“I’m not.” Harvard sniffed.

“Give me a few minutes to call Moron to let him know you’ll
need his services.” Hopefully he’d recognize the number and pickup. “Where is
the lawnmower?”

“It’s in the shed,” Liam said. “Thank you, you’re the best.”

“Stop worrying. Let’s be clear, you both owe me. I ask, you
do, got it?”

They both nodded.

Mac stood in the driveway, waiting for me; her painted on
pair of bright yellow shorts barely covering her cheeks, her girls screaming,
‘let me out of here!’ in her purple shirt.

“You wore that to work?” I asked.

Mac looked down. “Oh crap, I forgot my skirt again. I’ll get
it out of the car.”

I took out my phone and called Moron. “I need a favor.”

Moron was an unfortunate nickname from high school but one,
as it turned out, he liked. He could fix anything with an engine, his specialty
being boats. Yet another interesting friend of Elizabeth’s.

“What now?” Moron grumbled.

“That’s not the right attitude for favor doing.”

“I’ll do it, doesn’t matter.” Moron said with a snort.
“You’re the only person that doesn’t treat me like the weird fuck I am.”

“Anyone calls you weird, give me their name. I’ll beat them
up for you.”

Moron laughed. “Hmm, I might do that.”

“Liam, my soon-to-be nephew if my mother and I have anything
to do with it, will be calling about repairing my lawnmower that he and his
friend smashed up.”

“Some piece-of-shit push mower or something?”

“Riding mower, they can fill you in on the details. Don’t
charge them. Send me the bill but don’t tell them. Instead of cash, tell them
they have to work off the bill. Most importantly, don’t scare them.”

“You’re never a dull moment. I’m never disappointed when I
pick up your calls. Everyone else goes to voicemail and I never listen to my
messages. Happy for the entertainment.” Moron hung up, chuckling.

Mac had pulled on a white skirt, her shorts showing through,
looking like dreadful underwear. “What did I miss?”

“I’ll show you.” I crooked my finger, to follow. I unlocked
the shed, flipped the light; the John Deere sat in its usual spot. “Wow.”

The front ride side was bashed in, the tire hanging at an
odd angle. “What the hell?” Mac gasped.

“Liam and his friend Harvard needed to practice for the
lawnmower races and went one-on-one with a tree. Moron’s coming by to pick it
up.”

“Man we love those races, they’re fun. We’ve been to the Big
Daddy races in Indiana. The Cove version is much smaller. Stupid kids, you
don’t race a regular riding mower, it needs serious modification.” Mac shook
her head. “A group of us go, drink shots, and place bets, hoot and holler.
They’re in two weeks; you should come with us. Hell, you like NASCAR.”

Mac couldn’t possibly be comparing a lawnmower redo with a
drunk driver to a thirty-five hundred pound stock car with a skilled driver who
finessed their machine at two hundred miles an hour.

A loud bang startled us; we both looked out the shed door.
The little yellow shed sat in the corner of the barbeque area making it
impossible to see anything going on around the rest of the property, which
meant Mac and I had to go out into the driveway, the only clear view of all the
cottages.

Kibble had banged the door of his cottage open, his mass
filling the doorway. “Why in the hell don’t you mind your own business?” He had
all the signs of a severe hangover.

“Who are you talking to?” I asked.

“You, you dumb bitch,” Kibble snarled, clearing the steps,
landing in front of me.

Mac pulled a baby Glock from the front of her skirt. “Step
back,” she ordered, pointing it at him. “If you don’t, I’ll be happy to shoot
you,” she added, lowering her aim to between his legs.            Kibble
stepped back, his face red with rage. “You’re not going to get away with turning
us in to DCS on a bogus complaint.”

Surely, there wasn’t enough room to keep a gun in Mac’s
shorts. “I didn’t call child services or anyone else about anything.” I went
back, closed and locked the shed, happy to have Mac guarding my back.

“The cops showed up a little while ago with one of those DCS
bitches wanting to check on Kibble Junior. Johnson told me that you,” Kibble
pointed at me, “were the one who called, telling a bullshit story that I cooked
meth in the kitchen.”

