Dead Air Part 15

"Whaddaya want?" he yelled, not moving from the grill.

I flashed him my brightest smile and got out of the car gingerly, keeping a tight hold on the door handle. I heard a wild barking coming from close by. For all I knew, a pair of pit bulls would come racing around the battered trailer any second and tear us to shreds. I wished I'd thought to tuck a can of Mace in my purse.

"Mr. Hicks? Can we speak to you for a moment?"

"Whatever you're sellin', I don't want any. And if you're a d.a.m.n bill collector, I cut up my credit cards. You can go look in the garbage if you want."

What a charmer.

"What a beautiful area, Mr. Hicks," Mom said, suddenly appearing at my side.

She always did like a challenge. Mom likes to pick the most boring person at a party and engage him in conversation. She wants to see whether she still "has it," as she says, whether she can still work her fabled charm on men.

I bit my lip to keep from laughing. She had her work cut out for her with Ray Hicks.

"I've just been reading about your lovely development. It's such a pleasure to see it for myself. It is absolutely charming." She clasped her hands together dramatically. Charming? You would think she was talking about a thirty-room mansion in Boca, not a double-wide in the middle of nowhere.

"Well, it ain't for sale."

"No?" She gave a little moue of disappointment. "I can see why. Who would want to sell a such a lovely slice of paradise?" I noticed her spike heel was slipping into a brownish pile of what I hoped was mulch. She reached out for my arm to steady herself, but her smile never faded. A faint smell rose up from the pile.

It wasn't mulch.

"Exquisite!"

Ray Hicks merely grunted at her extravagant praise, but Mom was undaunted. Maybe it's because she's dealt with rejection as an actress ("there were two hundred girls there, auditioning for a three-line part!"), maybe it's her strong personality, but she's persistent to the core. I grinned, wondering what was coming next.

She waved the Florida Travel Guide at him, giving him her best Hollywood smile.

"h.o.m.osa.s.sa," she said enthusiastically.

"What's that?"

"h.o.m.osa.s.sa." She gestured to his rusted-out trailer and sandy yard.

"Who you callin' a h.o.m.o, lady?" He waggled a grilling fork at her as if he'd like to skewer her, and she backed up swiftly, stepping on my peep-toe shoes.

"h.o.m.osa.s.sa. It's an Indian word; it means 'land of many fish.' " She gasped her indignation.

"Yeah? Well, you ain't gonna see too many fish here," he said grudgingly. "Unless you count these catfish my fis.h.i.+ng buddy gave me. They were so little, he was going to throw them back, but I told him I'd fry them up with some hush puppies."

"They look tasty," Mom said politely.

"If we could just have a few moments of your time," I began. "We need to ask you about Sanjay Gingii."

Ray Hicks turned a violent shade of purple. "That con man!" he said, jabbing the air with his giant fork. "Give me five minutes alone with him. That's all I want: five minutes alone." He grinned menacingly, showing a mouthful of missing teeth. "There won't be enough of him left to bury, I promise you."

Mom and I exchanged a look. "You mean you haven't heard the news?"

"What news is that?"

"Guru Sanjay is dead." I watched him closely, eager to see his reaction.

"Dead? Dead!" He paused to flip the fish, shaking his head, a satisfied expression on his sweaty face. "That's the first good news I've heard all week. I've been up in Panama City doing some fis.h.i.+ng. Haven't read the paper or listened to the radio." He paused. "Doesn't change my situation any, but I'm glad he got what was coming to him. So what happened to the dude? He have a heart attack or something like that? He was carrying a lot of weight under those bedsheets he always wore."

"Someone killed him," Mom blurted out. I raised my eyebrows and gave her a warning nudge.

"For real?" Either Ray Hicks had taken some acting lessons, or he was genuinely surprised to hear the news. Since I couldn't imagine him studying the Stanislavski method through a home-study course, I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"He died under mysterious circ.u.mstances," I said. "The police are investigating, but at the moment, they're really not sure what happened to him. He was giving a seminar up in Cypress Grove and was found dead in his hotel room." I carefully omitted the fact that my own roommate was considered a person of interest by the local police.

"Well, it couldn't have happened to a nicer guy," he said with grim satisfaction. "I hope his death was long and slow."

Mom gave a delicate shudder. "How well did you know him?"

"Too well," Ray said with a snicker. "That sumab.i.t.c.h ruined my life." He deftly transferred the cooked fish to a plate. "You ladies want to come inside? I can offer you a cold one."

"Yes, we'd love to," Mom said graciously.

"Not sure there's enough of this catfish to go around, though," he said, peering at the plate.

"Oh, we've already eaten," Mom rea.s.sured him. "We stopped at a delightful little seaside place up in Fort Lauderdale. But thank you, kind sir," she added. "Your hospitality to two visitors is certainly appreciated."

Now Mom was channeling Blanche DuBois in Streetcar Named Desire. I waited for her to say her favorite line: "I have always depended on the kindness of strangers," but she managed to restrain herself.

So far.

