Trouble in Paradise (2 page)

“You’re not doing a very good job of imitating the real
Harder,” I said, subtly mocking him, shifting from one foot to another.

“Thank you for saving Brick’s life. We grew up together,
we’re lifetime friends. And besides, Brick likes you and told me to play nice.
Truce?” Harder nodded his head. “Did you get hurt?”

“My new gun belt rubbed a big blister into my back, and no
matter how large the bandage, it likes to move around.”

Brick suddenly appeared at my side. “You never did tell me
why you came by. You need a car?”

“I want to intern under your private investigation license.”

Brick snorted. “That was the only laugh I’ve had all day,”
he said.

“I’m calling in the old IOU I have from you from a previous
favor, which I can use right now and that doesn’t count the half dozen I
deserve for saving your big… hmm, life.”

“Let’s be clear, if we come to an agreement, it means that I
have unlimited use of your services,” Brick said.

“I’ll bring the papers by in a day or two for you to sign,”
I said. “Just remember I’m available for all things
legal
.”

“Done… and you keep your IOU.” Brick gave me a fist bump. We
shared the same aversion for shaking hands.

“Wait until Zach finds out,” Harder said.

Zach Lazarro was my on-again boyfriend. He’s working on not
taking it personally when he tells me to do something and I ignore him. He just
needed to learn that Westin women don’t take direction well. “Are you going to
tell him?” 

“We’re not friendly,” Harder grunted.

The three of us watched the EMS van drive off the lot,
Gentry Swain on his way to the hospital wing of the jail.

“In the spirit of our new friendship, what’s the latest on
the fisherman who floated up in the Gulf?” I asked Harder.

“Friends now are we?” Harder laughed.

“Yeah, what
is
the latest?” Brick asked, also
curious.

“No suspects in custody,” Harder told us. “We’re working our
informants and rousting all the local dirt bags. Everyone is suspiciously
tight-lipped.”

“If you need any help you can call me,” I said with a
straight face.

Harder shook his finger at me. “You hear anything from one
of those seedy little friends of yours, call me.”

“Here’s a freebie: I didn’t do it,” I said, with a smile.
“Is today’s shooting going to make the news tonight?”

“Maybe a mention in the police log when the newspaper comes
out on Wednesday,” Brick said. “No worries. No one here will be giving any
interviews.”

“You know where to find me if you have any questions,” I
told them. “I’m having dinner with my mother and late is unacceptable.”

The Crab Shack has the best seafood in Tarpon Cove. Tiki bar
shaped, and first choice for locals on a casual night out, a warm breeze blew
in off the water. I flew into the driveway of the restaurant, hit the dip hard,
and bounced in my seat. All this after having gone home, showered and, in
record time, changed into a new hot pink square-neck dress, with a flash of
matching lacy bra. My red hair hung down, slightly curly. A few minutes late
meeting my mother and brother could go unnoticed but, any longer, and there
would be a ton of questions.

Life had changed dramatically since the summer I’d planned
to spend with my Aunt Elizabeth and instead got the call that she died. As an
heir, she left me a lot of responsibility but her best gift to me, a new life,
and friends that I loved. Every day I showed Elizabeth that her faith in me
wasn’t misguided.

Unless asked directly, the topic of my shooting someone
would not be on the conversation agenda. Brick being a private man, who enjoyed
some anonymity despite his high profile businesses, would wield his
considerable influence to make sure today’s incident didn’t make headlines on
the evening news. 

“You’re late, Madison,” my brother Brad informed me,
standing when I approached the window table that boasted a view of the clear
blue waters of the Atlantic Ocean.

“Some people think ten minutes late is early,” I said
kissing mother’s cheek. “You look great.” Mother never went anywhere not looking
well put together. She loved to shop, as evidenced by her closet. She looked
good for her sixty plus years in a cap sleeve, A-line style black dress. I knew
she was back to sneaking around with her younger boyfriend, Jimmy Spoon. He’s
probably the one responsible for her new blonde bob haircut, shorter hemline
and red shoes. I feigned ignorance on the relationship issue.

“I want a bra like yours.” Mother hugged me. “You look good,
honey.”

Brad shook his head. “Madison needs to put on a sweater.”

