Wild Secret

by Tripp Ellis

  I groaned. “Who was the judge?”

  “Echols.”

  “Figures.”

  "Turn on the news. It's a media frenzy. Word is she's going to resign but it looks like she’s gonna walk away from this without any time.”

  "Not if I can help it."

  "That's what I was hoping you'd say. Find something and make it stick."

  “I will.”

  I turned on the TV. There were images of Stella leaving the courthouse, mobbed by reporters. Cameras flashed, and microphones were shoved in her face. She had no comment as she pushed through the crowd.

  I texted the audio file to Paris Delaney. What the hell… It may not have been admissible in court, but the court of public opinion had less rigid standards.

  Paris texted back. [Now that's what I call juicy. I owe you one.]

  [It didn't come from me.]

  [You know I protect my sources.]

  That much was true. She’d go to her grave with her sources.

  Within minutes, the audio was a breaking news alert. Soon, it was all over the Internet. Stella Turner was finished professionally. At least, that's what I hoped. But she’d probably get a book deal and make millions.

  Isabella called after breakfast. “I see your friend is making headlines.”

  “She is not my friend.”

  “I did some digging.”

  “Tell me something good.”

  44

  “Stella is on the board of the Forward Fund,” Isabella said. “They paid out over $3 million to various nonprofits that didn't even apply for grants. All of those companies paid a consulting fee to Sunbeam Analytics. That company is owned by an offshore company named Sunray Strategies, of which I am still trying to ascertain the ownership. But I will bet you Stella Turner has a hand in that."

  "She's funneling money into the fund, giving it out to her friends who are then paying her consulting fees,” I said.

  "It appears that way."

  "Is that illegal?"

  "It’s unethical, that’s for sure. The legality depends on what you'll be able to prove and how the deals were structured. Plus, you’re not gonna be able to use anything I provide you with. You’ll have to pull all this information on your own. My suspicion is this has been going on for years, and nobody wants to do anything about it.”

  “You got that right. Too many people are getting rich, and no prosecuting attorney wants to open that can of worms.”

  “There are two things you can do. Sunbeam Analytics has made numerous political contributions to local office holders. I’d scrutinize those transactions. You might be able to catch her on an election law violation. Also, I checked her personal financial records. She just purchased a new car from Hartsell imports at a substantial discount. I think this is where she screwed up. If that discount was given in exchange for some type of deferred prosecution agreement, that is a direct violation."

  I grinned. "You're brilliant."

  "Yes, I am."

  I thanked Isabella and ended the call.

  I climbed out of bed, showered, dressed, then shuffled down the steps and banged on the hatch to JD’s stateroom. “Get your ass up. We’ve got work to do. Stella got off.”

  I knew that would get his attention.

  I went into the galley and started cooking breakfast. Afterward, we headed across the island to Hartsell Imports. The lot was loaded with slightly used luxury and exotic cars. There were Lamborghinis, Ferraris, Porches, Jaguars, Bentleys, Aston Martins. All polished and shiny, their tires slick with protectant.

  We stepped into the showroom, and that new car smell filled the air, even though the cars weren't exactly new. They were all low mileage. Cars that wealthy collectors bought that sat in driveways and saw little use.

  A slick salesman approached. "What can I do for you, gentlemen?"

  "Looking for Nick Hartsell?"

  "May I tell him your name?"

  I flashed my badge. "Deputy Tyson Wild."

  He forced a smile. "Give me one minute. I'll let him know you're here.”

  He spun around and marched to the back office.

  Nick Hartsell emerged a few moments later. He had short wavy blond hair, a tanned face, and a square jaw. He wore a white linen suit and a royal blue dress shirt. He looked like a TV star, and I recognized him from his commercials. The 47-year-old had blue eyes and a bright smile. A thin gold chain hung around his neck. He was a wheeler-dealer and could get just about any car you wanted for a price. He extended a welcoming hand. "Deputies, welcome to Hartsell Imports.”

  We shook.

  “Is there something I can interest you in? We offer law enforcement discounts.”

  "Actually, that’s what I’m here to talk to you about.”