"Well, come in and take a load off," Ray Hicks said, holding the battered screen door open for us. The orange tabby whizzed past us and jumped on the kitchen counter. "Don't mind Oscar," he said. "He came with the trailer." The cat immediately jumped into the sink and began drinking water from a leaky tap.

"Delightful," Mom said, looking at the cluttered mess. There wasn't a touch of irony in her voice. All those years of acting training at the American Academy had finally paid off.

It was stifling in the trailer, like being entombed in a tin box. The ceiling was low, contributing to the claustrophobic feel, and layers of clothes and newspapers covered every available surface. The kitchen, living area, and bedroom all melded into one unsightly mess, and an open lavatory door gave us a view of a yellowing porcelain toilet. Mom's hand involuntarily went to her throat as if she couldn't get enough oxygen.

"How sweet. I see you have little dishes of food scattered around for Oscar," Mom said. She pointed to some chipped bowls filled with brown pellets that were lined up on the greasy linoleum floor. "I never trust a man who doesn't like cats. They always seem to be lacking in sensitivity somehow."

Ray chortled. "That ain't cat food. That there's rat poison. We got rats the size of possums in this danged place. I think they come up from the swamp."

"Oh, my." Mom blanched and for once in her life couldn't think of anything else to say.

Ray peered inside an ice-encrusted dorm-size refrigerator. "I have Coors and Rolling Rock," he said, ever the gentleman.

"Just water, please." Then I spotted a row of cloudy gla.s.ses lined up on the counter. A bluish substance that looked like mold was growing in several of them. It would be like drinking out of a petri dish. Ewwww. "Actually, I forgot, I have my own water bottle right here with me," I said, digging into my purse.

I triumphantly held up two water bottles and pa.s.sed one to Mom. She practically grabbed it out of my hands. Pretending to be a Tennessee Williams character is one thing; coming down with Ebola is another.

"So how come you pretty ladies are interested in Sanjay?" Ray asked, a sly look crossing his face. "Don't tell me he did you out of some money, too?"

"Oh, no, not at all," I said swiftly. "Nothing like that. I happened to interview him on my radio show up in Cypress Grove. He was in town promoting his latest book. Maybe you've heard of my show? On the Couch with Maggie Walsh?"

A sudden light came into his eyes and he leaned forward eagerly, treating us to a blast of particularly rancid breath. "I knew it! You're that gal on WYME! Dr. Maggie. I should have recognized your voice. I listen to your show all the time."

"Well, I'm glad you're a fan," I said warmly.

"Never had the nerve to call in, though. Man, you've got some sick puppies on the show. I don't know how you stand it, listenin' to them whinin' and b.i.t.c.hin' all the time. I bet sometimes you feel like taking a rusty razor to the lot of them."

I decided to let that last comment slide. "Did you happen to hear the show I did with Sanjay?"

Ray suddenly busied himself with his plate of charred catfish. "No, I can't say that I did. Must have been busy that day." He knew enough to look me directly in the eye when he said it, but he hesitated just a fraction of a second too long. I figured he might be lying. Had he tuned in that day? But how could I ever prove it? And did it even matter?

"Sanjay's conference was held at the Seabreeze Inn right in the heart of Cypress Grove. We ran ads for it all week. We even ran a contest offering a free registration for one lucky listener."

"Really? Must have missed the show that day. Never heard of the Seabreeze. I don't think I've even driven through Cypress Grove. Is it a nice place?"

I ignored Ray's clumsy attempt to change the subject.

"So you didn't attempt to see Sanjay when he was in town?" I figured I might as well go for the direct approach.

Ray's face hardened. "I just told you, girlie, I never even been to your neck of the woods. And why would I be going to one of those silly-a.s.s conferences or whatever he called them? I had a bellyful of Sanjay, and I sure wouldn't pay good money to listen to him."

A bellyful of Sanjay. Interesting.

"What happened between you and Sanjay? Was it some sort of a business deal that went awry?" Mom's voice was warm with empathy. Ray stared at her for several seconds, and his belligerence seemed to melt before my eyes like frost on a windowpane. It's true. Mom really can charm anyone once she sets her mind to it.

He swallowed hard before answering. "I guess it was old-fas.h.i.+oned greed that got me involved with Sanjay," he finally admitted. "I had some cash lying around and I never did have much faith in stocks and all that financial stuff. Never liked banks, either. As far as I'm concerned, a fool and his money are soon parted, you know what I mean?"

"I do, exactly," Mom said, touching him lightly on the arm. "So you had some extra cash and you met Sanjay. What happened next?"

"Well, I was looking to buy a nice little piece of property, and I especially wanted something on the ocean, you know, maybe on the intracoastal. Of course, there's hardly any wa terfront property left in Florida these days. So I figured I'd settle for the bay. I didn't feel like buying anything inland."

Mom nodded. "I know; it's a shame." Her eyes never left his face. "And I always say, what's the point of living in Florida if you're not going to live on the water?"

"Exactly!" His weathered face creased in a grin. "I finally found a woman who understands me." He glanced over at me for affirmation, and I nodded. Mom was clearly on a roll, and I wasn't going to interrupt the flow of conversation.

