Trouble in Paradise (28 page)

“He’ll loosen up when the two of you start working together
on settling the estate,” mother said.

“I still can’t believe that Elizabeth is dead,” I sighed.
“First her death, then this ridiculous funeral, and now the reading of the
will, which will make it seem even more final.”

Brad tugged on one of my red curls. “I’ll find Dickie
Vanderbilt and make sure everything has been taken care of. I wonder if anyone
just calls him Dick.”

The three of us laughed.

“He prefers Richard,” I mimicked.

My mother smiled. “Wasn’t he an odd little man? He stood at
the podium and tried to solicit business!”

“I’m going to walk around, say good bye to the lingerers and
push them out the door,” I said.

“Find out about the blonde who showed up at the end of the
service,” Brad said.

“You’re not going to try to pickup someone up at a funeral,
are you?” I asked, staring at him. Brad stood six feet tall, with sun-bleached
hair, and the look of the boy next-door.

“Elizabeth would get a good laugh if I hooked up with a
good-looking blonde at her funeral,” he said.

“What about Madison? Maybe, we could find someone to
introduce her to,” mother suggested.

“Oh no, you don’t. You first. How about Brad and I fix you
up with the man who had the naked hula girl on his shirt?”

“And did you notice that the shirt gave the illusion you
could see inside the grass skirt?” Brad said. “I’ll go deal with Richard.
Madison, you get rid of the rest of the people and go find the blonde girl.”

“What about me? What am I going to do?” Mother asked.

“Behave yourself, and we’ll be right back. I know. Go
outside and smoke.” Brad winked at her.

“Nice, Brad, encouraging Mother to smoke. No ‘Son of the
Year’ award for you.”

