Trouble in Paradise (26 page)

“Joseph’s staying,” Zach said. “Despite your threats, Veta
was going to call your bluff, sure you’d cave. To stop Joseph’s incessant
whining about not wanting to be the bad guy, I got rid of her, broke up with
her for him. Slice and the guys went over with boxes and had her packed and
moved before Joseph got back from his doctor’s appointment.”

“That was so sweet of you. I’ll have to thank you in a
special way,” I said.

Brad put his hands over Liam’s ears. “Oh stop. Some of us
are still eating.”

My phone rang. When I went into hibernation, I hadn’t taken
any phone calls. My curiosity got the better of me, so I took out the phone and
looked at the caller ID. Why would Dickie Vanderbilt be calling? “Hi, Dickie.”

The room went quiet. Everyone listened, not wanting to miss
a word. Fab came over and stuck her ear next to mine. Mother looked pissed that
she hadn’t thought of it first.

“I want to listen in,” Liam said.

Julie grabbed the back of his shirt.

“I wanted you to know, Raul and I jumped on the church bus,
and everyone sends prayers for a speedy recovery. Tolbert and Grover send their
love; barbeque at the farm when you’re ready,” Dickie said.

“I should’ve gone to see Tolbert myself,” I told him. It was
sad to think Cosmo died because of stupid lies. Thank goodness Tolbert had his
grandchildren. That pit bull lawyer Cruz Campion had taken Tolbert’s custody
case pro bono.

“Fabiana Merceau went down there and spent an afternoon with
Tolbert and the kids. It made me nauseous when Tolbert told me, but he said
she’s a lot of fun and the kids loved her. Who knew? I told him to be careful
and he laughed,” Dickie said.

“She’s easily misunderstood.” I winked at Fab. If she’d
stopping scaring the heck out of Dickie, he’d come around.

“Oh…,” Dickie said clearly not convinced. “I called to tell
you I made Kibble look like crap, as though he’d been dead for years. Open
casket, small turnout, most of the mourners were regulars who come for the free
food.”

“I uh… anything I can do for you, call. Ok?”

“We’re diversifying here at Tropical Slumber. On Sunday
nights, which are slow anyway, we’re going to be offering ‘Contact the Dead
Sunday.’ We’re teaming up with the new spiritualist in town.”

I bit my finger so I wouldn’t laugh. “I’ll spread the word.
Hey, thanks for calling, Dickie.” We hung up. “Anyone up for a séance on Sunday
night? Dickie’s new marketing campaign is having conversations with the dead,
for a fee.”

“I’ll go,” Liam said. “But I don’t know any dead people.”

“You’re not going,” Julie said.

“What’s for dessert?” I walked to the opposite side of the
kitchen where Mother had the dessert. I scanned the counter, reaching for a
slice of key lime pie. I took it and sat down next to Fab, musical chairs
without the music.

Fab stuck her finger in my pie. “Zach can’t take his eyes
off you. And then there’s Creole. Did you know he knows Marco?”

Fab’s elusive boyfriend. She never mentioned Marco except to
say they broke up. And now there’s Didier and she seems happier. Being in a
relationship with an undercover officer had been hard on her.

“Really? How is Marco, by the way?” I handed her a fork.

“He’s moved in with my replacement already, a Washington
debutante. At least with Didier we can go out in public.” Fab followed my gaze
over to the guys. “Trying to decide which one?”

“I like Creole as a friend, but I’m with Zach.”

“What if there was no Zach?” Fab ran her finger through what
was left of the whipped cream. “Has he said ‘I love you’?” she asked.

“No, he hasn’t but then neither have I.” Love would take the
relationship to another level which made me a little nervous.

“What if he says those three little words?” Fab eyed me.

“Then I’ll say them back.” The nice part is that it I
wouldn’t be saying it to avoid an argument, I did love him.

“I’ve got to go.” Creole came up and put his arm around my
shoulders. “I’m not going to poach my friend’s girl but I’m holding you to your
promise of my right to first refusal.”

“You’re good for a girl’s ego. You’re welcome here anytime;
swim, hideout, free meal, whatever.”

He kissed my cheek and Mother’s and left.

