Dead Air: A Talk Radio Mystery (24 page)

South Beach is the place to see and be seen, and it’s not unusual to come across a camera crew setting up to shoot in the historic district. It’s a cosmopolitan venue, with an interesting mix of cultures and styles. The trendy Art Deco hotels, with their signature pastel colors, are known all over the world. At night their dazzling neon facades attract a young, hip crowd.

Today they were setting up lights and sound equipment in front of the Art Deco hotels down the street. A sound truck was double-parked at the corner, a production assistant gabbing on her cell. “Look, there’s Michael Aller,” Mom said. She waggled her fingers at the man they called Mr. Miami, who flashed her a megawatt smile. “I think he recognizes me,” she said happily. She beamed back at him. “He probably caught one of my recent movies. A few of them are still available on video, you know.”

She gave me a wistful smile. As far as I knew, the last of her videos had gone out of circulation ten years ago. Mom was still waiting for the brass ring, even though the carousel had stopped running a couple of decades earlier.

“It’s nice to be remembered,” she said.

Who was I to burst her bubble? I didn’t have the heart to tell Mom that Michael Aller, the tourism director and chief of protocol for Miami Beach, is a local celebrity himself. Did he actually recognize Mom from a dusty movie of times gone by? Whether he did or not didn’t matter; she was thrilled at the attention.

I was planning our next move when I got a surprise call from Miriam Dobosh. Maybe there was such a thing as karma. How had she gotten my cell-phone number? Then I remembered I’d scribbled it on my business card and pressed it into her hand at the conference. She was all sweetness and light, different from the brusque woman I’d met at the Seabreeze Inn.

“I was wondering how the investigation was going,” she said smoothly.

Funny, but she didn’t sound at all broken up over Sanjay’s death. No sign of desperation or anger, either. Had she come to terms with the fact that she’d been left jobless and penniless by Sanjay’s sudden demise? Or had she discovered some new source of income that she was keeping a secret?

“The police are working on it,” I said. A half-truth. They were just going through the motions because as far as they were concerned, they already had the killer. I had no intention of sharing that information with Miriam, though.

Mom gave me a questioning look, and I shrugged.

I still couldn’t figure out what Miriam’s game was, or what she wanted from me. “I’m sure the case will be resolved soon,” I said carefully. A bland statement if ever there was one. Would the case really be solved?

“I had a nice chat with your mother over at the Seabreeze. . . .” She let the sentence trail off. I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to respond to that, so I said nothing. “Did she tell you I hoped we could all get together for drinks if you ever come down to Miami?”

Now I was thoroughly confused. “No, she didn’t mention that, Miriam. But I’d love to talk with you anytime.”

Mom tapped me on the arm. “Miriam?” She mouthed the name at me across the table, and I nodded.

“Actually, Mom and I are in Miami right now. We’re having coffee in South Beach at the News Cafe.”

“Perfect!” Miriam gushed. “I came to town to meet with my accountant, and we’re just wrapping things up. Meet me at the Delano in twenty minutes and I’ll buy you the best dirty martini in town.” I flipped the phone shut and stared at Mom. “You’re not going to believe this. We’re being summoned to the Delano to meet with Miriam Dobosh.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Really? What does she want?”

“To buy us the best dirty martini in town.”

“Make it a chocolate martini and I’m up for it,” Mom said gamely. “Dirty martinis are awful, you know.” She wrinkled her nose. “They put olive juice in them.”

Olive juice? Blech.
“But what does she really want?” Mom persisted.

“Good question. And I have absolutely no idea.” I quickly paid our bill and we hurried back along Collins Avenue, which was quickly filling up with hungry tourists. Restaurant hostesses, all chic young women, tried to hand us menus as we rushed along the street, but I shook my head and barreled along, lost in thought.

I wondered how to play the meeting with Miriam. The investigation was taking a strange turn, but I had the feeling this might be my one chance to find out more about Sanjay. Who would know him better than the woman who had run his empire so successfully for all those years?

