Swindled in Paradise (10 page)

The man noticed me lingering in the doorway and said, “Ian had his daughter’s room packed up the next day. He was afraid that dreadful woman would change her mind, come back, and finish taking everything. He’s storing the furniture in a friend’s garage since they’re staying in a hotel.”

Fab gave the neighbor a hard look. “Did you know Ursula?”

I nudged Fab. “Anything you can tell us about her would helpful,” I said, smiling at him.

“Ursula’s pretty to look at: tall, blond, fashion-model looks. But her eyes are cold as ice; blue, like icicles that never thaw. Me and the missus never felt comfortable around her; she always had an appraising look, which was always followed up by another one that let a person know that they didn’t measure up to her standards. I never understood what Ian saw in her. At least his little girl liked her. Whenever I saw them together, they seemed to have a lot to laugh about.”

Fab stuck her head into the empty shell of the hall bathroom and gasped at the giant holes where there had once been a shower and bathtub, and at the rock-hard cement that over-flowed out of the drains. The sewer pipe exposed where there had once been a toilet, and it too brimmed over with cement. “Was Ursula friendly with anyone in the neighborhood? Someone with whom she might have left a forwarding?”

“As you might imagine, this drama has been the talk of the neighborhood. This—” He swept his arm around, “has eclipsed the last big news: the Curtis couple getting a divorce. That turned ugly when Mrs. Curtis found out that her husband was a serial cheater, and they ended up selling the house and moving away.” He looked at his watch and cleared his throat, then took the lead and walked back into the living room.

I poked Fab and mouthed, “Let’s go.”

“I spoke to each of the neighbors myself.” He thrust his chest out. “Not a one of them figured she was capable of this kind of destruction, even the ones that didn’t think much of her.” He waved his arms around, his voice rising in irritation. “Before she made her getaway, she went door-to-door with dire warnings, accusing Ian of everything but murder. Scared, she said, for her life, the child’s life. Swore he had a volatile temper, which no one had ever witnessed. Went on that he was an abuser of women and children, and for her own safety, she had to move while he was out of town.”

“Did you believe any or all of what Ursula said?” I nudged Fab towards the door.

“My wife and I were skeptical, but we also discussed whether or not we’d turned a blind eye to Ian’s real personality because we liked him. We decided that her description didn’t jibe with the man we had come to know over the years, who’d always been nice to everyone.”

“Any clue where Ursula moved to?” Fab asked.

“Ursula told us she was moving to the panhandle and asked us to keep her whereabouts a secret. But a week ago, my wife swore she saw her come out of that pricey grocery store in Marathon, one of them healthy kind. My wife had just pulled into the parking lot and spotted her walking across the lot. She got into the passenger side of a BMW sedan, and the car took off. My wife didn’t get a look at the driver, because the car had dark-tinted windows, which my wife claims are illegal. She’d know, since she worked for the Transportation Department for twenty-five years; got herself a nice retirement.”

Fab thanked him and shook his hand. I scooted out the door and raced back to the SUV before he stuck his hand in my direction. People who knew me knew better than to expect a handshake. The whole ritual freaked me out.

“Really, Madison.” Fab shook her head and climbed behind the wheel. “Where are your manners?”

“If you’re trying to imitate Mother’s voice, you need to work on it.”

Fab backed out of the driveway and sat at the stop sign for a moment. She snapped a couple of photos before heading back to the main highway. “Another nutjob case. We need to be careful; whatever plan we come up with includes never meeting Ursula.”

“I knew when Brick told us about the job that if she did this, she wasn’t the picture of mental health.” I fished my ringing phone out of my pocket. “Yeah, what?” I asked and hit the speaker button.

“Are you two close by?” Phil asked.

I glanced at the clock on the dash. I never set the time on the watches I wore; they were more of a fashion accessory. “An hour away, but you can cut that in half, the way the wild one drives.”

Fab revved the engine.

“That works. Let’s meet at your office. I’ve got an update on Lauren. Don’t dally; if I get bored, I’m leaving.”

“Order some food, have a drink, we’re on our way,” Fab shouted.