Brad stands a foot taller than me, and has boy-next-door
good looks. Tonight, he wore the uniform of most South Florida men out to
dinner: black linen shorts, and a tropical shirt.

He hugged me, before pulling out my chair. “I thought you’d
bring Zach just to annoy me.”

“Owww,” Brad yelped. Mother kicked him under the table, her
way of telling him to stop asking anymore questions.

“You know how pleasant making up can be,” I said to Brad.
“We’re back together. Where’s your date?”

“If you don’t want me showing brotherly concern, you need to
find these things out before you kick a hole in my shin.” He glared at Mother.
“Neither of you are getting any details on
my
personal life.”

“Give me a day that you’re free and I’ll fix you up,” I
offered.

Brad was a good catch but, like me, he’d had some doozies in
the relationship department. In my defense, none of my boyfriends got locked up
for psychiatric observation with only being allowed to leave the hospital with
a court order. I had a few ideas for fixing him up but I hadn’t sprung them on
him yet. Pulling a Mother, ambushing him with a date he knew nothing about, was
at the top of my list.

“So you and Zach kissed and made up?” Brad asked.

“He’s working on not being so bossy. There’s still the issue
of my not doing what I’m told, even when it’s for my own good. Do you want me
out sampling the men of the Keys?” I laughed, knowing the comment would drive
him crazy.

“You laugh now, but all I have to do is shoot one of them
and word will get around.”

The waitress set a margarita down in front of me along with
a note. “Oh yum,” I said, while pushing the note under my napkin.

Mother scanned the restaurant. “Aren’t you going to read
that?”

Brad reached out to grab it but I was a second quicker. I
opened it.
Dump the boyfriend yet?
it said.

Even without a signature, I recognized Creole’s barely
legible writing. After Creole introduced himself and teased me how we were
related, I invited Mother and Brad to dinner and of course Fab, and we welcomed
him as the newest member of the family. Aunt Elizabeth had loved him like a
son, often hiding him from an abusive, drunken father. Creole and Mother had
hugged, and she welcomed him without a single question. I hadn’t asked Mother
but I don’t think Creole’s existence was a surprise to her.  She and Elizabeth
shared all their secrets.  “Creole’s here, in a business meeting, he says
hello,” I said, not wanting to reveal the actual contents of the note.

It would only complicate matters to tell Mother that we were
attracted to one another and we’d shared several steamy moments.

“We ordered for you since you choose the same thing every
time.” Mother slid the menus to the end of the table. “We have two hours before
we need to be at the funeral.”

“We?” I stammered. “I don’t do funerals of people I don’t
know.”

“Cosmo Rich was one of your brother’s best friends. Can’t
you go to support Brad?” Mother asked.

I glared at Brad.

“I knew Madison wouldn’t go and it’s fine.” Brad said,
laughing. “I’m surprised you’re passing up an opportunity to poke your nose
into a possible murder.”

The waiter delivered our food, putting a plate of grilled
scampi on a bed of rice and vegetables in front of me. “If you need my help, of
course I’m available,” I reminded him.

“I’m happy you didn’t know Cosmo,” Brad said. “That way I
don’t have to worry about you getting shot at or worse.”

“What’s the latest on Cosmo’s case?” Mother asked.

“The official cause of death is drowning. Whisperings on the
dock are that he was murdered. The coroner is awaiting test results.” Brad
downed his beer. “There are rumors he was covered in bruises, his back and neck
broken but no one seems to know if it happened before or after death.”

Mother gasped, pulling out one of her pencil thin Cuban
cigars. “That’s dreadful.” She had two vices, well three: cigars, Jack Daniels
rocks, and poker.

“There’s a no smoking sign,” I pointed. “And no ashtrays.
Going to flick your ashes on the floor?”

“I should have kept my beer bottle,” Brad said. Then,
getting back to the subject at hand, “I know all of Cosmo’s friends and don’t
know a single one angry enough to beat him and throw him into the Gulf to
drown. The last time I talked to him, he didn’t have a bruise on him, he’d
secured a side job and was on his way to the boat. It didn’t occur to me to ask
which one.”

“Beating someone seems personal to me,” Mother said. “Did he
have family?”

“His father, and two little kids, a boy and a girl,” Brad
said.