  “You came to the right place.” He sized me up quickly. “You look like a Lambo guy. I’ve got a Huracán EVO Spyder in neon green with your name on it. 3,200 miles. Almost new.”

  “Tempting, but I’d like to talk to you about another deal you made. You recently sold Stella Turner a convertible Jaguar."

  He hesitated. "I sell a lot of people a lot of cars."

  "According to my records, you took a loss on the vehicle.”

  “And what records are those?”

  “I can’t disclose my sources.”

  He shrugged. “You win some, you lose some,” he said, growing uncomfortable.

  “You strike me as the kind of guy that doesn’t like to lose money on deals."

  His face tensed. "Perhaps we should have this conversation in my office."

  He led us down a hallway and ushered us into his office. He shut the door and offered us a seat. It was an elegant space. Sleek and minimal. There were pictures on the walls of Nick with various celebrity clients and expensive cars. The furniture was stylish, and the office was tidy. There was a large flatscreen display on his desk and a keyboard.

  He took a seat behind his desk.

  “I’ll cut to the chase," I said. "I know you received favorable treatment from Stella in the past. In case you haven’t been watching the news, those days are over."

  He tried not to frown.

  “In light of your son's current legal problems, I think you might want to cooperate with me."

  "What are you offering?"

  "The car you sold Stella… that was part of your agreement to make your son's legal problems go away. I need you to testify to that fact—full immunity, of course.”

  “I deal with a lot of clients that require discretion. Some of them will be leery of doing business with me if I become a prosecutor witness.”

  "Your boy is facing another DUI and reckless driving charge, among other things.”

  "At the rate he's crashing my cars, maybe I should leave him in jail.”

  I chuckled.

  “I help you put away Stella Turner on corruption charges, and Cameron’s DUI goes away?"

  As much as I hated to see that little punk get off, I wanted to see Stella behind bars more. "It would appear that way."

  "And you've talked to one of the assistant district attorneys about this deal?”

  "I have," I said, though I hadn't yet talked to Todd McLean.

  Nick thought about it for a moment.

  45

  "Okay," Nick said, nodding his head. "I sold her the car. I took a $20K hit on it. She said if I did that and contributed another $20K to her fund," he said in air quotes, "Cameron's latest indiscretion would disappear.”

  "Would you be willing to come down to the station now and make a formal statement?” I asked.

  "If it gets Cameron’s latest charge resolved, sure. Let's do it. But keep my name out of the papers."

  "I'll try."

  I made a few phone calls. McLean signed off on the deal. Nick made his statement, and we got another warrant. This time we arrested Stella at her home.

  Again, she said nothing.

  She was arraigned the next morning and made bail. She put up the million dollars and was back on the street. />
  It was depressing to see. But I had to keep faith in the system.

  We kept digging into the Forward Fund and the transactions the organization made. Ellie agreed to let us search Chuck’s laptop, and we found a goldmine of information. He’d done his homework and had found numerous suspicious transfers, donations, and consulting agreements. He was on the verge of exposing everything.

  Paris started an ongoing investigation series. And I alerted the Florida Election Commission.

  Stella was on her way down—for good this time.

  I saw on the news where Randy Murdoch had died from a heart attack. The stress must have been too much for him. There was no doubt in my mind he’d had an inappropriate relationship with Skyler. But that was moot now.

  I felt bad for his wife.

  JD and I took a couple days off to relax. We fished, drank, searched for treasure, and chased skirts. So, it really wasn’t any different from normal.

  Faye reached out to Katie and tried to mend fences. She blamed her actions on too much alcohol and poor choices. It didn’t really change things between them, but at least she made the effort.

  Crash agreed to sit in with Lip Bomb for one show. In the meantime, he gave me lessons, and I practiced as much as possible. I was having fun with it. The guys let me jam a few songs with them at practices.

  Things were going good. Summer was almost upon us. Crime was at a minimum. No assassins showed up in the night to kill me. It almost seemed normal.

  That would end soon.

