Trouble in Paradise (8 page)

“They make a ton of charity pick-ups in this area. I see the
trucks all the time. How do you plan to track down the right one?” Fab
scrounged in the pantry closet, coming up with an energy drink.

“The city clerk’s office told me according to their records
only Mercy House picked up that day. I called Mercy House, and explained the
situation. They were very nice. Informed me that everything goes to a central
warehouse for sorting and I had permission to look around. You need to come
with me to help look.”

“What do I get?” Fab asked.

“The good feeling that comes from doing something for a
friend.”

“That’s it, huh?”

“If you don’t complain or whine, I might buy lunch.”

* *

“It smells in here.” Fab wrinkled her nose.

The charity warehouse sat at the end of a dead end street,
in the seedy section of the dock area. Fishing boats docked in every slip
contributed to the smell. Leroy’s, the largest clam dealer in the Keys, was two
lots down. His pile of clam shells had grown fifteen feet since I’d last been
in the area.

“I could help Leroy out and fill a few of my buckets.”

“Focus!” Fab snapped her fingers. “This is not the beach.
You take those shells, and Leroy will have you arrested. Resale money there.”

We walked through the open warehouse doors. Bits and pieces
of personal lives filled at least half the space.

“We’re looking for a twelve by twelve cardboard box,” I told
Fab, “with ‘Mom-Mom’ written on the side.”

A young woman approached, friendly smile, Key West sweat
shirt on, featuring Ernest Hemingway’s face. “Can I help you?” Her name tag
read Wendy.

“I called earlier about an item picked up by mistake.”

“Madison Westin? The deliveries from yesterday have yet to
be sorted. Everything was stacked under banner twelve, along the far wall.”
Wendy pointed.

“Thank you, I appreciate your cooperation,” I whispered.
Once I’d told her the story she’d become sympathetic and helpful. She told me
that had happened once before and they never did find the family. Mercy House
paid to have the urn buried.

“What do you think?” Fab asked holding up a black knee
length coat, ratty feathers around the neck.

“No one in South Florida needs a coat. Besides, there’s a
smooshed bug on the pocket.”

The coat went airborne landing two rows over.

“Stop shopping and help me find the box. Even if it made
sense to buy it, the coat made you look like the old guy that panhandles
outside the grocery store.”

Kids’ toys, household items and furniture were scattered
everywhere. There weren’t very many cardboard boxes, so the process of
elimination went quickly. I spotted the box, with “Mom-Mom” scribbled on the
side, at the top of the second stack. Standing on tiptoes, I gave the box a
shove and caught it mid-air. I didn’t expect it be so light.

I handed the box to Fab. “I’m going to thank Wendy. I’ll
meet you at the car.”

I hopped in the driver’s seat before Fab could start
complaining.

“What’s in the box?” Fab asked.

“A dead woman.”

Fab stared at the box in her lap, not believing me. “It’s a
little small.”

“She was cremated.” I took a side road that took us by
seafood houses that bought whatever catch the boats unloaded.

“I hate you,” Fab yelled, tossing the box in the back, and
rubbed her hands on her jeans.

“Oh calm down, she’s in an urn.”

“Why are we going this way?” Fab pointed. “You missed the
turn.”

“You’re not getting out now unless you jump.” I stomped on
the accelerator, turning on to the Overseas Highway. “I’m still in need of your
services.”

“Now I know why you insisted on driving,” Fab grumbled.         

I reached over, grabbed my cell phone and asked Fab to dial
the number. “Good news,” I said when Kettle answered.

“Which one of those bastard relatives had her?” Kettle
yelled.

“If you’re home, I can be there in a few minutes.”

“Gate’s open,” Kettle said. The line went dead.

“What’s my cut on this job?” Fab asked.

“I was so excited to get my first job, I forgot to ask. I’m
supposed to bill Brick. How much would you charge?” We were far enough out of
town, I could slow down. No chance Fab would walk from the outskirts of The
Cove.

“Brick would never call me with a chicken job like this.”
Fab snickered. “If he did, I’d bill him triple. My scale fluctuates, depending
on the customer’s net worth.” Fab stared at me. “I know that look. What are you
planning now?”

“Whatever story I come up with as to how I found said ashes,
don’t contradict me.”

“Why not the truth?” Fab asked.

“It’s more complicated than the truth.”

