Deborah Brown - Madison Westin 07 - Kidnapped in Paradise (16 page)

“What in the hell?” I squeezed my eyes closed.

Nothing much shocked me, but the sight of two middle-aged women, Mac and Shirl, lying by the pool in bikinis and cowboy boots did just that. Fab made the drive back from Fort Lauderdale in record time. I'd just closed my eyes and shut my mouth as we rocketed down the highway.

“You need to tell them that that look doesn’t work,” Fab whispered.

I scowled at her.

“Hi ladies, what
’s up?
”

“No, how are you? How
’
s your day?” Mac said in a highly irritated tone.

“You both appear fine. And you have a job where you can sit out by the pool any time you want. Where
’
s my surprise? If it explodes on my clothes, you
’
re fired.” I kicked off my shoes and walked down the steps to stand in the pool.

“Interesting outfit,” Fab said to Shirl.

I looked down before rolling my eyes.

Shirl gave her a toothy smile. “Can I tell her the surprise?”

Mac grunted in affirmation, leaned back in her chaise, and closed her eyes.

“Miss January got a kitten,” Shirl announced.

“Another stuffed one?” I asked.

“Oh no, this one is alive and well. Named her Kitty Two.” Shirl did a little dance move. Surprisingly, boots and boobs went in the same direction.

“Absolutely not!” I opened one eye. “She can’t take care of the dead one she
’
s already got.”

Although Miss January had her cat stuffed, she didn’t seem to remember that it had been dead for years. She had a tendency to carry it around and then misplace the damn thing, and I usually got the call to find it. Long ago, I got disgusted that the stuffing kept coming out, and had it restuffed. It looked like… well ‘
new’
wasn’t the right word. Miss January didn’t seem to notice, nor did it concern her that the cat didn’t eat the kibble and drink the water she left on the floor every day.

“What will poor Kitty One think?” I asked. “Won’t it be jealous?”

“You
’
ve lost your mind,”
Fab laughed.

I was afraid to ask, but forged ahead against my better judgment. “Where is she now?”

Mac snorted. “Drunk, passed out inside her cottage.”

“Find Kitty Two a home, or make it an office cat,” I said. “In case she asks during her non-drunk hour or so, make something up that won’t
hurt her feelings.
”

Mac burst out laughing. “The look on your face was priceless. I have Kitty Two in the office. I told Miss January I
’
d cat-sit while she slept off her drunk. Cute little thing. I can find it a home.”

I stood up.
“We
’
re leaving. Try to refrain from hysterical texts unless it
’
s actually an emergency.”

“Not just yet.” Mac pointed to a chair. “You might want to sit for this.”

Fab started laughing.

“You
’
re such a sympathetic friend.” I glared at her. “What?” I threw up my hands.

“Joseph is depressed. He
’
s having girlfriend problems.” Mac looked toward his cottage.

“Svet is a life-size rubber doll. How much trouble can she be?” I asked.

One of Joseph
’
s dead friends had bequeathed the attractive, voluptuous doll to him, complete with wigs and a closet full of impressive looking clothes, mostly lingerie. I liked Svetlana. So far she'd been the perfect tenant. Joseph would never get so lucky with a human woman.

“
Poor Svet, she’
s all twisted up in the corner with a giant hole in her leg. Joseph thinks one of his drunk friends did it because they were jealous.” Mac continued to laugh.

“Don’t look at me. I use my surgery skills on real people,” Shirl said.

“Call Spoon,” I said. “He
’
s got an auto repair shop. Surely he could patch her like a tire.”

“You
’
re awful,” Mac declared. “That would mar that creamy skin of hers.”

“I have a headache,” I whined. “There’s a bonus coming to you if you get Svet fixed and blown up, and I never hear about this again.”

The big smile on Mac
’
s face told me that she had the problem already taken care of. I hated that all three of them were laughing at me.

“I do have some good news. Got rid of the poacher. I gave the key to Spoon
’
s guy. Nothing friendly about him. Probably scares his own mother with those pin dot eyes…made the hair on my neck stand on end when he laughed. Few minutes later, Mr. Earl was throwing his stuff in his car.”

I sighed.
“Another happy ending.”
 

Chapter 20

Fab made a face and answered her phone. She looked at me.

“
Ellie Compton’
s being released in the morning.” Noticing my confused look, she added, “Our prison job.”

“What time?” I
’
d been on enough Brick jobs to know. The job sounded simple enough, but I wouldn’t leave home without my Glock.

“Brick just informed me that she can get released any time after midnight, and normally the first one gets released in the early morning hours.”

“I
’
m not going.” I banged my glass on the countertop. “This means we could sit for hours in the parking lot. It
’
s now a two-day trip.”

