The Paradise Hotel was a little slice of 1970s Key West, smack-dab in the left ventricle of the Fillmore District. Its thumbprint-sized pool was lagoon blue and surrounded by brightly colored homages to tropical birds and potted banana trees, whose enormous leaves were fraying in the cold ocean air. In its heyday the whole building was painted a cheery yellow and each door to Paradise a pale, tranquil turquoise. Now the yellow paint had hardened into something sallow and showed its age as it warped and peeled around what remained of the turquoise door frames. Some of the numbers were missing on the doors; the once-shiny doorknobs were grubby with black fingerprints and scratches from years of abuse, neglect, and drunken lock picking.
I saw a trio of uniformed officers staring blankly at a broken pot—its banana tree was severed on the concrete, soil scattered all around. Officer Romero turned finally and beckoned me over.
“Officer Romero,” I said.
“Hey, thanks for coming, Sophie. I called Alex, but—”
I nodded. “He’s on a stakeout.”
“Right.” Romero looked past me. “And you must be the private investigator?”
Will absolutely beamed. “That I am.”
“So what’s this all about?” I wanted to know.
“That’s what I’m hoping you can tell me.”
Officer Romero led Will and me to room 34, where a naked bulb flickered and buzzed outside.
“We got a call about forty minutes ago.” He jutted his chin toward the lady with the dog. She was listening to the officer in front of her; her wrinkled lips set in a hard, thin line. “She called in. Said there was a ruckus with her new tenant. Said it sounded like someone was being murdered out here.”
I shivered, though the early-morning air was unusually warm. “And?”
“And that’s it. She looked out her window and saw two people struggling. Said she couldn’t be sure it was her new tenant, but from the size of her”—Officer Romero’s eyes flashed—“it looked about right. The lady called the cops, and the first car was on the scene in less than three minutes.”
I nodded, impressed.
“And there was nothing here.”
“Nothing?”
Romero nodded his head. “Not a thing.”
“So what made you call Alex?”
Romero dug into his pocket and produced a business card wrapped in a plastic Baggie. I examined it under the flickering light.
“It’s yours.”
I nodded and Officer Romero went on. “It didn’t have a phone number, so I called Alex. He said that your firm was covering this case. I didn’t know that the FBI had an underworld division out here.”
I opened my mouth and then closed it again, dumbly, as Officer Romero prattled on. “So mobsters, huh? I thought that was, you know, purely a Jersey, Sopranos thing.”
“Oh. Underworld. Like the mob. Yes”—I straightened—“yes, we’d appreciate it if you kept it quiet.”
Romero nodded, impressed. “Absolutely. We’ll clear out. You do what you need to do.”
Once Officer Romero stepped away, Will crossed his arms and grinned at me. “We’re detectives now. Underworld detectives.”
I rolled my eyes and speed dialed Alex, willing him to answer the phone.
“Good, Lawson, I’ve been waiting for you to call.”
“What is this all about, Alex? And why can you miraculously talk all of a sudden?”
I heard him suck in a deep, slow breath. “I’m on a dinner break. Do you want my help with this or not?”
I looked at Will, then looked at the broken plant and the flickering light. “Sure. Why did you think this was about us?”
“Because the woman staying in that room was Bettina Jacova.”
I paused. “Oh. But she didn’t check out?”
“No. The only thing the guys could find was that overturned pot.”
I balanced the phone on my shoulder. “So everything is gone, there’s no evidence. Why did you need me here?”
“The officers said they couldn’t see anything.”
I nodded, finally understanding. “And you want me to make sure you’re not missing something.”
“Bingo.”
I looked over Will’s shoulder, surveying the “blue lagoon,” the aged patio furniture, and banana trees. “I don’t see anything right off.”
“Will’s there with you?”
“Yeah.”
“Take a walk around the property. Just take a look around. If there’s nothing there, there’s nothing there. If there is, maybe it’ll help you get down to the bottom of all this.”
I felt a warmth at the base of my spine. “Thanks, Alex.”
“I’ve got to get back to work. ’Night, Lawson.”
I hung up the phone, and Will and I strolled the property for a minute. We paused at the blue lagoon–colored pool.
Will put his hands on his hips. “What do you think?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t see ...”