Overdose in Paradise Page 5

  “Take a deep breath.” Fab patted me on the back.

  “Fight?” I zeroed in on Kevin. “He’s an old man with terminal cancer.”

  “Don’t bitch me out for doing my job. And while you’re at it, save your threats to kick my butt to the curb. Not happening.” He stomped away, then stopped and turned. “You break it to the wife.” He laughed all the way back to his cottage.

  “Wife?” I asked Mac. “Tell me Joseph didn’t find someone to marry him. What about Svetlana?” Mac started to say something, but I wasn’t listening. I headed for the office, feeling the need to sit down for this story. “Plan on starting from the beginning.” Since I was first in the door, I took Fab’s spot on the couch, stretched out, and shoved a pillow under my head.

  Fab shoved my feet over and sat on the other end.

  “Snacks?” Mac asked.

  “Water,” I croaked, holding out my hand.

  “You need aspirin?” Mac asked, handing me the bottle.

  “I don’t have a headache…yet.”

  Mac fluffed out her dress, sitting behind her desk with her animal slippers resting across the corner. “Joseph was out walking Svetlana, aka the wife.” Anyone eavesdropping would think Svet was a dog; it wouldn’t occur to them that she was Joseph’s blow-up blond rubber companion. “I happened to be out on my porch when Ronnie Butthead showed up, looking for a fight. He got in Joseph’s face. Not sure what he said, but Joseph threw the first punch and Ronnie finished it, beating the snot out of him. Then the skinny little bastard stood over him, foot on his chest, and called the cops.”

  “And you sat and watched?” Fab asked in disdain. “I know you carry. You could’ve ended it with one shot.”

  Mac leaned forward. “You can’t just shoot willy-nilly in a residential area.” She ended with a huff.

  “Ladies, please,” I said.

  Mac sat up, tugging on her dress. “I hotfooted it across the street at the first punch, but the fight didn’t last long. Butthead is younger and in much better shape. Worried that Joseph might have a heart attack, I kicked Butthead’s foot off his chest.”

  “And Joseph ends up in the hospital.” I let out a long sigh. “What about Butthead?”

  “Not a scratch.” Mac shook her head. “You know, I moved a table in front of the living room window so I could play games on my laptop and keep an eye on the property. When I saw Butthead coming up the street, I had a bad feeling and went outside. Good thing I did. Although, as it turned out, I wasn’t much help.”

  “You were there for Joseph,” I said. “Who knows what Butthead—is that his real name?—what he would have done.” I squirmed at the thought.

  “His last name starts with a B, and that’s all I remember,” Mac said. “Another thing, I got the fight, from start to finish, on my security camera. That came in handy.” She nodded at Fab.

  “What happened to Svetlana?” Fab asked.

  “I took care of my girl.” Mac beamed. “Took Svet and her stroller home and got her situated in her favorite chair. I honestly didn’t think the cops would arrest Joseph, since Ronnie’s in his twenties and what he did was overkill, or I’d have paid him off.”

  “You pay off one person, word will spread like wildfire and it’ll be fight night every night,” I said. “This means Joseph needs a lawyer, since he’ll have to appear in court. He hasn’t been arrested in a while, but still, he has a rather long misdemeanor rap sheet; drunk in public and the like.”

  “Get me Butthead’s address,” Fab ordered. “He’s going to drop the charges. We know he likes beating up old men—let’s see him take on a woman.”

  “I’ll go as backup,” I offered. “In case it gets messy and you need help with clean up.”

  Fab grinned.

  “Whatever the bail is, put it on the credit card. That way, we get the money back when the case is settled.” I took a deep breath, hoping I wouldn’t kick myself for asking. “Anything else going on that I should know about? Miss January?” Another original tenant, who came with the property and, like Joseph, had terminal health problems she thumbed her nose at.

  Mac dropped her feet from where she had them propped on the corner of the desk. “I have to go check on her. She was outside a little while ago, wandering aimlessly.”

