Psycho in Paradise (Florida Keys Mystery Series Book 15) Read online

  PSYCHO

  IN

  PARADISE

  PARADISE SERIES

  BOOK 15

  DEBORAH BROWN

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all materials in this book.

  This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  PSYCHO IN PARADISE

  All Rights Reserved

  Copyright © 2018 Deborah Brown

  Kindle Edition

  Cover: Natasha Brown

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  Contents

  PSYCHO IN PARADISE

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Books by Deborah Brown

  About the Author

  PSYCHO IN PARADISE

  Chapter One

  The sun glittered off the Tarpon Cove sign, touching everything around it. Baby blue skies straight off a postcard, fluffy clouds, and the scent of the salty water in the air—just another day in the Florida Keys.

  Traffic on the Overseas Highway was light, and glancing in the rearview mirror, I was surprised to see flashing red lights bearing down on me. I checked the speedometer before easing off the gas. Speeding wasn’t the issue, as I’d been holding steady at a couple of miles an hour under the speed limit.

  Just great. I’ve only had this SUV for a couple of days and already my first ticket. But for what?

  I eased to the side of the road, the cop car pulling up just behind me. The officer didn’t get out right away. Shutting off the engine, I rolled down the window, keeping one eye on the rearview mirror and the other on the side mirror. Absently, I reached for my wallet, grabbing it off the passenger seat and extracting my ID. It surprised me to see two more police cruisers roll up behind the first cop.

  The newest arrivals exited their cars, moving up and joining their colleague behind his open driver’s side door.

  The first officer lifted a megaphone into view. “Throw your keys out the window,” he ordered.

  What the hell?

  “Put both hands out the window. Use one to open the door from the outside.”

  This was no speeding-ticket stop.

  As soon as I opened the door, another officer directed me to get out. “Stop. Get down on both knees and lie face down on the ground, hands extended outward.”

  An officer approached from behind and handcuffed me, then patted me down. I assumed they were looking for weapons or drugs… or whatever. I had no clue.

  “Stand,” he ordered, grabbing my upper arm and leading me to the first police car, where he directed me into the back seat.

  “Why did you pull me over?”

  “The car you’re driving may have been involved in a serious crime.” The officer held up a search warrant. At a quick glance, I saw that they were searching for a body and any evidence that a body may have been in the car—hair, blood, fibers.

  Picking the keys up off the ground, one of the officers hit the button for the liftgate.

  To my utter shock, something that closely resembled a black body bag lay in the back… and judging by the shape, chances were good there was a body inside.

  After several more vehicles arrived on the scene, including the coroner’s van, the officer slid behind the wheel. He made eye contact with me in the rearview mirror. “You’re being taken into custody on suspicion of murder.”

  * * *

  The door of JS Auto Body flew open and banged against the wall. Located in a seedy part of the dock area, the car repair business was owned by Jimmy Spoon, who ran it strictly by appointment only and for a select clientele with high-end autos.

  “Well, if it isn’t the jailbird, Brad Westin.” Spoon’s baritone laugh filled the room. The big man leaned back in his chair, feet on the desk. “What are you doing slumming down in this neighborhood?”

  “I need a change of scenery.” Brad came through the door, glancing briefly over his shoulder before applying his foot and shoving it closed, then hitting the lock. “Every time I pass a police car, I think I’m going to see it make a u-turn and come after me for another ride to jail.”

  The two men were both over six feet, but that was where the similarities ended. Brad had once resembled the boy next door… until he was kidnapped by his deranged ex, who’d had plans to live in wedded bliss with her husband tied to a bedpost.

  Brad’s old beach boy persona had been replaced by a more serious version. He’d been in good shape before, but now his workouts had taken on a different intensity; his abs were rock hard and he’d honed his kick-ass skills, carrying himself like a man you didn’t mess with. He’d tossed the tropical shorts and shirts he’d often donned as a commercial fishing captain, replacing them with tailor-made suits and opting for a new career in real estate development. The black suit he wore was fitted and well made, showing off his lean physique. His sun-bleached hair had a slightly messy look.

  Jimmy Spoon, on the other hand… a mere squint from him sent any sane-minded person scurrying in the opposite direction. His mean-ass reputation preceded him—little did people know he’d been tamed… somewhat. He cleaned up well, in large part due to his wife, who loved to shop for him. He wore tan linen slacks, a short-sleeved silk shirt, and Gucci loafers. His dark hair was tied back, not one speck of dirt or grease on him, and it even looked like he’d had a manicure.

  “What brings you here?” Spoon asked.

  “No one would look for me here, not even the cops,” Brad said in a tone meant to irritate Spoon, a slight smile at the corners of his mouth. He crossed to one of the chairs in front of Spoon’s desk. Kicking it back, he sat and stretched out, putting one foot on the corner of the desk.

