Falafel Jones - Max Fried 01 - Life's a Beach Then You Die

by Falafel Jones

  Since Ed should be arriving soon, I picked up my gear bag and got out of the car. I walked around back to look at the river, and noticed the neighbors had a beautiful, manicured, lawn. At Ray’s, pavers covered his entire back yard too, except for the part occupied by a huge free form swimming pool and spa. In the river behind the pool, Ray had a covered floating dock big enough to accommodate a 50-foot boat.

  I wandered back around front in time to see Ed pulling up in his silver Mercedes sedan. He got out of his car, looked over the roof at me and waved, “Hey, Max.”

  We started walking to the house. Ed reached inside of his shirt pocket and removed a pack of cigarettes, and then he reached in again and pulled out a piece of paper. He put the cigarettes back and unfolded the paper. By now, we were standing at the first garage door on the left. As Ed frowned and squinted at the paper, I noticed there was a keypad mounted on the garage doorframe. I had been wondering how Ed was going to get access while Kathleen was out of town. He pressed some numbers on the pad and the garage door opened providing us access to the house.

  We entered the garage and headed left to a door I expected would lead us to the living area. When we got there, Ed pressed a lit button on the wall that started closing the garage. Just before we opened the door to the house, Ed stopped and looked again at the piece of paper. He quickly opened the door and rushed into the foyer where he took a moment to look around. Then he ran to a security panel and punched in some numbers.

  “Well,” he sighed, “We’re in.” We looked around us and then at each other. Somebody had tossed the place. Ed walked into a room off the foyer and reached for a wall phone.

  He held the phone to his ear for a moment. “It’s dead.” He reached in his pants pocket. “I’ll use my cell to call the Police.”

  I put my hand out to stop him. “Wait a minute. Was the alarm armed?”

  “Yes. I think so.” I followed him back to the foyer and he looked at the panel. “Yes, that’s right. I remember seeing the lights change when I typed in the code and now the alarm lights show it’s been disarmed. Why?”

  “If the alarm was active when we walked in, I don’t think anyone is here anymore. It’s probably best to do our sweep before we call the police.” I moved closer to the panel. “Look at this indicator light. When triggered, this alarm system dials a number and connects to a central service to report the alarm. Someone probably disabled the phone line to prevent notification to the security company.”

  “Yeah, but wouldn’t folks still hear the alarm sound?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, why did they kill the phone line and then let the alarm sound. I don’t get that.”

  “Me neither. Killing the phone only prevented the dialer from calling the security company. They must have had some other way of dealing with the alarm noise. Let’s look around. Do what we came to do. Maybe we’ll find an explanation.”

  I took two pairs of latex gloves from my gear bag and gave one to Ed. Then I pulled out an AM-FM radio and tuned to an AM talk show to trigger any voice-activated transmitters we might find. I put on my headphones, switched on the bug detector and started sweeping. I started in the foyer, which was larger than Ed’s office, and then moved into the kitchen. It was full of professional grade equipment like you’d see in a restaurant, but there were no bugs, no listening devices.

  I stepped over things dumped on the floor and moved from the kitchen to the dining room, the living room, the office, the gym, and the bathroom. No signals detected in any of these rooms.

  Ed followed me from room to room. In the office, he picked up the answering machine, turned it over and pointed to the bottom. It had a battery compartment, just like the machine in Ed’s office where we found the bug. I put down my detector and took the machine from him. Pulling off the battery cover, I looked inside. The compartment was empty, no listening device, and no battery. I replaced the cover, put the machine back on the desk and picked up my detector. We found nothing but a mess on the first floor.

  Ed went up the stairs. I followed him into the master suite. Photos hung in frames on the walls and sat on one of the two dressers. I looked at the ones nearest to where I stood and saw a familiar face. Ray looked bigger and fatter, but he was clearly the same man I saw in that 1984 photo he emailed to Ben Horton. In what I thought was a flash of clever insight, I looked at the rest of the photos for the third man who had been in the pictures with Ray and Horton. My cleverness went without reward.