  Someone screamed, and it sounded close.

  The three of us flew out the door.

  “We split up and each go in a separate direction,” I said.

  Before any of us could take a step, “help” drifted across the driveway. Then again. “Help.”

  Fab drew her Walther and ran toward the pitiful-sounding voice. She peered around the corner by the pool, then edged slowly down the walkway and peeked inside the open doors to where the dumpster sat. A moment later, she re-holstered her gun and jumped over the side of the dumpster.

  Mac and I skidded up behind her.

  “I fell,” Miss January moaned, her head poking up over the top of the dumpster. Fab had helped her to her feet.

  How did the woman get in there in the first place?

  “You two get over here and grab an arm,” Fab said.

  “I want a raise,” Mac said, hands on her hips.

  “We need to talk,” I said, which caught her interest.

  “Pay attention. I’ll hoist her up.” Fab turned Miss January’s face to her. “What are you doing in here?”

  “I threw away the wrong bag. It has my vodka in it.” She sniffed, her eyes filling with tears.

  The woman had a standing order to have a fifth delivered every day.

  “You start crying and I’ll leave you in here. Ready?” Without waiting for a response, she pushed Miss January parallel to the side and lifted one of her legs over the top. “Don’t let go of her.” She jumped up behind the woman, wrapping her arms around her middle and flipping the other leg over the side.

  Mac pushed me out of the way, lifted Miss January into her arms, and set her on the ground. “You are never to climb in the trash again.”

  “But…” Miss January stuttered.

  “No buts and no boozy stories.” Mac shook her finger at her. “You do it again, and you’ll have to wait for the trash man.”

  Curiosity and all, I peeked in the dumpster and saw that there was less than a foot of trash, so pickup had been recent. I couldn’t imagine how she managed to get inside. I shuddered and closed the lid.

  Mac looped her arm in Miss January’s, leading her back to her cottage, lecturing all the way and ordering her to take a shower.

  “Super girl.” I smiled at Fab. “You’re so amazing.”

  “Darn good thing I have a change of clothing in the SUV or you’d be buying me a new outfit.” Fab sniffed her clothing. “Do I smell bad?”

  “Not from here.” I laughed. “And I’m not coming any closer.” Meeting Mac in the center of the driveway, I asked, “What if Miss January gets out again?”

  “I woke up the boyfriend and gave him an earful. He sleeps in boxers that are way too small.” She beamed from ear-to ear.

  “If you weren’t the best manager ever, I’d fire you for that,” I said.

  Mac preened. “Do you want a call when I spring Joseph from the pen?”

  “He needs a lawyer, and not Ms. Grace. We need two attorneys on speed dial—a criminal one who has a track record of getting his or her clients acquitted and one who’ll take odd clients that need occasional representation. Maybe one close to retirement that doesn’t have a reputation to worry about. I’m open to suggestions.”

  “What is it you wanted to talk to me about?” Mac asked.

  “I’m pitching you a new job. I’m thinking we should go back to the office.”

  Mac squinted at me with one eye closed. “Here’s fine.”

  “Would you like to become an assistant for Fab and me? Instead of managing The Cottages, you’d be helping out on our other business interests.”

  “Am I fired if I don’t take the job?” She stared intently.

  “Of course not.”
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  “No thanks, then. Thanks for thinking of me.” Her big smile was one of relief.

  “Macster,” Captain, Miss January’s boyfriend, hollered from his doorstep. “Need your help on…something.”

  “Miss January is probably stuck in the bathtub again. I bought her a shower bench; she needs to use it.” Mac twisted up her dress and hustled across the driveway.

  “I hope if we have another job applicant, that person doesn’t look quite so relieved to get away from us,” I said.

  “Don’t take it personally.” Fab attempted to pat my head, and I scooted away. “Think of it as divine providence—you’d never be able to replace Mac here. A second circus ringleader would be hard to find.”

  “You’re right. Don’t get used to hearing that all the time.”

