Lottery in Paradise (Florida Keys Mystery Series Book 11) Page 5

  “That’s crappy sympathy.” Fab tossed her long brown hair and hopped up on the bed, crossing her legs primly, her hands curled into fists under her armpits.

  Fab had scrapes all over her face. On the right side, she sported an impressive shiner that encircled the entire eye. Her arms were covered in bruises, with some on her lower legs. It was clear she’d lost the fight, assuming there was one.

  “Tell your bestie what happened, and I’ll help you come up with something that smacks mostly of the truth. Although it would be my second choice.”

  Fab fidgeted across the bed. “I want to go home. Now.”

  “I’m not taking you anywhere.” I shook my finger at her. “You can stay one night. If I have to, I’ll sit by your bed all night.” I blew out a breath of frustration. “Stop stalling. What the hell happened? And don’t leave out the part about why you thought it was a good idea to leave me behind.”

  “This was supposed to be a quick in-and-out job for one of my special clients.”

  “You mean rich and not willing to commit their own felonies but happy to pay handsomely for you to.” I gritted my teeth. “Let’s speed this along and jump to the good part.”

  “Getting in was easy,” she said, a faraway look in her eye, as though she was imagining how she might have changed the outcome.

  “It always is. Getting out is the problem. Why were you there?”

  “My client left her ten carat diamond ring at her lover’s house, and he refused to return it unless she left her husband. Which had zero chance of happening since the husband is filthy rich and the boyfriend is of moderate means.”

  Stupid man, what was he thinking of doing? Live off her alimony?

  “Lover boy needs to get a grip and come to terms with the fact that he was a sexual fling. I could’ve been more careful.” She paused. “But I had one day to get the ring before the husband got back from his business trip.”

  “You get the ring?”

  “That’s where my plan went awry. The damn thing wasn’t where she said it would be and not in the near vicinity. I’d already blown my allotted time. I tossed the place and didn’t bother with discretion. The ring was nestled in my palm when I heard creaking on the stairs, and I didn’t make it out to the balcony before he saw me. Damn lock.” She stopped and took a long sip of water.

  I pushed her gently back against the bed, covering her with the sheet.

  “He stormed after me, firing questions, threatening to call the police, all the while shoving me backwards. In an attempt to get away, I kicked out and made contact with his thigh, which slowed him, but only a little. He laughed when he caught up while I was straddling the railing. I don’t think he gave a damn that we were on the second floor. He backhanded me. Before he could take a second swing, I jumped, hoping for a cushy landing in the bushes. Turned out to be not so cushy.”

  “This is where I would’ve come in handy, but I won’t rub that in.”

  Fab grimaced. “He reappeared before I could get myself out of the bushes, kicked me a few times, and that’s when I threatened to scream rape if he touched me one more time. Classy fellow. Hocked spit at me, which landed on my lower leg, and calmly walked off.”

  “How did you manage to avoid jail and end up in the hospital instead?”

  “Last thing I remember was crawling across the grass to the parking lot. Apparently I passed out.” She held out her hands, palms wrapped in gauze. “I did try to use the trunk of a palm tree to stand – big mistake. I’d forgotten about the prickly parts.”

  Tired of standing, I pulled a chair over from across the room. “The cops will probably want your story tomorrow.”

  Fab shook her head. “They were here when the ambulance arrived. I told them I didn’t remember anything about the evening. Their body language told me they weren’t amused by my bold lie. Dr. A came in and ran them off, said he had doctor things to do to me. Something like that anyway.”

  That had me smiling. “So all that and no ring?”

  “Stuffed it in my pocket before taking my swan dive. Passed it off to Shirl, reassuring her it wasn’t stolen and threatening bodily harm if she told anyone or, worse, lost it.” Fab kicked her sheet off. “Wonder what the thread count is?”

  I laughed. “Not up to your standards?” I asked in my snooty voice. “At least they’re clean.” I laughed again.

  Fab leaned back against the bed. “My damn head hurts.”

  “I’d ask you to promise not to do this again—at least, not without a parachute—but I know you can be impetuous. If you don’t want to do it for yourself, think about the Westin family. Every one of us would be devastated if we had to go to some celebration of life at Tropical Slumber.”

