Psycho in Paradise Page 9

  “What’s up with Crum? He doesn’t have on his usual tighty-whities,” Fab said. “One of these days, he’s going to wander around naked and his excuse’ll be, ‘Oh look, I forgot my underwear.’”

  “You’re making me nauseous.” I stared out the window. “I’m thinking this new getup might be worse—than the underwear, not the nakedness. Good grief.” Did any of his fellow professors retire from that fancy college and prance around in a long-sleeve leotard, skirt, and a pair of mismatched tennis shoes? He raced around the back of the station, finding it a dead end and having to backtrack, dragging his foot on the pavement to come to a stop.

  Fab pulled a half-block up and parked. “Not going to chance running over one of them.” She powered down the window. “Don’t want to miss anything,” she said, just as I was about to remind her that she was breaking one of her own rules—no fresh air inside the car.

  I was about to get out of the SUV and do… what, I hadn’t decided yet. Mac saved me by running across the corner from the busy boulevard and skidding to a stop. She yelled at Crum, and he waved and rode into the street. He was lucky that the car that had just paused for the stop sign hadn’t gotten there seconds earlier, as the man once again didn’t look before riding into traffic.

  Mac separated the kissing couple, linking their hands and directing them to walk single file across the street and back towards the property, reminiscent of a line of kindergartners. She whistled at Crum. “Get a move on.” He caught up to the trio, bringing up the rear, paddling the ground with one foot and dragging the other.

  “That was a long kiss.” Fab started the engine and crept forward.

  “My guess is they pressed their lips together and forgot what they were doing.”

  Fab followed at a snail’s pace for two blocks. The Cottages in sight, she pulled around the walkers and backed into Mac’s driveway.

  “It’s been a while since we’ve had a wager,” Fab said. “I’m betting that the unidentified man has moved in already. I’d say he’s doing it now except he doesn’t have any plastic bags in his hands.”

  “No bets.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “How does the woman manage to attract men like flies? How long has Nestor been gone—two minutes?”

  “Eww.” Fab turned up her nose. “Rumor has it she likes her… ah… hmm.” She scissored her fingers together.

  I laughed, and it felt good.

  Mac led her charges into the driveway, ushering Miss January and her friend to her door. Crum raced away, attempted a wheelie, and came close to ending up on his butt.

  “You’re not waiting in the car,” I said, getting out and waiting, tapping my foot, until Fab joined me. I latched onto her sleeve and tugged her to my side. “Don’t disappear on me. That is, if you need a favor anytime soon.”

  “I never understood why you think it’s a good idea to ask for my help with your tenants. Besides, you already told me I could get a ride home from Crum, but you’re in luck there—the two of us won’t fit on that bike, even if I got on, which I’m telling you now will never happen.”

  The image of the sexy French woman and… well… Crum made me laugh and Fab along with me.

  Miss January plopped down on her bottom step, the man next to her, and put her head on his shoulder.

  “Are you okay?” I took note of the man—sixties or better, tanned, character lines etched in his face… and sauced. “We worry when no one knows where you’ve gone.”

  “That’s sweet,” she cooed. “No need to worry. I’ve got Nedly here to look after me.”

  “Ned Bruberry.” He held out his hand, which Fab shook, casually wiping her hand on the back of her jeans afterwards. “Or Captain.” He flashed a drunken smile. “I captain my own fishing boat out of Marathon.”

  Fab nudged me, and I glanced over my shoulder. Mac had an iron grip on the handlebars of Crum’s bike. He hung over the side, perilously close to planting a facer.

  “Enough,” Mac scolded the man, helping him to stand. Once he was steady on his feet, she grasped his arm in one hand, the bike in the other, and walked him to his cottage.

  “Where did you and Ned meet?” I asked Miss January.

  “The Stop-N-Go. It was love at first sight.” She threw out her arms, a big smile on her face, and planted a noisy, wet kiss on his cheek.

  “She spit on him.” Fab made a noise.

  Both Ned and Miss January stared at me, hearing Fab’s fake barfing.

