by Lois Schmitt
“Okay. But how do I fit in?”
“I always research my subjects before an interview, right? I looked up Calvin, and I’m a little confused with what I discovered.” I swung my computer, so Abby could see the screen. “Calvin is a real estate agent. He works for Starfish Real Estate in Clam Cove. But his conviction for running the Ponzi scheme was a felony. You can’t get a real estate license in this state if you have a felony conviction. I was hoping Katie had mentioned how this happened.”
“She did. He received a Certificate of Relief from Civil Disabilities from the court. That meant he could apply for the license.” Suddenly, out of nowhere, Gus, the cat, leaped onto Abby’s lap. My daughter rubbed the cat’s back. “Calvin got the certificate four years ago. Katie was furious.”
“I’ve heard of these Certificates of Relief,” I said, “but I thought they were difficult to obtain.”
“They can be, but Alicia Wilcox Chandler was a rich and powerful woman. Katie told me her grandmother called in lots of favors on Calvin’s behalf.”
“But Alicia Wilcox Chandler had a reputation as an honest and upstanding citizen. She was a community activist, generous donor, a—”
“A grandmother who loved her grandchildren. Calvin had convinced her that he wasn’t guilty. He claimed he was a victim as much as the other investors in the scheme and that he had been duped by his partner.”
I nodded. According to what I had read, Calvin and his partner, Mark Tanner, bilked sixty investors out of more than five million dollars by promising to triple their money in less than one year through a new and exclusive hedge fund. Of course, there was no such fund. As with all Ponzi schemes, the existing investors were paid with money raised from new investors. When the source of new investors dried up, and large numbers of old investors requested pay outs, the scheme collapsed. Calvin’s defense attorney tried portraying Calvin as a victim whose partner kept the numbers from him. He claimed Calvin believed the hedge fund was real.
Alicia Wilcox Chandler believed her grandson. The jury didn’t buy it.
“Calvin has held several jobs since the conviction, all in sales.” Abby said.
“I know. My research showed that he worked as a used car salesman and was accused by the local consumer affairs agency for using bait and switch tactics. Nothing was ever proven. After that he was employed in a marine yard, selling boats and nautical equipment. His last job before entering real estate was as a pharmaceutical representative.”
“You missed one,” Abby said. “His first job after being released from jail was at the aquarium. Alicia Wilcox Chandler used her influence to get him a job working on the membership drive.”
“I didn’t find that information anywhere on the Internet.”
“Probably because he didn’t have the job for long. I think he was employed there for about three months. Calvin always wanted to work in sales where he could earn commissions. There were no commissions in selling aquarium memberships—he earned a straight salary. He started looking for other work, and when he landed the job at the used car dealer, he took it immediately.”
“It must have been awkward for Katie to work along side Calvin.”
“She never did. This all happened before she started her career at the aquarium. She was in graduate school.”
“I’ll still bet she wasn’t happy.”
“You win that bet. Her plans were to work at the aquarium after graduation. She was afraid Calvin would do something illegal which would put a black mark on the Chandler name and jeopardize her chances. It turned out he didn’t do anything legally wrong, but he was not a model employee. Calvin had high absenteeism, was constantly late, and spent most of his time making personal calls.”
“At least no one held that against Katie.”
“As it should be. But Katie was still plenty upset. You look like you just thought of something, Mom.”
“I did. What you just told me means Calvin was familiar with the aquarium layout and procedures.”
“You’re right.” Abby nodded. “He had a key too. Who knows if he returned it when he left. Now that you know Calvin’s history, what’s your next step?”
“I’m going to make an appointment for this afternoon to see Calvin and find out his plans for the distribution of the charity money.” I grabbed my phone.
“What if he refuses to see you?”
I grinned as I punched in the number for the Starfish Real Estate Agency. “Calvin might refuse to see Kristy Farrell, reporter, but Kristy Farrell, prospective real estate client, will easily snag an appointment.”
Chapter Twenty-five
“Calvin Chandler?” I asked as I swung open the door to Starfish Real Estate. Two men were seated behind desks, one gazing at his computer, the other engaged in a phone conversation.”
The man on the phone motioned me toward him. He appeared to be in his late thirties. I slid into the chair in front of his desk as he continued talking.
“Remember, a deal like this comes along once in a lifetime. Think about it but don’t take too long, or it will be gone.” He ended his call, then swiveled his chair to face me. “I’m Calvin. You must be Kristy? You said yesterday that you wanted to rent a house on the beach. Tell me a little more about what you’re seeking.”
I started telling him about the type of house I wanted when another phone call interrupted our conversation.
“I have to take this, but I’ll be quick.” He picked up the phone. “These units will be selling like hotcakes,” he said. “If you wait too long there won’t be any left. Would I steer you wrong?”
