Dead Air Part 14

"A natural," Lark piped up. The corner of her mouth quirked in a smile.

Mom turned to Lark. "Did I ever tell you I played a private investigator once? It was on a Lifetime movie, just a small part. But you know what they say--there are no small parts, just small actors."

"Oh, no," I groaned. "Mom, what did you do?"

"Well, it all happened by accident. Serendipity, you know?" Her eyes were bright with excitement, and I had to steel myself for what I feared was coming. "That nice young man next door, Ted Rollins? I saw him out on the porch, and I just had to go over and introduce myself and admire his garden. I asked him how he managed to grow those beautiful pink hibiscus he has in the front of the inn."

"And then?"

"And as luck would have it, a rather stern-looking woman came rus.h.i.+ng down the front steps. It seems she'd been part of Guru Sanjay's entourage and she'd left some papers in the lobby."

"Stern looking?"

Mom nodded. "She looked like a female version of Boris Yeltsin. And with no fas.h.i.+on sense at all, I regret to say. She was stuffed into an absolutely dreadful navy blue suit that made her look like a weiner schnitzel. With a matching pillbox hat, can you imagine?"

"Miriam Dobosh." I was surprised. Why is Miriam back in town?

"Yes, how did you know?"

"She was Guru Sanjay's right-hand man. Or woman," I amended quickly. "You spoke to her?"

"Oh, yes. We had quite a nice little chat." Mom toyed with her egg roll. "She remembered me from one of my early films, Santa Cruz Love Song. It's always nice to run into a fan, even after all these years. I was practically a schoolgirl when I played the part of Rosalita," she said wistfully. "I was a mere child. They were afraid it might be too sophisticated a role for me, but eventually they decided I had the right look for the part. The dewy-eyed innocence of youth. A Lolita type."

"Mom, you were forty-five years old."

"Pffft." Mom gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "Age is just a number." She dropped another morsel of egg roll into Pugsley's open mouth. He was standing motionless by her chair, mouth open like a baby bird. "And anyway, Miriam remembered my work in the film. That's the important thing."

"She did?" Lark and I exchanged a look. As far as I knew, no one ever saw Mom's films, much less remembered them.

"Well, I had to prompt her a little. She had a Santa Cruz sticker on her notebook, and I mentioned I had once done a film that was set there. She told me Guru Sanjay had held a conference in Santa Cruz last month and that she was very fond of the city. Well, the next thing you know, we were talking away like best buds. Ted brought some iced tea, and we simply bonded. We have a lot in common, you know."

"You and Miriam?" I blinked. Surely she was kidding.

"Oh, yes. You know, Maggie, now that Guru Sanjay has 'transitioned,' as they say, poor Miriam is out of a job. And it seems like her whole life revolved around him and the organization. It's not going to be easy for her to find another job at her age, you know. Especially not with the same salary and perks she was getting from Guru Sanjay's organization."

I nodded. "That's probably true, but I still can't figure out why she told you all this." The crazy thing is, I actually could imagine it. People are always confiding in Mom, and perfect strangers tell her their innermost thoughts and secrets. Mom has a certain knack--maybe it's a trick all actors know--but when she talks to you, she makes you feel that you're the most fascinating person on the planet.

"I think she felt she could relate to me on some level." Mom shrugged. "We talked about how hard it is for women of a certain age to find employment. It's the same for actors, you know. I mean, how many Meryl Streeps or Diane Kea tons do you see? Once you're over forty, they send you off to the La Brea Tar Pits."

"The La Brea Tar Pits?" Lark asked. "Isn't that in Los Angeles?"

"It's where the dinosaurs went to die," Mom said dryly.

Chapter 19.

It wasn't until after dinner that Mom revealed the most interesting fact about her conversation with the ever-loyal Miriam. We were lingering over cappuccino and chocolate biscotti while Lark was flipping through the real estate section of the Cypress Grove Gazette. Lark has always dreamed of owning beachfront property--a nice fantasy, but not possible on a paralegal's salary.

"Real estate," Mom said, tapping the paper with one of her bloodred enameled nails. "That's what I should have invested in when I had the chance. The same thing happened to Miriam, you know," she said vaguely. "She told me could have made a killing, if only she'd listened to Guru Sanjay. It's so sad. She'd be financially secure if she'd just taken the plunge. Of course, she's kicking herself now, but it's all a moot point. It's too late, and now she's hustling for another job to support herself."