  I ignored their questioning stares, swatting the air behind me. As usual, the woman was prepared and stepped out of range. I’d known it was a long shot.

  Ned grinned and swiped at the dribble on his chin.

  “We’re getting married once we get to know one another better. In the meantime, we’re giving it a test run.” Miss January smiled at her intended. “I’m tired.”

  Ned stood and helped her to her feet, then up the stairs and into her cottage. “Nice meeting you all.” He waved and banged the door shut.

  Mac hustled up, and I turned on her. “What the heck is going on here?”

  “The wedding is news to me.” Mac sighed. “Miss January is the only one I know that can go to a convenience store and come back with a fiancé. I shouldn’t be surprised, though; she bagged one of her men off the beach. Though there, at least, there was no mention of marriage. I didn’t have the heart to tell Nedly that with her track record, he’ll die or end up in jail.”

  “Keep an eye on those two,” I said. “I didn’t notice any belongings, so he might not stay long.”

  “I did find out that he owns a boat that he lives on, and when he’s sober, which isn’t often, he ventures out. Imagine sucking up fish smell all the time.” Mac screwed up her nose.

  I turned and snapped at Fab, “Would you stop with the noises.”

  “Nooo,” she said, hands on her hips, and laughed at my burning glare.

  “I don’t want Miss January to get any wise ideas about boat living,” Mac said. “I’d drown in guilt if she fell overboard and was eaten by fish.”

  I need aspirin. Forget that—tequila.

  “Can we leave now that the lovebirds are doing…?” Fab completed the sentence with finger movements.

  Mac giggled. “You can’t leave until you say hello to Joseph. He’s been feeling down lately, complains that no one pays attention to him.”

  “What about Svetlana? The girlfriend,” Fab reminded me, as though I’d forgotten.

  “She’s not very talkative,” Mac chimed in, and the two laughed.

  “If some manufacturer could make a blow-up woman that talked, it might make big money.” Both women looked at me like it was the worst idea they’d heard in a while. “I know the man would get bored with the chatter, but that’s why it would need an on/off switch.”

  I left them and practically ran to the opposite end of the driveway, knocking on Joseph’s door. Not getting an answer or hearing any shuffling behind the door, I peeked in the window. He and Svetlana were sacked out on the couch, napping or passed out, beer bottles on the coffee table and the television on. I snuck away from the door, feeling bad, but only momentarily—I needed more energy to deal with him than I had.

  “Joseph’s asleep,” I reported back to Fab and Mac. “Get Crum to take him for a man’s night out. Make sure they take a cab, so they won’t get arrested for being drunk in public.”

  “Crum’s going to whine about that,” Mac said, disgruntled.

  “Throw in some incentive. Cash. If he still says no, then tell him to call me and tell me no.” I edged my way towards the SUV. “Anything else I need to know?”

  “Crum’s starting an exercise class by the pool… for the tourists,” she said to my raised brow. “You know he’s a magnet for the ladies. Anything that keeps complaints about the lack of excitement down works for me.”

  “Crum’s idea sounds kind of normal. Or am I missing something?”

  “Normal and Crum in the same sentence is a stretch, no matter what we’re talking abo
ut.”

  “The only ones that book cottages expecting 24/7 fun, legal or otherwise, are the relatives of your lawyer friend,” I said. “Since he made his services unavailable to Brad, I couldn’t care less where they stay.”

  “They’re good for the bottom line,” Mac reminded me.

  “Your decision. Anytime you want to cut them off, you don’t even have to ask. We’ll just advertise more.”

  “There is one more thing,” Mac hedged. “Corndog is moving in with his son, out Alley-way. The son just recently retired from the military and said he’d be bringing his dad around often—they’re both excited to see the dock project finished.

  “I’m sorry to see him go. He was never a problem, and the cops never showed up to execute a warrant for his arrest. He’s welcome back anytime.” I turned to Fab. “How does this affect the partnership with Didier?” The question was rhetorical—I’d get the answer from Didier.

  “Corndog just informed Didier,” Fab said. “Everything is staying on track, with Didier as head of the project. They’ve signed a new contract that spells out the new responsibilities moving forward.”

