Part 16 (2/2)
”He paid cash. Hardly anyone uses cash, and that's why we missed it. The writing on the register is barely legible. It's practically a scrawl, like he used his left hand or deliberately was trying to conceal his name. The night clerk asked him for identification but he said he'd left his driver's license at a gas station a hundred miles back. So they took the cash and told him to write down his license plate number. No one checked, so he could have written down anything he wanted.”
Something nagged at me. ”Why would he sign the register with his real name if he didn't want to be discovered?”
Nick had an answer. ”Sometimes criminals, especially the dumb ones, write their real name without thinking. If he'd been a little quicker on the uptake, he would have signed with an alias.” There was a beat while he spoke to the a.s.signment editor. ”Did he seem smart to you?”
”I don't think he was the sharpest knife in the drawer. I'd say he was cunning rather than smart. Sort of a sly type.”
There was silence on the line for a moment while I tried to think of my next move. I had to admit it: I was stumped. ”Shall we go back to the trailer park?” I could see Mom wincing at the suggestion.
”Not yet,” Nick said. ”There's no sense in showing your hand. You can always do a follow-up visit when we have more information.”
”What's going on in Cypress Grove? Anything new with the cops?”
Cops. I could feel my face flus.h.i.+ng a little at the thought of Rafe Martino.
”They're keeping very quiet. I may pay them a visit tomorrow just to see if they throw me a bone. As far as I know, Lark is still the number-one suspect.” He drew in a breath, and I knew there was more.
And then it came.
”I hate to be the one to tell you this, Maggie, but the DA is thinking of convening a grand jury next week. They're going to put everything they have on the line and see if there's enough to indict her for Sanjay's murder.”
”Indict her? That's ridiculous.”
”They have motive, means, and opportunity. She was obsessed with him, he tried to attack her, and she killed him.”
”All they have is circ.u.mstantial evidence.”
”People have gone to jail on less,” Nick reminded me.
The sad thing is, I knew he was right. People have gotten the death penalty for less. Nick promised to stay in touch, and I told him I'd touch base in a day or two when I'd followed up on some more leads. It was a disappointing end to an unsettling conversation.
Chapter 22.
Hearing the news about Lark cast a sudden pall over the beautiful day.
Mom, as usual, had the best take on the situation. ”They're thinking of indicting Lark?” She raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. ”That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. There's only one thing to do, Maggie. We just have to redouble our efforts,” she said firmly. ”What else did you find out?”
I filled her in on the mysterious R. Hicks who had signed the guest register at the Seabreeze, and she thought for a moment. ”He could have been there, but why didn't anyone see him? Surely someone would have noticed. He's not the sort of man you can overlook, is he?” She gave a delicate shudder. ”We can always talk to him again, but I think we should have a plan this time.”
”We need an excuse to get back into the trailer,” I said. But what? My mind had stalled.
Sleuthing was far more difficult than I'd realized. How come those TV cops always manage to wind everything up in a neat hour-long package? Actually, it's only forty-four minutes, if you subtract the commercials. A nice lineup of suspects, some clever detective work, and bingo, problem solved, suspect neatly placed in handcuffs and whisked away. If only real life could be so simple.
”Oh, there's a camera crew!” Mom said, immediately arranging her features in a practiced smile. She crossed her legs and tilted her chin up a tad, a trick she said she'd learned from Zsa Zsa Gabor--an instant way to tighten a sagging chin line before facing the cameras. ”I think it's ET or Access Hollywood,” she whispered excitedly. ”Wonder what that's all about?”
”I heard they're shooting a new reality show here. Something about the beautiful young people of South Beach. I saw a promo for it earlier on The Today Show. They're probably in town to interview some of the stars.”
”Not another reality show,” Mom groaned. ”Why does everyone in the cast look like they're under seventeen?”
”Probably because they are.” I bit back a sigh. Nothing like a teen reality show to make a girl feel ancient at thirty-two.
We spotted a Lindsay Lohan look-alike, poured into a pair of skintight Cavalli jeans and a Pokemon baby T, doing a stand-up interview with Maria Menounos. A group of middle-aged tourists stood gawking nearby, looking like refuges from a Parrothead tour with their matching Margaritaville s.h.i.+rts. They were elbowing one another, holding up camera cell phones, trying to get a clear shot of the attractive entertainment reporter.
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 a.s.sistant 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.”
Maybe in Bosnia.
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 bra.s.s 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?
You bet. Unless Mom and I did something fast to divert attention away from Lark.
”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.”
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