Now she had my full attention. "Do you mean Sanjay encouraged her to buy real estate?" This was the first I'd heard of this, but I wondered how a real estate deal could have related to his murder. "I didn't even know he invested in real estate."

"Oh, yes, he bought up properties all over south Florida. Condos, duplexes, some nice houses on the intracoastal. Really fabulous places. She said he had a good eye for real estate. Say what you want about him; he knew a smart deal when he saw one, and he wasn't afraid to take risks."

"How does Miriam fit into all this?"

"She found out he was buying properties and flipping them. You know, picking them up when they were about to foreclose, doing some quick renovations, and selling them for double what he'd paid for them."

"Interesting."

"He told her if she put up some cash, he'd cut her in on the deal, but she was afraid. She's at that age when a woman has to think about financial security, and the real estate market seemed too volatile." I wondered whether Mom was talking about herself or Miriam. Mom isn't the thriftiest person I know, and her erratic employment history didn't lend itself to fat IRAs or 401(k)s. As far as I knew, she hadn't even worked steadily enough to collect unemployment benefits.

"So she didn't lose any money, right?"

"No, she just lost a great opportunity." Mom gave a brittle laugh. "I told her I could certainly relate to that. When I think of the directors I could have worked with, the parts I should have had. Did I ever tell you about the time I had the chance to study at RADA? That's the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art. Just think, I would have trod the boards at the Old Vic with people like Gielgud, Richard Burton, Alec Guinness . . ."

Would've, should've, could've. Lark and I locked eyes over the table. She was too kind to tell Lola that she'd heard the story before. While Mom was regaling Lark with one of her many trips down memory lane, I decided to clear the table and take Pugsley out for a quick stroll. I'd walked only a couple of blocks when my phone chirped.

"Hey, there," Nick said when I picked up. "How's your head doing?"

"I still have a lump the size of a goose egg," I told him, "but I think I'll survive."

Pugsley stopped to inspect the base of his favorite banyan tree, and I stopped, too. "Mom just told me something interesting about Guru Sanjay. She ran into Miriam Dobosh, who gave her an earful about life with the guru." I quickly related the details of his lucrative real estate deals. "It turns out that Miriam didn't take the plunge, so she didn't lose any money. I was thinking that if she had, it would have been a motive for murder."

Nick's laugh, low and husky, eased over the line. "Maybe she didn't lose any money, but a lot of people did. Sanjay had a nice cash cow going down in Fort Lauderdale and Miami by buying properties and flipping them."

"That's perfectly legal," I pointed out. I never doubted that Guru Sanjay was a shrewd businessman, just a lousy excuse for a human being. Plus, he was an ex-con.

Flipping houses was the thing in south Florida. When the real estate market was flouris.h.i.+ng, I'd heard of quite a few people making easy money by buying and selling houses. A new coat of paint, some new cabinets and flooring, and the houses were instantly rehabbed and put up for sale. A lot of them sold within a couple of weeks. If you were lucky and knew what you were doing, you could make twenty or thirty thousand over the price you had paid, in a very short s.p.a.ce of time. As they say, "nice work if you can get it."

"Yes, but the plot thickens," Nick said.

"Do tell."

"Sanjay had an inside source with the Florida government. He knew which properties were going to be seized by the state, so he snapped them up first. Then he gussied them up, sold them for a whopping profit, and the new buyer was left holding the bag when the state came in."

"Wait a minute. Doesn't the state have to pay the market value of the property?"

"Yeah, but they decide what it is. And it might be a h.e.l.l of a lot less than the buyer paid Sanjay for it."

"How can the state just come in and grab someone's property?"

"It's called the principle of eminent domain," Nick said patiently. "If the state can show that the property is needed for new development, that it will benefit the citizens, maybe bring in some added revenue, then they can force the owner to sell it to them. It's being tested in the courts, but so far the state is winning."

I'd heard about eminent domain but never really understood it until now. "And Sanjay knew which properties to buy? How could he do that?"

"He had an inside track. Maybe he just had good connections, or maybe he paid someone, but he was right every time. He made a killing."

"No pun intended."

"Sorry, that just slipped out." There was a beat of silence. "But you can be sure that Sanjay had to contend with some disgruntled buyers. They paid top dollar for these properties and then had them whisked right out from under them. They may have been forced to sell for a fraction of what they were worth, and it was all perfectly legal. I just started going through the real estate records, and it's only the tip of the iceberg. I think there's a big story here, waiting to be uncovered."