  The second floor had four other bedrooms to search. Just like the master bedroom, each had its own bathroom. I swept them all and found nothing but debris someone left from a previous visit. I turned and headed back downstairs. I wanted to talk to Ed, but just in case I missed a bug, I didn’t want to do it in the house. Ed must have had the same thought as he followed me silently down the stairs and out the door.

  When we got outside, there was a truck marked Coastal Caterers parked in the driveway next door. Ed and I leaned against my car. Ed lit a cigarette. I put my bag on the car roof and said, “I think it’s clean in there.”

  Ed nodded in agreement.

  “But, I don’t think it was before.”

  “Huh?” Ed blew out smoke.

  “Whoever we’re looking for knew you were handling Ray’s estate and bugged your office.”

  “Right.”

  “But how could they know you were handling things unless they bugged Kathleen. Where was Kathleen when she asked you to handle this?”

  “Home. In Ray’s office. I know because I asked her about some papers Ray kept there. She got them out of the desk to read to me.”

  “I think they bugged her first, and learned about you. Then from you, they knew Kathleen left town and they could came back and search. Once they realized it wasn’t here and that Kathleen didn’t know where it was, they probably removed the bug.”

  “Sure, they also probably knew the police would come after they trashed the place and leaving the bug behind would just add to the clues leading back to them.”

  “Speaking of police…”

  “Yeah” said Ed. He started to reach into his pocket for his cell phone when we heard a man call out “Yoo hoo.” Ed and I looked up and Ed closed his phone. The man was in the driveway next door. He started waving his arm in the air to get our attention while he walked over to us.

  We watched him approach. He was around five foot ten and slim with wispy, light blond hair. He wore a turquoise golf shirt, white slacks, turquoise socks, and white canvas shoes. On the left front of his shirt was a white graphic of an ocean wave over the words “Coastal Caterers.” In white script, underneath the logo was the name “Bertram.” He smiled, waved, and asked, “Hi, I’m Bert from the caterers. Are you men from the Alarm Company too? Are you going to test again today?”

  Ed squinted at Bert, “What do you mean?”

  Bert placed his hands on his hips and sighed. “Yesterday, I was next door prepping my client’s place for the rehearsal dinner party and saw the alarm company truck here. The man was working on the alarm. He kept turning it on and off. On and off.”

  He raised both hands in the air and then returned them to his hips. “I knew my client would be concerned about the noise if it lasted so I came over to see what was going on. I was setting up the sound system for the party and they were making more noise than I was. He said he had fixed a problem and was testing it.”

  “No.” Ed shook his head. I’m the family attorney. We’re just taking care of some business here. We —”

  “Good. Mr. D’Argent, my client next door, will be glad to hear that. Tonight’s his Princess’s wedding reception. I don’t mind telling you. Even though the noise ended before the dinner party, he wasn’t happy about it. Me, I like happy clients. Happy clients like my work. Unhappy ones tend to be more critical just because they’re… unhappy!” Bert shook his head. “Bad for business. It –”

  He spoke so fast I was having trouble finding a pause during which I could ask a question
, so I just interrupted. “What did the man and the truck from the alarm company look like?”

  Bertram looked at me as if surprised to hear someone else speak. “Nothing special, maybe early 50s and tall. His hardhat and wraparound sunglasses pretty much covered his face. He wore this tacky jumpsuit and drove a big white van marked Security with one of those yellow light fixtures on the roof. Why?”

  “I thought we might know him. Any name on the jumpsuit or on the truck?”

  Bertram thought for a moment. “No, I don’t think so. No. No names.”

  “Thanks.”

  “My pleasure, if I see him again, I’ll ask his name. Well, take care gentlemen. I’ve got a party to go to.” He smiled, waved his fingers at us and headed back next door.

  “Ed, I think that explains why no one reacted to the alarm. Anyone who could hear it could see what appeared to be an Alarm Company truck and probably thought the situation was under control.”

  “Hmmm, pretty clever.”

  “Let’s call the police. It’s getting late.”