"And that's when Sanjay entered the picture?" Mom lowered her voice as if signaling the arrival of Satan himself. "That's when the problems started?"

"You said it," Ray said and smacked his lips unhappily. "You know how they say if somethin's too good to be true, it probably isn't? Well, I fell for his line. And I admit, I was a mite foolish. You know, I'm the kind of guy who never can pa.s.s up a bargain. And Sanjay offered me somethin' beyond my wildest dreams." He paused for effect. "He offered me a nice little two-bedroom bungalow on Sunset Bay for six hundred thousand dollars."

"Wow!" I said in spite of myself. "That's an excellent price. Right on the water?"

Ray nodded. "You bet. It was the bay, not the ocean, but it had a boat dock and everything. Some of the neighbors had sailboats, but I just had me a little outboard. It was enough to cruise up and down the bay. I planned on living out my golden years on that little boat," he said morosely. "It was gonna be my own little piece of paradise."

I suddenly remembered reading a piece about Sunset Bay. A towering condo with underground parking had recently been constructed there. Uh-oh.

"And you bought the house," Mom said, trying to hurry him along.

"That I did; that I did." He took a long swallow of Coors and burped delicately. "And lived to regret it, let me tell you. Look at me now," he said, waving his hand at the dreadful trailer. "Stuck here for the rest of my days. Unless a miracle happens, and I believe they're in short supply. All I have to look forward to is going out to the tavern Friday nights. That's the highlight of my week, sad to say."

"But what happened to the house?" Mom asked. We exchanged a look. It seems that Ray Hicks had his own way of telling a story and couldn't be rushed.

He gave a harsh cackle. "Taken by the revenooers."

"Revenoors?" It was like Beverly Hillbilly-speak.

"I think he means revenuers," Mom said gently. "Are you saying the state came in and took over your house?"

"That's exactly what I mean. Imminent domain they call it. Well, it was imminent all right. One day I had me a nice little house and the next day I didn't. If that ain't imminent, I don't know what is."

"Eminent domain," Mom corrected him, but he was too caught up in his story to notice.

"The state sold it to some developer to put up a high-rise. All he really wanted was the land; he figured my nice little house should be a teardown. A teardown--can you believe it? Take a lookee and you tell me--does this look like a teardown to you?"

He opened a kitchen drawer and pulled out a picture of a modest ranch house on a barren stretch of beach leading down to the water. It looked like something out of the seventies, white brick and white wrought-iron trim and a scruffy lawn dotted with a couple of date palms. "This was it," he said sadly. "My dream home."

"Very nice," I said politely. "And you think that Sanjay knew all this was going to happen?"

"I'm more than sure. I know he did," he said savagely. "That bloodsucker knew exactly what was going on. Somehow he had some inside information. He sold the house to me, and then the state came right in and ripped it out from under me. They paid me some money, but nothing like what I paid for it. And there wasn't a thing I could do about it. Not a gosh-darn thing."

Except murder, I thought.

Chapter 21.

"I think Ray Hicks got a raw deal from Sanjay, but I don't think he has what it takes to be a killer."

"Is that so?" Mom slung her long legs gracefully into the Honda Civic and took a deep breath. I immediately cranked up the AC. I'd deliberately left the car windows up, and now it was steaming like a sweatbox inside. A curtain fluttered at the trailer window and I suspected that Ray Hicks was watching us as we left.

"Did I miss something back there? What do you think?" I could tell from her offhand tone that she didn't agree with me. Mom has an uncanny way of ferreting out half-truths, evasions, and outright lies. I always tell her she missed her true calling and should have been a prosecutor.

"Let's get out of this dreadful place and I'll tell you," she promised. She fanned herself with a south Florida map. "How about a trip to Miami? That always raises my spirits."

"Mine, too. You're on. And I have a couple more people we need to see."

We drove south along A1A, admiring the glittering ocean on our left and the string of luxury hotels on the right. All the famous places I'd read about, the Eden Roc, the Fon tainebleau, the fabled hangouts of Sinatra and the Rat Pack. Maybe the legends were gone, but Miami is still one of the most fabulous places on the planet.

And South Beach, playground of the hip and famous, is as exciting as ever. I pulled into a public parking garage on Sixteenth Street and we walked past Loews toward the beach and the News Cafe.

After ordering cappuccinos, we sat at a green umbrella table and checked out the scene for a few minutes. Across the street, girls whizzed by on roller blades. A vintage cream-colored Bentley with tinted windows purred by.

It was four thirty, but the sidewalks were already crowded. It was time for predinner c.o.c.ktails or cafes con leche. Everyone looked tanned and beautiful, and a young couple at the next table was having an animated conversation in Spanish. The late afternoon sun splashed the Art Deco hotels with a golden glow, lighting up their Easter-egg pastel exteriors.

It was fun, hip, cosmopolitan.

Mom must have read the expression on my face. "Why don't you move down to Miami?" she asked softly. "You know you love it here."