"Can you follow up on some of these people? Interview them?"

"I'd like to. But right now, I'm in the middle of that investigation into the high jinks at the mayor's office." Nick was following a paper trail of phony expense accounts in his investigation of corrupt government officials, from the mayor down to the councilmen. He was writing a hard-hitting series of articles that were making a lot of local officials run for cover, and I knew he'd made a few enemies along the way.

It was top-rate investigative reporting. With any luck, Nick would be nominated for a journalism award for his series and might be able to move to a bigger market. I'd miss him, but I knew this could be his chance to go to the big leagues, where he belonged.

"I've been following your stories. They're really good."

"Thanks. We've gotten a lot of letters to the editor and op-ed pieces on them. So I think the paper will make me go full steam ahead with the government corruption issue. I don't think I'll be able to spend too much time on Sanjay's death; it's already considered a cold case."

"A cold case? He was just murdered!" I said, feeling more than a little outraged.

"Maybe so, but don't forget, if murders aren't solved within the first forty-eight hours, they're likely to go unsolved. Plus, there don't seem to be any new developments. The police have Lark as a person of interest, and that's all. I don't think they have any other suspects. She was the last person to see him alive, and they're going to milk that for all it's worth. And preliminary results show that he cracked his head on the corner of the dresser. So did he fall or was he pushed? That seems to be the question. Of course, they're not even sure that was the cause of death." He paused. "How's she doing, by the way?"

"All right. You know Lark; she has this Zen acceptance thing going. It drives me crazy. She thinks everything happens for a reason and the universe will just magically tilt back in her favor."

"Not everyone tilts at windmills like you do, Maggie."

I snickered. My mother calls me the Patron Saint of Lost Causes. "You might be right." Lark's laid-back att.i.tude was a perfect match for Nick's easygoing nature and I hoped the two of them would get together someday. "At the moment, I'm trying to persuade her to hire a lawyer, but she doesn't think she needs one, because she's innocent."

Nick let out a low whistle. "Bad thinking. She needs one if Rafe Martino thinks of her as a viable suspect. You should try to explain that to her. Even people who are innocent need lawyers; it's just an annoying fact of life."

"I know you're right," I said, letting out a breath. "She's like a babe in the woods. I'll talk to her again and see what I can do. In the meantime, how can I track down the people who bought property from Guru Sanjay? I've got a few days' sick leave coming and I was thinking of taking a trip down to Miami. I could check some things out, if you can part with the names."

"I'll fax you the names and addresses," Nick offered. "I'll make you a deal. Tell me what you come up with and I'll try to keep the story alive in the paper. Maybe a new angle will spark some extra coverage in the paper and get my boss interested again."

"Deal."

So early the next morning, Mom and I prepared to set off on a road trip. We were headed to Fort Lauderdale and Miami, and, if we had enough time, I was even thinking of adding a quick trip down to the Keys. Judging from the list Nick had faxed me, Guru Sanjay had conned people all over south Florida. Was one of them angry enough to kill him? Somehow I had to ferret out the truth, with Mom as my trusty sidekick.

She was in a tizzy of excitement at the thought of playing detective.

"I love it! We'll be just like Cagney and Lacey." She'd already tossed some clothes into a duffel bag and now was a.s.sembling her Avon-lady-size cosmetics case. She had enough makeup to cover the entire cast of Aida, if you didn't include the elephants.

"Cagney and who?" Lark asked. She was nursing a cup of peppermint tea and looked like she hadn't slept well. I hated to leave her alone in the condo, but she had Pugsley for company and she knew that finding Guru Sanjay's murderer had to be my focus right now.

Miriam Dobosh and Lenore Cooper, Guru Sanjay's ex-wife, were still high on my list of suspects, but I wanted to see whether I picked up any murderous vibes from people he'd conned in south Florida real estate deals. And of course, there was always Kathryn Sinclair, who said Sanjay had ruined her daughter's life. Wouldn't that be enough motive to kill someone?

"Cagney and Lacey were before your time, dear," Mom said breezily to Lark. "They were two gutsy female cops on television. How I would have loved to have been on that show." Her tone was wistful. "I even took lethal-weapons training so I'd look believable packing heat. I'd hoped for a part in Charlie's Angels, but sadly, that little minx Farrah Fawcett beat me out of the part." She leaned across the table. "All the blond hair, you know; that's what turned the tables."

"Wait. Back up a little. You said something about packing heat?" Lark raised her eyebrows, a hint of a smile touching her lips.

