Free Murder in Paradise (Paradise Series) by Deborah Brown Page A

Don’t be stupid or you’re going to end up in jail.” I wanted to beat the snotty look off his face. “You have until midnight.” I got into my SUV.
    Quirky gave me the finger.
    I rolled down the window and yelled, “How does a person know they’re getting real raccoon meat?”
    “We keep the feet and tail. Without them you can’t tell the difference between coon and house cat; they taste the same.”
    “Let me guess. They both taste like chicken?”
    Quirky snickered, “Come back tomorrow, me and Vanilla will still be here.”
    “You want to play hardball?” I winked at him. “You’re on.” I rolled up the window, happy the door was locked.
    Another crap case.
    As soon as I rounded the curve, the sheriff car pulled up behind me, lights flashing. “Get out of your car,” Johnson yelled. “What were you doing at Clean Bubbles?”
    I didn’t know who was stupider, the Poppins for committing felonies while they knew the cops watched from across the street, or the sheriff for doing a stake-out in plain sight. Must be Johnson’s idea; Kevin looked bored and irritated.
    “Booking an appointment for a detail on the Hummer,” I lied boldly.
    Kevin circled the Hummer, looking in the windows. “The tint on this thing is too dark.”
    “It’s a rental. You need to speak with Brick Famosa, you know, of Famosa Motors. I have the phone number.”
    “No one rents a Hummer,” Johnson said with a tight, phony smile in place. “What’s the daily fee?”
    Out of the corner of my eye I saw Quirky pull a rope across the driveway, attach a homemade “closed” sign, and jump into a pickup with Vanilla at the wheel.
    “My insurance company is paying the bill. Why was I pulled over?” I asked.
    “Looked like expired plates, but I was wrong. You’re free to go,” Johnson said. “One more question, you didn’t happen to pull a gun on Quirky back there, did you?”
    “Why would I do that? I can pay for the wash and wax.” My phone rang as soon as I opened the door.
    “Bad news,” Creole said. “Gabriel got released from custody.”
    “Thank you for all your help. We both owe you. I need to call Fab and warn her.”
    “Stay in touch,” Creole warned. “I’ll stop by tonight for an update.” He hung up before I could answer.
    I hit speed dial, but Fab’s phone went straight to voicemail. “Call me as soon as you get this message. You don’t, all promises are off.”
    * * *
    Jazz started meowing the second I opened the front door. I picked him up and nuzzled his neck until he squirmed. He’d had enough.
    I hit redial all the way home, getting Fab’s voicemail every time. Now I had the Quirky situation to worry over. He’s too stupid to pack and leave town, even with the sheriff watching and making a case for an eventual arrest. My Aunt Elizabeth loved to collect IOUs from people and willed hers to me, along with instructions to get my own. I figured it was time to pull an Elizabeth IOU out of the drawer, since my favor was huge and last minute.
    I sat at the kitchen island, laying my cheek on the cool countertop, mulling my choices. I could call Slice, but then Zach would find out. Slice and I had an unspoken agreement that he didn’t hide things from his partner. Evicting coon-meat-selling drug dealers would definitely erupt into a fight. My only other choice was Jimmy Spoon, Mother’s boyfriend; it felt sneaky but I knew Spoon would never rat me out. I met him dropping off Zach’s 1957 convertible Thunderbird for maintenance, a car that circled the block a few times only to go right back to its parking space overlooking the water, behind locked gates. Spoon told me he could fix “anything.” Time to put those skills to the test.
    Spoon answered on the first ring. “You in trouble?”
    “I need those ‘fixer’ skills you once boasted of, the sooner the better. I’m willing to part with one of my coveted Elizabeth IOUs.” I reached in the junk drawer and took out the aspirin bottle; I had