Chapter 14

Jake’s was my favorite bar, and not just because I owned it. The original Jake had left town a few steps ahead of loan sharks who wanted their money or, if he didn’t have it, to kill him to serve as an example to other non-payers. Jake had about run the bar into the ground when he sold to me. Since then, the longtime customers had stopped complaining about the bad attitude of the management and the subpar service.

It still maintained its dive bar status but was way less rundown. It had been power-washed, cleaned from top to bottom, and freshly painted. I added another pool table, darts, and hired someone to get the jukebox running. I commandeered the corner table on the outside deck for my office because I didn’t care for the broom closet-sized one in the back hall that was now used for extra storage. That office had a small dingy window, but this one had a view of the inlet of water that ran along the back of the property, not to mention the fresh breezes. I’d marked my territory with a custom-made “Don’t sit here” sign. The only exceptions were family and friends.

Mother and I had turned the private meeting room into a card room, where she held poker games on a regular basis to an invitation-only list. My original plan was to rent it out for parties, but so far, there had been zero interest. I couldn’t complain; the house got a cut off Mother’s friends, which made the bottom line happy.

I owned the whole block. In addition to Jake’s, it included four dubious businesses: the trailer court, Fab’s office, a roach coach and the gas station. The trailer court at the back had been sold off in a deal put together by Brad.

The newest addition, Fab’s office, was housed in an old lighthouse, white with a red weathered roof, that was delivered one day on the back of a gigantic flatbed. I never got a straight answer about where it had come from, the only explanation offered being, “Some guy had an extra one and here it is.” But since the police never showed up, asking questions about possible felonies, I figured it must be legal. Besides, I couldn’t imagine even Fab managing to steal an entire building.

If I could have found someone to take the wager, I’d have bet that Fab wouldn’t use the new office more than a handful of times. And I’d have won. Once it was freshly painted inside and decorated, she lost interest. As predicted, she rarely used the upper level space, which held two desks and chairs. She had to be where the food and action was––the bar. I had a plan for the lighthouse: restore it to its former glory and turn it into a gift shop. The slight wrinkle to my plan was getting Fab to agree.

The biggest eyesore, the old deserted gas station, sat at the opposite end of the property. It wouldn’t get a facelift, just a good cleaning. I didn’t want to diminish the character. I’d recently partnered with Junker, an old man in town I befriended after spying his yard of junk, and we were in the process of filling the old building with garden collectibles and antiques, or as Fab would say, “crap that no one in their right mind would want.”

In the front, next to the curb, the brightly painted lime roach coach, “Twinkie Princesses,” sat parked. It advertised that they would deep fry anything. Now if only the two women who owned it would actually show up and open for business. In the time I’d owned the property, I’d met them once. They were extremely vague on their entrepreneurial plans but paid their rent on the first of every month. The other plus, not a single sheriff’s-response call.

Fab parked at the back door of Jake’s, and we cut through the kitchen door. I yelled at the cook over the noise coming from the television airing his telenovela. “Two usuals,” I said, holding up my fingers. My eyes wandered to the TV screen. Poor Lucia—divorcing her fifth husband.

Two old sandy tomcats, who looked like they’d been sleeping on the beach, wandered into the bar from the deck. One shouted, “Here’s your tip, bitch,” as he stuck out an empty hand.

The bar went silent. At this time of day, it was the regular half-dozen locals, who shifted on their barstools almost in unison.

Phil flashed him the middle finger. “Next time either of you comes back here, be careful what you drink.” She leveled a glare. “I’ll get Bud here to take a pee in your glass.”

A man I presumed was Bud smiled widely, nodded, and made a rude gesture from between his legs.

The other bum stepped in Phil’s direction, and Fab cut him off. “Just so you know before you pick a fight, management has shot customers in the past. Check out the sign.” She pointed to a prominently displayed metal sign that read, “In case of disagreement, we shoot unruly patrons.” It was an old sign Mother had found at a flea market.

The two men looked at one another and came to an unspoken agreement. One grabbed the other’s shirt and said, “Let’s get out of this hellhole.” He glared at Phil. “We ain’t never coming back,” he spit.

“So sad.” Phil sniffed as they scuttled out the door.

