Deborah Brown - Madison Westin 07 - Kidnapped in Paradise (15 page)

She shook the empty water bottle.

“You going to finish yours?” she pointed to Fab
’
s bottle.

Eww! Who drinks out of someone else’s anything?

Fab pushed it across the table.

Peggy slurped the water.

“Kelsey lives to drive Gibbs crazy. She
’
s an attention seeker––good or bad. Her and Gibbs will get along for a while, and then she
’
ll disappear for days at a time. She'd take unscheduled days off work, so that when Gibbs came around, she was nowhere to be found. I know for a fact Gibbs has no idea she hangs out on the beach all day while he
’
s at work and bangs whoever is available.”

“Has she ever retracted one of her stories?” I asked.

“Nope. Evil bitch.”

“Why don’t you like her?” I asked.

“She slept with my husband.” Peggy's mouth was a hard line. “I wanted to forgive him, but I couldn’t. He was another one of her victims; she accused him of choking her during sex. Claims she blacked out, woke up with bruises around her neck. He didn’t have a mark on him. Don’t you think if you were being choked you would scratch, hit, do something? She had him arrested and wouldn’t cooperate, so the case went nowhere, thank goodness. Except for the big-ass attorney bills.”

We sat in a moment of awkward silence.

“I loved him. She wanted to bang him, another tic mark in her book. You know, she apologized, smirked that at least I knew he was a cheating dog. I really wanted to kick the crap out of her.”

To my surprise, Fab patted her arm.

I felt bad for her, too. I
’
d been cheated on, but at least it wasn’t with a good friend.

“Do you want my opinion?” Peggy continued on without waiting for an answer. “She pulled one of her infamous disappearing acts on Gibbs, and when she showed back up, he went crazy on her mangy ass.”

“Do you know where she lives?” I asked. Fab had driven by the address Horton gave us, but it turned out to a deserted taco stand. We
’
d planned to call him later and verify the information he gave us.

Peggy chuckled.

“The address she usually gives out is a private mail box. If anyone shows up looking for her, she
’
s nowhere to be found. A friend of hers owns the place and anyone who inquires, she sends away, informing them the box has been closed. Her phone number changes every couple of months. She calls it cleaning up her life.” She picked up Fab
’
s pen, wrote on a napkin, and handed it back. “Kelsey lives here.”

There was an awkward silence. I wanted to ask another question to lighten the mood, but instead kept my mouth shut.

Peggy looked at her watch and stretched the band, letting it snap against her wrist.

“I
’
ve got to go. Tell Horton to hang in there. In a few months, the charges will probably be dropped.”

Not in the mood to dicker, I felt we got more information than we hoped for and pushed money across the table.

She stood and counted it.

“You
’
re right, you are a generous tipper. Thanks.” She waved the money and walked to her Jeep.

We watched until she cleared the driveway, honking and hanging out the window, until someone let her cut in.

“Creole said that in some cases, the district attorney doesn’t need a victim to pursue a case, depending on circumstantial evidence,” I said. “I think a prosecution can be successful on pictures alone.”

“What now?” Fab asked.

“Blackmail,” we said in unison and laughed.

“First we need to meet Gibbs, see if he has marks on him,” Fab said.

“’
We nothing,” I shook my head. “
You get gorilla duty.
”

“We
’
ll stop by on the way home; daytime is always good for checking out an unknown neighborhood. There
’
s always a nosy neighbor that
’
s up in everyone
’
s business. Maybe one of them heard something. And that is your job.”

“Knock… trumped up excuse… and I’ll paste on my friendly smile and schmooze...,” I thought out loud.

“You still have the religious pamphlets in that stupid box you insist we haul around.” Fab looked pleased with her contribution.

“I also have a bogus petition that I printed off the internet and a clipboard, we could ask him/her to sign. Or, I overbought on some candy bars from a school fundraiser. They’re in the box. We could sell those for our kid
’s school.
”

Fab turned her nose up, “I
’
d never allow my little Fabiana to sell anything door-to-door. She
’
s way too cool.”

I laughed until tears gathered in my eyes. “Think pretend. Besides, Fab Jr. isn’t born yet.”

Chapter 18

The sign read Lazy Acres Mobile Home Park.

“This isn’t
so bad.
” Fab craned her neck out the window. “At least it
’s
quiet
.
”

The grounds were kept up, the grass mowed, but the buildings were tired and in need of another poor paint job.

“We both know the true test of a neighborhood is at night. That
’
s when the fun people like to rock n
’
roll until the police show up.”

“What are you doing?” Fab asked.

I crawled over the seat back and fished out the clipboard.