I stood up catching everyone’s attention. “Mother, guess
what my get well gift is from Fab?” All eyes were on Fab. “Do you want me to
tell them or do you want to do the honors?”

Fab’s eyes narrowed. “Go ahead.”

“Mother, Fab promised to teach you and me how to hotwire a
car.”

“Like hell!” Brad shouted.

“That sounds way cool,” Liam said.

Mother had a big smile. “I can do that this week.”

“You’re the most dreadful friend,” Fab hissed. “Zach is
dangerous when he glares at a person like that.”

“I shouldn’t, but I agree with Liam,” Julie said. “I lost my
keys once and it cost a fortune for the locksmith to come out.”

Zach leaned into me. “Get rid of everyone and let’s go
upstairs and see whose legs are longer.”

“Yours are but mine know a trick or two yours don’t,” I
whispered back. “You leave. I’ll tell everyone I’m tired and go to bed. You
sneak in the back way. Once Mother and Julie finish cleaning up, Brad’s driving
Mother home. After, he’s taking Julie and Liam to the movies.”

I hugged Mother and Brad. “You saved my life, which means I
owe you one,” I said to Brad. “Try not to use it.”

Only a really cool brother gives a Ruger LC9 handgun as a
get well gift. I sat in the kitchen admiring my new weapon. It would be a
couple of weeks before my Glock got returned. Brad knew I would be excited to
get to the gun range and take the new one for a test drive.

“You waited to come downstairs until Zach left, didn’t you?”
I asked Fab.

“I wasn’t in the mood for a lecture on the ‘hot wiring’
issue.” Fab set Jazz on the counter. “When you said I had a ‘gift,’ I held my
breath wondering what you were about to say. Instead of it being something
cool, you drop kicked me under the bus.”

“It’s nice to start the morning, just the three of us.” I
gave Jazz a cat treat, ignoring Fab. Now that Mother and Julie wanted to learn
the cool new skill, she’d be forced to hold a class.

“What’s on tap for you today?” Fab asked.

“I thought you’d drive me to The Cottages. I’ll check on
Mac, make sure she’s okay, Miss January and Joseph, too.” I thought for a few
seconds. “I’m planning a makeover for the cottage laundry room, fresh paint and
a pull down table. Not to mention a way to cover up the area where Kibble
died.”

Fab grabbed a mug from the cupboard. “Julie, of all people
recommended a crime scene cleaner. A real asshat; too many dead people jokes.
Then Brad called a friend who ran a skim coat over the concrete and you’d never
know.”

“That’s a huge relief. I’m thinking about a second entrance
so no one ever gets trapped in there again. When’s our carjacking job?”

“Tomorrow. Madeline’s coming, she’s excited and will be here
early in the morning.”

“How the heck did that happen?” I asked.

“She overheard me talking to Brick and stared me down, ‘You
don’t mind if I come along do you?’ she asked.  It was so manipulative and she
knew she had me.”

I shook my head. “I hope I don’t end up getting her into all
kinds of trouble. Or worse yet, Brad has to bail out Mother and me.”

“I won’t let that happen to either of you,” Fab said.
“Besides, you know how many people would pony up bail money for you?”

The sound of chimes interrupted our chat. “Doorbell this
early? That can’t be good. You want to flip to see who answers?” I asked.

“I win.” Fab whipped out her Walther. She looked out the
peephole. “Some guy in a delivery uniform. I can see his truck from here.”

“Don’t shoot him unless you have to,” I said.

Fab opened the door, her Walther at her side. “What?”

“Madison Westin?”

“No, what do you want?”

“I have a delivery for her and my instructions are to give
it to her only.”

Fab pointed her gun in his face. “Hand it over and beat it.”

He dropped the envelope and ran for his truck. The engine
made a weird choking noise, like he jammed the gears before he zoomed away.

“I’m not like you.” Fab handed me the envelope. “I don’t
care how he’s feeling or anything about his family.”

I upended the contents on the counter. Keys, a letter, and
some legal docs came out. I skimmed the letter, then the legal docs.