“We weren’t little, but it’s hard to lose a parent. So sad.”
Our Father had died in our pre-teenage years. Mother smothered us with love and
attention, and kept us busy, leaving little unsupervised time to get in
trouble. I thought about my father every day. Being a daddy’s girl, I missed
sitting next to him, holding his hand.

“Enough with the questions.” Brad pointed his finger at me.
“I don’t want to hear that you somehow got yourself involved.”

“I didn’t even know Cosmo, but if I hear anything I’ll let
you know.”

Brad groaned. “That’s the way it starts with you. You
promise you won’t get hurt? No you can’t, because you always do.”

“You’re such a worrier. You taught me to defend myself,
shoot a gun and also trip Billy Butt-Ass.” Billy was my second grade suitor who
loved to pull my hair, until that fateful day I tripped him and he fell on his
face in front of his friends.

Mother sighed. “Billy’s a lawyer, married with three
children.” Then turning back to the subject of Cosmo, “I wonder how many people
will show for the funeral?”

“Dickie will be thrilled if it’s a huge turn-out,” I said.
“A full house means he can show off his dressing-the-dead talents. He considers
all the mourners as potential clients.”

Brad threw his hands out. “Why does my sister have to be
friends with the local undertaker?”

“‘Bereavement Specialist’ sounds better, don’t you think?”

Brad snorted.

“Dickie Vanderbilt’s a nice guy,” I defended. “He has a few
creepy tendencies, but he’s conscientious about his work and, besides, Mother
knows him too.” Dickie made only a so-so first impression. He’s socially
awkward, terrible at small talk and his day job didn’t help.

Mother downed the last of her Jack Daniels. “Really,
Madison.
Know
is a little strong.”

“Dickie takes pride in his work and will do a good job on
Cosmo,” I said. “Besides, Raul will be there to make sure everything runs
smoothly.”

“Who the hell is Raul?” Brad asked.

Feeling too queasy to eat another bite, I requested a to-go
box from the waiter. Leftovers made great breakfast food. “Dickie’s more
stabilizing half. Raul runs the business side of Tropical Slumber Funeral
Home.”

“How do you know these two?” Brad asked.

“Did you forget Aunt Elizabeth’s funeral was at Tropical
Slumber? I spoke to Dickie a few times regarding arrangements. You never know
when a funeral director is a good connection to have.”

Mother tapped her watch. “Time for us to leave.” Brad stood
and pulled back Mother’s chair.

“I’m sorry about your friend.” I kissed Brad on the cheek.
“I hope there’s a speedy resolution.”

“It’s not too late to change your mind. You can ride with
us.” Brad handed me my to-go box.

“Thanks, but I’ll pass. If you two want to stay overnight,
you’re always welcome.”

“I’m spending the night at Mother’s,” Brad informed me. She
had bought a house in Coral Gables before selling the family home in South
Carolina. Then, in a quieter voice, “We’re going to do some mother-son bonding.
I’m going to get her drunk and find out what she’s really been up to.” Brad
laughed.

“That’s low,” I whispered.

“You two whispering gives me hives,” Mother said. “Let’s go.
I don’t want to be late for a funeral.”

Fab’s latest ride, a black two-seater convertible Mercedes,
sat in my driveway. She left me just enough room to park without dinging the
paint on her door. Fabiana Merceau is my best friend and, since I’d known her,
she’s driven a string of hot looking sports cars all on loan from Brick in
exchange for unspecified favors.

I inherited an old comfortable-looking Key West style
two-story beach house from my Aunt Elizabeth. It recently received a fresh coat
of white paint, with turquoise under the eaves to discourage bees. An abundance
of potted hibiscuses in every variety, and an assortment of other colorful
tropical flowers, lined the courtyard; the pots painted vibrant colors,
seashells used as mulch. Elizabeth and I scoured South Miami nurseries every
summer and I continued the tradition.

There was no sign of Fab when I walked by the kitchen
window. Grover, a middle-aged Golden Retriever, and latest addition to the
family, saw me and raced to the front door, barking all the way.

“Where’s Fab?” I asked Grover.

“In the living room!” Fab yelled.

At the bottom of the staircase sat two large suitcases.
“Yours, I presume?”