Miz Scarlet and the Acrimonious Attorney

by Sara M. Barton

  I typed his name into the tiny box and scrolled through the offerings. Everything pertained to recent events. He supported this charity and he was named to that board of directors. There was nothing but positive news about the real estate mogul and his philanthropy. It all looked like it was managed by a public relations firm.

  “I wonder if he has kids.” That search was a dead end. As best I could tell, there were no little Zees running around. “Okay, let’s see how many times he married.”

  According to the Florida newspapers, there had been three wives. Johnny was paying alimony to wife number two and wife number three. What about wife number one?

  “Whoa! She’s dead?” I dug through the news reports of her demise. Lavinia Shellenberger was only thirty eight when she took a fatal tumble down the stairs at their Palm Beach mansion in 2007.

  “I wonder if she was pushed. I wouldn’t put it past Johnny Zee.”

  According to The Palm Beach Tattler, Lavinia Shellenberger Zee was the longtime chairwoman for the annual Woodstar Women’s Hummingbird Ball, a gala to raise money for a food bank and three local shelters in the county. The well-attended event had been held at the Palm Beach Billfish Club. “I wonder if that’s got some connection to Johnny Zee’s entry into the big money fishing tournaments.”

  Slated to receive the coveted “Hummy” award for her humanitarian work, Lavinia was expected to give a speech after dinner, but according to unnamed sources, she spilled something on her gown during the cocktail hour and insisted on going home alone to change her outfit.

  “She told everyone she wouldn’t be long,” said vice-chairwoman Ruby Siskin. “We had hired a professional photographer for the event and Lavinia wanted to look her best.”

  Patsy Finklestein Moss heard Mrs. Zee implore her husband to remain at the function in her absence and socialize with the other guests. “She promised that she would return shortly,” Mrs. Moss told this reporter in an exclusive interview.

  The article gave a timeline of the night in question. When Lavinia hadn’t returned by nine, Johnny Zee told the wait staff to go ahead and serve dinner. He had no doubt his wife was on her way. When she hadn’t shown up by ten, he called one of his employees and asked him to go to the house and check on her. He found her crumpled up at the bottom of the grand marble stairs, her skull cracked open. There was blood everywhere. Her stiletto heel had broken off her left shoe, leading one investigator to speculate, off the record, that it was the cause of the fall. “It appeared that she had tripped coming down the steps. It’s possible that her heel caught in the hem of her gown.”

  Oh, this is too good to keep to myself. I just have to share it.

  “Kenny!” I hurried back inside and descended the stairs faster than I thought possible. “Kenny!”

  “You bellowed, mistress?” he replied, doing his Lurch impression.

  “Look what I found.” I handed him my phone and waited for him to read the article. His eyes went back and forth across the tiny screen as he scanned it. When he glanced up at me, I posed my question with bated breath. “Where do you want me to go with this?”

  “Get me everything you can on this woman. I want to know who she was, who her parents were, and how Johnny met her. How long were they married? What happened after her death? Did Zee inherit money from her or was she, like his last wife, a gold-digger.”

  “Johnny Zee’s last wife really was a gold-digger?”

  “She ripped him off like nobody’s business, removing treasures from their homes that yielded her more than five million dollars at Sotheby’s when they were auctioned off. Let’s find out if the late Lavinia had a similar penchant for cash.”

  “I’m on it,” I promised. I was about to run back upstairs when he stopped me.

  “No, stay here, Scarlet. If you find something, let out a holler.”

  “Okay.”

  I settled myself on the nearby sofa and began to dig in earnest. Lavinia Shellenberger was twenty six years old when she married Johnny Zee. He was thirty eight. Gazing at her photograph, I was struck by the oh-so-blonde beauty of hers. She looked like a young Grace Kelly, loaded with manners and a few artful affectations. How had she ended up dead twelve years later?

  “Oh my God!” I couldn’t believe my eyes.

  “What’s the matter?” Kenny’s head shot up as he sat at the dining room table.

  “Guess which of his employees Johnny called to check on Lavinia.”