  Fab wiggled her fingers, pointing at her cup.

  I flipped the top off and filled it from the pitcher sitting nearby. “Would you like me to adjust the straw, maybe hold it for you?”

  “You can go now.” Fab tilted her head toward the door. “I’m going to sleep. Besides, first thing in the morning, preferably at dawn, you need to bring me some clothes. Mine were trashed. Shirl offered to let me go home in this ugly gown, and I get to keep the socks.” She shoved her foot out from under the sheet, showing off a bright-red nonskid sock. “Left one shoe behind at the scene of the crime.”

  “We need to get it back. I’ll go in the morning.”

  “You will not,” Fab said emphatically. “Before you start, I’m not going either. Not one word to Spoon. I’m hiring Billy. No one screws with him.”

  Billy was a non-descript man who blended in as an everyday Joe. Looks were deceiving. He had a soft side for a good cause, especially if it had to do with animals, which made him one of my favorites.

  “Not that I’d ever wear the shoes again, but why leave evidence? Just in case a-hole decides to call the cops,” Fab mused.

  “It surprises me he didn’t call immediately. My guess is he has something to hide.”

  A nurse came in the door, pushing a small machine attached to a tripod on wheels. “I’m here to take the patient’s blood pressure.” She eyed me. “Visiting hours were over a long time ago.”

  I stood and leaned over, whispering in Fab’s ear, “Behave.” Raising my voice, I said, “See you in the morning. I’ll bring coffee.” It was hard to believe, but not totally impossible that she’d give in gracefully and stay until morning. I blew her an air kiss.

  Or maybe it was. As I headed for the elevator, I changed my plans. I’d head home, but instead of sleeping, I’d pack a change of clothes for Fab and come back. She’d have the nurses in an uproar before the sun came up.

  Chapter Eight

  The streets were still deserted; traffic in the middle of the night was non-existent unless a call for evacuation went out. The sight of Didier’s Mercedes in the driveway made me squirm. As I pulled in beside him, I could see the living room lights were on, so there would be no sneaking in and out. It hadn’t occurred to me earlier to figure out how to retrieve Fab’s clothes if Didier was asleep in their bed. Sneaking around in that nervy way was more Fab’s specialty than mine. For once, I was relieved Creole wasn’t home. Two alpha males to deal with was two too many.

  I groaned inwardly, realizing I was out of time to pretty up the story and still essentially stick to the truth. Unfortunately, both Creole and Didier were on to that trick; sometimes they laughed and other times growled their displeasure.

  I quietly opened the front door, slipping inside and closing it softly behind me. I turned to find a pair of flinty blue eyes staring at me. Didier was stretched out on the daybed, which doubled as a couch and was the perfect spot for watching the comings and goings through the front and back doors. He snapped the lid on his laptop closed. “Did Fab come home with you?”

  “She’s still in the hospital.” I dropped my purse on the entry bench.

  Didier raised a challenging eyebrow. “Are you sure?” The air tingled with the annoyance that radiated off the man.

  “Just left her t
here. I’m headed back with a change of clothes.” I took a short breath to slow the babbling. “I’ll stay until Dr. A releases her; hopefully, that will be first thing in the morning.” I gave him a smile, which he didn’t return. His irritation only went up another level.

  He stood. “I’ll take her what she needs.” He brushed past me and headed up the stairs. He took three steps, paused, and turned. “What do you know about what happened tonight?”

  My hand already by my side, I crossed my fingers. Okay, it was childish, but I did it anyway. “You know how she is with her ‘special clients,’” I said, the air quotes audible in my tone. “She left without informing me about anything.” That sounded better than “snuck out,” which was what she did. “I got a call from Shirl and raced over to the hospital.” I almost smiled, proud of myself; so far, I’d told the truth.

  “What happened to the promise that the two of you made not to go out alone?” He didn’t wait for an answer; his eyes darkened, boring into me. “I’m tired of the dangerous games you two play, putting your lives on the line, and for what? Money? And I end up with a dead girlfriend. How many times do we have to have the same conversation, the promises to change, and nothing ever does? So much for your word.”