Paranoia is a wonderful thing! That’s why they hung the ugly
black out stuff on the window. “Is that why you and Barbie are so fearful? Why
would I call the sheriff? You’re out of here soon.” Now the rush was on to get
them out before Kibble blew up The Cottages.

“Listen, bitch, you mess with me and it’ll be the last
stupid bitch thing you do.” Spit flew out of Kibble’s mouth.

“If he calls me bitch again, go ahead, and shoot him,” I
told Mac. “Anything ever happens to me, Kibble, Jimmy Spoon will make you wish
you were dead. You want to solve this problem of yours, move the “f” out!”

Mac still had her finger on the trigger of her Glock, never
flinching.

Kibble took two steps back. “Did you bang the dead Cosmo?
It’s all over the docks that you’re asking questions. Trying to catch yourself
a murderer, are you?” He snickered.

“You listen to a lot of gossip,” I said right before his
door slammed shut.

We hustled across the parking lot. Mac took her keys out,
and unlocked the office door. “He creeps me out.”

“Would you have shot him?” I asked.

“You bet his fat ass and it would’ve been self-defense. You
need to be careful.”

I double locked the door, looking up and down the drive for
any more trouble. “What the hell was Kibble talking about? I would never throw
a match in a gas can and that’s what I’d be doing if I called the sheriff on
him.”

“I was about to tell you I saw Johnson drive out of here
about an hour ago and Kevin was nowhere in sight.”

“I loathe Kevin’s new partner. Everyone around here likes
Kevin, he does his job, and he doesn’t go around stirring up stuff. Do you
think Johnson would lie to gain entry to Kibble’s cottage?”

“I think he’s sneaky and will do whatever it takes to get an
arrest. Johnson’s apparently not losing any sleep over the fact he’s not
winning any popularity contests.” Mac picked up a pair of binoculars. “Street’s
clear except for old man Keen. He’s started peeping in windows lately.”

“I’m leaving and you should leave early today, let
everything calm down,” I told Mac.

Three streets over, Johnson had stopped Cheesy to harass him
for walking home drunk, giving him no credit for not driving.

This must be help-a-drunk-out day.
I pulled into a
parking space. “Excuse me, Officer Johnson, can I speak with you?”

“Stand back,” he ordered. “You’re interrupting official
business.”

“Hi, Cheesy. How’s your mother?” Cheesy was an
underachieving, grown man whose mother doted on him.

“I, uh…,” Cheesy looked at Johnson and then me. He barely
made it to the bushes, before hunching over, making retching noises. “I have to
go to the bathroom.” He grabbed his stomach.

“Get the hell out of here,” Johnson said to Cheesy with
disgust.

We stood in front of an old, run-down cottage-style house,
with six cars squeezed into the driveway overlapping on the lawn. Four of the
occupants rocked on the porch, hoping to hear every word.

“It’s nice to know you’re protecting the streets from a
harmless drunk like Cheesy, who’s nice to everyone. No other sheriff bothers
him.”

“Drunk in public is illegal. My job is to enforce the law.
If you don’t like it, too damn bad. Don’t ever interrupt a conversation of mine
again.”

Could they have gotten a tighter-ass sheriff for this
town?
“I understand you just left the Shiner’s, telling them that I called
DCS for a child welfare check.”

“The department has a policy of not discussing open
investigations with non-employees. That makes it none of your business.”

“It is my business, if you lied and told him I’m the one who
made the call. By the way, Kibble threatened me.”

“Did he hurt you?” Johnson looked me up and down. “When he
does, we’ll arrest him.”

“I want you to tell him that I didn’t make the call.”

“If you have any problems, you call and we’ll respond like
we would for any other citizen.”

I refrained from giving him the finger, got in my SUV and stuck
to the speed limit. I wasn’t going to give Johnson a reason to pull me over.

Two blocks later, my phone rang. Thank goodness I had my
earpiece on. I knew my limitations and I needed two hands on the steering
wheel. “Are you okay?” I asked Mac.

“Fine. Just ran into lame-ass Apple, and she told me to give
you a message. When I told the bitch ‘no,’ she chanted, ‘You’re gonna get in
trouble.’ What the hell was she drunk-mumbling about?”

“Apple trades info for cigarettes and liquor.” My deal with
her gave me tremendous guilt; it depressed me that she chose life on the
streets because she felt safer.