  “I have no clue.”

  “A certain boat captain by the name of....”

  “...Greg Monaco,” he called out.

  “Very good, Captain Peacock.”

  “Son of a beach!” He sank down on the sofa next to me. “What year did you say that was?”

  “She died in 2007.”

  “What else did you find?”

  “Lavinia was a New York socialite, who inherited twenty million dollars from her late parents. Her mother was the heiress to the Buckley Candy Company. Her father was an investment banker.”

  “No siblings?”

  “Not living. She had a sister, Lidia, who had some trouble in 1993. That year, Lidia was arrested on drug charges for cocaine possession. The charges were later dropped. But in 1994, Lidia was arrested again, this time for stealing a painting from a friend’s house and pawning it. Oh, that’s sad. She was an addict.”

  “So when did she end up dead?” Kenny took notes as I read the information to him.

  “Two months, later, in April of 1994. Ut-oh....”

  “Ut-oh?”

  “Her maid found her unresponsive in the bath tub.”

  “Why is that an ‘ut-oh’?”

  “Guess who the maid was.”

  “I’ll take a wild stab at this and say it was our little Margie.”

  “No, but I think you might be close. The maid’s name was Juanita Jones. Could she be Margie’s sister, the woman who married Greg Monaco?”

  “She could be.” He scribbled something on his notepad.

  “It would really be stunning if it’s true...and rather terrifying.”

  “Well, you know what they say, babe. The family that slays together stays together.”

  “So it seems.”

  “What else do you have for me? Any idea when and how the parents died?”

  “Let me see. Lillian Buckley Shellenberger succumbed to cancer in 1990. Her husband, Buzz Shellenberger had a fatal pulmonary embolism in January of 1994, a couple of months before Lidia died.”

  “So, Lavinia became a very wealthy orphan at age twenty six.”

  “Yes,” I nodded. “That’s what happened. Isn’t it odd that her sister had that tragic downfall just before Lavinia married Johnny?”

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “That someone gave Lidia the old proverbial shove off the ladder?”

  “Maybe that cocaine problem of hers was exacerbated on purpose,” Kenny suggested.

  “Do you think Lidia was so malleable that she was easy pickings for a master manipulator? Could Johnny have romanced her, expecting to marry her after her daddy died?”

  “No, I think it’s more likely that she was a throw-away, and her death was used to convince Lavinia that she really was all alone in the world. The poor woman probably needed a shoulder to cry on. I have no doubt that Johnny was happy to provide one.”

  “That sounds like his style,” I told Kenny. “How sad it must have been for her to lose the only living members of her immediate family within months of one another.”

  “Johnny probably offered to advise her about her inheritance,” he speculated. “Can you find out whether Juanita Jones and Juanita Monaco are one and the same?”

  “I can but try,” I shrugged. “It depends on whether or not there’s any information out there.”

  It took me nearly fifteen minutes of digging to locate a property record from 1993 for a Juanita Jones in West Palm Beach. She was the sole owner of a two-bedroom condo in the Golden Lakes development. But, thanks to vo
ting records, I managed to find one of those nuggets Kenny had predicted that I would uncover. It seemed that a Margarita Jones shared the condo with her.

  “Two years later, Juanita sold it. I can’t find any record that suggested she purchased another home, but Greg Monaco moved to the same area in 1996. Do you think that’s when they married, Kenny?

  “It’s possible. Could you try to track Margie’s past, babe?”

  Sifting through the handful of mentions on search engines, I managed to uncover a Margarita Jones who worked in Johnny Zee’s property management office in 1993. “But something happened, Kenny, soon after that.”

  “Can you find out what?”

  “Oh, here’s the answer. She got married to a man by the name of Lowell Manzi. He owned a successful pool cleaning business that serviced the big estates in Palm Beach.”

  “So, let me guess. He divorced Margie and he’s living happily ever after in his own manse in Palm Beach?”

  “Ah no, and I’ll tell you the reason why.” Before I could share the secret, he interrupted me.