  “Happy to hear that, and also that there won’t be any delays,” I said.

  “No more emergencies for today, but I can’t promise about tomorrow,” Mac shouted as we crossed the street.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Fab hopped down the stairs. Judging by the noise she was making, she had on tennis shoes. She also knew the guys hadn’t returned from their run—if they had, she would’ve had to settle for a quieter way of getting down the stairs.

  Leaning back against a pile of pillows on the daybed, I ran my eyes over her outfit as she jumped into the living room—ankle jeans and a sleeveless white top, Walther tucked into the front of her waistband.

  “Ta da.” She threw her arms out wide.

  “Do you get that energy from coffee? I want some… maybe… or not. I’d have to hold my nose.” I gave it some brief thought while conjuring up Fab and Didier’s dark roast preference, which smelled like and had the consistency of mud.

  “I’m trying something new—friendly, approachable, more like you.”

  Amused, I watched her performance, waiting to hear what she really wanted. “So I’m going to try on the surly role? For what?”

  “I need you to lace up your tennis shoes and come with me.” She sat on the arm of the couch, staring at my bare foot resting on a stack of files. “Give you a break from that pile of paperwork.”

  “I’ll need more information to motivate me out of my office.” I smiled at her annoyance.

  After a long pause, she said, “Welfare check.”

  Mentally, I dug my toes into the cushion, but based on past experience, that would be futile—she’d get behind me and push me out the door. “Another couple without both oars in the water? What happened to the other two?”

  “I had a short chat with Mr. Newton yesterday, which really annoyed him when he found out that the purpose of my call was to inquire about Carly and Globe.” Fab grimaced, relating the conversation. “I thought he was going to tell me to mind my own business; instead, he answered in a ticked-off tone. Carly’s got an attorney and is receiving outpatient mental care. Globe moved back home. I only called because I knew you’d ask. You’re welcome.”

  “Today—more of the same?”

  “We’re checking on a property.”

  I held back a laugh. “Since when do properties qualify for a welfare check?”

  “When you’re rich. My client’s words, not mine, and I wasn’t about to correct him.”

  “You missed an opportunity to use the same snooty-ass tone you’re using now.”

  “That good?” Fab patted her own shoulder.

  “The job?”

  “The neighbors who live to the right of my client, Mr. Knight, are having a weekend blowout of a party, and when they reached standing-room-only, the overflow took over his house. The neighbors on the other side went over and asked them to shut down the noise and got trash thrown at them. They weren’t amused. They hot-footed it back to their mansion and got Knight on the phone, threatening him with the police if he doesn’t get the party shut down and the miscreants sent on their way.”

  “Vacation home? Strangers invaded because… why the heck not? Maybe suggest to your client that he hire a caretaker. Cheaper than a new… mansion, but I’m only guessing.”

  Fab tapped her watch. “You going to change or what?”

  “I’m not wearing jeans,” I grouched and stood up, going upstairs.

  “It’s easier to climb a tree in jeans than a skirt,” she called after me.

  It took less than five minutes for me to pull on my favorite pair of crop pants and a top, corral my wild red mane into a hairclip, and get back downstairs. Fab lounged on the couch, Jazz and Snow by her side, each vying for her attention.

  “Got a great idea while dressing for our outing.” I spun around.

  Fab did her best to suppress a smile.

  “Let’s take Creole. We’ve got that standing offer of his services, and he’s got brawn for crowd control. Sure, we could empty out the house on our own, but without shots fired? Fancy neighborhoods take a dim view of that kind of activity.”

  “What neighborhood doesn’t?” Fab snorted.

  Creole and Didier burst through the patio door, out of breath, stopping short when they saw us. Fab and I each got the once-over from our respective boyfriend.

  “What are you two up to?” Creole demanded.

  Who me? I loved it when he growled, but that wasn’t the sexy one.

  “Sit,” Didier ordered. “Neither of you goes anywhere until we hear what you’re up to. All of it, not some abbreviated version.” He disappeared around the corner into the kitchen. “Water?” he yelled.

  “Just you and me,” Creole yelled back.