  The police arrived just minutes after Ed closed his cell phone. Again, they arrived in two cars, one man in each. It seemed they got here a lot faster than they got to my place when I called them. I wondered if it just seemed that way because it was my house last time or if instead, I was learning a lesson about the quality of neighborhoods.

  I was surprised to see Detective Torres exit one of the cars. He held a clipboard. The other officer, I hadn’t seen before. Torres looked at me as he got out of his car. He shook his head and then he said something to the other officer. The other officer nodded, put his hand on his holstered gun and went into the house.

  Torres walked over to Ed and me, pressed his lips together and stood there looking at us with his knuckles on his hips. Somehow, it looked different when Bertram did it. “Ahh, Mr. Fried, Mr. McCarthy. We meet again.” He turned his gaze to only me and I showed him my best dead pan. It worked because Torres switched to staring at Ed.

  Ed said, “This is the Kenwood family residence. I called it in.”

  Torres moved closer to him. “I know where I am. I broke the news to the widow. Where is she?”

  “After Ray was killed, Kathleen went to South Carolina to be with her family. There was just the two of them, here.”

  “And you and Mr. Fried are here because?”

  Ed opened his mouth, closed it, looked at me, and then turned back to Torres. “I’m the family attorney. I’ve retained Mr. Fried to assist in the location of the deceased’s assets so I can handle the estate.”

  Torres rolled his eyes.

  The other cop came out of the house and whispered something to Torres. Torres nodded and said. “It looks like someone else may be interested in the deceased’s assets. Any ideas who?”

  Ed and I shook, “No” like a pair of bobble head dolls.

  Torres looked at me. Then as if he expected better luck with Ed, he turned to him. “And does this have anything to do with the break-in at Mr. Fried’s place?”

  In unison, Ed and I shrugged our shoulders.

  “You guys are too much. An officer of the court and a state licensed investigator. Look, you know the drill. Just get me a list of what’s missing.” He walked towards the house shaking his head. I could see Bertram hustling over from next door to catch up with him. I had no doubt he was on his way to assess Torres’ impact on the party next door.

  Ed called after him, “Can we go now?”

  Without looking back, Torres waved a hand in the air and yelled, “Please do,” as he vanished into the house.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Ed left the Kenwood home to move Sheila into his house on the river and I drove over to the EFH offices. They were on the mainland north of S.R. 44 in a corporate park between a golf course and the New Smyrna Beach Municipal Airport, Jack Bolt Field. I was feeling put out after my attempt to get through on the phone so I imagined the airport proximity a snooty convenience to suit the ipsy-pipsy family members. With Jack Bolt Field so close, they wouldn’t have to travel to the Daytona Beach airport and mingle with the NASCAR fans, Bikers, Spring Breakers and me.

  On the way to the airport, I saw a sign for Stevie’s Sky Lounge boasting, “Just a short walk from aircraft parking”. I had never been there but it was lunchtime and when I arrived, it didn’t look crowded. I went inside.

  A hostess seated me alone at a table for four just outside the bar with a view of the runways. The outside walls were almost entirely windows and inside walls lacked the tacky props sometimes appearing in places like this.

  Although the bar crowd was small, it was noisy. Several bursts of deep male laughter accompanied a single, higher pitched feminine giggle. I ignored them and read the menu.

  In case the view didn’t make it clear that you were dining near an airport, the menu titles did. Appetizers were “Preparing for Takeoff”, dinners “Maximum Altitude” and desserts “Landings”. Despite the cutesy listings, it was a very nice upscale restaurant.

  Being a vegetarian, I scanned to see what, if anything, I could eat. They had so many attractive items I was having a hard time choosing. The Pesto Bruschetta tempted me. It was thin and crispy flat bread with spinach pesto, melted mozzarella and a blend of fresh basil, diced tomatoes, garlic and olive oil.

  As tasty as that sounded, I decided my interview with Corky might go better without garlic on my breath. Instead, I ordered the Caprese Salad, fresh Buffalo mozzarella and tomato fresca over baby spinach. Drizzled with a balsamic reduction and homemade spinach pesto. Served with warm Italian bread. Mmmm, it sounded good.