I leaned over and looked out the kitchen window. I
’
d been doing that a lot lately, checking to make sure another dead body hadn’t shown up. Blowing a sigh of relief, I turned to see Fab pull her phone away from her ear. Apparently, Brick heard me.

“Find someone else. I
’
m not going alone,” Fab told him.

Whatever his response, she started yelling back in French, which she reserved for when she was really mad.

“I quit. You can have your stinking Mercedes,” were her last words before she hung up. A second later, her phone left her hand and slammed into the wall.

I sighed as I looked at the pieces. The last time I did that, the screen cracked and nothing worked quite right until finally, fed up, I traded it in. Now I felt bad. Fab and Brick had a long-standing relationship, going back before I met either one of them, and I wasn’t going to be the cause of its demise.

I fished my phone out of my pocket. When Brick answered, he didn’t say anything, just heavy breathing.

“This is my fault,” I said. “Good excuse though––I
’
ve had a bad day. Let
’
s forget the last five minutes, like it never happened. We
’
ll pick up whatever her name is in the morning.”

“Thanks, Madison. You need anything, call me.”

I could hear the relief in his voice before he hung up.

Fab looked happy. “
I
don’t have to give my car back?”

“Now would be the time to ask for a newer, shinier model. Brick wouldn’t give you a hassle. You
’
re his favorite. He wouldn’t miss me, but I think he missed you already.”

I slid off the stool. “Let
’
s go. I need a nap if I
’
m going to stay awake for this road trip.”

* * *

We arrived at Lowell Correctional Institution and parked in front of the gate that prisoners walked through to their freedom. I called and confirmed that she was eligible for release at midnight, but more than likely we wouldn’t see her until around six in the morning.

Creole and I had a system. When on a job, I texted the location. He confirmed back that Lowell, one of the state’s largest prisons, handled all levels of custody and that it might be a long wait.

An hour later, a woman who vaguely matched the picture ambled out. She turned and gave the double finger to the back of the guard. Prison life had aged her, and she looked worn out.

“What did Brick say about her? You need to go get her so we can get the hell out of here.” Fab looked skeptical.

I closed my eyes and took a breath. “Wrongful conviction.”

“One hundred dollars says she drew the luckiest card of her life and got away with it.” Fab continued to stare out the windshield.

“Bet with you?” I shook my head. “No way. You always win. We can’t let her stand there. You owe me for being the welcome committee.” I slid out of the car and called out.

Her once-blonde hair was now a dull grey. She slunk over and checked me out from head to toe.

“You my ride?” she asked, peering in the window as she hawked spit across the driveway.

I opened the back door.

“I
’
m Madison, and the driver is Fab.” I pointed to the chest of snacks and drinks. “Help yourself.”

“Can I use your phone? Let my son know that I
’m out?
” She slid her bony arm over the seat, damn near grazing my cheek. I jerked closer to the window.

I handed the woman my phone. I
’
d already forgotten her name. Grandma didn’t seem appropriate, and my notes were in my bag on the back seat. Fab and I exchanged looks as if to say, “
Why are we picking her up if she has family?
” Both of us stayed silent so we could hear every word.

Nothing decipherable came out of her mouth, more like incoherent mumbling you
’
d hear out of a drunk. I looked over the seat back; she had lowered her voice and covered the phone.

Just out of prison––what does she have to hide?

When she handed me back the phone, I glanced back at her again.

“Happy to be out?” I asked.

Okay, a dumb question, but my attempt at friendly small talk and seemed better than, “How did you enjoy prison?”

Fab snickered and I shrugged.

“How long have you been in?” I asked.

She laughed, sounding like a rusty door screeching open.

“Twenty long-ass years. Good thing I escaped the death penalty, or I wouldn’t have lived to see this day.”

Lying-ass Brick! Twenty years. I should
’
ve had Mac run her prison record.

“What did you do?”

“Not a damn thing. Not my fault I was married to the dead guy. Doesn’t mean I murdered him. The jury convicted me, because Artie
’
s arm was found in a box in the attic. Someone set me up. If I were going to keep a souvenir, it would have been his dick.”

“Where did they find the rest of the body?” I asked. Maybe her answer could help us in the quest to locate the rest of Jones
’
body.

“They didn’t. The prosecutor decided that I put Artie through the wood chipper, only because it had some skin fragments. They weren’t large enough to test and only my fingerprints were on the handle. On appeal, my conviction got overturned because they failed to maintain custody of the chipper. My lawyer proved that the DNA report had been altered.”

“It
’
s safe to say he was probably dead before stuffing him through the chipper, since he had to be chopped up. He
’
d be too big to go through whole,” Fab said.