  We made our plans to attend the red carpet premiere of Bree in LA. The studio flew us out on a private jet, and JD got a chance to reconnect with his daughter. He hadn’t seen Scarlett in a while.

  The limo driver picked us up from the FBO at Burbank, drove over the hill, and headed down Highland. We turned onto Sunset, traveling west, then winded our way up to a nice home in the Hollywood Hills. The driver pulled into the circular drive, hopped out, and grabbed our doors. He pulled our luggage from the trunk as we walked to the front door and rang the bell.

  An excited Scarlett answered with a shriek. She bounced up and down and gave us both hugs. JD held on for a long time. The Skyler Locke case had struck a chord with him, as it would with any parent. He was lucky to have her in his life, and he was going to soak up every minute with her. His eyes grew a little misty.

  "I'm so glad you guys are here!” Scarlett said. “Let me show you around."

  She ushered us into the foyer, and I tipped the limo driver after he brought the bags inside.

  “So this is what you wanted to show us,” Jack said, looking around in awe.

  “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

  With Scarlett's newfound success, she had purchased a home in the hills. It wasn't the biggest house in Hollywood, but it was sleek and modern with a pool and a stunning view that looked over the hills and Century City.

  “What do you think?”

  JD was impressed. "Can you afford this?"

  She looked at him flatly. "I can right now." She crossed her fingers. "Hopefully, Ultra Mega 2 does well. Ultra Mega 3 is when the real money will come in." She smiled.

  "Just don't get yourself overleveraged."

  "I won't. I’ve worked hard. I'm entitled to a little splurge."

  "This is more than a little splurge."

  She scowled at him. "Stop being such a party pooper. You are in no position to lecture on excess."

  She had a point.

  Scarlett showed us to the guest rooms, and we got settled in.

  We went to a fancy restaurant in the hills and attended a few industry parties. Scarlett spent most of the next day getting dolled up by a professional make-up artist and stylist for the premiere. Fabian Fabron, a top designer, loaned her a $95K dress. She’d be photographed and filmed by every news outlet on the red carpet. It was free advertising.

  When the time arrived, the limousine drove us down to the famous Chinese Theater. Cameras flashed, and the crowd cheered as we stepped out of the limousine into the limelight. Scarlett smiled and waved to her adoring fans.

  We followed behind her, nobody caring who we were.

  She stopped at every interview station along the way, talking about the film, the upcoming Ultra Mega 2, and what was next for the young starlet. With her hair coiffed to perfection, dressed in a sparkling gown and brilliant diamonds around her neck, on loan from a boutique on Rodeo, she looked like Hollywood royalty. After tonight, she’d be on the cover of every magazine.

  We mixed and mingled with all the Hollywood types. My agent, Joel, greeted us with a smile and a hug. He was dressed in a stylish navy suit with a matching pocket square. His blond hair was buzzed short on the sides and spiked on top. “This is a big night. Are you ready?”

  “It’s taken a long time to get here,” I said.

  “The buzz is good,” he whispered. “Trust me, there are great things ahead.”

  Usually, the words trust me were followed by lies. But Joel was the rare exception in Hollywood.

  We bumped into Susan, the head of the studio, and chatted for a minute about upcoming projects. She was still on me to set up an office on the studio lot and develop more projects. She was out of her mind if she thought I’d leave Coconut Key. Despite everything, it was home.

  We finally took our seats. The lights went down, and the picture came up on the big screen. The studio's logo flashed, and the movie started at the moment when I first met Bree—on the plane to France.

  It was surreal. Like a memory, but not.

  Scarlett looked fantastic on screen with her shoulder-length blonde hair and sparkling eyes. She captured Bree’s essence. But more than that, her own spark shined through.

  My phone buzzed my pocket. I pulled it out discreetly and looked at the screen. A text from Sheriff Daniels read: [I need you boys back in Coconut Key ASAP. We've got another dead body.]

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  Author’s Note

  Thanks for all the great reviews!

  I’ve got more adventures for Tyson and JD. Stay tuned.

  If you liked this book, let me know with a review on Amazon.

  Hope you are well during this challenging time. Thanks for reading!

  —Tripp

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