  While waiting for my food, I heard a cell phone ring in the bar, silencing the crowd. Then I heard a female voice speaking something I couldn’t make out, a click of a phone closing, the same woman speaking louder, and then an outburst of laughter from the men at the bar.

  Curious to see what was going on in there, I decided this would be a good time to go wash my hands. As I passed the bar, I saw what I heard. Three men and one blonde. She wore a brown suit with a micro mini skirt and a low cut blouse. Surrounded by three men, she was brassier than the bar rail. She was Ed’s ex-wife, Sheila. The ex-wife Ed had gone to move into his river view home, just about now.

  I felt terrible for Ed, he’d be disappointed and hurt. It was sad to witness it, but telling him about it would serve no purpose. By now, he’d know that Sheila stood him up. She wasn’t going to move in with him after all.

  I washed and went back to my seat and while I sat, trying to decide how to handle this new dilemma, the waitress brought my food. I had a leisurely lunch with great service and I was still done in time to be early for my 2:00 with Corky. I paid my check and drove the short distance to my meeting.

  I got there about 15 minutes early so I parked and went inside. Lunch was good but I felt bad for Ed. I was also annoyed about the way EFH treated my request for an interview with Corky. The more I thought about that, the more I began to get in a pissy mood. I figured they would keep me waiting anyway so I might as well get started. I entered the five story, red brick and smoked glass building through the double doors in the glassed in lobby. The ceiling was two stories high and contained almost as many trees inside as there were outside on the lawn. I had to admit, the place looked nice.

  As I walked toward the elevator bank in the lobby one of two men at a horseshoe shaped reception desk stood and smiled at me. Both were good-looking kids in their late twenties with nice teeth. They looked like they worked out and both wore navy blue blazers with an emblem over the pocket and a two-way radio on their belts. As I neared the elevator, one of them said, “Sir?”

  I wondered how far I would get if I ignored him and kept on going. I was tempted to do so, but it would have been childish and counterproductive. I had no idea where Corky’s office was, so I said, “Hi, I’ve got a 2:00 with Corky Eastwood.”

  “Mr. Fried?” he asked without consulting any computer or paper.

  “Yes.” I was impressed they were
expecting me. He also got my name right. Maybe these people weren’t so bad after all.

  “This way, please.” He bowed his head slightly, gestured to an empty elevator and removed a key from his pocket. I entered the car. He followed me in, placed the key into a panel on the wall and turned it. He smiled at me.

  I smiled at him.

  He smiled at me.

  I smiled at him.

  The elevator stopped at “P” and the door opened. I knew “P” usually stood for “Parking” or “Penthouse.” This was the first time I got off at “P” when there weren’t cars all over the place.

  The young man gestured towards the elevator door and I exited. There was no receptionist. I stood in a large open area. It looked like a hotel lobby or a room in a private club. It gradually dawned on me that this floor contained private living quarters instead of offices.

  Several plush chairs, sofas, coffee tables and end tables sat in small groups on thick tasteful carpeting. I noticed a woman in her 40s, tall and thin with straight, blond, shoulder length, hair. She put down a glass and stood up from one of the chairs.

  Her beige suit included a tailored jacket and a straight cut, tight fitting skirt that came to just below her knees. A light yellow blouse, opened at the collar, showed off a simple strand of pearls that matched her earrings.

  “Mr. Fried,” she showed me perfect teeth and offered her hand. I took it.

  “Please sit.” She said.

  I gave her back her hand and we sat in a pair of matching, red, cloth, club chairs. They bordered a low redwood coffee table bordered by redwood end tables bearing green plants. A man approached wearing a black suit, thin black tie and a white shirt.

  Without acknowledging his arrival, she asked, “Mr. Fried, would you like anything to drink?” It was as if she just knew he would be there in time to hear my reply to her question.

  “No, thank you. I’m fine.” The man in the suit nodded and left. She didn’t acknowledge his departure either, so I continued. “I’d like to thank you for taking the time to meet with me.”