Deborah Brown - Madison Westin 07 - Kidnapped in Paradise Read Free Page B

property, and he ’ d found a place on the Atlantic coast to help restore the dirt pile into a 1950 ’ s-style tourist destination. Each vintage aluminum travel trailer was restored with all of the comforts of home and available for overnight stays, by the day or week.
    He had each Airstream shell expanded in length and rebuilt from the chassis up, complete custom floor plan s, each with a fully-equipped kitchen, bedroom, living space, and small but luxurious bathrooms.
    The interiors were done in rich woods and highly-polished aluminum, mimicking the original 1950s design. Outside, each trailer had its own faux-grass lawn, which didn’t look bad but had an odd feel under one ’ s feet.
    It had been my job to scour South Florida for authentic decor and accessories, or as close as I could get. All the old picnic tables I found were termite infested, so I settled for new ones and had them painted in a variety of art deco colors. The chaise lounges were also new, comfortable seating for visitors to enjoy the warm, balmy breezes of the Florida Keys. Fab had done her part by haggling every flea market vendor and antiques dealer down to the last nickel.
    Every trailer had a theme and era-appropriate pieces—televisions, radios, and books. I had a hard time ferreting out original kitchen appliances that actually worked. I lucked out and located a man out of state who specialized in replica appliances––all shiny and new and working perfectly. Each trailer came fully furnished with dishes and linens. I cheated a little by going to a factory outlet, where I spent an afternoon mixing and matching dinnerware.
    “We ’ re getting a mention in a national travel magazine. We ’ve jumped from local news to the big time,” Brad said. He and Liam high-fived.
    Fab snuck up on Brad from behind.
    “Notice my lighthouse?” She tugged on Liam ’ s hair and they did a secret handshake. I’d watched their convoluted hand routine several times, and I still didn’t get it.
    “Hard to miss,” he chuckled. “I made sure that the paperwork was legal before it got off-loaded. I saw hair-in-a-can guy hanging around earlier. I told Gunz his reputation preceded him, and given the slightest provocation I ’ d toss his ass in the Gulf. He took it well. Reassured me of his all-legal status.”
    “I told Gunz no screwing this up,” Fab said. “He needs office space to project his new corporate image.”
    I took a breath and kept my mouth shut about what I thought of his chances for success. Even if he could sustain legality, he ’ d get bored. He reveled in life on the edge.
    I pulled on the end of Fab ’ s hair to get her attention.
    “When you ’ re out there on the curb,” I pointed to the road, “that lighthouse is all mine. I ’ d like it if you could get rid of the smell first.”
    “Could you be anymore unsupportive?” Fab sniffed.
    “Probably.”
    Liam and I laughed.
    “Where ’ s Crum?” I asked. “He ’ s usually hanging around, eager to eavesdrop.”
    Liam spoke up .
    “He left here throwing around the ‘F ’ word, looking uncomfortable in a pair of long pants for his appearance in court.”
    “ Pants? I’ m surprised he owns a pair.”
    The retired college professor wandered around in his tighty whities and rubber boots; for dress-up, he preferred boxers.
    Liam continued to laugh.
    “The pants were a half-foot too short.”
    “Sort of felt sorry for him,” Brad said. “He looked a mess. He had a stained white dress shirt to go with his flood pants, and worn loafers so big they banged the concrete when he walked. I ’ d say he was trash diving again and couldn’t find everything in one can.”
    “Court date? Did you help him get bail?” Fab asked me.
    I shook my head, having no clue what they were talking about. I was just happy that my phone hadn’t rung in the middle of the night, with Crum on the other end asking for a ride home. I ’ d already informed the regular jail-goers that free rides from