“Well… Jake has gotten himself into trouble and needs to
leave town for a while, no mention how long that will be. He needs someone he
can trust to run Jake’s bar, he says it’s fitting that since Aunt Elizabeth was
once half owner, I should be the one to take over. He trusts me not to run it
into the ground. He signed it over to me all legal like. Seems as though I’m
the new owner of Jake’s Bar.”

Trouble in Paradise
, is Deborah Brown's third novel
in the Paradise series, a Florida Keys mystery, which makes the reader laugh,
cry and cheer...South Florida is her home, where she lives with her family and
ungrateful rescue animals, and where Mother Nature takes out her bad attitude
in the form of hurricanes.

PRAISE FOR

DEBORAH BROWN’S CRAZY
IN PARADISE

 “Welcome to Florida – where a
girl’s best friend is her Glock. This book’s like cotton candy – a sweet airy
confection that’s a little taboo, but you’ve got to have it anyways. It’s chick
lit in the best sense, a story that know sometimes a girl just needs a bubble
bath, a glass of wine, and a bad boy. This is the kind of book that’s a welcome
reward after a hard day in stiletto heels.”

—jenaissance.blogspot.com

—LaurieHere.blogspot.com

—mylife-in-stories.blogpost.com

—thepaperbackpursuer.blogspot.com

—asitturnthepages.com

There should be a law in South Florida that a person can’t
die during the summer. The death of a loved one was hard enough without the
added humiliation of sweat. I felt it rolling down my back, like a stream
trapped by the belt of my dress with nowhere to go.

My name is Madison Elizabeth Westin, and I’m seated at the
funeral of my favorite aunt, people watching, of all things. Most of the
mourners looked ready for a pool party, some of them in shorts and bathing suit
cover-ups. I was the only one dressed in black; even my brother wore khaki
shorts.

The minister began, “We are gathered here today to give
thanks for the life of Elizabeth Ruth Hart, who shared herself with us. It is
in her memory we come together and, for all she meant to us, we are thankful.”

My mother had named me after her older sister. Elizabeth was
like a second mother to my brother Brad and me. We spent summers with her in
Florida, running and playing on the beach, building sandcastles, and she was a
regular visitor to our home in South Carolina.

After five years of not seeing her, I had packed for a
several-month stay and planned to spend the summer with her. That’s when I got
a phone call from her lawyer telling me she had died. I still found it
difficult to believe it had happened so suddenly.

When I walked into the funeral home earlier, the heat had
smothered me; this main room was suffocating. The air conditioning wasn’t
working and it felt as though it was more than one hundred degrees. The
director, Dickie Vanderbilt, had apologized for that, telling me that the
central unit had gone out earlier in the day. He informed me he had all of the
ceiling fans on high, which, in my opinion, were only circulating hot air.

Dickie Vanderbilt gave me the creeps. He had a slight build,
pasty white skin, and long skinny fingers. When he reached out to touch my arm,
I tried hard not to squirm.

I’m not a big fan of shaking hands. I find people only want
to shake your hand when they can see you’re not interested. A friend suggested
I perfect the dog paw shake for those who insist. I extend my hand like a paw
and let it hang loose. Often times, they jerk their hand away and give me an
odd stare, which makes me want to laugh every time.

The minister rambled on. I found him to be uninteresting,
his speech dry. He talked about Elizabeth as though she were a stranger to him
and everyone here. Apparently, Elizabeth’s jerk attorney, Tucker Davis, hadn’t
given the minister any information about her. I didn’t understand why my aunt
left all of the details of her funeral to Tucker. Why would she exclude the
people who loved her and knew her best from having input? I wished I had one
more day to walk along the beach to laugh, talk, and collect shells with her.

On Sunday, Tucker called to inform me that Elizabeth had
died in her sleep from a heart attack. “The funeral is Wednesday, 1:00 p.m. at
Tropical Slumber Funeral Home on Highway 1 in Tarpon Cove,” he told me.

“I want to help plan the funeral.”

“All of the arrangements have been made.” He sounded
impatient, emphasizing his words. “If you want to, you can call anyone else you
think should be informed.”

“My aunt would’ve wanted her family to be involved in the
decision-making for her funeral. After all, my mother, brother, and I are the
only family she had.”

“Elizabeth appointed me executor. She left me written
instructions for everything she wanted done after her death, including her
funeral.”