I suppressed a smile at his comment. While he chatted on the phone, I gazed at two framed photos on a nearby wall. One featured Calvin in his college football uniform. Considering the gambling scandal that got him kicked out of school, I was surprised he posted such a picture. But I realized most people wouldn’t be aware of what happened back then, yet might be impressed with his hunk-like appearance and athletic prowess. Calvin Chandler was handsome now, but he was even more handsome in his youth.
It was the second photo that grabbed my attention. It was a picture of Calvin flanked by two men, all in tuxedos, with drinks in their hands. I had no idea who was standing to his right. But I recognized the man to his left. It was Lucien Moray.
Hanging near the pictures was a large chart listing five names, one of which was Calvin Chandler. Underneath each name was a series of this month’s dates.
“What’s that?” I asked when Calvin finished his call. I pointed to the chart.
“The office work schedule.”
“I see you worked last Saturday,” I said, referring to the day Katie died. “Weather was beautiful. Did you show a lot of properties?”
“I did. I was in and out of here showing homes from early morning until nearly seven o’clock. Now, how about we go look at some houses?” He grabbed his keys from a drawer. “I’ve three great places to show you. And since you want to rent off-season, I can get you a great deal. Follow me”
We drove a short distance until we arrived at our first destination—a small bungalow on the bay.
“If you want to lease this little beauty, you better be quick. Someone is going to snap up this cottage in a second.”
Next to this home was a similar house which had a For Sale sign on the front lawn.
I sighed. “I’d love to buy a home instead of renting.”
“This area is pricy.”
“Oh, I can afford it. But I don’t want the hassle that comes with home ownership. You know what I mean, the constant upkeep and repair, especially on waterfront houses.
Calvin smiled. “As I said, this is an expensive area. Very few residents do their own work. There are plenty of contractors for hire.”
“You still need to call a different service person for everything that goes wrong. Then you have to wait until they find t
ime in their schedule to fit you in. I wish there were condos here. The condo association takes care of maintenance.”
“There may be one in the near future. There are plans to build a large condominium development just minutes from here.”
“Oh, I think I remember reading about this. But I thought the developer couldn’t get the land. Wasn’t it going to an aquarium or something?”
Calvin smiled, a Cheshire cat grin. “That’s not happening. The aquarium can’t afford the property.”
“But I heard they were obtaining money from someone’s will.”
“Let’s just say that fell through.” He continued to grin. “A prospectus for the condo will be available soon. If you get in at the beginning, I can get you a fabulous deal.”
“You?”
“I’m going to be sales manager for the entire condo development.”
*****
Next stop, Lucien Moray’s office.
“You don’t have an appointment, Ms. Farrell,” Mama Grizzly said when I asked to see her boss. She kept pecking at her keyboard while she talked. “Mr. Moray sees people by appointment only.”
I was back in reporter mode. “I called four times, but no one returned my call.”
“Mr. Moray is a busy man.”
“I only need a few minutes. Could I see him now?”
Mama Grizzly stopped typing, looked up, and smiled condescendingly. “He’s not in yet. I have your phone number. I’ll get back to you with an appointment when he has some free time.” She turned back toward her computer.
No way was she going to let me see him. As I exited the building, a thought flashed through my mind. Mama Grizzly had said that Moray wasn’t in yet. That meant he was expected later. I hopped in my car and drove around the building until I found an empty parking spot in the rear with a sign that read “Reserved for Lucien Moray.” Only a few feet from the sign was a door to what I assumed was a private entrance.
I parked nearby and waited as the sky quickly became threatening. I spotted a gray convertible with its top down parked about five spaces away from Moray’s empty spot. I hoped the owner would close it up before the rain.
An hour later, the clouds had passed without a raindrop, and the sky was once again azure blue. A good thing for the convertible owner who never came out to put the top up on the car.
I was thinking how detectives need strong bladders, and how I would probably only last a few more minutes, when a Jaguar careened into the parking lot and pulled into the reserved spot.
As Lucien Moray emerged from the car, I hurried over to him.
“Mr. Moray, do you have a minute?”
He frowned, but it quickly faded. “A minute. That’s all.”
“I’d like an update for my magazine article. What’s happening with your attempt to buy the twenty acres?”
“That land will soon be mine. The aquarium is not getting the six million dollars from the Alicia Wilcox Chandler Estate.”
“But what if the aquarium raises the money through other means?”
“Highly unlikely. I know Brad Monroe thinks he’s the superhero of fundraising, but it’s too much to raise in too little time. If the aquarium can’t come up with all the money by June thirtieth, the land becomes available to whomever has the funds. And that’s me.”
Bradford Monroe had less than nine months to raise another six million dollars. Brad might have lots of irons in the fire, but would he meet the deadline?
“Before you paint me as the Big Bad Wolf, I’d really like you to examine what I will be doing for this community. I’m giving a party on my yacht tomorrow night for members of the Clam Cove Business Association. Why don’t you join us? You can talk to my guests and find out why they are supporting my project and what the condo development means for the future of this area.”
“Thank you. I’ll take you up on your offer.”