  “Lowell joined the professional poker circuit and lost all his money,” Kenny suggested.

  “Actually....”

  “He sold his pool cleaning business and moved to Panama.”

  “Are you done?”

  “Not quite. Is he among the missing?”

  “No.”

  “Is he dead?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “Okay, I’ll bite. Where is Lowell Manzi?”

  “He’s serving twenty years to life,” I announced. Kenny’s demeanor quickly changed.

  “On what charge?”

  “Back in 1998, he nearly killed one of his clients when he found the guy having sex with Margie in the pool cabana.”

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Kenny did a double take. “You’re kidding me!”

  “I am not.”

  “What happened to the victim?”

  “He suffered permanent brain damage when Lowell tried to drown him in the pool. The wife eventually put the guy in a nursing home, filed for divorce, and is enjoying her status as a single woman on the Palm Beach social circuit.”

  “Well, I’m not sure we can pin that on Johnny Zee.”

  “True. Still, you have to admit it’s rather sordid.”

  “A lot of life is, love, but....” He suddenly stopped talking. I glanced up at him, wondering what was bothering him.

  “But what? Is something wrong?”

  He ran a hand through his hair, reluctant to jump into the venerable pool of speculation with both feet. But he finally acknowledged there was reason for concern. “Is Sybil actually Lowell’s child?”

  “You think the injured victim is the girl’s father?” I gave that some thought. “I wonder if Margie tried to shake down the ex-wife for money.”

  “I suspect that she not only tried to extort money for her kid, she succeeded.”

  “But if Sybil really is the daughter of the victim, wouldn’t she be entitled to child support?”

  “Yes, if the DNA matched and Margie formally applied to the court to force the issue. But I think it could be more complicated than that. She might have had that fling in the first place, to entrap the guy and blackmail him with a love child.”

  “If she was tired of waiting for Lowell to make his own fortune and wanted to get her foot in the door of that wealthy community, having a rich man’s love child would be a way for Margie to do that.”

  “It would, but we’re getting too far ahead of ourselves in this conspiracy theory. Let’s narrow our focus back down to Johnny Zee, the blackmail plot, and the murder victims we are sure exist. Is that the time?” he inquired, glancing up at the wall clock. “We should head out.”

  He waited until we were in the car to announce the rules for our outing. “For all intents and purposes, we’re tourists, Miz Scarlet. We are not going to do any boat hopping. We’re going to stay on Mudder’s Promise and observe Johnny Zee and his gang from a safe distance.”

  “I don’t even get to meet the guy?”

  “Not right now. You’ll have plenty of time for that after he’s arrested.”

  “But he might get away before law enforcement has enough evidence to obtain an arrest warrant!”

  “Not true,” smiled the man from Mercer Security. “A little birdie told me that a federal judge in Miami signed one less than an hour ago.”

  “No way!”

  “Oh, way!”

  My mood improved considerably with that news. Was I happy that I wouldn’t get up close and personal with the man suspected of running a criminal organization? Of course I was not. But hanging out on a nice yacht that was anchored some three hundred yards from Siren of the Seas was hardly a hardship on my part, especially when Kenny handed me a pair of binoculars and told me that I could use them to watch the action on Johnny Zee’s yacht as long as I was discreet and didn’t call attention to myself.

  “I’m going to do a little fishing, Miz Scarlet. Feel free to join me.”

  “Thanks. I might just do that a little later.”

  For the first half hour, I sat in one of the cabins and did my Mata Hari impression, surreptitiously spying on Johnny Zee’s guests through the port hole. I watched them hook several large billfish, weigh them, and then set them free. It all appeared to be on the up and up, but maybe that was because there were so many boats surrounding them, boats loaded with witnesses. Someone might actually notice if they cheated.

  But the one person I most wanted to observe appeared to be missing from the scene. Where was Johnny? I scanned the crowd, but had no luck identifying him.

  After a while, sounds of jubilation broke through my concentration. Judging from the whoops and hollers I heard, I decided that Kenny and his friends must be celebrating their own catches. I decided to take a break and make my way up to the deck to find out.

