by Lee Hanson
Joe said he’d missed the game, and filled Sherman in on Julie’s case.
“I’m thinking about this guy, Avram Solomon, the dead man’s brother,” Joe said. “Just thinking…but maybe the brother is involved with the Tambini family up there, and maybe it somehow connects to the death in Key West.
“I mean, Julie was really close to this guy, Sherm, and she’s a hundred percent sure he didn’t kill himself. Now, I know you can’t tell me anything about any ongoing cases, and I wouldn’t ask you to,” said Joe. “But I thought you might be able to just check out the name for me, see if it’s come up before. Is that possible?”
“Sure, I guess I can do that. You want me to call you after I check him out?”
“That’d be great.”
He gave Sherm his cell number, spelled out Avram’s name, and gave him the address of the Boston dealership. They talked a bit more, promising to get together soon, and hung up.
Last, Joe called the airlines for the next flight to Miami and booked a seat.
“Okay,” he said to Janet, rising. “I’m off. I’ll see you when I see you.”
Joe ran up the stairs, two at a time. He quickly went around the apartment, gathering up his stuff. Finally, his carry-on at his feet, he sat down on the couch to make one more call.
“Angie? Look, before you say anything… there’s something I’ve got to tell you…”
* * * * *
Chapter 30
Julie sat in the back seat of the taxi thinking about David Harris. It was Friday, September 21st, and she planned to be on the one o’clock flight out of Miami to Key West. David was all set to pick her up there.
She thought about what Joe had told her: “There was no forced entry”. She reminded herself that David was the only other person in the house when Marc died. But it was no use; no matter how she looked at it, she couldn’t imagine David having anything to do with Marc’s death.
She got out of the cab a few storefronts down from Island World Realty, which, fortunately, was fairly close to Miami International. Julie tipped the driver a twenty. He was to come back for her in precisely one hour, if he wanted to collect another one.
She was surprised to find the place in a strip mall. There were a few guys in cubicles on phones and computers, and an older woman was sitting at a desk up front, near the door. It suddenly occurred to Julie that they probably didn’t have much walk-in business for multimillion-dollar islands. Obviously, the closings took place somewhere else.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes. I’m looking for Frank Martino.”
A dark haired guy, late twenties maybe, rolled his desk chair backwards into the aisle between the cubes. He looked at Julie, a pleased smile on his face.
“Hi! You Julie O’Hara?”
“Yes. Frank Martino?”
“That’s me. I’ll be right with you.”
Slick. The Bluetooth phone in his ear completes the image…
Julie was glad she hadn’t mentioned Castle Cay specifically. She had merely said that she was “flying into Miami from Boston,” and “wanted to talk about an island.” She wanted to gauge his reaction in person.
“You want to get some lunch? There’s a sub shop next door,” said Martino.
“I could use a cup of coffee,” said Julie, and followed him out. As they walked to the nearby sub shop, Julie noticed some expensive cars parked in front of Island World…a BMW convertible, a Cadillac and a Lexus.
They got their orders, and sat down opposite each other in a booth.
“So how’s the real estate business these days?” asked Julie.
“In the tank, I hear,” said Martino, smiling. “But not islands. They don’t lose value like regular property and the buyers are always qualified. So, are you a buyer or a seller?”
“Neither, I’m afraid,” said Julie, watching him carefully. “I’m here to talk about Castle Cay in the Abacos…and Marc Solomon.”
Martino’s body stiffened immediately. He was surprised and definitely unhappy. He was frowning, his brows knit together.
The deal with Holiday Cruise Lines hasn’t closed yet, I bet…and he has a big stake in it.
I wonder how much?
“Who are you? What does that have to do with you?” Martino asked, no longer interested in his sandwich.
“I don’t have anything to do with it. Marc Solomon was my friend, that’s all. That’s why I’m here. This sale just happens to coincide with his death. I only want to ask a few questions, Frank, just public record things,” Julie said, sipping her coffee.