Miriam was waiting for us in the lobby. She was wearing a sleeveless sheath dress that revealed toned arms and an athletic build. My previous impression was mistaken—she was powerful rather than dumpy. “How lovely that we’re both in Miami on the same day,” she said warmly. “I have a table waiting for us in the Florida Room.” She walked ahead of us while we oohed and aahed over the magnificent lobby. The elegant Florida Room was decorated like an old speak-easy, and I couldn’t help but stare at the Lucite piano that dominated the room. The room was attractive, with a Bogey and Bacall feel to it.

Once we sat down and ordered (Mom and I wisely stuck to Evian and lime), Miriam leaned across the table, her voice oozing sincerity. “I hope you’re going ahead with your plans for a Sanjay retrospective. There’s been a lot of press about his death, and I hope we don’t forget what he accomplished in his life. I want to help any way I can,” she said, laying her hands on the table. “I’d like to be part of the effort, if I may.”

I noticed that her hands were large, and her nails were blunt cut, almost like a man’s. They looked powerful. Hands that could harm or even kill?

“You know I’d appreciate any information you can give us, Miriam. Was there something in particular that you recalled about the conference? Or about the guests?”

“Well,” she said slowly, “I’ve noticed a few things, but I’m not sure how significant they are.” There was something vague about her tone, and I realized that she was on a fishing expedition.

I thought of mentioning our meeting with Ray Hicks and decided not to. I was a little wary of telling Miriam all our secrets. Why did she want to be in the loop, anyway? Was it because she really wanted Sanjay’s murderer brought to justice?

Or was it something more sinister? Nick always told me that the best way to deflect attention from yourself as a possible suspect is to get involved in the investigation itself. Be part of the inner circle, and you have a better chance of knowing what leads the police have, what the evidence is.

“Go on,” I urged her. “Even the tiniest detail might be helpful.”

“I saw you talking to Kathryn Sinclair at the transition service.”

The transition service?
I gave myself a mental kick and realized she meant Guru Sanjay’s memorial. “Yes, she told me quite a shocking story.” I locked eyes with Miriam, wondering how much she knew about the incident with Sarah Sinclair.

“It seems shocking at first,” she said smoothly, “but really, Maggie, if you knew a little more about Sarah’s background, you would see the girl was simply a train wreck. An accident waiting to happen. She was desperate for attention, you know.”

“Really?” I tried to sound noncommittal.

Miriam tapped her head. “Sarah had a long history of psychological problems, I’m afraid. Deep-rooted personality problems.” She smiled, her eyes gleaming with an inner light. Her devotion to Sanjay was beginning to seem almost pathological. There was definitely something off about the woman, and my antennae were twitching.

“But surely you screen for those sorts of problems before you let someone participate in the encounter-group weekend, don’t you?”

Touché. Miriam looked flushed and toyed with her dirty martini. “Well, yes, we make every effort to, but I’m afraid there are always a few people who slip under the radar screen. It happens very rarely, and I’m probably to blame. My mother was sick that week, and I was out of the office. I would have vetted her more carefully if I’d been the one reviewing the application.” She paused. “That girl has certainly caused a lot of trouble for all of us. I never want to go through anything like that again.”

“No, I imagine you don’t,” Mom said sympathetically.

“She was one sick puppy,” Miriam said, staring morosely into her drink.

I had the feeling that Miriam would do or say anything to preserve Sanjay’s reputation, and I was baffled. Why the blind loyalty? I could see it as a Lifetime movie:
Obsession: The Miriam Dobosh Story
.

And hadn’t Sanjay betrayed her? Wasn’t he going to hand over the reins to Olivia Riggs, the young woman who’d been crying in the ladies’ room that day? Miriam had insisted at the time that Olivia was distraught and delusional. I was beginning to see a pattern here. Anyone who Miriam didn’t like was labeled a head case.

“That’s not the impression I got from her mother,” I said mildly. There was no sense in antagonizing Miriam if I hoped to squeeze any information out of her. “I pictured Sarah as a sensitive, depressed young woman who probably was too emotionally fragile for an encounter group.”

“Fragile, my ass,” Miriam said bluntly. “She was a borderline, as manipulative as they come.”

“Borderline?” Mom asked.

