Swindled in Paradise by Deborah Brown Read Free Book Online Page A

shushed. He tugged on the sleeves of his jacket, casting an eye around before looking at the ground. “This is my job. I’m a paid mourner,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper.
    “Pay well?”
    “It’s part-time, and I need the work.” He reached into his pants pocket, taking out his keys.
    “How many of these people are professional mourners?”
    He toed the grass, kicking up a small divot. “Half maybe. We’re forbidden to disclose any details, including anything about payment.”
    “Did you know the deceased was murdered?” I asked.
    “Eww!” He jumped back. “That’s bad karma.” He continued stepping backward. “Gotta go. Please don’t tell anyone about me or that we talked.”
    Mother walked across the grass, a smirk on her face. “Did you know there are paid mourners here?” she asked when she got close enough that no one else would hear.
    I was shocked that she’d found out and a little annoyed I couldn’t be the first to share that little detail. “Yes, how did you find out?”
    She pulled a business card out of her clutch. “I got this.”
    I grabbed it from her fingers and read it. “You’re forbidden to call.” I shoved it in my purse. “Don’t give me your innocent look. This is just the kind of weirdness you and your friend Jean would sign up for. Now tell me how you got the card.”
    “This well-dressed woman who came solo sought me out – another woman alone, I suppose – and asked me if I knew the deceased. I told her no, that I’d come for the food.”
    “Really, Mother,” I clucked. “Next time, we’ll rehearse appropriate responses ahead of time.”
    “That funeral friend of yours serves food and lots of it. Anyway, the woman – Mali was her name – told me that this service is always looking to hire. The only requirement is dressing professional. She says you can wear the same outfit every time; it’s not as if you’re going to run into the same people.”
    Once you wore a black dress to a couple of funerals, it would lose its appeal for any other function. I squirmed at the idea that being a professional mourner was a career choice.
    “I’m starving.” I grabbed her arm. “Let’s get out of here. My guess is the ones that know her are in that small group over there.” I pointed to where a dozen people stood under a towering oak tree. “We won’t be able infiltrate and make headway with that bunch. Looks like a high school clique––invitation only. I don’t see Fab and Didier; they must have left already. Let’s go snag a window table at the Crab Shack.”
     

Chapter 8
    The baby blue sky was filled with white, fluffy clouds; a great day for a drive. And the view only got better once we hit the Keys, the whitecap waves crashing onshore on both sides of the highway––the Atlantic and the Gulf of Mexico.
    The Crab Shack was a family favorite; it sat off the main highway in Tarpon Cove and overlooked the darker blue waters of the Atlantic. The restaurant was low-key, decorated in nautical décor and served the best seafood in town.
    The sun shone brightly through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Mother, like daughter, would only accept a waterfront table. Before sitting down, I took a moment to enjoy the waves, which were heavier than usual, breaking on the sand below and washing up under the stilted building. I ordered drinks while Mother had a short conversation with someone on her cell.
    “Who did you just ask to meet us here?” I asked after she dropped the phone back in her purse.
    “Your brother. It’s been a while since the three of us got together.”
    I wrinkled my nose. This would be the first time I’d seen him since the incident with Striker, who, according to Mac, hadn’t been back. I’d suggested that if he showed his face, she should anonymously tip off Julie’s overprotective, cop brother. He tended to keep an eagle eye on his sister and nephew.
    “Mother…” I winced at the whininess in my voice. “I need your