"It's all about realism," Mom told her. "Viewers are very knowledgeable, and I learned my way around a gun and how to squeeze off some shots." She turned to me. "Maggie, dear, do you think we'll need lethal weapons? I still have my permit someplace. I renew it every two years to keep it current. I have a license to carry a concealed weapon in the state of Florida," she added proudly.

Mom and a concealed weapon. A scary thought. In any state.

We drove into Fort Lauderdale around lunchtime and stopped for a quick lunch at an outdoor cafe on A1A to fortify ourselves. It was a perfect day. The sky was a paint-box blue with just a few wispy clouds to add interest, and across the street, the flat green ocean glittered in the sunlight. Everywhere, beautiful girls in bikinis were strutting their stuff along Ocean Drive, checking out the shops, leaving a trail of coconut Hawaiian Tropic in their wake.

"Don't they worry about their skin?" Mom whispered across the table. "They'll be leathery old hags by the time they're forty. Nothing ages you quicker than the sun, you know." Mom instinctively touched her own face, still taut and unblemished.

I smiled. "Forty seems like a long way off to them. A whole lifetime away." I looked at them and envied their carefree grins, long swingy hair, and perfect bodies. Life would catch up with them soon enough.

"Who's first on the list?" Mom asked when our pizza marinara and iced tea arrived.

"Ray Hicks. He's actually south of here, near a town called Briny Breezes."

Mom frowned. "Briny Breezes. That sounds familiar somehow. Isn't that the place where a couple of guys from New Jersey made a killing? They each bought a trailer and a tiny spot of oceanfront property. It was minuscule, the size of a postage stamp, but they bought it anyway. And then a developer came in and offered them half a mil or something like that?"

"That's the place. It was written up in all the papers. But Ray Hicks wasn't involved in any of that. He's just someone who's living in a double-wide because he got screwed over in one of Sanjay's business deals."

"Does he know we're going to pay him a visit?"

I tossed her an innocent grin. "I thought it would be more fun to surprise him."

Chapter 20.

Nearly an hour later, we spotted Brentwood Bay Village, a "manufactured home community" that offered "resort living at an affordable price." In case you're wondering, a "manufactured home community" is code for trailer park.

According to the signs dotting the highway, Brentwood Bay was nirvana for boaters and anglers, including fis.h.i.+ng for large-mouth ba.s.s, bream, speckled perch, red-finned pike, bluegill, and suns.h.i.+ne ba.s.s.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" Mom had her head hanging out the window like a c.o.c.ker spaniel, checking out the sad little development. A WELCOME TO BRENTWOOD BAY sign was riddled with bullet holes and hanging off its hinges. It seemed more humid here than it had at the ocean, and heat was rising off the black tarmac as we edged slowly past a row of dilapidated trailers.

"I'm positive. Nick got the address from the Florida court-house records. Ray Hicks lost everything because of Sanjay, and he's reduced to living in this place."

Mom was frowning, reading the travel guide as we crept along, her eyebrows locked in concentration. "But there's been some mistake. There's no water here. What are they talking about? There's not even a bay! How could anyone go fis.h.i.+ng?"

"Maybe the bay is somewhere around the back," I said, checking out the depressing lanes of rusting mobile homes lined up side by side. "Or maybe they shoot fish in a barrel here, who knows?" The whole place had a distinctly Grapes of Wrath feel to it.

"And what about the dolphins and manatees at play? It's a dust bowl!" Mom craned her neck to get a 360-degree view of the place. "And where are the state-of-the-art exercise facilities and spa? I don't see a trace of anything like that." She gave a delicate snort. "False advertising, that's what I say. It should be illegal to get people's hopes up."

"I don't think people like Ray Hicks have too many hopes."

I pulled up to number forty-six, a pale blue mobile home that looked so ancient, I figured a good wind could topple it. Weeds had taken over the tiny area in front of the trailer, along with a collection of old tires and hubcaps. A bouquet of pink plastic flowers made a valiant stand in a battered terra-cotta pot, and a tabby cat sat cleaning himself in the suns.h.i.+ne.

A scrawny man in his early fifties was standing outside, fiddling with something on a smoking grill. He had dark greasy hair and was wearing a wife-beater with a pair of dirty jeans. He looked up suspiciously when I pulled up and scowled by way of greeting. The trailer had two grimy windows and a battered screen door. The metal door to the trailer was open, which made me think he didn't have air-conditioning and was hoping to catch a breeze.