“Borderline personality disorder. Borderlines do tend to manipulate people; they sort of suck you into their world,” I said slowly. I was surprised that Miriam even knew the term. It’s not commonly used outside of psychological circles. “They tend to be very emotional, very needy, and form instant attachments to people.”

I mulled this over. Could it be true? Hadn’t Kathryn Sinclair said that Sarah had idealized Sanjay at first, thinking he would be her savior, and then she completely turned against him? Idealizing someone and then devaluing him was classic borderline behavior.

“I think you might have been taken in by Kathryn Sinclair,” Miriam said, echoing my own thoughts. I could feel myself flushing. “She can be quite convincing.” I waited, toying with my Evian and nibbling on a cracker. “It could be a case of erotomania, you know.”

Miriam’s eyes were bright with enthusiasm as she tossed around psychological terms. “That’s when someone is madly in love with someone else and is so delusional, she thinks he loves her back.” She said this for Mom’s benefit; Mom looked like her head was reeling with Miriam’s psychological mumbo jumbo.

“You think Sarah Sinclair was in love with Sanjay?” I was beginning to wish I had ordered that martini. Now my head was swimming, too.

“It’s very possible,” Miriam said darkly. “Maybe she decided that if she couldn’t have him, no one could. He had a devastating effect on women. Look at Lenore Cooper.” She went off on a five-minute rant on Sanjay’s ex-wife, while Mom and I sat silently. Interesting how she jumped from one suspect to the next, I decided.

“You really think Lenore Cooper might be involved in his death?” I asked.

“Lenore had it in for Sanjay because she stupidly thought he’d ruined her career. He had nothing to do with it. Her book sales went down and people didn’t flock to her seminars anymore, but it wasn’t Sanjay’s fault. He was the one with the charisma; all she had were some dusty degrees. Audiences loved him; that’s all that really matters.”

“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it,” I offered, keeping my tone neutral.

“I just want to make sure you’re looking at the right people in the investigation,” she said finally, wrapping up her animated attack on Lenore Cooper. “Kathryn and Lenore: It’s really a toss-up, isn’t it? Mark my words, it’s one or the other.” She paused. “Or Sarah Sinclair.”

I nodded and finished my drink. Miriam looked satisfied with herself, and it was clear that she had no idea that I was more suspicious of her than ever. After her annoying tirade, I was ready to move her to the head of the suspect list. My only hang-up was motive. What did she have to gain by Sanjay’s death? As far as I could see, absolutely nothing. Was I missing something?

As we said our good-byes and left the Delano, I turned to Mom. “What did you think of all that?” I asked as soon as we had blended back into the crowd on Collins Avenue. “She certainly was going out of her way to prove her innocence.” I shook my head in bewilderment. “And she wants us to believe she’s looking for Sanjay’s killer. I don’t know what to make of her.”

Mom gave me an arch smile and repeated one of her favorite Shakespearean quotes. “ ‘Methinks the lady doth protest too much.’ ” Mom has a quote from the Bard for every occasion. Sometimes they fit, and sometimes they’re a stretch. This one was right on target.

“Methinks the same thing.”

“So what’s next?” she asked as we headed back to the parking garage. An enticing smell of garlic and tomatoes was wafting out of an Italian restaurant, but I ignored it, focusing on the task at hand. I was a woman on a mission.

“I think we should go back to Cypress Grove,” I said. “But we need to make a stop along the way. A very important stop.”

“Okay,” Mom said, as agreeable as ever. She gave me a tentative smile, as if she knew something was up.

I felt it was only fair to warn her we were heading into treacherous waters. “Mom, I want you to know that we’re going to do something that’s illegal, foolhardy, and probably dangerous. We could end up with a criminal record. I could lose my license and we could both go to jail. If you want out now, just say the word. I can drop you back at your condo and go on by myself.”

Her blue eyes widened. “Illegal, foolhardy, and dangerous. Mmm, it sounds delicious. Let me guess. Are we going to kidnap Ricky Martin?”

“Worse than that,” I said dryly. “We’re going to pay another visit to Ray Hicks.” I paused, watching for her reaction. “And this time we’re going to break into his trailer. It might not be pretty. So, are you in or out?”