“What kind of questions?”
“Well, I already know quite a bit about it. I know it was listed for $45 million, and that Holiday Cruise Lines has offered $40 million.”
“Yeah. So?” said Martino.
I knew it. The deal isn’t done.
“And you are both the listing and selling agent, right?” said Julie.
“So what?” said Martino.
So that gives you a lot of motive to see this deal done…one way or another.
“Oh, nothing, really,” said Julie, smiling. “Good for you! I know how tough the real estate business can be. So how did Avram Solomon come to list it with you, anyway?”
“Um, I don’t know. Somebody referred him, I guess,” said Martino.
He’s looking away from me. Besides, any real estate agent would remember who referred a client with a property like this.
“How long was it on the market?”
“About a year, I guess,” said Martino, getting agitated. “Look, if you’re really an agent, Ms. O’Hara, you can forget it. This is an exclusive listing and Castle Cay is under contract.”
“I’m not a real estate agent, but aren’t you forgetting something? The man who signed your deal is dead.”
“That doesn’t change a thing. I mean, I’m sorry about your friend, but Avram Solomon has authority to sell Castle Cay on behalf of the trust.”
No doubt. But why is it so important to him? What does Avram have to gain?
It seemed that every time Julie learned something, she came away with more questions. The timing of the sale of Castle Cay was disturbing, certainly not a coincidence. She concealed her frustration and smiled at the agent.
“Well, Frank, I guess that covers it. I wish you luck with the sale, I hope it all goes well. It doesn’t appear to have any connection to Marc Solomon’s death.”
Martino relaxed a little. He wrapped up his sandwich and stood.
“Well, I’ve got to get back to work. Sorry about your friend,” he said.
“Thank you, and thanks for your help,” said Julie.
“Yeah, sure,” said Martino as he headed out the door.
Julie walked slowly to the end of the strip mall. The cabbie was punctual, and dropped her off in plenty of time to get a sandwich before boarding the small commuter plane. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was.
Before long, she was in the air, headed for Key West.
* * * * *
Chapter 31
“What did you tell her?” demanded Avram, as he held the cell phone to his ear, pacing furiously back and forth in the living room of his townhouse in Boston.
“Nothing,” said Frank Martino. “She already knew the basic facts.”
“Like what?” he snarled.
“Public record stuff, like the listing price and the amount Holiday offered. I think she was wondering how your brother’s death affected the sale,” said Frank, quickly adding, “but don’t worry! I told her that you had full authority to accept the offer. Oh, I told her it was an exclusive listing, too,” said Frank.
You didn’t need to tell her anything, you fool, thought Avram.
“What else?”
“That’s all. Oh, yeah, she wanted to know how you got my name, but I told her I didn’t know. Really, that was it! She was only here five minutes and she was gone. I just thought you should know.”
“All right. Thank you for calling to tell me. Listen,
why is this deal taking so long, Frank?” asked Avram.
“Holiday Cruise Line is a big outfit,” said Frank. “Their attorneys want to make sure that everything is in order. There won’t be any problem, I assure you. We should have a closing date in Miami sometime next week.”
“All right, then. Let me know as soon as you know when,” said Avram. “Goodbye.”
“Of course,” said Frank, “goodbye.”
Avram snapped the phone shut.
Well at least he wasn’t stupid enough to mention Guy Tambini.
I could have given this to anyone! I don’t need this connection! I should have hung up on this asshole when he called me looking for the listing.
Right.
Tell Guy Tambini’s nephew to go screw himself. That would have gone over big! thought Avram. It’s a pain in the ass dealing with these hoodlums.
Profitable, though…
A slight smile left Avram’s face as rapidly as it appeared.
I hope Guy doesn’t give me any shit when it’s time to get out. A couple more years, that’s all I need. Ten million. A nice round number. I don’t know; I may not be able to use the stores that long.
