Murder in Paradise (Paradise Series) Read Online Free Page A

out the window, and lead them on a chase. He had a slight lead; apparently the guards weren’t window jumpers and chose to go out the French doors. They struggled to get them unlocked, and then the pursuit was on.
    “The master bedroom doors stood open to the garden below. I heard the commotion, dumped a handful of trinkets into my pockets, and slipped out through the library at the opposite side of the house.”
    “What happened to the painting?” I asked.
    “They had Gabriel in custody within an hour, no painting. He managed to make it back to town before getting caught. Instead of using the painting to broker a deal, he kept quiet and gambled, trying to convince the court the guards chased the wrong man. After all, he didn’t have it in his possession.” Fab checked her watch. “I can’t be late.”
    “My Glock and I will go as backup,” I said. “Give me five minutes to change.”
    “You go take care of The Cottages and we’ll meet here later.” Fab grabbed her keys.
    “I don’t like this,” I grumbled. “You tell Monsieur Bastard if I don’t see you tonight I’ll unleash every law enforcement agency I can on him.”
    “Promise me, you won’t breathe a word of this to anyone.”
    “I can’t keep that promise,” I sighed. “You need to think very carefully before you agree to something that will have you in prison stripes for a very long time.”
    Fab waved and raced to the door, I was hot on her heels.
    I yelled, “Tonight, Fabiana!”

CHAPTER 4
    It took every ounce of self-control not to drive by our favorite place for breakfast, The Bakery Café, on the pretext of needing a latte or some other lame excuse. Fab was in more danger than when she faced down the drug dealer pointing a gun in her face, and besides I knew Gabriel would spot the inconspicuous Hummer in a second.
    I was so preoccupied with Fab’s problems, I couldn’t remember driving along the beach, which was my favorite route from my house to The Cottages. Before last night, it had been a ten-unit, three-sided square building that had direct beach access. My strengths were used in renovating the units and grounds. For day-to-day management, I hired a double Red Bull-drinking manager. Mac handled the tenants and their flakey friends with tough love.
    Turning the corner, I almost ran into Miss January, who’d wandered into the street pacing, holding Kitty. Miss January was another tenant I inherited from my aunt; a fortyish woman who looked eighty, was consumed with cancer, and self-medicated with vodka and cigarettes. There were no signs of dementia except where her cat was concerned, never acknowledging that Kitty had been dead a long time and was stuffed.
    I pulled into a parking space reserved for the office, jumped out, and cut across the grass to find Miss January before a car hit her.
    Tears streamed down Miss January’s face. “Kitty’s dying.” She slid her hand from Kitty’s side and showed me a gaping hole where stuffing had come out.
    Mac loved to mind other people’s business. She hustled up behind me and groaned loudly at the sight. Her auburn bouffant stayed stiffly in place by a half a can of Aqua Net.
    I put my arm around Miss January’s boney shoulders. “Don’t worry, I’ll take Kitty to the vet, and she’ll be good as new.” It never occurred to me to blurt out, “Damn it, the cat’s dead.” Instead I said, “Mac can help me.”
     “Yeah, sorry, I have a gyno appointment,” Mac grunted. She rolled her eyes and headed straight for the office.
    “Ever since I got cancer the doctor hasn’t been interested in looking up there,” Miss January shared.
    “Let’s put Kitty in the back of my SUV.” I drew the line at touching it; I had picked it up before but had worn gardening gloves. It was another warm day, and I hoped Kitty had been dead long enough not to smell. Brick would flip.
    “Joseph called me an old drunk.” She tossed her limp hair. “You don’t think I look old, do