Fab shook her head. “I’ll be using that line in the
future.” 

Too busy talking, I veered hard off the highway, damn near
missing the exit, braking hard before skidding onto the gravel road.

“Brick knows someone that lives out here in the middle of
nowhere and in a shack?” Fab asked.

“Wait until you see the inside. You’ll be impressed.”

Before we got to the door, Watusi stood waiting. Wearing a lime
green ankle dress, an assortment of necklaces piled high, and rings on every
finger, she whispered, “Don’t forget your promise.”

“We need to talk,” I whispered.

Fab looked the kitchen over like she was casing it for a
return visit. “Nice job.”

“This is my brother, Theodore,” Watusi introduced. “Be
patient with him he’s a little slow.”

It was none other than Gunz, the flat tire changer. He
covered his lips with his finger and shook his head. “Nice to meet you,” he
said, sitting at the table across from the dead man.

Kettle blew into the kitchen like a tropical windstorm in a
whirlwind of peacock blue. She must have borrowed Watusi’s bracelets which were
loaded up both arms. “What is that boney skank doing in my house?” She pointed
to Fab.

“She’s with me.” My hair tingled on my neck, not a good
sign. “I found your mother’s ashes.” I pointed to the box on the kitchen
counter.

“She screwed me out of money.” Kettle rushed towards Fab.

I stepped in front of Kettle. “If you touch her, I’ll shoot
you.”

“Moon pie sucker,” Fab mumbled behind my back.

“You’re a sorry excuse for an investigator. You don’t even
carry a gun.” Kettle rolled her eyes.

“What do you call this?” I pulled my Glock from my back
holster.

Watusi jumped in front of Kettle. “Everyone breathe. Kettle
step back. No shooting and no name calling.” She shoved her sister. “You put
your gun away and neither of you better scare Theodore.”

I caught the smirk on Gunz’s face. He tipped his chair back
against the wall, arms across his chest, clearly rooting for a hair pulling,
girl fight.

“Which one of my half-kin had the ashes,” Kettle demanded.
“They’ll never steal from me again.”

“I don’t know who it was. Whoever must’ve had second
thoughts, because the urn was dropped off at Tropical Slumber. I called to get
a description and Dickie told me the box had been left in one of the slumber
rooms.” I reholstered my gun.

A look passed between Gunz and Fab. They knew one another.

“This has been fun,” Fab said already half way out the door.

“Try eating a whole sandwich!” Kettle yelled at Fab. “Send
your bill to Skinny Bitch, she owes me money!” she yelled at me. “She’s never
to set foot on my property again.”

I hustled out the door after Fab, Watusi right behind me.
“I’ll lock the gates,” Watusi told Kettle.

I reached for the passenger door handle, Fab had the engine
idling. Watusi came up behind me. “Who’s in the box?”

“Your mother, not someone else. I found her at Mercy House.”

Watusi handed me her business card. “I can do something
special for you.” The Happy Endings trailers turned out to be a massage
business.

“How do you know Brick?” I asked.

“He’s one of my special clients. He likes midnight massages
at his office. I like looking at the lights of the city while I work.”

“Happy Endings, does that mean, you um…?”

“Hand jobs are my specialty,” Watusi boasted.

“The Q sisters are psycho,” Fab informed me, when I climbed
into the passenger seat. “I’ve never had a friend who would shoot someone for
me. That deserves a moment of silence.”

Fab didn’t leave black skid marks leaving the Q’s which
surprised me, given the hostility I’d witnessed. “What did you do to them?”

“Me?” Fab hit the sitting steering wheel. “Why is it always
my damn fault? She left out a few facts, like the part where I could’ve ended
up dead. Who would you have replaced me with for best friend?”

“You know you’re not replaceable.”

“Kettle hired me to do a job.” Who knew Fab had perfected an
innocent look? “She gave me a bogus story, asked me to get back ‘her’ briefcase
stolen by the ex-boyfriend. I had said briefcase in my hand when I heard a gun
cock. Turned out Ernie, her dirtbag boyfriend, was a mid-level dealer out of
Miami.”

I stared out the window, never tiring of riding along the
blue-green water in the Keys, wishing we could pull to the side of the road and
go for a quick swim. I looked back at Fab, “Did Ernie shoot you?”             