I need this mess over Marc to go away. It’s fucking Murphy’s Law.
His cell phone rang.
“Hello?”
Avram smiled, the mask automatically taking over his features.
“Oh, hi!” he said, cheerfully.
As he listened to the caller, the smile froze into a hard line.
“You know how important this is to me,” he said. “I know you don’t understand…but you promised me!”
* * * * *
Chapter 32
David was waiting for her at the Key West Airport. They hugged, happy to see one another, and loaded Julie’s bag into the trunk of David’s lime-green Volkswagen convertible. Julie refrained, once again, from asking about the big, yellow sunflower attached to the dashboard in a bud vase. Did it come with the car? Or was his personal bit of élan?
“Oh, God! I’m so glad you’re here at last, Julie. No one wants to come to the house because of all the reporters. You know we always had company. I’m not used to being alone like this! I miss Marc so-o terribly. And people stared at me in the Fresh Market this morning,” he said, tears brimming.
Poor David. At some point in your life, you stepped out of the closet and directly onto the stage.
David’s over-the-top despair was actually reassuring. Julie knew it was part of his persona. He was distraught and sad…and that was hard to fake.
“It won’t last forever, David,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Why were you shopping? Are you cooking tonight, I hope?”
“Veal chops and polenta with leeks”, he sniffled. ”With strawberry shortcake for dessert.” More sniffles.
“I love strawberry shortcake!” she said.
Julie continued to steer the conversation to more soothing subjects, the warm weather, new and interesting restaurants that had opened. She asked David about some recent decorating he and Marc had done. Before long, his mood had lifted, the short ride was over, and they were pulling into the driveway behind Marc’s old Volkswagen van. David was relieved to see that there were no reporters in sight.
“Thank you, God!” he said.
A few royal palms and a couple of short, bushy sego palms graced the front yard and swished in the warm breeze as they retrieved Julie’s bag from the trunk of the car.
Twelve Gulf Wind Drive was a sturdy looking, white brick ranch with a circular drive and a neat lawn. Nobody expected what they saw when they stepped into the unassuming house. The view across the open floor plan was a stunning surprise. Floor to ceiling windows and two sets of clear French doors opened out onto a beautifully landscaped pool and patio. Beyond that, there was a wide canal…and usually one or two spectacular mega-yachts.
Marc and David had pooled their money and bought the house roughly ten years ago for a half million, if Julie’s memory served. Joe said it’s worth over two million now, she recalled.
The house sat one lot away from the Gulf of Mexico, and that lot was the side yard of an estate worth fourteen million. Essentially, nothing stood between Marc and David’s house and the Gulf but an expanse of green lawn, dotted with palm trees and their neighbor’s sprawling free-form pool.
It was originally an ordinary three bedroom with the master at the left rear of the house opening onto the pool, and the other two bedrooms on the right end of the house, the living areas in between.
Julie remembered what it had looked like back then and how hard the boys had worked on it.
They had extended and updated the kitchen, as well as adding a pool bathroom with a shower on the gulf-side of the property. A second-floor loft over the extension was built to serve as Marc’s studio. It had its own small deck and stairs leading down to the pool
Julie usually felt queasy looking out on large expanses of water, but the view from Marc’s studio didn’t bother her…perhaps because of the lot in between. With its magnificent light and panorama, the loft had enabled and inspired Marc to paint a whole series of glorious sunsets.
All the decorating of the house had been left to David’s artistic touch.
The kitchen, of course, was a chef’s delight with the latest stainless steel appliances and gadgets. A low granite bar, surrounded by comfortable chairs, separated the cooking and dining areas. Rich teak leant its warmth to both the kitchen cabinets and the dining room table. Clean, white woodwork framed the windows and doors. In the living room, an exquisite oriental rug covered the stone-tiled floor, where tan suede couches beckoned, red pillows scattered here and there.