  Spoon flipped him the finger.

  Brad returned the gesture. “I’d ask for a beer, but it would be a bad idea to drink and drive, even if it is only one.” He lifted his pant
leg, showing off the ankle monitor. “The cops can find me pretty easily, and I don’t want to give them any reason to arrest me and run the risk of revoking my bail. I’ll take a soda.”

  “Just because I’m married to your mother doesn’t mean I’m going to wait on your ass like she does. Get your own drink,” Spoon grumped.

  I slid quietly off the couch where I’d been lying since my brother blew through the door, oblivious to his surroundings, retrieved a Coke from the fridge, which held an array of drinking options, tiptoed the few feet to Brad, and pressed the can on his cheek from behind.

  Brad leaped from the chair. “What…!” he yelled. Catching sight of me, he relaxed slightly. “Hey, sis.”

  “Don’t you ‘hey, sis’ me. Why wasn’t I your first call after your lovely mugshot and fingerprints were taken?” I cuffed the side of his head.

  “Ouch.”

  “I’m hoping you didn’t growl at the officer behind the camera.” I swung again out of sheer annoyance at his stupidity, but he caught my hand just before it made contact a second time and hugged me hard.

  “Madison, sit down,” Spoon ordered. “A judge might revoke his bail if he shows up at his next hearing all beat up.”

  “You really need a keeper.” I threw myself in the chair next to his. “You don’t scope out your surroundings wherever you go? You didn’t even notice me stretched out on the couch.”

  “In case you haven’t heard, I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

  I swung out to cuff him again. His foot hit the floor, and he leaned back out of reach.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me if I murdered Patty?”

  “I’d be more likely to dispatch that horrid woman to the beyond than you. And if you did, the last place you’d store the body is in the back of your new car.”

  “No whiff of dead-body scent when you got behind the wheel?” Spoon asked.

  Brad shook his head.

  Patty Thorson—the ex-girlfriend from hell that wouldn’t go away, not even in death—still had her tentacles extended, even from the afterlife. Someone had murdered her—certainly not my brother—and wanted to frame him for it. But who?

  “What I’d like to know is how she got out of the mental institution,” I said. “Surely she wasn’t declared sane again.”

  “Get ready for this—she escaped over a month ago.” Brad sighed in exasperation. “Not one word from the authorities that she was on the loose. Surprised me she didn’t make a beeline for my doorstep.”

  The door to the mechanics’ bays opened, cutting off conversation. A fierce-looking man in his mid-forties stuck his head inside, the noises of a busy shop audible behind him. “Miss Westin, your Hummer is ready.”

  I smiled at him as he crossed the office, handing off a sheaf of papers to his boss, then leaving.

  The front door opened with less fanfare than when Brad entered, and Fab wiggled across the threshold in a pair of skinny silk ankle pants. She pocketed her lockpick and kicked the door closed with her stiletto, sending a reverberation throughout the office.

  Spoon came out of his chair and barked, “Next. Time. Knock.”

  Fab looked over her shoulder as though she didn’t know who he was talking to. She pulled a card out of her back pocket. “Here, you need a security update. You qualify for the family discount.” She pasted on a phony smile, handing it to Spoon.

  Fabiana Merceau, my best friend and roommate, had recently opened her own security agency. She always had a business card in hand and never failed to point out the weaknesses in people’s systems in the most creative ways.

  “If it isn’t the criminal…” Fab reached out and ruffled Brad’s hair before sitting down. “I’m here to pick up my car. You can bill Madison; I’ll take the keys.”

  “It’s not your car—it’s registered to Madison, and if I had my way, you’d walk home,” Spoon said irritably.

  Fab ignored Spoon, instead asking Brad, “How was your jail stay? You and your cellmate, Bubba, get friendly?”

  Hard as I tried to bite it back, I laughed, which earned me glares from Brad and Spoon.

  “Bubba and I didn’t share life stories… except that he really did kill someone and wasn’t the least bit remorseful. Besides, he kept busy knitting. Ugly sock things.” Brad wrinkled his nose.

  “Assuming you slept, it was brave of you to close your eyes around someone with a needle.” Fab smiled, enjoying Brad’s frown. “Who knows what he might’ve poked out.”

  Brad covered his ears.

  I pulled his hand away. “Back to why you didn’t call and why I had to track you down. One nice thing about being a guest of the county—your ilk is all housed in the same place. I tried to book a visit, but the clerk on the phone informed me the joint would be closed for a few days. Thinking to be funny, I threw out riot as the reason. Surprised me when she said, ‘Good news has a way of getting around.’”

  “Stop,” Brad admonished. “I’m not in the mood for your humor.”