  I smiled sadly, hoping this conversation wasn’t going to degenerate into something we couldn’t come back from. “We’ve made a lot of changes,” I defended. “We do our best to check the cases out ahead of time.” I watched as he fought some kind of silent battle that made his jaw clench. “Since you came into her life, Fab’s changed a lot. Quite frankly, you knew what you were getting into from the beginning. She was upfront about the kind of work she did.”

  He nodded in dismissal and started up the stairs. “Fab and I will work it out.” After a moment, he added, “Or not.”

  “Factor in how perfect you are together,” I called after him. “She makes you happy, laugh, smile. That’s a damn lot. I’m sure you don’t need me to remind you how much you love Fab and she you.”

  He stopped to listen but didn’t turn around. Once I finished speaking, he stomped up the stairs. I heard the bedroom door click closed.

  Although afraid they wouldn’t, I hoped those two would work out their problems. Fab happy and in a stable relationship beat her going wild.

  I bounced onto the daybed that Didier had vacated. I’d chosen each piece of furniture in my house for comfort, and this one delivered. Piling it with brightly colored pillows and throw blankets had only added to its welcoming appearance.

  It didn’t take long for Didier to come back down the stairs, clothing bag over his shoulder.

  He looked in my direction but didn’t make eye contact. “We’ll see you in a few hours.” He didn’t slam the door, but it was damn close.

  I was debating whether or not to climb the stairs to bed when Jazz made the decision for me, falling asleep on my chest, with Snow doubling as a foot warmer. Jazz, my long-haired black cat, geriatric by human standards, had been my only feline for years. When I rescued Snow, all white and long-haired, she fit into the family with her first sniff. The two had hooked up immediately, forgoing the “getting to know you” stage.

  Having dozed off, I wasn’t sure how much time elapsed before the click of the door woke me. Not wanting any kind of confrontation, I peeked under my eyelashes. My eyes instantly flew open. “What the hell are you doing home? More importantly, how did you get here?” I stole a look over Fab’s shoulder, waiting for the door to re-open and Didier to follow her in.

  “It’s called a cab.”

  “At this time of the morning?” I groaned; it was still dark out. “Where’s Didier?”

  “Why are you asking me?” she snapped. “I told you he got mad and stormed off. Haven’t seen him.”

  “You’re in so much trouble.” A lump as big as a boulder landed in my stomach. “He went to the hospital to take you a change of clothes and sit with you the rest of the night, or maybe squeeze into that skinny hospital bed.”

  Fab dug her sock-clad feet in, crossed her arms, and stared at me.

  “Let’s go.” I sat up. “We’ll sneak you back in and say you went for a walk.”

  “I’m going upstairs and take a bath. I’m filthy.” She swept her hands over her hospital gown.

  “Do they even know you left?” I struggled to keep from yelling. “No. You know how I know? No emergency calls from Shirl.” I picked up my phone, which I’d dumped on the table earlier. “Hmm… no missed calls. When Didier finds an empty bed, he’s going to flip.” I knew he’d be more than livid but decided not to point it out since she appeared pale and had gently brushed her forehead twice since she moved to the foot of the steps, one hand on the banister. I sat up and scooted over, patting the vacant spot next to me. “Sit.”

  “I couldn’t stand it there,” she said in a pitiful tone as she flung herself down next to me. “I’m supposed to be sleeping. What do they do? Come into my room every hour to take some test or another, mostly blood pressure. Then the nurse complained it was going up. Then stop waking me up every hour.”

  I flinched when I heard tires squeal into the driveway. Leaning over, I brushed the hair back from Fab’s face. “You’re on your own.” I shook my head at her when she grabbed my hand. Halfway up the stairs, I offered a tidbit of advice. “Milk your condition and tell him how much you missed him. A tear or two might help, if you can squeeze them out.” I heard the key in the lock and ran the rest of the way to my bedroom.

  The front door closed with a bang. Didier’s voice could be heard down the block, unleashing a tirade in French. I closed my door quietly, not wanting to get caught eavesdropping on a conversation that I didn’t understand. Judging by their voices, it was going to be a long night for those two.

