Dead Air: A Talk Radio Mystery (21 page)

“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 hell 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 attitude 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 assembling 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 café 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 fishing for large-mouth bass, bream, speckled perch, red-finned pike, bluegill, and sunshine bass.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Mom had her head hanging out the window like a cocker 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 fishing?”

“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 sunshine.

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.

“Whaddaya want?” he yelled, not moving from the grill.

I flashed him my brightest smile and got out of the car gingerly, keeping a tight hold on the door handle. I heard a wild barking coming from close by. For all I knew, a pair of pit bulls would come racing around the battered trailer any second and tear us to shreds. I wished I’d thought to tuck a can of Mace in my purse.

“Mr. Hicks? Can we speak to you for a moment?”

“Whatever you’re sellin’, I don’t want any. And if you’re a damn bill collector, I cut up my credit cards. You can go look in the garbage if you want.”

What a charmer
.

“What a beautiful area, Mr. Hicks,” Mom said, suddenly appearing at my side.

She always did like a challenge. Mom likes to pick the most boring person at a party and engage him in conversation. She wants to see whether she still “has it,” as she says, whether she can still work her fabled charm on men.

I bit my lip to keep from laughing. She had her work cut out for her with Ray Hicks.

“I’ve just been reading about your lovely development. It’s such a pleasure to see it for myself. It is absolutely charming.” She clasped her hands together dramatically.
Charming?
You would think she was talking about a thirty-room mansion in Boca, not a double-wide in the middle of nowhere.

“Well, it ain’t for sale.”

“No?” She gave a little moue of disappointment. “I can see why. Who would want to sell a such a lovely slice of paradise?” I noticed her spike heel was slipping into a brownish pile of what I hoped was mulch. She reached out for my arm to steady herself, but her smile never faded. A faint smell rose up from the pile.

It wasn’t mulch.

“Exquisite!”

Ray Hicks merely grunted at her extravagant praise, but Mom was undaunted. Maybe it’s because she’s dealt with rejection as an actress (“there were two hundred girls there, auditioning for a three-line part!”), maybe it’s her strong personality, but she’s persistent to the core. I grinned, wondering what was coming next.

She waved the
Florida Travel Guide
at him, giving him her best Hollywood smile.