  “There she is!” Kenny waved to me. “Come see what Gandy just caught.”

  A short, squat man in a navy golf shirt and khaki pants held up a rather long, narrow fish with beautiful striping on it. “You’re just in time. I was about to release this one.”

  “What is it?” I wanted to know.

  “This is a wahoo.”

  “It’s a handsome fish.”

  “It is that, all one hundred and two pounds of it.”

  Kenny agreed. “It’s also really fast, babe. Watch what happens when Gandy lets it go.”

  Carefully leaning over the railing, the angler prepared to release his catch, protecting the fish from any obstructions. When he let it drop, the wahoo hit the water like its tail was on fire. That streak of silver was gone from sight before I blinked my eyes.

  “How fast was that?” I asked him, my curiosity piqued.

  “Their top speed is sixty miles an hour.”

  “Amazing,” I sighed. “Have you gotten any bites yet, honey?”

  “No, but I haven’t really put any effort into it. I’m having too much fun watching other people fish.”

  “Of course you are.” I wrapped my arm around his waist and gave him a squeeze.

  “Scarlet is no stranger to danger,” my erstwhile companion announced to his fellow fishermen. “She’s still recovering from a fall off the back of a pickup truck the other night. Some guy tried to kidnap her when I was busy talking to the deputy about the vandalism to our rental car. Thank God she escaped.”

  “Thank God indeed! You must have been terrified.”

  I gave an involuntary shiver, remembering that horrendous moment when I hit the ground. “It was horrible.”

  Kenny patted his chest. “The shock of seeing you in the possession of some creep was almost enough to give me a heart attack.”

  “Aw, you love me,” I smiled. He leaned over and kissed my forehead.

  “You bet I do. Come watch me drop my line into the water.”

  “As long as you promise I won’t wind up as shark bait.”

  “You’ll be fine as long as you kee
p a firm grip on the railing, Scarlet.”

  “Would you like to try your hand at reeling one in?” Gandy asked me. “We’ve got an extra rod here somewhere. Plenty of women fish these days. You should try it. It’s a lot of fun.”

  “Oh, I’ve fished before. It’s hard not to learn when you’ve got three brothers.”

  Gandy offered me some lightweight tackle. “Do you think you can handle this?”

  “No, no!” Kenny implored him. “Don’t encourage her. With her knack for attracting trouble, I have no doubt Miz Scarlet would snag a mako on her line and be dragged overboard, never to be seen again. It’s just not worth the risk. I have plans for this woman.”

  “Oh, do you?” I asked, gazing up at that face I adored. “Remind me to raise that subject again when we’re alone.”

  “Count on it.”

  An hour later, Kenny had caught and released two groupers, a snapper, and a small wahoo. Gandy and the other anglers had similar luck. All told, their thirteen fish weighed a total of more than six hundred pounds. I was convinced they were in the running for a prize until Gandy crushed that notion.

  “We’re not even close to a prize, Scarlet. I just heard that Johnny Zee and his people are already over a thousand pounds for their twenty four fish.”

  “In that case, I’m going to get back to my fishing,” Kenny told us.

  “Wow, do you suppose their success is due to their bait?” I asked Gandy. “Does it matter if it’s live or dead?”

  “No, I think it’s due to the fact that they go all out. Those guys are maniacs,” said a newcomer, leaning in. “Hi, I’m Chewie, by the way. I’ve heard a lot about you, Miz Scarlet.”

  “Chewy, as in tough meat?”

  “No, Chewie as in Chewbacca. I’m the loyal sidekick,” he laughed.

  “Is there a Han Solo lurking in the shadows?”

  “Yes, but my boss couldn’t be here today.”

  “Tell her the rest of it,” Gandy insisted. He didn’t bother to wait for his friend to do that. “Part of the reason Chewy got the nickname is because he is an expert with a crossbow. He was a member of the United States archery team at the 2012 Olympics.”

  “Impressive,” I replied. “I don’t suppose your bow has laser powers, like your Star Wars counterpart, Chewie.”