“Anything good?” Mac asked.

“I guess I’m going to find out.” I sighed. “Where is she?”

“Told me she hangs out at the public launch area at the end
of Pelican. Can’t miss it, the docks are rotted and falling into the water.”
The neighbors and the city had been fighting for a year over who’s going to pay
the tab to fix them.

“Thanks for the call. Anytime Apple relays a mumbly message,
let me know,” I said.

“I gave her a pack of cigarettes and my cheapest lighter.”

“You softie. See? You’re not such a hard ass after all.” I
chuckled.

“Just remember, you tell anyone and I have plenty to tell on
you.”

Every neighborhood has a launch area for the locals. The docks
that got maintained were done so by boat owners who used them to launch their
boats into the water. Apple lay sound asleep on a cement bench by the trashcan.
I lightly tapped her shoulder, “Apple, it’s Madison.”

She jerked awake, wrapping her arms around herself in a
protective mode. She visibly relaxed when she saw me. “I was hoping she’d call
you.” This was a quiet neighborhood in the day; the night might be a different
story. Nowhere was safe for a woman asleep by herself.

“What’s up?” I decided to stand; I didn’t want to get bird
poop on my legs or my skirt.

“Same deal as before?”

I nodded.

Two twenty-somethings in a big pickup flew into the boat
ramp area, skidded to a stop, their boat trailer snapping from side to side.
They both downed the last of their beer, threw the bottles out the window and
got out laughing. They wouldn’t think they were so funny if their boat trailer
snapped off the hitch, possibly dumping the boat.

Apple had gotten some sun, looking less like death than when
I saw her last. “That old-ass girlfriend of Joseph’s is walking around town
asking all kinds of questions about you. A fisherman was ready to give her your
home address when I told him your mother’s banging Spoon. That got rid of him.”

“The next time you speak about my mother, it better not be
with the word ‘banging’ in the sentence. Got it?”

“Sorry, I just meant…”

“Anything else?” I interrupted.

“Veta’s telling people that you’re asking questions about
Cosmo and reporting back to the cops, and said flat out that you’re the reason
cops have been snooping around in packs.”

“What’s her game?”

“She’s a mean trouble maker; a control freak. Huge hate on
for you and it’s all about Joseph. In her delusional mind, you want her Joey
all for yourself, wants Joseph to move out of The Cottages and he won’t. Don’t
know why, he kisses her ass on everything else. He checked his goods for that
relationship. Probably small anyway.”

I closed my eyes forbidding that visual. “So that’s her
problem.”
Thank you, Joseph, for bragging all over town that you can nail
anything female.

“I may be a drunk but I’m not stupid.”

“Hey, girls, want to go for a ride, have some fun?” One of
the boaters yelled, pointing to the boat they managed to get into the water in
one piece. The other one hit the accelerator in his truck sending the empty
trailer flying out of the water. Dust and gravel flew as he did a crappy park
job, leaving no room for another truck.

“No thanks,” I yelled back. To my surprise and relief he
didn’t pursue the issue. Apple shoved her dirty jacket and baseball hat into
her knapsack. “Do you want a ride to the liquor store?” I asked.

“No, I’m using a little of what you give me for a shower and
to wash my clothes. I’d like another crossword book. I finished the other one
already, too easy.”

“If you change your mind about life on the street, you can
move into a woman’s shelter right away. You’d have to give up drinking. They
have a great sobriety program.”

Apple recoiled, fear on her face. “I’ll think about it.”

I handed her extra cash. “Thanks for the info.” Who knew
when she’d call again? These encounters with Apple saddened me but her
information was useful.

“Honey, I’m home.” I kicked the door shut, carrying two
pails of seashells into the kitchen. I threw an empty bread bag on the counter
that I’d used to feed the egrets.

“Who’s she talking to?” a male voice asked.

In the living room, Creole sat across from Fab. “He rang the
doorbell.” Fab said.

“I’m surprised Fab answered,” I said to Creole. “No one
knocks, except my mother and brother. Fab picks the lock.”

“Of course I answered. How was I going to find out what he
wanted?” Fab sniffed. “The answer is no. I didn’t get a word out of him.”