“Looking professional––grabbing a couple of cheap pens and a petition that asks people to sign to block a several lane extension that runs along the coast.”

“Where?” Fab looked at me like I
’
d lost my mind.

“Daytona. No one is going to take the time to read every line. And if they do, I’ll say,
‘
Oh damn, I grabbed the wrong one.
’
Flash the sad face,
‘
Not again,
’
and get the heck out.”

We drove up and down the rows of mobile homes, the directional signs turning us in circles until we found Gibbs's trailer parked on the last row in the far corner. The trailer was all locked up, with a single driveway under the awning, empty. A scrawny white cat was perched asleep on the patio ledge.

“Now what?” Fab asked, maneuvering a U-turn onto the narrow one lane road and pulling up in front of the trailer.

“I suggest we talk to the two women sitting on a porch across the way, staring at us. Your turn to make up a story.”

She unleashed an exaggerated sigh.

“That
’
s a terrible idea.”

“Give me your badge,” I told her, holding out my hand.

I hopped out of the SUV and crossed the street. I glanced over my shoulder, unhappy to see Fab still sitting in the SUV. So much for backup.

I smiled at the women, who eyed me curiously. I flashed the badge; their surprised looks vanished, replaced by an attack of nerves.

“I
’
m here to follow up on a domestic disturbance report. Could you ladies possibly help me out? This is our last stop for the day, and we
’
d like to fill out the report and go home.”

One stood and ground out her cigarette in an ashtray that held the remnants of at least a pack.

“I
’
m Yoli,” she introduced.

Both women were gray-haired and smokers, long in the tooth, as my grandfather would say, but I sensed they could hold their own in a brawl.

“It was those two over there.” Yoli pointed. They seemed surprised that someone called the cops. “Last time old man Barnes phoned in a report, Gibbs found out and threatened him, made him scared enough to pee himself.”

“I
’
m Carnie,” the other one spoke up, polishing off her cheap light beer. She smashed the can under her foot in one stomp.

“You don’t want to mess with Gibbs,” Carnie shivered. “That wife of his isn’t the sharpest tool. She riles him up, he beats the snot out of her, and things stay calm for a while, until she gets it in her head to disappear. The last time it happened, she came walking up, looking like she
’
d been sleeping on the street. I hid in my trailer and turned up the sound on my afternoon stories.”

“He
’
s a prick,” Yoli nodded.

“Why doesn’t
Kelsey just leave?
” I asked.

“Gibbs would kill her,” Carnie said with conviction.

“They
’
re a weird couple.” Yoli lit up another cigarette, took a long drag, and blew it in my direction.

I side-stepped and glared at her.

“Sorry,” Yoli mumbled. “I
’
ve seen Gibbs parade her up and down the driveway on a leash. Then they jump in the truck and don’t come back for hours. Nothing he does seems to bother her; she never fights back.”

“It
’
s easy to ignore Kelsey, since she never speaks to me. Wanted to borrow money once. I told her I didn’t have any; she cussed me out and never even looked at me after that,” Carnie said. “Gibbs knows he
’
s unpopular around here. Any neighbor who has had a run-in with him fears him. I hightail it back in the house when I see them coming. Occasionally I force a pleasant smile, afraid not to say hello back or ignore him like I
’
d like to do.”

“Have you seen Kelsey around?” I asked.

“Saw her limping and dragging out the trash can the day after the fight, sporting a couple of black eyes.” Yoli
’
s words dripped with sarcasm. “Don’t like her. I
’
m not ashamed to admit I laughed when Gibbs screamed from the porch for her to hustle her ass and get back in the house. She turns up her nose, thinks she’s better than everyone here, parading around half-naked in her skimpy outfits.”

“I want to thank you both for your help.” I smiled at them and rose. “There is nothing I can do unless she files a complaint.”

They both smiled back and waved as I left.

“I want a raise,” I huffed at Fab, crawling into the passenger seat. “You couldn’t move your skinny ass and back me up?”

“
You can’t
take two old women without using your gun?” Fab taunted.

“Ha! You should
’
ve looked a little closer. Ass kickers, both of them. The only thing that scares them is Gibbs,” I said. “Can’t wait to meet him. Take me home. I need a swim and some take-out food, which is your treat.”

“Why do I have to ask you what they said?” she sulked.

“That will teach you to sit in the car. Gibbs beat Kelsey that night. Apparently, there's no direct proof that your client didn’t hit her or that Gibbs is the culprit. Kelsey is the only one that can clear your client.”

My phone beeped, letting me know I had a text message. I groaned and read the message from Mac out loud.

“
'I have a surprise for you.
’
Why does that scare me?”
 

Chapter 19