  “This has been fun, but we’ve got another appointment. Race you to the car.” Fab broke into a run.

  Run! I rolled my eyes and deliberately slowed my pace.

  Chapter Eight

  “I’m not going to even ask where we’re going. I’m guessing a private island in Miami. Would be nice if you could get uber-rich clients in the Keys.”

  “I’ll drive double the speed limit and it won’t seem so long.” Fab smiled.

  “I’ve yet to make good on my threat to barf on you, but if you manage to exceed a hundred, today will be the day.” I mimicked a cat horking up a furball. “Just pull over; I’ll walk.”

  “Calm down, Drama Queen.”

  “I want a crown and wand, like Mila.” I princess-waved.

  “Not happening.” Fab hit the gas. “Since the morning has been weird enough, I’ve decided that this job will be in and out as quick as possible.”

  “I like it when you put your foot down. We’ll see how that works out.” I smirked. “I think it’s weird that your client hired someone else to install his security system, then you to check it out. Why not you from the jump?”

  “I was annoyed to be second choice but managed not to bite his head off. There’s a slim possibility I’ll learn something I didn’t know.”

  My phone beeped. Creole’s old partner, Help, had come through, arranging for me and Lucas Mark to visit Dr. A tomorrow. I texted, “Owe you,” and immediately got back, “I’m keeping track.” Then I texted Lucas the address of the jail and the time to meet.

  “You’re getting off at the wrong exit,” I said.

  Fab sniffed. “Like that would ever happen. The client’s mansion is in Coconut Grove.”

  I stared out the window as she zipped through the streets. The Grove was located in the middle of Miami, yet completely separate, and seemed a world apart. We drove through the upscale area, past sidewalk cafes and plenty of shopping, as we headed toward the bay.

  The client’s house sat at the end of a circular driveway protected by a set of ornate gates. Fab pulled up to the security panel, pushing a button.

  After a minute with no response, I said, “Isn’t it odd that no one’s answering? A house this size must have staff.”

  “Maybe Mr. Mott told them not to answer.”

  “Do you have a code?”

  Instead of answering, Fab backed up and repositioned the SUV so she could get out.

  Of course, she doesn’t.

  I jumped out of the car and hustled to her side. “Slow down. Call me the cautious one, but I don’t like that you’ll have to break in, which is a crime, to do this job. At least check out the perimeter first.” I pulled out my phone.

  “Who are you calling?” Fab asked suspiciously.

  “I’m going to videotape this adventure. You can narrate as you check out the property and give it to your client.”

  I followed her, scoping out the quiet street of waterfront properties.

  Fab climbed through the bushes and walked along the outside wall to one end, then headed back in the opposite direction. She came to a halt as two security patrol cars pulled up, blocking the Hummer. A uniformed man got out of each car, guns drawn.

  “Hands in the air,” one ordered.

  My hands shot into the air.

  “What do you have in your hand?” he asked.

  “My phone.”

  “Drop it.”

  I kept my hands up and let the phone drop to the grass. “My friend is in the bushes; please don’t shoot her.”

  “You, in the bushes,” the same man ordered, “back out, hands on your head.”

  Fab followed his directions.

  “Both of you turn around, hands behind your back.”

  The other guard approached and cuffed us.

  “What’s the charge?” Fab asked.

  Before he could answer, two police cars came to a stop in front of the house.

  “Breaking and entering, burglary.” He joined the officers, who were out of the car and stalking up the driveway.

  When I get my phone call, it will be to Creole. He’ll bail us out, and if he can’t, since it’s a local jail, he can at least arrange perks.

  “Over here.” One of the officers motioned, separating Fab and I, putting two feet of distance between us. “What are you doing here?”

  “I have a gun in my back waistband and a license to carry in the car.” I looked over at Fab, and she was also being relieved of her gun. I told him about Fab and her client, and from the sneer on his face, he didn’t believe me. “I taped our walk along the front of the house.” I pointed to my phone. “We didn’t enter the property.”