  Chapter Nine

  The house was quiet the following morning as I crept past Fab’s closed door and down the stairs, licking my lips at the thought of making a quick cup of coffee and taking it out by the pool to enjoy. Only thing better would be a pink bakery box on the counter from Mother, full of yummy and not-very-healthy breakfast pastries. Since her marriage, she’d cut back on early morning visits.

  Fab’s phone and a car key I didn’t recognize sat in the middle of the kitchen island. Knowing that she didn’t go anywhere without her phone, I crossed to the patio door and craned my neck, only seeing two wild parrots on an electrical line overhead. Another sunny day had dawned in the Keys: blue skies, fluffy white clouds. The scent of salt hung in the air.

  Returning to the kitchen, I leaned over the sink and took auto inventory from the garden window. The key on the island was no longer a mystery; Spoon had dropped off his Mercedes for a backup ride until Fab made up her mind about replacing her car. I knew he really did it for me so I wouldn’t be stranded if Fab jetted off without a word. Like now. Didier’s car and my SUV were gone. It annoyed me that Fab had helped herself to my ride when she had a luxe auto to drive. Also irritating was that she’d deliberately left her phone behind so I couldn’t demand that she bring my car back.

  I filled a large, sea green measuring cup with water, another find from Junker’s, sticking it in the microwave. Waiting for the buzzer to ding, I picked dead leaves off my African violets.

  Movement near the driver’s side door of the silver Mercedes caught my eye. My mouth fell open at the audacity of some kid attempting to gain entry to the renovated 380SL with a slim jim, a thin strip of metal. Spoon would choke the life out of the kid if he got his hands on him. Now would be a good time to call the police, but he had the door open and was crunched under the steering wheel, his tennis shoes barely touching the ground. Four steps to the junk drawer, I withdrew my Beretta from the back and headed straight for the front door to scare the wits out of the car thief.

  The kid, early twenties, had honed his skills; this wasn’t his first car-theft rodeo. The engine caught, and he climbed into the driver’s seat and, for the first time, made eye contact over the steering wheel. Instead of being scared when I leveled my g
un, he shot me a smirk, along with his middle finger. Damn, he was going to call my bluff. He put the car in reverse and shot backwards, tires squealing into the street. Before he could change gears, I blew out the front tire. One flat tire didn’t deter his getaway attempt; he hit the gas, but metal screeching against the asphalt had him rethinking his exit and slamming on the brakes. The car came to a stop in the middle of the street, engine running; the door flew open, he jumped out, and screamed, “You’re a flippin’ nutjob,” and took off running down the street.

  Before a neighbor could call in a nuisance report about the auto blocking the street, I got behind the wheel and inched it slowly back into the driveway, not wanting to ruin the rim.

  Someone needed to call Spoon. After a short back and forth argument with myself, it was decided that it wouldn’t be me. It didn’t matter that there wasn’t anyone else home. I’d think of something.

  As I was running my hands down the sides of the Mercedes, inspecting for additional damage, a car approached. From the noises it emitted, it was on its last gasp. I concealed myself behind the trunk of a palm tree as an old minivan paused at the corner. Catching its breath, it lumbered into the driveway next door.

  Ruby, the dead guy’s girlfriend, jumped out, opened the side door, and began hauling out plastic containers, stacking them in the driveway. The man behind the wheel watched her, and when she’d unloaded the last of her belongings, he got out and shuffled to her side. He tugged on his short-sleeve button-down, covering most of his stomach but leaving a hairy strip exposed.

  My attention turned to Ruby, wondering what she was up to. If only Fab were home, she’d go confront the girl. I knew Ruby hadn’t taken up residence, as Scotch had stressed the point that he lived by himself in our first, “Hi, neighbor” conversation. In my experience as a landlord, I’d put money on her becoming a big headache for Scotch’s family. However, possibly having the house occupied would stop the random break-ins from continuing. I could door-knock the neighborhood, find out if anyone else was having problems. But that had a real possibility of bringing out a sheriff’s deputy, and how would I answer why I hadn’t bothered to report any of the incidents? Especially the latest. I hoped, when I related the incident to Creole, that he’d reassure me that shooting out a tire fell under protecting hearth and home and not a felony.