PRAISE
FOR

DEBORAH BROWN’S
DECEPTION IN PARADISE

~~~Robin,
“RKH” San Antonio, TX

~~~Jodi
Hanson, Chapters and Chats

~~~Richard
Hayes, Alexandria, VA

~~~L.
W. Gouett

~~~Turnthepages.com

With my heart in my throat, I pulled to the side of the
road, threw open my car door, and reached for my cell phone to call 911.
Moments before, a beat-up red Pinto had raced around my Tahoe on the passenger
side, almost clipping my front bumper. The car sped into the intersection,
weaving and skidding out of control, and smashed into a light pole, where the
front end folded like an accordion. The Pinto ricocheted back into the
intersection. One of the tires had flipped into the air, landing on the
windshield, of the pinto shattering the glass.

Sitting with cell phone in hand, I breathed a sigh of relief
when the door of the Pinto opened; the crazy driver must be okay since he was
climbing out. I watched with open-mouthed, wide-eyed shock as Joseph got out of
the car, clearly drunk. He weaved back and forth, hunched over, threw up
several times, stood up, looked around, and stumbled off. I wondered whose car
he’d been driving. His last two or three cars had been impounded, and the court
had revoked his driver’s license months ago.

Looking around, I realized I was the only eyewitness. The
traffic light and the cars driving by barely looked at the car abandoned in the
middle of the street. I ran across the road, looked in the wreckage for other
passengers, and breathed a sigh of relief that it was empty. I took a deep
breath. No one was paying any attention, as I walked back to my SUV. The police
could investigate without my help. If asked, I wouldn’t lie for Joseph. I’d
learned a long time ago that lying to cops was a good way to end up in jail.

When I first arrived in Tarpon Cove, I didn’t know my way
around. It didn’t take long for me to become the go-to girl for free rides to
those with no transportation. In addition to the jail, I’d made several trips
to the probation office and managed to get a couple of people to their court
hearings on time. Most of them were my tenants. The irony here is that Joseph
would call me for a ride home from the jail. My biggest problem was saying no.

Fall in south Florida is one of the reasons a person lives
here year-round. The weather’s perfect, warm days with baby blue skies, white
fluffy clouds, and cool evenings. An added benefit for me, my shoulder-length
red hair isn’t the curly, frizzy mess it usually is. In fact, in the fall, it
is almost straight, unlike the humid days of summer.

I loved driving through the streets of The Cove, windows
down, fresh air in my face. Weekends were a good excuse to take the long way
and drive along the Gulf with its white beaches and clear blue water. The
Overseas Highway was always stacked going north, with tourists driving back from
Key West to Miami and beyond.

I turned the corner onto Cove Road and was surprised to see
my gate standing open. A sleek, black two-seater Thunderbird roadster sat in my
driveway. Fab had once again traded for a new sports car. She changed cars like
she changed shoes. I parked next to her and pulled my workout bag out of the
backseat. As I walked up to the front door, I saw her through the kitchen
window, feeding my cat Jazz on the counter.

“Madison, let me explain,” Fab said.

I threw my bag on the floor. “What have you done now?”

Fab had become my first friend in The Cove. Jake at the
local bar described her as his favorite kind of trouble. Sexy and hard-bodied,
she was the kind of woman every man wanted until they discovered that she
packed a gun in the front of her bra.

“I took on a small side job,” Fab said. “I need your help.”

“My help?” Afraid to ask, I put my purse and keys on a bench
in the entry and pointed to the man in my living room. “Who’s he?”

The stranger sat tied to one of my chairs, a piece of tape
across his mouth.

“Calm down. Now, about your help.”

I walked into the kitchen. “I’m not helping you with
kidnapping. Why can’t you ask for favors that are legal?”

“I didn’t kidnap him.” Fab’s blue eyes flashed with
annoyance. “He skipped on his bond. He had a court hearing this morning and was
a no-show. Brick posted the bail, and he gets his money back if he’s in court
tomorrow morning.”

“I thought you handcuffed people.”

“He
is
handcuffed. He jerked around on the chair so
much, I thought he’d tip it over and break something. The tape was necessary.
He wouldn’t stop whining, and I couldn’t take it anymore. It was either that or
kill him.”

“Okay, Fab, I get the part about you doing investigation
work for Brick. Why’s this man in my house?”

“It’s shift change at the sheriff’s station. I have another
pickup to do. If I take him in now, I’ll have to sit there for at least an
hour. I thought I’d leave him here, come back and get him, and turn him in
before the next shift change.”

“What was he arrested for?”

“Dickie was arrested on a sex charge.”

“Dickie?” I turned and looked at the man again. “Fab,” I
said in a loud whisper. “That’s Dickie Vanderbilt. He owns Tropical Slumber
Funeral Home.” Dickie was nice enough, but he had the creepy factor going for
him. Maybe because I knew he hung out with dead people all day. “Sex charge? As
in sex offender? I don’t believe that.”

“That’s what he was whining about, saying it was all a
misunderstanding. They all say the same thing. He should’ve shown up in court
and told his story to the judge. Plus, you don’t use Brick for bail money and
then skip.”

“Where was he when you found him?”

“Slumped over his desk, drunk, at the funeral home.”

“Doesn’t seem like he skipped anywhere to me. I’m taking off
the tape.” I walked over to Dickie and started to pull the tape off slowly,
while he squirmed around like a two-year-old.

Fab came up behind me. “Stop.” She stepped in front of me
and ripped the tape off his mouth.

Dickie screamed.

“I know it hurt, but faster is better. Now you two can sit
here and talk all you want.” Fab grabbed her keys off the counter. “You going
to be okay with me leaving him here for a couple of hours?”

The space between my eyes started throbbing, announcing a
whale of a headache. “Dickie, I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Madison
Westin. We had the funeral for my Aunt Elizabeth at your place.”

“Yes, I remember.” He sniffed. “The best turnout I ever
had.”

“Gee, sorry I missed that.” Fab rolled her eyes. “So, he can
stay?”

“Dickie, can you behave yourself?”

“Yes,” he said, tears in his eyes.

“He can stay,” I told Fab. “Untie him. Cuff one of his arms
to the chair if you have to.”

“What if he tries to get away?”

“Then I’ll shoot him.”

I’d never seen such a big smile on Fab’s face. In addition
to her hotness, I had no doubt she was crazy.

“I have a Glock in the car,” Fab offered.

“Thanks, but I have my own Glock.” My brother Brad had given
me another gun when I told him I passed an advanced gun safety course. He
increased my arsenal to three guns. I was now the proud owner of a Beretta and
two Glocks.

“Don’t worry; he’ll be here when you get back.” I turned to
Dickie. “Promise me you’re not going anywhere.”

“I promise. You won’t have to shoot me,” Dickie said.

“So what’s your plan?” I asked Fab.

“I’ll be back in a couple of hours to take him off your
hands. I want to beat the night shift rush, when they bring in the street girls
and dime dealers.”

“Can I ask where you’re going?”

“No.” She hesitated, her eyes fixed on me. “I’ve got another
job from Brick.” Brick Famosa owned several high-end car rental businesses in
South Florida. In addition, he’d just opened a bail bond business not far from
the courthouse. He’d gotten his start with a hole-in-the-wall pawnshop that he
turned into a string of locations throughout Florida. If it had to do with
cash, high interest rates, and the possibility of getting your ass kicked if
you screwed him, then he owned it.

“Another kidnapping?”

She shook her head. “Something different.”

“Good thing. Your latest ride only holds one other person,
in case you forgot.”

“I get my cars from Brick, so when he calls, I have to
respond. Besides, the jobs are easy, and it’s all about the perks.” As a
private investigator with dubious clients, Fab rarely separated the line
between legal and illegal; in fact, she pushed the line wherever it served her
purpose.

I walked Fab to the front door. When I opened it and saw my
mother standing there, the blood must have drained from my face. “I wasn’t
expecting you.”

“Really, Madison, you don’t look happy to see me. Do you
want me to leave?”

“Fab has something to tell you,” I blurted.

“Hi, Fab honey. How are you?” Mother asked.

“I’m good. Love your shoes.” She pointed to Mother’s bright
red peep-toe pumps. “I’ll let Madison explain. I’m late for a job.” She pushed
past us and ran out the door.

“Fabiana Merceau!” I yelled. “Get back here!”

Fab waved as she got in her car and peeled out of the
driveway.