  “In case you didn’t know, your sister knows everyone,” Fab said in a tone meant for a six-year-old.

  “You’re not a lawyer,” Brad responded in a huff, as though I might need a reminder. “Told the officer I needed the number for Cruz Campion, and he laughed. ‘Pretty fancy lawyer,’ was his response. Spoke to Cruz’s assistant, and she assured me she’d relay the message. Never heard from him. For my first appearance, I got assigned a public defender, an overworked fellow, and that’s when it sank in that I might never get out of jail for a crime I didn’t commit.”

  “Hope you were smart enough not to talk to the cops,” Spoon grumbled.

  “After they read me my rights and I asked for a lawyer, they were pretty cool. One asked the questions you might expect. Did I know Patty? Any clue how the body got in my car? And my favorite, ‘did you kill her?’ I answered honestly, then was led back to a cell.”

  I hadn’t shaken my exasperation with how everything went down. “You were lucky to get another bail hearing.”

  “Phil came through and got me Ruthie Grace. I was skeptical at first—the smell of incense was off-putting—but she handled herself like the seasoned pro that it turns out she is. I did some research on her when I got home.”

  “That girlfriend of yours didn’t have jack squat to do with you getting out of jail.” Spoon kicked the desk hard enough a picture frame fell over. “That stupid woman planned to represent you herself—apparently she forgot that she specializes in contract law.”

  “Phil said…” Brad paused.

  “Let me guess, the esteemed Philipa Grey took all the credit,” I said, making a fake shocked face. “Once I heard about your arrest from Mother, she and I worked together to spring you. Ruthie was my idea—she’s equal to Cruz in talent and has a stellar win-record, and all she expects in return is her bill paid, as opposed to free favors for an extended family of nine hundred. Also, Phil thought using the Bub Brothers for bail was a good idea? They’re thieves with exorbitant interest rates, and you’d be in debt to them until they got bored collecting and you were found on the side of the highway—dead. I got you a much better option. But why did you have to borrow money at all? What’s up with your partner and new bestie; he couldn’t pony up the cash?” I asked in disgust.

  “Bordello’s in Chicago, in negotiations on a big deal, and Phil didn’t want to bother her brother.”

  I knew I should inform Brad about the confrontation Phil and I’d had in the hallway at the courthouse but decided his girlfriend could do the telling. “Of course she didn’t.” I didn’t know if Phil had honestly thought she could handle it herself or just didn’t care if Brad ended up in prison for life, but he was sure headed that way before I stepped in.

  Phil got off the elevator on the third floor of the courthouse and sauntered down the hall, blending in with her brethren in her black suit. I was also in a suit, as I’d made it a point to look professional, and caught sight of the woman as I sat waiting for the door to the courtroom to be unlocked.


  Nose in the air, Phil was about to pass me by when I reached out and grabbed her arm, indicating that she should sit on the bench next to me. I swiveled in her direction. “You listen to me—you stand up in that courtroom and utter one word about representing my brother, and I’ll see you disbarred.”

  “To think we were friends,” Phil seethed.

  “We were never friends. You had your own agenda from day one.” I waved off her response. “Ruthie Grace will be representing Brad, and I’ve got the bail covered. You get in the way, and if they don’t make mincemeat of you, I will.”

  She stood, tossed me a glare, and without a word, stomped into the courtroom, where she waved at Brad, seated at the defendant’s table in a blue jail uniform, and claimed a seat in front.

  I stayed until the judge went over Brad’s list of restrictions and he was led back into custody to await his bail being posted.

  That had gone down yesterday, and Brad had holed up in his condo as soon as he got out. He’d talked to Mother and sent me a text.

  Brad checked his watch and stood. “I’ve got to go. I’ve got fifteen minutes to get back home. Got a conference call, and I’d rather be early than late.”

  I stood and hugged him. “Mother’s planning a dinner for tomorrow and invited your lawyer. See you then.”

  “Yeah, great.” He laughed humorlessly. “See you there.”

  The door opened again, and Liam walked in, a smirk on his face.

  Liam was, hands down, the favorite of the family. Now a student at the University of Miami, he’d been informally adopted into the family in his teenage years when his mother dated Brad.

  “You better not have used a lockpick,” Spoon growled. “Because if trouble over here—” He glanced at Fab. “—taught you, then my wife has now honed the skill.”

  Liam laughed.

  “Well?” Spoon demanded.

  “Grandmother loves being in trouble with you, and I’m not about to ruin her fun.”

  “Gotta go.” Brad headed to the door.

  “I’m right behind you,” Liam said. “I’m turning your place into a party house after you’ve swum up the river.”

  Everyone laughed except Brad.

  “No swimming involved,” I said. “It’s a free bus ride.”