  “That remains to be seen.”

  “Wouldn’t a call to Mr. Mott clear everything up?” I asked.

  “Thanks for the suggestion. Have a seat. Don’t go anywhere.”

  I eased down on the grass, managing not to fall and at the same time swallow my grumbling about their having no evidence. Getting comfortable with my hands behind my back wasn’t going to happen.

  The officer questioning Fab had moved to the SUV. He and another officer searched it, came out with our IDs in hand, and went back to his car. While he ran a check, two more officers arrived and entered the property. It surprised me that they were able to just push the gate open to gain access.

  A white minivan pulled up, and the driver got out, bag in hand. I assumed he was a crime scene technician.

  Fab and I watched and waited.

  My arms ached beyond belief by the time that, what seemed like hours later, the officer came back and helped me to my feet. “You’re not under arrest at this time.”

  “If you need to talk to either of us later, Chief Harder of the Miami Police Department can guarantee our cooperation.” I hadn’t used our connection to Creole’s old boss in a long time, and it would cost me a favor, but it was well worth it.

  He whistled. “Good person to know…if he’ll actually vouch for you.”

  “The chief has known the two of us long enough to know that neither of us are criminals and we had nothing to do with whatever happened here.” There was a time the chief had thought otherwise, but now wasn’t the time to mention that. “We were on a legit job for a client of hers.” I tossed a glance in Fab’s direction.

  “Thank you for your cooperation.”

  As if we had a choice. I smiled but wasn’t certain it looked sincere. I didn’t run to the SUV, but almost, and wasn’t happy to find it tossed. I got in, straddling the contents of my purse on the floor, and shoved everything back inside.

  Fab had to clean her seat off before she could get in.

  “What happened?” I asked. “I didn’t get any info out of the cop questioning me.”

  “Mr. Mott’s house was broken into and ransacked. It’s clear the thieves made off with everything they could get their hands on, including taking the artwork off the walls.” Fab climbed behind the wheel. “They’re going to request an inventory from Mott.”

  “Did they make contact with him? Is that why we got released so quickly?”

  “I’d say it has more to do with lack of evidence, since according to Mott’s office, he’s out of town. News to me, and I talked to hi
m yesterday.” She tapped her foot impatiently, waiting for the patrol cars to move so she could back out.

  “It’s surprising that he’d leave his house empty.”

  “Call me paranoid…” Fab gripped the wheel like a woman possessed but managed to drive just under the speed limit back to the main street through the Grove.

  “Not usually.”

  “This feels like a setup.” Fab checked her rearview mirror for the umpteenth time. “I’ve got plenty of questions, and I’m going to get answers.”

  “Mott have a grudge against you? It doesn’t make any sense to set you up for arrest.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time.” Fab grumbled something incoherent. “I’m not going to have it get around that I’m a thief!”

  I’d never known her to steal anything. Retrieving property and returning it to the rightful owner was actually a specialty of hers.

  I leaned my head back against the window. “Since it’s illegal to drink and drive, maybe we could hustle home—and not tempt fate by speeding, considering the day we’ve had—and get our drunk on.”

  “We haven’t had time to stock the bar.”

  “That’s easily remedied. When we get back to the Cove, detour through the drive-thru liquor store. I’ll order food to be delivered and we can party it up in that new kitchen of yours.”

  “Who’s going to call the guys?” Fab shot me a you-do-it look. “You know they require timely updates.”

  “Little FYI for you: in a desperate moment, I dropped the Chief connection, and if the officer followed up, then Creole probably already knows. To cover our backsides…” I retrieved my phone from the cup holder and texted, “Dreadful day. You want more details, meet us in Fab’s kitchen for dinner.”

  Chapter Nine

  Fab had barely gotten past the Welcome to Tarpon Cove sign when my phone rang.

  “Don’t answer it,” Fab groaned.

  An image of my tiki bar popped up. “It’s Jake’s. I can’t ignore it. Yes,” I said in a not-in-the-mood tone.