The neutral colors provided a perfect background for Marc’s riotously colorful paintings, artfully placed around the house with gallery lighting.
Julie’s gaze automatically went to the artwork, entranced by Marc’s genius.
David spoke, snapping her out of it.
“Why don’t you get yourself settled in, Julie, while I get us some refreshments. What would you like to drink? A nice, cold Chardonnay?”
“I’d love some, David. Thank you.”
Julie pulled the carry-on bag behind her into the first bedroom on her left, where she usually stayed. She noticed that the big bed in the room at the end of the hallway was stripped of linens and personal things. Since Marc’s diagnosis, David had been sleeping there. He must have moved into Marc’s room, she thought.
The master bedroom and the studio loft were on the other end of the house. Julie recalled the times when Marc, in the grip of his muse, would climb the stairs and paint all through the night.
She closed her eyes tight, his presence palpable. It was hard to be in this room, in this house!
Sorely in need of comfort, Julie suddenly missed Joe Garrett.
The thought took her by surprise.
* * * * *
Chapter 33
Julie sat in a comfortable swivel chair at the kitchen bar, admiring David’s expertise as he prepared dinner. They were sharing some Brie and crackers and sipping Chardonnay, when she commented on the wine. David sat down next to her, took a sip, and began explaining the process that produced such a smooth, buttery taste.
Julie had no doubts about David but, now that he was sitting down instead of moving confidently around the kitchen, she couldn’t help noticing some classic signs of concealment.
David’s ankles were locked tight, even though he was passionate about wine and loved talking about it. He was markedly less animated …except for one odd gesture: He kept raising his hand to his mouth, like someone plagued with dental problems or shyness…neither of which applied.
Julie decided that he was literally “holding his tongue”. There was something he was afraid to talk about.
“David, why didn’t you tell me about Holiday Cruise Lines offer to buy the island?” she asked.
“Castle Cay? Why?” A puzzled frown settled on his face. “I don’t have anything to do with the island. I�
��ve never even been there. What does that have to do with me? Especially now?”
Well, that’s not his big secret, thought Julie. She couldn’t help smiling. I hope you don’t play poker, David.
I don’t know,” she said, her mind returning to the sale. “It’s just a lot of money…and because the sale coincides with Marc’s death. Didn’t you think it was odd?”
“No, I didn’t, really,” he said. “Marc wanted to sell it. He said that no one ever used it.” His expression turned sympathetic.
“Marc told me what happened to you there, Julie. I felt so bad when I heard it; that was a horrible thing.”
“Yes. It was,” she said, pausing. “Neither of us had any reason to like the place. I was surprised when I heard the two of you were planning a trip there.
“So…you didn’t go.”
“No. Marc wanted to see the island again before it was sold. He wanted me to see it, too, but we never had the chance.”
“I’m sorry, David. I know how terribly you miss him. I do, too.”
David set down his wine glass, leaned over and hugged her.
“It’s hard to be alone,” he said. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
He was a sweet man. Julie wished he would confide in her.
The doorbell rang.
“That must be Rolly. I invited him for dinner.”
“I’ll get it,” said Julie, going to the door.
Rolly Archer was a handsome guy with brown hair that brushed his collar, a little taller and more muscular than David. He wore a rose-colored silk shirt, pale linen slacks and boat shoes. He looked like a model, the clothes hanging comfortably on his frame.
“Hi, Rolly. C’mon in,” she said. “David’s up to his old tricks in the kitchen.”
But David was out of the kitchen. He met Rolly halfway there and tearfully hugged him tight.
David’s eyes briefly caught hers.
“Come sit down, I’ll get you a glass of wine,” he said quickly to Rolly, leading the way over to the bar.
The three of them stayed seated there for an informal dinner. In tacit agreement, they didn’t mention Marc’s death during their meal. Instead, they talked about the breezy weather, the local art scene and the Sandpiper Gallery, which was owned by Marc and his agent, Susan Dwyer.