  This might take a while. I sat back on the daybed, grabbed a couple of pillows and stuffed them behind my head. I wiggled my finger at Creole, who shook his head. His expression remaining sternly composed, he jerked the desk chair around and straddled it.

  Didier handed off water to Creole and sat on the steps.

  “No big deal,” Fab blew it off. “Another drive-by. At least it’s not as bad a neighborhood as the one Madison dragged me to a few days ago.”

  I didn’t miss the amusement in Fab’s eyes. Payback! she telegraphed.

  “First I’m hearing of this.” Creole crossed his arms.

  So sexy!

  “You’re not the only one,” Didier grumped.

  “It’s your fault.” I gave Creole an exaggerated huff. “I planned to tell you last night. Then you enticed me with food, drink, and, well… other things.” My cheeks burned. “It was a rundown neighborhood, but everything was quiet. Happy?”

  Fab explained the Knight job, glossing over the details.

  “Right before you got back, I suggested that we ask you to go along with us,” I said to Creole. “Right, Fab?” I leveled a stare at her.

  “What’s in it for me?” Creole asked.

  “That warm feeling you get when you do something nice for someone else.”

  The guys laughed.

  “Good one. Give me ten to shower and change.” He brushed a kiss over my cheek as he went by.

  “Oh, what the heck—you’ve got another backup,” Didier said and followed Creole up the stairs.

  “I propose that we take them to lunch when we’re done cleaning house for your client,” I said.

  * * *

  Fab behind the wheel, Didier in the passenger seat, we turned south on the Overseas. Creole and I were in the back, and as usual, I was stretched out, head in his lap.

  “We’re headed to Islamorada; the house is off the Old Highway.” Fab adjusted the GPS screen.

  “Gated?” Creole asked. Fab murmured in the affirmative. “You better have a key or security code or something. None of us is climbing over a fence.”

  “Mr. Knight messengered a gate card,” Fab
said.

  Sure he did. Neither Creole nor Didier knew that not one delivery person had shown up that morning. Avoiding eye contact, I sat up and nestled into his side, head on his shoulder. He wasn’t aware, and I’m certain neither was Didier, that Fab, Mother, and I had universal cards that opened most of the gates in South Florida. So far, we’d had a ninety-five percent success rate, and on the rare occasion it didn’t work, Fab requested they be updated. The cards had been supplied by one of Fab’s questionable connections, and she had yet to divulge the person’s name.

  “We’re getting off at the next exit—Islamorada,” Fab announced. It wasn’t that far from Tarpon Cove, and the traffic had been light. Instead of cutting across the lanes at the last second, she signaled and pulled off the highway, then made her way to the Old Highway, which was mainly residential—one large lot after another, the houses barely visible from the street thanks to trees and lush, green surroundings.

  Fab slowed at the address, how to get through the security gate was a moot point. Somehow, the unwanted guests had managed to roll it back and park more than a dozen pricey cars in a haphazard fashion, as though each driver had swung in, hit the brakes, cut the engine, and got out.

  “Got a plan?” Creole tapped Fab on the shoulder and met her stare in the rearview mirror.

  Since there was a “no parking” sign on the street, she backed the Hummer in, squeezing perilously close to the gate.

  “Grab everyone’s attention and invite them to leave?” Fab said.

  “That’s your plan?” Didier raised a brow. “You planning on leaving behind a few bullets in the walls and ceilings?”

  Creole covered his face, rubbing his eyes. “I didn’t volunteer for this good deed with the intention of getting arrested.”

  “Me neither,” Didier grumbled.

  “My client specifically stated that he wanted the eviction done in a civilized fashion,” Fab said, and it was hard to miss the annoyance in her voice. “He doesn’t want to make the nightly news.”

  “Let the calm one speak.” I raised my hand in case there was any doubt as to who that was. “Partiers are unlikely to be armed. If the intent was a gun battle, it would’ve happened by now. We pass ourselves off as private security, not law enforcement, and tell them that it would be in their best interests to hit the road in an orderly fashion. Let them know the alternative is calling in the police and having them hauled off in a police van.”