Now that the show had ended, everyone went back to talking and drinking.

“Really, Philipa,” I tsked. “The finger? To non-tipping customers?”

“First off, I told those two that the reserved sign on the table meant don’t sit there. Did they move? No. I told them that they’d get their drinks when they moved their fat asses.” She moved out to the deck and stretched her long legs across one of the vacant chairs.

Fab and I slid into our usual seats. All of us had our backs to the side wall so we could keep our eyes peeled to see anything that went down inside the bar.

I pulled a beat-up notepad from my canvas bag, which I’d dumped on the floor, ripped out several sheets, and pushed them across the table. “Here are some more names that I need you to check out. The second sheet is for a new case from Brick.”

Phil had prepped a serving tray with a pitcher of margaritas and a bowl of chips and had it waiting for us. She filled our glasses, garnishing with a lime.

“Did you find anything helpful on Didier’s case?” Fab held up her glass in a silent toast.

“Lauren was found dead in the living room of her condo, a pricey unit that overlooks Biscayne Bay, lying in the doorway of her sliding doors, no defensive wounds. The blood stains on the carpet were a nice contrast to the all-white decor.”

“How do you know?” I asked. “Did you get a look inside?” I didn’t get why colorless décor was so popular when there were fabulous colors from which to choose.

“Friends and associates,” she said slyly. “I can’t do everything myself.”

I reached over and flipped the switches for the overhead ceiling fans and the strands of lights that wrapped around the deck.

Phil continued, “There are several reasons the cops think Didier pulled the trigger. According to the security tapes, he was the last person to see her alive, and they found a man’s jacket draped over a chair. It was spattered in her blood, and in addition to his monogram inside, it had a business card holder in the pocket with Didier’s cards in it. The cops believe the motive was the cancellation of the contract for the sale of the condo. They found a letter about that balled up under the desk.”

Fab hissed and banged her fist on the table, almost knocking the glasses over.

I put my hand over Fab’s. “What? Neither Brad, Creole, nor Didier mentioned that.”

“My police informant told me they reviewed a month’s worth of security tapes from her condo, and he’s not on a single one, other than the night she died and they’ve sent that one off for further investigation as a couple of skips in the time stamp were noted. The tapes from the office show them meeting several times, but every time, Brad was there. A couple of times, there was a tall man with dark, shoulder-length hair, who managed to keep his face off-camera. Imagine that?” She looked at me and winked.

“Do they have any other suspects?” Fab asked.

“None. My source tells me they’re taking a closer look at the 100 Ocean Boulevard Corporation, as they filed for bankruptcy a month ago. It’s rumored their deals weren’t always on the up.”

“Maybe we’re looking for a disgruntled client. The deal Brad and Didier were putting together was for big money. With that kind of cash on the line, if an investor were to get screwed, it might make someone mad enough to kill. Do you have a pen?” I asked Phil.

She pulled one out of her back pocket and grabbed a napkin off the table.

“Check out the corporation and its CEO, Patino Balcazar. We need this info ASAP.” I nudged Fab. “Knowing Didier’s lawyer, he’s probably already warned your boyfriend not to say a word, but I’d like a peek at what his investigators found.”

Fab shook her head. “Didier would flip if I broke into his lawyer’s offices. He’d leave me for sure.”

I slurped the last of my margarita, licked my lips, and turned the glass upside down. “I guess I need a refill,” I stated and handed the glass to Fab.

“We’re going home after this,” Fab reminded me. “I’m planning a surprise for Didier tonight.”

I made kissy noises, and Phil laughed.

“No more tequila for you. You’re totally annoying when you start with the sound effects. Didier doesn’t get that when he laughs, you only get more outrageous.”

“I’ll behave,” I sulked.

“No, you won’t; you’re already starting.”

“Find me a boyfriend, and then we can do a couples thing,” Phil said.

Fab and I exchanged looks. “If a woman who looks like you can’t find someone…” I said.

“I can have sex, but I want someone who leaves me wanting to cook them breakfast, not checking my watch, waiting for them to leave.”

Fab banged on the table. “Can we focus and get back to the case at hand?”