“Good. We board at five forty-five. Slip nine in the marina.” He grinned. “I’m sure you could use a night of relaxation. I heard about the little adventure you’ve scheduled at the aquarium for tomorrow morning.”
How did he know about my plans for tomorrow?
Chapter Twenty-six
“You look a little green,” Oscar said with a wide grin on his face as I stepped into his office. “Don’t worry. You’ll be perfectly safe.” He rose from his chair. “Let’s head up to the shark tank.”
To provide me with an understanding of one of the sea’s most terrifying creatures, I was going down in a shark cage.
This had not been my idea. I had been prepared to get all the information I needed for my “Dangers of the Deep” article from interviews, books, and online sources. But Oscar Mejas had suggested that a close encounter with the sharks would provide me with valuable insight. In a weak moment, I agreed.
“About seventy-five unprovoked shark attacks on humans occur each year,” Oscar said, as we made our way down the corridor. “That’s not a lot when you consider the millions of people who venture into the ocean. Some shark attacks are believed to be instances of errors in identity where the shark mistakes the human for its usual prey, like a surfer mistaken for a sea lion.
I gulped, hoping that the black wet suit I’d be wearing wouldn’t confuse the sharks.
Once we reached the exhibit, Oscar pointed to the largest fish in the tank. “That’s a bull shark.”
“It’s huge. It must be eight feet long.” I said.
“It’s nine feet.”
I shuddered. Known for their hostile behavior, the bull sharks were high on the list of the most feared sharks in the world. They are unpredictable, and that is what made them so dangerous.
“The Great White is what immediately comes to mind when you think of shark attacks,” Oscar said. “But the bull shark is probably responsible for most attacks on humans.”
“Wonderful,” I mumbled through gritted teeth.
Oscar grinned. “Once we go upstairs, you’ll see why you have no reason to worry.”
Oscar unlocked a door leading to a staircase, and we began the climb. He escorted me to a room on the second floor overlooking the sharks. I went into a private area where I donned a wetsuit. Oscar then helped me put on underwater breathing apparatus.
Another fish keeper, whom Oscar introduced as Sally, came into the room to help. With her freckled face and hair pulled back into one long braid, she looked like she was still in junior high school.
“Here’s what will keep you safe,” Oscar said, pointing to a large steel cage that hung above the shark tank. “It’s impenetrable. These cages are built to withstand being rammed at high velocity.”
“Are you going to feed the sharks now?” I asked.
“Absolutely no.” Oscar shook his head. “Shark baiting is a controversial issue. Off the coast of South Africa and Australia, a few private diving operations still lure sharks to the site with dead fish and blood. The sharks go into a feeding frenzy and have been known to attack the cage.
“I thought you said the cage was impenetrable.”
“It is, but we still don’t want to frighten you to death. Plus, it’s not good to encourage that behavior. Don’t worry. You’re going to see plenty of sharks up close, but they won’t do more than glide by.”
I stepped into the steel enclosure. Oscar and Sally lowered the cable and I descended into the water.
Three sharks were headed toward the tank. I was now staring into the glowing green eyes of the one in front—the nine-foot bull shark.
As it came closer, the bull shark opened its deadly jaws, showing off razor-like teeth. Soon more sharks approached, swimming within inches of the cage. I knew they couldn’t get through the metal bars, but still…
Suddenly, the bull shark veered to the left and chomped his jaws down on the side of the cage. I stared in horror.
The bull shark chomped
down again.
I remembered what Oscar had said about the strength of the steel bars. I hoped it was true.
The shark chomped down a third time, and I heard cracking. The bar had broken in half.
The opening appeared too small for the shark’s head to push through. Still, as I stared at its gaping jaws, I pinned myself to the back of the cage, praying the shark couldn’t go further. My legs felt like jelly.
I heard Oscar. “We’re bringing you up.” I felt the rising motion as I wondered if I would get out of here alive. The bull shark rammed the cage, his eyes focused on me. Once the contraption was lifted half way up, Sally threw a handful of dead fish into the water. The distracted bull shark and his buddies swam toward their meal, and I was pulled to safety.
I couldn’t stop shaking. “I thought you said the cage would withstand a shark attack?” I yelled, after Sally had helped me out of the steel contraption and had assisted me in removing my breathing apparatus.
“This never happened before,” Oscar said as he knelt by the broken bar. “What the…? This is covered in blood. How could that be? Blood or food is never anywhere near this cage.” He gasped.
“What is it?” I asked.
“This piece of steel.” Oscar pointed to the broken bar. “It’s almost completely sawed through. No wonder the shark was able to break it.”
“Who would do this?” Sally asked, her eyes as wide as a poppet’s.
“Someone who wants me dead.” I sighed. “We need to call the police.”
*****
“What’s going on?” Detective Wolfe grumbled when he entered the room above the shark tank. He saw me and stopped dead in his tracks. “Please don’t tell me this involves you?”
“It does.” I told him what happened.
“Going down in a tank in water full of sharks is sheer stupidity. How do you know this wasn’t an accident?”