“Lucky for me, we had mutual acquaintances which kept me
from ending up in a dumpster. It turned out the briefcase held ‘his,’ not
‘her,’ personal papers, a ton of cash and the biggest prize, Ernie’s client
book. I cut a deal with him and left.”

“How did you explain all of this to Miss Q?”

“I should’ve known you then. Your made up stories are better
than mine. I told her Ernie caught me by surprise, which he did, and when he
started shooting, I ran. Kettle didn’t believe one word and never paid. That’s
why I get payment up front unless it’s a regular client.”

“What’s your relationship with Theodore?”

“Who?” Fab laid on the horn, a friendly get out of the way
to the car in front of us.

“Slow down a little. If I puke, I’m leaning over and doing
it on you. The big, bald guy in the corner.”

“I’ve seen him around town,” Fab said. “I’ve had enough of
today, dead people, psychos and you.”

“You’d miss me. For someone who told me they didn’t have or
want girlfriends, you’ve come around in a big way.”

Fab squealed off the highway. 

“Where are we going now?” I asked.

“Aren’t you forgetting a stop? You need to go by Dickie’s
and get him to lie for you on that ridiculous story you told.”

“That was an excellent story, totally believable. Watusi,
for whatever reason, couldn’t confess the mix-up.”

“Pot’s going to find out,” Fab said.

“Call Kettle that to her face, fight’s on. You actually ever
eat a moon pie and chase it down with a coke?”

“Tell me you like deep-fried carny food.” Fab eyed me.

“How would you know about that?” I made a face at her.

“I’ve had a fried Oreo or two.”

“My fave too. This really is a bonding moment.”

Fab pulled into Tropical Slumber and parked at the old
drive-through window, which separated the living quarters from the dead people.
The funeral home had once been a hot dog fast food restaurant. The A-frame
building had been enlarged for the dead guests and their families. The living
quarters was a new addition after Dickie and Raul bought the place.

“I can’t believe you’re willing to come here with me.”

“Making Dickie squirm will perk me up,” Fab said, using her
creepy smile. “Don’t worry, he’ll cover for you or I’ll scare the crap out of
him. He’s afraid of me.”

We walked across the red carpet that went from the parking
lot to the front door. “Let me handle this.” I pushed the buzzer.

Dickie opened the door with a smile. When he saw Fab I
thought he’d shut the door.

“Hi, Dickie. I need a favor,” I blurted.

Dickie motioned us inside. The reception area was filled
with ornate, brocade upholstered uncomfortable, straight-backed chairs, and
gold gilded accessories. This area was downright cold, sixty degrees at best,
with minimal lighting that cast creepy shadows. “We’ll have to sit here.” He
pointed to some chairs surrounding a claw foot coffee table. “All of our other
rooms are filled. If you need me to go pick someone up for you, I can go right
away. We don’t have any services until tonight.”

“No one died,” I said, sitting down with him, telling the
same story I told the Qs.

“I know Kettle. She’s easily excitable.” Dickie shuddered.
“Watusi’s very sweet and Raul is one of her regular customers. Don’t worry,
Raul and I will cover for you. That way no one gets hurt.”

“How was Cosmo Rich’s funeral?” I asked.

“Medium turnout, nothing like your aunt. Mostly, Cosmo’s
family and a rough crowd of fishermen and their families. They were on their
best behavior, no fights this time. Back when the captain of the Diego died of
a heart attack, every single guest showed up drunk, and when the first punch
was thrown, we called the sheriff.”

“What can you tell us about Cosmo’s body?” Fab asked.

“He was in bad shape, but we knew that ahead of time. We got
a heads up from a friend of Raul’s in the coroner’s office. It didn’t help that
he’d been fish food for several days. He’s lucky he didn’t meet up with a
shark. Had to be a closed casket. I tried but, even with my talent, nothing
helped.” Dickie sighed.

Fab, who had been wandering door to door looking into each
of the viewing rooms, came up behind Dickie. “What did your coroner friend say
exactly?”

Dickie jumped. “Broken ribs, shattered clavicle, cracked
sternum, dislocated jaw and all the bones in his face were broken,” he
stammered.

“Any chance these injuries stem from his being in the water
so long?” Fab asked.

“It’s the coroner’s opinion that Cosmo had the spit beat out
of him and was still alive when he was tossed to drown. There were a few minor
injuries found that were post mortem.” Dickie kept one eye on Fab as she
fidgeted around the room.